this is how real men fight

Okay so seeing Wonder Woman was literally eye-opening for me. I always knew that movies, action movies in particular, are really sexist towards women. I just didn’t realize how bad it was until I saw a superhero movie directed by a woman.

In almost every movie I’ve seen, the woman was always the damsel in distress or just some lousy love interest. And in action movies, mainly superhero movies, the camera is always focused on the woman’s boobs while she’s fighting. Yes, I’m mainly talking about Black Widow in the Avengers movies.

But in Wonder Woman, there were no close-up shots of her boobs while she was fighting. In fact, I don’t think that any woman even showed her cleavage, at all. They weren’t sexualized in any way. 

And all of the women looked like real people. There were women with big muscles, women with scars, there were women with thick thighs and arms that would jiggle when they were fighting, there were dark skinned women. They didn’t just all look like the stereotypical super thin white girls that you usually see in big movies.

The flirting was also very minimal. There were almost no romantic scenes at all.

And none of the men tried to undermine or belittle the women, and when they did Diana would just start talking about how she could do things better than them.

And the fight scenes. They were so amazing. They didn’t try to make the women look super pretty while doing it. No, they were full on fighting. Nasty, brutal, screams-of-pure-rage fighting.

But she always had a reason for fighting, and she always did it because she genuinely believes in hope and peace and protecting innocent people and people who can’t fight for themselves.

This movie sends out so many great messages for little girls, saying that you can fight for what you believe in and even if you don’t succeed the first time, not to give up because it is always worth it in the end.

Like I was thinking about it in the movie theater. For some little girls, Wonder Woman is their first superhero. There are little girls who will grow up with this movie and cherish it because it is the first and only movie with a lead female superhero. There are little girls who will grow up thinking that they want to do some good in this world, just like she did. I almost cried during several parts in the movie just thinking about that.

So please, for the love of all things good, please go see this movie. Not only is it a huge deal for women and girls now, it will be for generations to come. 

The idea that women are innately more nurturing than men and have maternal instinct might sound endearing and without broader social context, even complimentary, because hey, its a great attribute to be loving and useful in a family setting, but it isn’t. To every demand of women, there is a lenience for men. When girls/women are understood as not only made for household duties, but actually enjoy it, the requirement for men to hold up their portion of domestic duties dissolves.

Women aren’t uniformly anything. Some might be nurturing and appreciate home labor, some might not, just like some might be tall and some might not, but its not a biological trait. Ultimately, its a sporadic characteristic turned social expectation which patriarchal standards have so deeply normalized that its made to be intrinsic.

This expectation has daunting consequences for practically every young girl and woman. Girls are domesticated young, trained to take on chores, while boys have the freedom to be a “mess”, or human. If a woman is married (in a hetero union), she is assumed, perhaps even socially coerced to do housework and child care. If a woman doesn’t fancy cooking or cleaning and has no desire of motherhood, she is seen as deficient, unfit as a spouse and “less of a woman”.

One of the most challenging aspects of fighting modern (meaning neoliberal) heteropatriarchy is the acuteness of which oppressive behavior occurs. Many millennial aged liberal men wouldn’t outright say they demand women to serve them and probably even support surface level feminist theory, but still legitimatize and absorb repressive gender roles in their understandings of and interactions with women. And many will resist being challenged on these ideas, no matter how counteractive the real life results are.


It’s no small feat.
It took a leader hiding pain and exhaustion under a careless laugh, an artist brimming with inspiration despite his tears, a friend with a big heart and warm hands to take away the difficult times; a dreamer with ambition and hope to inspire confidence, and an intelligent soul with the wisdom to make the tough decisions in a midst of awe and confusion, to paint this canvas. Here is to five incredible men who work so hard to fill the voids in our hearts with holes in their own. Here is to five brave men who stand to fight the odds again. Here is to Highlight. 

It really is still beautiful.

Actual female power:

RESOURCES - having everything you need for survival and socializing without ever having to depend on men, having a secure place to live, source of nourishment and heat without ever having to consider marriage, sex work, or any kind of catering to men in order to establish mere survival on this planet. 

AUTONOMY - full control over your own body. Not ever having to be touched against your will, or have another person control any part of your body, especially your reproductive abilities, deciding on your own and for your own benefit what happens with your body, knowing what’s good for your body and exact risks you take if you’re willing to subject it to pregnancy, sex, or any other condition, not ever taking a bigger risk than you feel safe taking.

COMMUNITY - Bonding, sharing, belonging, participating, being protected by a community of women with the same interests, same experiences, and same goals as you have, knowing that all or most of your experiences are common and normal in society you live in, receiving support, validation and help in all of your issues, knowing that no matter what happens, women will have your back, as you have theirs, standing united against threats that hit us as a whole.

KNOWLEDGE - receiving the formidable knowledge women of history have created and achieved on this planet, knowing that women created everything and everyone, knowing the role your sex has played on this planet was vital and immeasurable, knowing your history, knowing what we had to fight for and what we still have to fight for, having a conscious mind about the endless achievements and labour women preformed, as well as the endless violence and crimes committed against our sex, and the danger we’re put in from day to day.

PHYSICAL STRENGTH - our bodies are created strong, and the stronger we get, the more chance we achieve for physical safety, having the ability to beat the crap out of anyone who tries to assault you is a real power, looking too physically intimidating to even be attacked is a real, big asset, not being threatened physically by men is a luxury most women don’t have due to social pressure to keep our bodies small and fragile, so aiming for body as strong as possible is a real power, and it’s a power men don’t want us to have.

AGENCY - acting in favour of your own interests, knowing what those interests are and knowing how to take action that will bring you to your goals, never wasting time on representing the interests of a group that works against you, never wasting your energy, labour or time on those who see you as less than a human, fighting for all that you know you deserve, and know you can get, never letting someone else speak for you or decide for you, never putting your human rights on hold for the sake of other’s goals.

SAFETY - this is a power we have to fight for the most. Safety from psychological and emotional terror society enforces onto us in order to change our bodies, to give up on our strength, looks, bodily autonomy, confidence, freedom. Safety from falling into traps men have created in order to exploit us, safety from our bodies being sold, safety from abusive marriage, safety from physical violence, sexual violence, safety from having our autonomy taken away from us, from the credit of our intelligence and our labour and our creations taken from us, safety from having to spend our entire lives catering to predators in mere hope they will spare us the pain they’re inflicting on any woman who isn’t doing what she’s being told. We deserve to be protected from all of it. We deserve to have full lives without the epidemic of psychological, physical and sexual violence ever touching our lives, much less dictating them.

Note that men already have all of these, it’s given to them by default, resources are available for them in much greater quantity, autonomy of their body is achieved, they receive plenty of validation and community from their male peers, male authority, and male directed media, their stories and achievements are over-represented in every single history course, their physical strength is celebrated and they’re encouraged to get as strong as possible, they wouldn’t dream of representing anyone’s interests but their own, and they’re safe from a big chunk of emotional, psychological and sexual terror women are going thru every single moment of their life, even if other men still from a physical threat to some of them.


a CP ficlet, as promised

(idea courtesy of @echoing-artemis, who said CAPTIVE PRINCE BACHELOR AU which then turned into UNREAL AU in my head because let’s face it, in any situation like this, laurent will still be full of machinations.)


When Damen laces his hands together, the left thumb is on top. Laurent fixes this detail with a look that is, as it were, a warm-up for the look he’s about to direct at Damen’s face. Damen is perched on the edge of the plush, over-quilted, impeccably white satin bedspread, elbows resting on his spread knees. He is crushing some of the red rose petals. Laurent makes a mental note to send a production assistant in here with fresh ones before they film the individual segments after the cocktail party.

Someone knocks at the closed door and says, “Um, I think–”

No,” snarls Laurent, wasting the first and most icily searing few seconds of his expression on the door. Silence follows.

“All right, what is it?” Laurent demands of Damen. “Is it drugs? Do I need to send someone out for some cocaine? Do you have a fucking headache? Has a soft-hearted AD whom I will summarily fire snuck you your phone, and you’ve found out that your cat’s died?”

“No,” Damen says, apparently to all of the above. After a moment he adds, in a tone that Laurent can’t parse, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve seen potato salad with more vivacity than you’re showing out there.”

“It’s all so–staged,” Damen says, with distaste.

Laurent manages not to roll his eyes, but the violence with which he wishes he were rolling his eyes causes dull pain to gather behind them like a stormcloud.

Keep reading

I keep seeing posts of thin people explaining that body positivity is unnecessary or ridiculous, all while wildly missing the point of what body positivity is and who it’s for. 

I mean it must be easy to find it useless when you’re a thin white cis able bodied perisex person with conventionally attractive features and the money to buy whatever beauty products you want but like, some of us aren’t you. 

And for some of us, body positivity and fat acceptance are radical acts of defiance against kyriarchy and a demand to no longer be oppressed. So I mean. It matters.

Like, body positivity isn’t just about wanting people to call you pretty, although recognizing that you are beautiful in a world that tells you otherwise is a radical act.

It’s about normalizing transgender and intersex bodies and fighting for their body autonomy and against transphobia and intersexism. It’s about making the world for accessible for fat and disabled bodies and putting an end to ableism. It’s about holding doctors accountable and demanding that they treat and help people of color, women, and fat people the same way they treat cishet white skinny men. It’s fighting against fatphobia and diet culture, rallying against misogyny, etc. It’s activism, it’s feminism, it’s revolutionary.

There are real people out there who can’t legally wear their natural hair, or who are given less pay because of how they look, or are being denied equal rights because of the body type they have or the appearance of their genitalia. Can you really tell me that fighting against that kind of thing is useless?

And yes, a lot of body positive blogs struggle with intersectionality. Many fail to move past sharing pastel images with cute slogans that only make thin white cishet perisex women feel better. But that is the fault of those bloggers. It doesn’t make body positivity useless; it just means that it is due for a makeover. 

Body positivity and fat acceptance are not and have never been about just wanting other people to think you’re pretty. It’s not about your worth and value being defined by your prettiness. 

And all these posts out there calling body positivity a worthless movement because “We shouldn’t be defined by our looks” or “I don’t want to be called pretty” are wildly missing the point. It’s not about that. It’s never been about that.

I just wish people could understand that the oppression I face isn’t some minor issue that doesn’t need to be challenged. Like, maybe that’s not what these people intend to say when they talk like this but that is exactly what I hear. 

-Mod Bella 

catyuy  asked:

Hey, would you mind sharing your theory on Ross's original plan in CA:CW?

Oh yea! Sorry I completely forgot. Since I forgot I’ll break my hiatus but after that I’m still out


*rolls over to her wall of newspaper clippings and red string*

*takes a deep breath*


That’s a whole lot of lead in to say that specifically, Ross waited until Tony stark was in his most emotionally compromised state to release the information about the Sokovia Accords to Tony. 

If you followed my blog at all you know that I’m not a TS fan like, at all. That said, his motives are pretty clear and predictable, to a point where anyone who has the wherewithal to try can pretty easily direct his actions. You know like Ross.

OK Crow we fucking get it. Tell us how it happened though?

Evidence Figure A: The Teleprompter

Any project/event manager worth their salt checks, double checks, triple checks, and quadruple checks the attendee list, especially when someone as high profile as Tony Stark & Pepper Potts, CEO of mother-fucking STARK INDUSTRIES is showing up to the shindig. 

There’s also this little thing called a contingency plan? If a homegrown convention with a big name actor showing up has a contingency in place should something happen, then one would assume that a fucking top-of-the-line school would have protocols for this, especially since Tony is definitely not the only or the biggest name-brand-celeb to show up at MIT. I just googled, Matt Damon was just there for commencement IRL. So like, this isn’t their first goddamn rodeo!

Lasty, it’s 2016. Teleprompters have had the ability to switch feeds midstream for YEARS. Literally every ‘this just in!’ update your local news personality does when live covering something is precisely what’s happening. The teleprompter is the information and the earpiece is the producer giving them any alternate queues. So, when Tony’s 45 minutes through his speech and immersing into his demo and it’s pretty fucking clear that the Big Pot has not entered the kitchem, maybe it’s time for some midstream reprompting?! 


So we have Tony Stark who’s in his patented Mental Self Flagellation Machine 4000 ™ and is already feeling down. While he’s trying to climb the endorphin high he gets from throwing money at people, the teleprompter shuts that right down.

Now we know Tony is feeling bad. He just wants to go curl up on his private jet and have FRIDAY play Adele while he stares at pictures of Pepper on his phone. And that would be nice-

Evidence Figure B: “I work for the State Department”  

So now Tony has been kicked twice in the nuts by his emotional anguish. He’s down and if we know anything about this dude is that he’s emotionally driven. You grab those heartstrings and you can pull him any which way. The grand orchestrator here (Ross) now has a good hold, but he’s going to lock it in. 

Enter your average ‘State Department’ admin. There’s no real answer as to which branch of the state department she’s in, or what she does or who she really works for. She could be in accounting, weapons acquisition, any number of deep-confidential branches (Spies have paperwork too), or Ross’ goddamn secretary. It doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s very strange that her lead in was a delineation of where she worked, as if it mattered. Taken out of context it’s as innocuous as saying ‘I work in real-estate’ or ‘I work in healthcare’. The story would have panned out either way. 

But no, she works for the state department. She probably has a work email that ends in She’s probably searchable in the inter-office directory, and potentially she’s got access to grief counseling and other psychiatric services provided through her workplace. 

Now we know that shit’s supposed to be confidential but I don’t think a man who’s going to make an extrajudicial underwater superhuman prison is a man with scruples about patient confidentiality. 

How easy would it be for Ross or one of his lackeys to approach this and other grieving workers until they find the one with a perfect hook to drag Tony by the nose?

How did your average State Department admin manage to find her way into an isolated walk path obviously made for personnel only, in a private building on a private campus with no one trying to stop her? 

Now, we know that college campuses unfortunately don’t have the best security in non-event situations. But Tony Stark well known trouble magnet and billionaire was showing up. Sure a police detail and private security can’t really do shit about another alien invasion but they can stop people from waiting around in isolated hallways for celebrities. (Why was he alone anyway? This is 100% against celebrity escort protocol. Beyonce doesn’t even go to the bathroom without a security detail, and for good fucking reason!)

How did she get down there? 

At just the right place and at just the right time to deliver a printed picture of her handsome, selfless, philanthropic, and dead-too-soon son to Tony Stark. 

Not to mention the very pointed speech.

Evidence Figure C: “I blame YOU Mr. Stark”

Well. Fuck.

Rule Number 1 of maintaining world peace, do NOT make Tony Stark feel guilty. 

What happened the last time Tony felt guilt?

Oh There ain’t no strings on me~

Whenever Tony feels even the slightest hint of guilt he essentially breaks out his screwdriver and tries to fix it all by himself in the world’s most expensive display of bad coping mechanisms ever witnessed.

Historically Pepper (AKA his lovely red headed chill button) was there and he was able to channel his angst into like, 87 new suits or something else constructive.

or like 8000 idfk

But Pepper’s gone, Nicky Fury (AKA the backup chill button) is MIA, and MCU Tony doesn’t actually listen to Rhodey.

Had there been no Sokovia Accords they probably would have to have fought a sentient protection robot that’s only goal was to lock all of humanity in a bubble where they couldn’t ever get hurt ever again or something. 

But… suspiciously… There was  a way for Tony to lift some of that guilt off his arc reactor. 

Evidence Figure D: “You have three days” 

Mother. fucker. I have a longer grace period on my goddamn rent than this. Did you see how thick that neat piece of legislation was? It would take a fast and legally genius reader at least a week or two to drag through that piece of work. 

This was extortion in it’s greatest effect, and they knew Tony would take the bait really easily once it was set up for him to see this as absolution for his guilt. 

Where were the Avengers’ lawyers? How the fuck did Tony run a business where no one read over his major contracts to assure that he wasn’t getting fucked over by a line in convoluted legalese? 

Steve at least cracks the thing open and gives it a glance, but three days isn’t long enough to review a ten page divorce agreement, let alone a 300 page document signing super-powered individuals under the jurisdiction of a singular but not unanimously agreed upon “ruling” body. (the UN doesn’t actually rule and is mainly a facilitator of multi lateral agreements and I could go on for days about the loopholes in that but I digress)

So general Ross chooses the day of (day after?, day before?) to present this document to Tony, giving him a very final due date with which to sign or be thrown in superhero prison. 

This document that is going to be ratified by the UN.

This document that somehow no one who is actually in close contact with superheroes has apparently heard of. 


Fucking FOREVER.

American children , remember this?:

It’s a long long way into the capitol city indeed

I just googled and the Average time for a bill to move through the legislative body in America last year was about 263 days. Now, that’s just America. This is the UN. 

That means that the same accords have to be written, revised, translated, documented, discussed, researched and presented to the 193 constituent countries of the UN with their myriad interests and legislative processes before coming to that one document. 

And Tony thinks they can just clean it up later? Of course he does.

Oh my god does he try. 

So far I’ve only been putting down the facts but not the motivations. 

What the actual fuCK Ross?

Well that’s simple really. Ross wants to run the world. He may not be HYDRA, he may not be a part of any organization (or maybe he’s the head of one). This man desires nothing more than power. After all, he’s a general in the goddamn US military. There’s not really anywhere else on earth you can get that level of a power high. The man knows where the nuclear codes are, for shit’s sake. 

That is, unless you’ve been clued in to powers that are stronger than nuclear stockpiles and trips to the moon. You’re clued in to men who can turn green and raze cities, that can bench press 2000 lbs and puppy eye the enemy to death, Sabrina the teenage witch,  an AI with a dubious color scheme who can shoot laser beams outta his noggin and like, some normal folks who can take a 3″ knife and a fucking Ford Fusion to a fight with terrorists and win

The real superhero of this operation

Fuck nuclear warheads. How easy would it be to control everything if you could just threaten to unleash the Hulk?

Ross has the money and the power to do it. But he’s just got to wait on the right conditions.

Or, like any self respecting hard working old fashioned American warmonger, he can make them his damn self. 

Tony Stark, the  billionaire playboy philanthropist and strictly technology based genius bank rolls the Avengers, providing them with food, housing, paychecks, and the ability to continue doing what they do under the private sector, after SHIELD/HYDRA was dissolved. Without Tony and the whole free-market ruling that makes the US government weak to corporations.

Boy oh boy is it a good thing that Tony Stark has an Atlas-complex big enough to heft a galaxy and is easily lead to bad decisions by his emotions. 

For Ross there was no way for it to go wrong. If they all signed then he’d have the full control of the Avengers through the UN. If any or some of them did not sign, then they go on a fucking all expenses paid Guantanamo-style torture Cruise already outfitted with anti superhero and anti magic technology… despite not having signed the accords and not having violated any other international laws.

Now remember this, Zemo-Bucky is not a main storyline on this. It’s a happy coincidence. The strife with the Accords would have probably occurred in a conference room instead of a goddamn Tesco-parking lot brawl. However, the consequences were exactly the same, even though by abstaining from signing, they would not have been violating any laws. 

You know how if you get a speeding ticket, you aren’t compelled by law to agree that you were speeding and sign it? You can contest it in court? Now this is not a particularly safe practice in our current climate, but that’s what the little print under the ticket says.  

But here Ross is stating that not signing is essentially a one-way ticket to Poseidon’s special hellhole.

What page of the Accords was that listed on?

Steve probably highlighted it. 

Sticky notes and highlighters weren’t invented till the ‘60′s ya know. Steve is probably as impressed with washi tape as I am. 

In summary

  1. Ross crafted the perfect conditions to take the entire fucking UN on an emotionally compromised piggy back ride in the wake of the fall of Sokovia in order to craft a legislative document and a zero-sum totalitarian punishment game.
  2. He then waited on Tony to be emotionally compromised and then took the seed of guilt that’s already planted in Tony and just twisted it in a little harder until the kingpin of the current Avengers operation was putty in his hands.
  3. And after all that happened, even a particularly competent terrorist’s personal vendetta only helped his goals and didn’t hinder them in the slightest. 

In this movie, Ross won. It wouldn’t have worked otherwise. Pepper would have called lawyers and Nick -it’s a stupid ass decision- Fury would have called bullshit before this ball could have even started rolling. 

Now as far as we know, Tony and assorted are under the jurisdiction of the accords, while Steve and his team are ostensibly international outlaws dependent on the benevolence of Wakanda and anyone else who can keep them from being sent back to fucking sea-jail (or space jail, seeing as they broke out of sea jail)

SO uh…



At Peace

Originally posted by solo-harry


Prompt: “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Pairing: Alex x Reader

**Okay I’m not sure how great this will be because I never really write war stories, but I hope it lives up to your expectations! Also, thank you for giving me my first request!

Keep reading

have you ever thought about how western culture has such strict gender roles that we assign genders to emotions? have you thought about how extremely harmful that is?

we’re taught all our lives to associate anger, violence, and any feeling or action that’s even remotely “aggressive” with masculinity (and, on the flip side, to associate helplessness and submissiveness with femininity). which is awful, because from birth our culture is telling little boys that they’re supposed to be aggressive and confrontational, and that they aren’t “real men” if they don’t like confrontation or can’t handle themselves in a fight, while simultaneously teaching little girls that they’re supposed to take a passive role in their own lives and that it’s “unladylike” to stand up for themselves or to be outspoken about their opinions. 

that’s pretty messed up, dude. 

Wrong Place Wrong Time (18)

Do not reuse, edit or copy and of my work(s). ©
Part 18 of an ongoing series, enjoy :)
A fanfic for a more Mature audience due to violence and language. Read at your own risk :)

Themes=😖,🌟,💣,🎭. (☠️- Harm towards characters, Strong language and Adult themes.)

Summary: You end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and it has negative repercussions. Main characters include: Reader and EXO.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31 Part 32   Part 33  Part 34  Part 35 (Final)

Word Count: 5,210 (Maybe a bit more or less)

(I didn’t expect it to be this long, apologies. Also I really didn’t expect the series to be this long as a whole, but I have so much that keeps coming to mind, apologies again 🙊)

–Also I apologise if the exclamation marks don’t show up red on your device (You’ll know what I mean half way through this part.)

“Jongin didn’t want them dead, if he wanted them dead he would’ve aimed straight for the head or heart, but he didn’t he got their thighs. And he never misses, so he did this purposefully, and he didn’t kill me either so there’s more to this but I can’t figure out what it is.” Minseok nodded slowly in agreement. The rest of the men were standing silently trying to process all that you had said.

“I don’t understand why though, is he trying to tease us. Because if it’s a fight he wants then it’s a fight he’ll get.” Jongdae growled, stroking Yixing’s hair.

You didn’t know how to respond because you didn’t know what he wanted either. All you knew was that you had been played and you felt stupid, thank God you never really began to develop any types of real feelings for Jongin otherwise you would be an utter wreck right now. You were just glad that your best friend was alive nearly losing him made you realise just how important he still was to you and how tied to him you were.

“So that means Yixing was right. He killed Luhan.” Baekhyun breathed coldly, taking a hold of Yixing’s hand and rubbing it in his own. “It was Jongin.”

Minseok’s face went blank, he was losing his colour and his body slowly began to shake. He hadn’t thought about it up until now, but what Baekhyun had said must’ve been true. You jumped at the sound of a glass smashing; looking up you saw Minseok throwing bottles from the shelf onto the ground in a fit of fury.
“I’ll fucking kill that bastard!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, causing you to cover your ears with the palm of your hands.

“Minseok stop, please.” Kyungsoo attempted to restrain him, but instead Minseok shoved his elbow back into Kyungsoo’s nose, causing his nose to start bleeding.

“Get off of me! Leave me alone! He killed Luhan, he was a brother to me, we did everything together! I have every right to be mad. I will kill that fucking bastard!” He stormed out of the Op room, allowing the heavy metal door to slam shut behind him, making the room shake slightly. You let out a heavy sigh, why was nothing in this house getting any better? Everybody’s emotions were continuously spiralling out of control, including yours. You exited the room, climbing the metal stair case to the main part of the house and walked along the corridors to Minseok’s room. Opening the door slowly you saw him squatting on his floor, tears pouring down his face.

“Hey are you okay?” You asked quietly, poking your head around the door.

“Go away; I don’t want to speak to you.”He furiously wiped the tears away from his face with the back of his hands.

“Minseok, you’re just upset. I know how you feel.”

“How the fuck could you possibly know how I’m feeling! You didn’t know Luhan, in fact, who the fuck have you ever lost in your life? I said I don’t want to see anyone and that includes you. Just because you’ve spoken to me once or twice that doesn’t make us best friends. Get the fuck out!” He shouted at you taking his shoe off and throwing it in your direction, you quickly closed the door before it had a chance to hit you. Your heart sank in your chest. After you felt as though you had made progress with Minseok and took 1 step forward, now you had taken 2 steps back, he was regressing back to the hateful Minseok, the one you didn’t like, the one that was dangerous to be around. You were sick and tired of being in this house. You slowly made your way to the living room dragging your feet along the floor. You were slowly losing everyone that you could talk to, Chanyeol and Yixing weren’t conscious, Baekhyun was too busy tending to them, Jongin had disillusioned everyone and if there was any glimmer of hope of even getting close to Minseok it had apparently just died. You dropped your body onto the sofa hugging a cushion tightly and letting tears pool on your waterline. You were so sick and tired of crying, it hurt, it was beginning to give you a headache but it was involuntary by this point.

“Why are you always crying?”

 You screamed, jumping up in your seat you hadn’t realised Kyungsoo sitting on the other sofa to your left. He was holding a tissue up to his nose to stop it from bleeding.
You rolled your eyes at him, tired of the way he acted so bluntly all of the time. Ignoring his question you turned your back to him and continued hugging your pillow.
“You need to get used to stuff like this Y/N. Crying will do jack shit for you. You don’t see us guys crying at every chance we get.” He sighed, blowing his nose.

“I didn’t choose to be here, So if crying is the only way for me to cope, then so be it, i’ll cry my eyes out. I don’t see why it’s any of your concern.”

“You think we wanted to be here? You think I wanted to be here?” he laughed sarcastically looking at you impatiently. “I have a family you know. Had a family…” His voice began to crack, sounding the exact same as it did when he was talking to his mum and brother. You whipped your head up in his direction.

“How did you get here?” You asked putting your cushion down and turning your body so you were facing him full on.

“I just got here.” He said blankly, the same monotone voice and expression he always used. You were beginning to grow tired of Kyungsoo’s mannerisms. At first it was scary, but now it was just boring.

“Gosh Kyungsoo what is wrong with you. Why are you always so moody? You are literally the dullest person I’ve ever met in my life. And I, as an apprentice in a firm have met some very colourless people. I might be a cry baby but at least I’m not sulky, damn it. If anyone needs to change here it’s you.” You frowned at him, you could care less about the tone of your voice right now, if he wanted to kill you it would be doing you a favour anyway. You didn’t want to be here. You got up from your seat about to leave the room, when he spoke up all of a sudden.

“This is the best disguise to wear, didn’t you know?” He laughed sadly, you returned to where you were sat staring at him intently. “We’re all putting up a facade but as far as I’m concerned the others are doing it wrong. Minseok acts all tough; it pulls attention, it makes people want to know his story. Yixing and Baekhyun are too happy even though that’s impossible when you’re living a life like we are. Nobody cares about the straight faced guy with no emotion, nobody asks that kid questions. That’s why I’m doing it right.”

“Well clearly you’re not, because here I am.” You said pulling a ‘this is awkward’ face and cracking your knuckles.

“That’s just because you’re annoying.” 

You put your thumb up at him, disregarding what he just said.
“So what’s your story?” You asked, shifting yourself a little bit further down the sofa and closer to Kyungsoo. His nose had stopped bleeding by now, but the bloodied tissue in his hand was beginning to make you feel queasy. You felt like you’d seen enough blood to last you a life time.

“What do you mean?” He looked up at you. You sighed; if he was going to play dumb then you’d have to treat him that way.

“I mean that the conversation between you, your mum and your brother didn’t exactly go smoothly did it. So why are you here and don’t brush me off I’m tired of getting the cold shoulder?”

He cleared his throat averting his gaze from you. “I left home. I ended up here. Simple.”

You rolled your eyes at him, he was being stupid and it was beginning to piss you off.
“If you don’t tell me I’ll force it out of you.” You got up walking over to him, but he stayed silent.
“I know how you hate being around other people.” You smirked impishly, lowering yourself down onto Kyungsoo’s lap and leaning back against his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing? He hissed in your ear. You tried to stifle your laugh.

“Tell me. Or I’ll stay here. I must admit your lap is comfy Kyungsoo.”

“Get off!” He shoved your shoulder, trying to push you off.

“Ohh Kyungsoo.” You cooed teasingly, “I can’t tell if you want me to get off because you’re angry or because you’re scared that you like me sat here but you’re too embarrassed that you’re feeling some type of way about this.”

“No! Shut up! Get the fuck off!” He pushed you to the side of him, you were laughing now. He looked at you angrily shaking his head but then burst out laughing too. It was a foreign sound to your ears to hear Kyungsoo laugh, but it was nice. Just like when you’d first heard Minseok laugh.
“Why are you so annoying?” He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now.

You shrugged your shoulders “I’m a business woman; it’s kind of in my job description, pester people until you get what you want. So tell me your story then.” You said impatiently sitting cross legged on the seat next to Kyungsoo, turning to face him. He sighed and the smile disappeared from his face.

“Babu has always been the better one out of the both of us. The cleverest, they always had high expectations for him ever since he was young. He’s always wanted to work in the medical field, I on the other hand was content with being an artist or chef. Either or the two would suit me fine. But my parent’s didn’t really want that. They wanted us to be doctors and lawyers.” He scoffed, shaking his head lightly and looking down at his hands.
“So he was the model son, they payed for all the private tuition he needed, all the equipment that was necessary, they worshiped the ground that he walked on. And although I was jealous and angry with him I still admired him. I was in love with him.”

“You what?” You choked on air, wondering if you misheard.

“For fucks sake Y/N not like that. I meant I loved him the way a younger sibling adores their older brother or sister. Christ, what is wrong with you that’s disgusting.” You laughed sheepishly, embarrassed that you had made such a mistake.
“Anyway, he got his foot through the door, getting a job working as an trainee-something-or-other.  When I got to college I initially picked Art and Culinary catering as some of my modules. I enjoyed it so much but my parents weren’t happy, especially my dad. He forced me to change them to Law and Biology, so I did. I struggled so hard with them I didn’t understand anything. My grades plummeted and I failed my exams. The whole family were so disappointed in me, I couldn’t take it, and so I ran away from home for a few months. But then my father had died. I was never his favourite I knew that much, but I still couldn’t help but feel lost at his absence. When the autopsy came back they found some type of toxic substance in his system, they claimed he must’ve committed suicide, but I knew otherwise my dad wouldn’t have done that. But Babu believed every word they said and blamed my father’s death on me; he said he committed suicide because I had shamed him.” Kyungsoo’s voice began to crack; he paused for a second trying to compose himself before he continued.
“So I ran away for good. I found out about Genesis and these guys. That was six years ago. I’ve been here ever since. Chanyeol wasn’t here yet. He came two years after. I remember when he first came, he was terrified, he said there were so many people he needed to protect; his mother, his father. You.”

Your eyes widened. Chanyeol remembered you at a time like that? You felt somewhat honoured that he wanted to keep you safe.

“That’s why I told him to stop being friends with you. It was the only way he could’ve really kept you safe, like I’ve done with my family. But he didn’t listen to me, now look where you are.”
You nodded your head. Now you understood. You remembered around four years ago when you saw Chanyeol and Kyungsoo hanging out at yours and Chanyeol’s favourite fast food joint, that was the first time you had ever seen Kyungsoo before, you went in to say hi, you remembered how unimpressed Kyungsoo looked to see you and every other time after that, one day you even overheard him telling Chanyeol to stop being friends with you, at that time you thought he was just a jealous colleague who was also a bastard and was trying to steal your best friend away from you, but now it all made sense. “He kept telling me keeping you close was better so he could keep an eye on you. I think deep down he knew it wasn’t true, but I guess it’s hard to separate yourself from people you care about. I wouldn’t want to be away from my girl I suppose.”

“Away from your girl? What are you talking about?” You laughed. Kyungsoo didn’t come across as the Boyfriend type.


“What?” You mirrored his question.

“You…Chanyeol…You don’t know.” He dropped his head and cleared his throat.

“Don’t know what?” You smiled at him, throwing a cushion at him.

“Nothing.” He stood up quickly, walking towards the door. “We’ve been talking for much too long I have things to do.”

“No wait, what don’t I know?” You turned around in your seat to face his new position.

“Oh Kyungsoo, you’re here. I need to speak to you.” Jongdae said, poking his head around the corner, Kyungsoo quickly followed him out of the room.

“Hey Kyungsoo! You didn’t finish!” You called after him, but he didn’t answer.

 You sighed to yourself, you had nothing to do. Everyone you could speak to was ‘unavailable’ so you decided to take it upon yourself to revisit Jongin’s room. You had forgotten how badly you had trashed it earlier, stepping over clothes and feathers you came to a stop when you saw a folder on the floor, marked with a familiar symbol:


You picked it up and dusted the feathers off of it. You opened it up slowly, not knowing what you’d find inside. Your eyes closed shut tightly immediately, after a couple of seconds you opened them slowly again. There were very graphic pictures of dead bodies in there. What was this? You thought to yourself, you picked up the desk chair that was on the ground and sat down. Flicking through the photo’s you began to feel sicker the deeper you dug. You came to one photo, the victim was very familiar to you, you’d seen this face in a few photos now. Luhan.
He looked ghostly compared to other photos that you had seen. There was a bullet wound in his chest, his clothes were soaked in his own blood. His eyes open, staring lifelessly into the camera. You removed the photo from the pile and put it on the floor next to you. You continued flicking through the sheets of paper, when you got to a section of notes.
“What the fuck is this?” You breathed quietly to yourself, frowning down at the sheets in front of you.
You hadn’t quite seen something like this before. It was a checklist of things that he had to complete one or two things crossed out, but it was also a mixture of a diary, it was as though Jongin was actively having a conversation with himself on the sheet of paper and it made you feel so uneasy. Just thinking about him made you feel uneasy, to think you had allowed him to kiss your lips, you shuddered at the thought. Some of the notices had a red exclamation mark beside them, you were assuming these were the important things.

Join Genesis

Make alliance and bridge the gap

Find out about formulas


MUST KILL LUHAN- He knows more than he should. How did you not realise Jongin, what the fuck is wrong with you ❗️ ❗️

Yixing is on my case, deal with this Jongin or this going to spiral out of control is this what you want? You don’t want to have to kill him, but you have to do what you must to keep yourself covered. Otherwise all of this would’ve been for nothing. ❗️

There’s definitely something more to this Kris and Tao shit Jongin, use your brain.


Remember you ARE NOT the bad guy, it’s all for the greater good Kim Jongin.

You stood up rushing over to the door quickly; you had to show this to Baekhyun. Jongin was a psycho.

“Baekhyun! Baekhyun where are you?!” You ran out of Jongin’s room bumping into Sehun. “Ouch!” You hissed, rubbing your forehead.

“Would you fucking slow down?!” He pushed you against the wall, clearly still in a sour mood from finding out who Jongin was. You weren’t sure if it was because he was the youngest, but Sehun tended to be most effected by all of the commotion in this house, and dealt with it in very poor ways. You attempted to run off again but he dragged you back by your wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Get off of me, I need to see Baekhyun.” You punched him in the shoulder but he didn’t budge.

Completely disregarding what you said he began to talk.
“You wouldn’t know this Y/N but before you arrived me and the boys would go out once every week and have a blast, normally at a club. We’d return home with a whore or two… or five” He laughed to himself disturbingly, then looked down at you through dark eyes. “We used to…well I’m sure you can imagine what we’d get up to with those ladies. But lately it’s been so fucking hectic around here, we haven’t had time to go out and do that. I need to release all of this frustration and anger you know, and some whores would be really good right now, I need to get myself to a club and bring some home. But then I think to myself, hang on a minute Sehun, why do you need to go around collecting whores when you have one right here.” He smiled down at you perversely and pushed his hands down your trousers, his hands were dangerously close to the elastic of your knickers, just lingering there.

“Sehun stop” You cried, trying to push him off, but he was too heavy for you. He used his free hand to yank your hair down, making you cry out in pain. He laughed at your reaction.
“I said stop!” You pushed your knee up into his crotch, causing him to fall backwards and groan in agony. You ran down the corridor shouting Baekhyun’s name breathing heavily out fright and turning round every second to make sure Sehun wasn’t following you.

“For Goodness sake he’s in here with me, what do you want and why are you screaming?” An annoyed looking Junmyeon stepped out of the board with his hands on his hips, you pushed past him into the room and slammed the papers down on the table in front of Baekhyun. “Y/N what’s wrong with you?” Junmyeon turned around, still stood at the doorway.

“I found this in Jongin’s room, look at it!” You shouted towards Baekhyun, pointing at the sheets on the table.

“Jongin?” Junmyeon frowned running up to the table beside Baekhyun and looking at the photos and papers. “What the fuck is this?” Junmyeon whispered, slowly picking up the picture of Luhan, whilst Baekhyun picked up the notes.

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. “But it’s so messed up. Where do you think he is right now?”

“I’m not sure.” Baekhyun said, eyes still wide looking at the notes in front of him, “He could be anywhere but I’ll try and do some digging. This is really useful Y/N thanks.”

“Hey who are Kris and Tao, did they work for Red?” You asked, swaying uncomfortably in your spot, you could see the image of Luhan from where you were stood and it was beginning to make you feel queasy again.

“No. They were one of us. They were the two that went missing the night of the ambush. I suppose Jongin had something to do with that too.” Junmyeon frowned looking at the photo of Luhan in his hand and placing it faced down on the table. You nodded walking towards the door, turning around briskly before you left.

“Hey Baekhyun…When will Chanyeol wake up?”

“I’m not sure, they’re stable right now but it might take a while, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
You bowed your head at him and continued walking, going to your room, you sat cross legged on the floor with your back to the wall waiting for some sort of happiness to hit you. But it never did, you sat in that spot, with your head in your lap for about two hours, only shifting when your legs became uncomfortable. You heard a light knock at your door, sighing, you lifted your head from your lap.

“Come in…Unless you’re Sehun, then don’t come in.” You heard the door open, but didn’t even bother to turn around, to be honest you hadn’t the strength.

“You really need to work on your authority. If I were Sehun I would’ve still walked in.” You raised an eyebrow at the familiar voice, why was he in your room? He came to sit on the carpet next to you crossing his legs too. “I came to say sorry. So I’m sorry.”

“Wow. Minseok? Apologising? I never thought I’d see the day.” You refused to look at him though, you were still mad with the way he treated you.

“Yeah, well my mum raised me with manners, I guess it’s time I started using them. Besides…I don’t know you’ve been making me act all soft. I fucking hate it. It’s bad for my image.” He scoffed.

“Nobody cares about your image Minseok only you do.” You still found it strange that you were having a conversation with him, when this time last month he had tried slitting your throat against a wall.

“That’s not true. Oi… Hey! Are you going to avoid eye contact the whole time?” He poked you in the arm.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“So you’re mad at me?” He laughed mockingly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”
It’s as though you could almost hear him rolling his eyes at you.

“Fine. Whatever. Be that way.” You were finding it hard to believe that both of you were above the age of 20 at this point, you were behaving so childishly.

“Stop looking at me.” You frowned, feeling Minseok’s intense gaze on your body.

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are Minseok I can feel it stop. I said stop!” You turned around to look at him, and he quickly turned his head in the opposite direction. “See I told you. You were staring.”
He let out a sigh uncrossing his legs and laying down flat on his back, you found yourself mirroring his actions, you were looking at him now, staring into his beautifully carved eyes. You laughed to yourself, remembering that that was what you used to call him when you didn’t know his name yet.

“What.” He puckered his brow at you staring intensely at your face.

“Huh? Oh, no. It’s nothing you smiled up at his face. There was something eerily calming about being in Minseok’s presence and yet even though you knew he was capable of being extremely dangerous, that didn’t bother you anymore, not after you saw him tending to the headstones in the graveyard, because you knew that behind this facade he was also capable of exhibiting a great amount of love and care too.
“Ever wondered what life would be like if everything went the right way Minseok?” You asked him, still looking into his eyes.

“Yeah often. I’d like to think I’d have had a well paying job at some sort of tech facility and be married to the perfect woman, or at least have a fiancée.” He smiled softly in your direction, his breathing was slow and relaxed and so was yours. You could stay like this for a long while.
“I guess life wasn’t meant to go the right way for us though Y/N. I believe that God has a plan, and we’re  all here together for one reason or another. I’ve been through so many ups and downs in this house, but I love the boys so much, they’re my family and I would never consider them any less.”

“Why do you think we’re here? It could’ve been anyone else right? You could’ve been any other guy and I any other girl” You asked him, automatically scooting a little bit closer.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but we’re here aren’t we?” You stared into each others eyes in complete silence for a moment, you didn’t realise before but you were laying so close to each other that your faces were almost touching. Your breathing increased slightly getting a bit louder.

“Oh. No… no, we didn’t just have a moment did we. No of course not.” You whispered to yourself, but a little too loudly, he had heard you too.

“No…No actually I think we just did. That was definitely a moment.” He breathed, not moving his gaze from yours for a second.

“So is this moment still going or…cause it’s kind of starting to get a bit awkward.” You whispered back to him.

“Yeah it’s definitely still going, definitely still having a moment.” Minseok said still looking straight into your eyes.

“Okay so can we stop? Or…”

“I mean I’m kind of trying hard to but I really can’t stop staring at your face right now, so I’m going to answer that with a no, maybe?” He answered a little awkwardly.
“Sooo….. what do we do now? My bad boy persona doesn’t really allow me to think past killing and stuff.”

“Well we really should stop, maybe you should leave, before it gets really weird, I dunno?” You looked up and down his face, but still couldn’t rip your eyes away.

“Hmm, you’re right Y/N, that would be ideal, but I’m really paralysed right now. Like shit. I can’t stop staring…you know what, maybe if you closed your eyes that might help? I might be able to breathe and get up then if you want to try…”

“Yeah… I’m sorry I can’t close my eyes they won’t really stop looking at yours. Shit, this is awkward Minseok.” You felt a rush of heat around your body, you genuinely couldn’t stop looking at him, this was definitely the most intense moment you’d ever experienced in your life.

“Okay so now what? We can’t just stay laying on the floor staring at each other that’s weird, no?” Minseok half-laughed sheepishly.

“Well I mean I dunno… If you want to…”

“Yeah maybe. I was thinking that too…”

“If we maybe just…”

“Kiss, I dunno. I mean –”

“Yeah but can we make this quick though?” You said wincing at the awkwardness of the situation.
Minseok didn’t need to be told twice, he pushed his face closer to yours, covering your lips with his. An intense warmness filled your body as he began to slowly kiss you. Slowly and carefully. He placed a hand on the back of your head, pulling it closer to his, so that the kiss could run deeper, it was nothing like you had ever felt before, your heart was racing now double its usual pace. As if on impulse you raised your hand to cradle Minseok’s cheek. He then broke away suddenly the both of you gasping for air.

He blinked up at the ceiling, hands by his side. “Wow. That was umm…”

“Good? Kind of?” You tried finishing his sentence, the sensation of his lips on yours still lingering.

“Yeah. I think that was what I was going to say, I don’t even know I can’t really think straight right now, I’m a bit –”You cut him off with another kiss, which lasted longer than you intended it to.

“Okay. Fuck it Minseok, you really have to leave now.” You said hurriedly pushing yourself away from his body and staring up at the ceiling in a daze. He jumped up to his feet and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I-I was just going to do that. I umm… can we not tell anybody about this.”

“I won’t Minseok just –Oh my gosh just get out. You’re making this more embarassing. Fuck!” This new level of awkwardness was becoming too much for you to bare, he nodded briskly and ran out of the room closing the door behind him. You let out a breath and burst out into fits on laughter.

How and why on earth did you and Kim Minseok just have a moment.

It was dark and silent now, you were sure everyone in the house was sleeping, but you couldn’t. Not after the fact that you and Minseok were making out on your floor hours before. You pressed your hands to your lips trying to remember the sensation, his lips were soft and his breath was hot. You were completely shocked at how you had received it, but it felt good. You ran your tongue along your lower lip as if trying to taste him again. But this couldn’t happen again, you knew it couldn’t. Maybe it was just a spur of the moment thing, it had to be. Everyone was so overwhelmed with emotion and you were all dealing with it in crazy ways. Apparently yours and Minseok’s was by kissing each other on a bedroom floor. It would never happen again, you were sure of it. You wouldn’t let it. Your throat was dry, you needed a glass of water.
Creeping out of your room you walked down the corridor to the kitchen tiptoeing as you went.
Looking up you saw a silhouette of a figure in front of you, the person was tall. It couldn’t be Chanyeol, he was out for the count. Shit, Sehun you thought to yourself, taking a few steps back into the direction of your room. The figure stood there eerily for a while, suddenly it came running towards you. The closer it got the clearer he became. Your eyes widened in shock as you screamed.


“Don’t be so loud babe, you’ll wake the others. That’s bad manners” He smiled darkly. Pressing a pad of chloroform to your nose and mouth.

Your vision went black.


Very rare footage of "6.1 THE MEN", the joint presentation of Yohji Yamamoto Pour Homme and Comme des Garçons Homme Plus F/W 1991 in Tokyo on June 1st, 1991.

This was the first time that both designers had presented their menswear in Japan. The shows were modeled by musicians, actors, and various other creatives - even some members of Yohji’s company, if I am not mistaken.

The two men being interviewed in the video are (in order) Haruomi Hosono and Yukihiro Takahashi of the legendary electronic trio Yellow Magic Orchestra, with the famed Ryuichi Sakamoto being the third member.

Below is a more thorough explanation of the show’s theme and significance, followed by an extremely valuable and hilarious first hand account of the show and a certain happening backstage, told by German guitarist Ottmar Liebert who was invited to model for the show - Courtesy of Asobu from Styleforum.

A/W 1991, as far as I know, showed in Paris at the end of January 1991 and then showed again together with CdG in Tokyo on June 1st and called “6.1 THE MEN”. Still one of the most talked about and coveted collections by Yohji fans in Japan from what I can tell, many of the pieces still catch quite large sums on the second hand market. The theme was “war”, several musicians including Charles Lloyd and John Cale (who also modeled in A/W04 btw) modeled the show and apparently sang some antiwar song together at the final part of the show (the collection was created and shown during the gulf war). Some of the signature pieces was the leather jacket with women prints on the back (he referenced this in “my dear bomb” as well, when he talked about nose art of american fighter planes being pictures of “girlfriends and sexy ladies” when heading into battle), zipper jackets and Joan Miró inspired blazers.

This is a great story from Ottmar Liebert about his experience when he walked the show, well worth the read.

“In 1991 the Japanese designer Yohji Yamamoto, together with Comme des Garçons, was putting on the first men’s fashion show in Japan and asked me to be one of his runway models. At the time Yohji prefered to use actors and musicians over models and he has also used athletes in the past. I flew to Tokyo from Los Angeles and was picked up at the airport and taken to a very nice hotel in Tokyo, which Frank Lloyd Wright had designed in the sixties. The show took place in the Olympic swim stadium of Tokyo, where the pool had been covered by a runway stage. On each end of the runway a huge wall was erected. Behind one wall Yamamoto was set up and behind the other wall Comme des Garçons. 

Comme des Garçons : Dennis Hopper, Trumpet player Don Cherry and his son Eagle-Eye Cherry (a TV presenter in the UK and not yet the pop star), British actor Julian something or other, Keyboardist Morgan Fisher (who later produced the wonderful CD "Miniatures” to which I contributed a piece)… 

Yohji Yamamoto : Charles Lloyd, Edgar Winter, a member of YMO (one of Japan’s most famous bands, which also featured Ryuichi Sakamoto)… Yohji and his people treated everyone wonderfully. And then he made a mistake on the day of the show. 

Thinking we were all men instead of the stars some felt they were, he offered as part of the refreshments Japanese cans of beer. In Japan cans are tiny, they are cute and many of the guys probably thought that one couldn’t possibly get drunk from drinking tiny cans of beer….well, if you drink a dozen of them you do get drunk, you know! And then a British pop singer asked a French rapper to turn down the crap on his boom-box and the French guy responded with his fist, which fractured the pop guy’s jaw. While he was rushed to the hospital Yohji’s people frantically searched for somebody who could wear his clothes…. In the end one of Yohji’s French employees took his place and wore the clothes well. I felt terribly embarassed. Here we were in one of the great cities of the world, guests of a real artist, and these men had to get into a fight. What a way to repay Yohji’s kindness! But fame is fleeting and karma instant.. I never heard from the British pop star and the French rapper again…

I remember how amazed we were at the Japanese audience. Some had waited since the early morning hours and yet, when the doors opened the first in line went to the last seat instead of claiming the best seat in the house. It was almost biblical…

One thing I remember about the show itself is that Yohji, who is a guitarist himself and also produced the soundtrack, had installed sound triggers along the runway. We were invited to step on those triggers, each of which controlled a different sound that would blast over the music. Car crashes, industrial sounds, drum breaks, glass breaking, guitar riffs etc…I also remember that the Brit who was walking ahead of me was drunk or high or both and thought that the crowd’s enthusiasm was directed at him instead of the clothing…I remember three or four people helping me change into the next outfit, grabbing shirts, pulling on shoes…I remember the late Don Cherry walking around on the runway like a court jester and greeting the other Comme des 
Garçons walkers…“

Times when Fashion really seemed to be about the passion and love for the beautiful creative work of these designers. Inspiring.

Forever and Always-Part One

Originally posted by margotskarsgard

Originally posted by malachaisangel

Summary: For thousands of years I have done nothing but run. It appears as though everyone I love dies and I didn’t want the same for him. My love for him grows stronger and stronger with each passing day. I just wish that he knew, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I fell in love with Niklaus Mikaelson.

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

(Y/N)= Your Name
(Y/L/N)=Your Last Name

Word Count: You’re going to need to drink some coffee and have some popcorn ready because this is long!

Part Two

Characters: Reader, Klaus Mikaelson, Rebekah Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson, Henrik Mikaelson, Mikael Mikaelson, Esther Mikaelson.


Keep reading

extension line

standalone; nc-17; msr; SMUT, seriously smut, angst, hurt/comfort; set-post Paper Clip pre-Piper Maru; prompt was “phone sex”. This is phone sex.

A/N: Last time I told people not to read something in public I got a bunch of folks reading it at work. But hey this is heavy NC-17. Don’t read it in public. Or do I guess I can’t tell you want to do. 

A/N2: I told myself I wasn’t going to post this this week because I didn’t want to detract from my very unsexy casefile fic. I’m compromising with a shameless self-promotion. Cool off by reading my casefile! 


He can’t move without knocking over paper. Open files surround him, stare him down and tell him: You are a sad, sad man. Photos of UFO’s, stark white specks on grainy backgrounds – cones, saucers, the trapezoid (spotted only once in 1947 on the coast of Indonesia by a Dutch tourist drunk off Bintang), domes and disks and winged cigars and his personal favorite, but most implausible: the mothership. Scully would tell him Mulder, you’re crazy. And maybe she’d smile a little, tucking it into her fist like there’s a chance in hell he hadn’t picked up on it and ascended. But maybe that’s more implausible. The last time she smiled at him he had to come back from the dead and hold their boss at gunpoint. Dana Scully is tough to please.

Her sister’s file sits on the coffee table – his copy of it, with the frenzied pen marks and the filled out margins and grease stains where he’d been eating and forgotten to wipe his hands. He’s… technically not supposed to have this. They won’t mark it as an X-File. Shoddy agents doing shoddier work with no clue to what goes on in smoke filled rooms are being tasked with, trusted with, the gravely important feat of bringing justice to Melissa Scully and thereby bringing some goddamn peace to one Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D.

He is tasked with being the bearer of bad news.

In the cosmic light of his fish tank he tries to think about space and nothing else. The mothership last seen in Cartegena Colombia –the city that founded Miss Colombia –did not seem to abduct anybody – was just cruising around – all the cows were okay. And don’t call her she’s at a conference wait until she gets back.

He knows, he knows she is definitely a ‘rip the bandaid off and all the skin with it’ kind of girl. Takes hits stronger than the Federal Reserve. And this isn’t the worst news, her sister can’t die again, but shit. She’s been so… off lately. So angry and unpredictable. Which he likes, just a little, because he thinks he’s probably always needed a friend who also lost a sister to an interminable maze of government conspiracy in space and hates herself for it. It is beyond obvious that she does. He gets it, he lives it every single day of his pitiful life, but he cannot bear to see it in her. He just can’t. It’s like watching your hero die of a horrible disease or a slow motion car crash or the sun dying out right before your very eyes. And yes, it’s possible he has her on some kind of pedestal.

Don’t call her, he repeats to himself, a warning and a mantra. It’s a little funny (see: tragic), because he thinks about calling her pretty often now, tragic details about murdered siblings aside. She’s hilarious and throaty and way more willing to talk to him about his favorite science fiction technologies at night, way more willing to weigh in on whether they’ll actually be possible in the near future. On the phone she is wearing sweaters with her hair pulled back drinking a glass of wine and thinking only about what’s going to happen when she sees him in the office tomorrow, where they’re going to go. Don’t call her.

She calls him.

He’s kind of knocked on his ass. Papers go flying when he scrambles to answer the phone and a glass of tea almost spills all over Melissa’s smiling face. He rights the cup before answering, whisking the file away and tossing it on his desk.

“Mulder,” he says.

“Mulder, it’s me,” she replies.

“Hey Scully. What time is it there?”

She huffs out a laugh, and it’s nice to hear. “Mulder, I’m in Bethesda. If I throw a rock I might hit the Hoover building.”

“Oh, it felt a little farther than that.” He knows she will smile at this, if only to placate him.

“Three more days, Mulder.” And now he’s smiling. “Three more days and I’ll be back and we can go check out that… what was it again…”

“You’re slacking, Agent Scully. Mass cosmic awareness. A mining town in Nevada – in it’s entirety, I am talking about the whole town – has suddenly decided to do away with coal because of its effects on the environment. These people lived and breathed coal their entire lives, and now they’re suddenly denouncing it?”

“That would certainly explain their distaste. The mining industry is one of the most heavily exploited at the expense of public health. They’re all dying of black lung.” 

“Yes, but would that distaste generally lead to multiple cases of ecoterrorism resulting in the death of four people?” The line remains silent. “Sudden urges to be more environmentally conscious or socially responsible are commonly noted symptoms by alien abductees.”

“You believe the whole town was abducted?”

“I don’t know what I believe, Scully,” he replies, leaning back and rubbing at his neck. “We have to go investigate first. I have my theories.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” It’s fond, fonder than she’d let herself be were they face to face. He is glad they are not.

“Scully,” he says. Her full attention is like a physical feeling. It’s almost like she’s breathing down his neck. “Scully, I have some news. About Melissa.”  The mood changes and that, that is like a physical feeling, too. He’s had her back for five minutes and now he’s lost her again, which seems to be a habit for him.

“News? What news? What have you heard?” In the way all of these cases go Scully has been sanctioned off to the ‘family’ side of things. She’s not an agent here. She hears what everybody else hears, when everybody else hears it. He’d go mad. He has to tell her.

“They have two suspects for her murder,” he lets out. He doesn’t need to expand. She’s too smart for that.

“It’s not him.” Her tone is flat, emotionless. “They don’t have him.”

“It doesn’t appear to be,” he says gently. “They’re lackeys. They have a combined IQ of 46. They’re not the kind of men the Syndicate would send to do the job.”

“I sense there is a but.”

“But they are the kind of men They would hire to do this job. Take the place of the real guys in order to escape a harsher fate.”

“You think they’re hired bodies, happy to rot.”

“Their alibis are shot with holes and somehow each of them have a motive,” he admits. “They’re not fighting it.”

The wrong man goes to jail and there will never be justice for Melissa or for Scully. In the hospital room Scully turned to him and told him there was no justice, not at all. He’d like to believe that isn’t the truth. But how could he fault her for feeling that way?

“It should’ve been me,” she says, as if she were saying it’s cold out. Or your mail has arrived. Or what her plans are for this weekend. He is so close to telling her he’s glad it wasn’t that it frightens him. She may never forgive him. Mulder is silent for too long, or maybe she’s just had enough, because she continues: “I didn’t call to talk about this.”

That catches him off guard, and he pulls his legs up with him on the couch in a fit of nervous intrigue. “What did you call to talk about, Scully?” he asks softly.

Silence on the other end, and then a weary sigh. “I don’t know, actually. I’m not sure why I called.”

“Maybe it was good for you to get away,” he offers. “Take some time.”

She laughs, a little bitter and resentful. Not of him, but of life, circumstance, injustice, maybe a little of him. “Mulder, have you ever hung out with a bunch of doctors? They’re not the most delightful bunch.” A beat, and she adds: “Don’t say anything. I know you want to say something. I am telling you not to say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “You’re the most delightful person I know.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Especially when you tell me to shut up.”

There’s a sound on the other end, like fabric moving against fabric. She’s lying down in her hotel bed with her weirdly formal silk pajamas and a good book on the other pillow, he imagines. But she called you instead. She doesn’t know why she did but she did. She doesn’t want to talk about Melissa. Don’t be a brooding asshole and try and force it out of her. She doesn’t want to talk about Melissa. “How’s your trip, Scully?”

She sighs again, a large rush of air that makes him wince at the volume and the hairs on his neck stand up. “It’s okay so far. Tonight was just the opening ceremony. Wining and dining and formal wear and all of that. I have my panel tomorrow morning.” A little groan plays in his ear, the one she makes when she’s stretching forward with her hands behind her back. “I cannot believe the dress I stuffed myself into tonight. I’m going to be scrubbing glitter off my skin for days.”

“Hey, you never dress up for me.” Has he ever seen Scully in a dress? He has seen her in a bra and panties, and that one time where she had to change in the back of their rental and he told her he wouldn’t look but hey he kind of did. Scully wears thigh highs in the summer and it had been all he could think about for two straight weeks. He’s never seen her in a dress, though. A sparkly one?

“You never take me anywhere nice,” she says dryly. “I think I’ve heard this one. Now you’re supposed to tell me I nag you too much.”

“You nag me too much, Scully. What color was the dress?”

“Why do you want to know?” She sounds faintly annoyed, the way she does anytime someone mentions her femininity. She likes her pants, he likes her in pants. But a sparkly dress?

“So I have a detailed description to regale at the Bureau watercooler. Everyone will be astonished. No one will call me Spooky anymore because I will be crowned king of hot gossip.”

“People will stop calling you Spooky when you stop talking about poltergeists and alien probing,” she grumbles. But she gloriously relents for some unknown reason and tells him, “Green. The dress was green. And I loathe it with a burning passion.”

“Green, huh?” He likes her in green enough. He’d been gunning for blue. She’s got this blue shirt thing that always looks really nice, makes her cheeks look pinker than they are. Don’t talk about Melissa. “What does it look like? What’s the cut?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment; he’s not sure what she’s thinking, the question is innocent enough. But apparently she doesn’t feel that way. “Why the hell do you want to know, Mulder? Are you trying to break in to the fashion industry?”

“Well, tell me about the opening session then,” he says kind of desperately. Scully what the hell do you want me to say? I’m sorry your sister is dead? I’m not sorry it wasn’t you? Conversation doesn’t come easy when you are choked with guilt. Conversation rarely comes easy for them on a good day.

“Long-sleeved,” she answers instead, her voice hard. “Boatneck collar.” He can see it. It looks nice on her. Classic, like an old film star. But then she adds, lowly: “Tight, Mulder. The dress was very tight.”

Oh, he thinks. Oh, shit. What the hell was that.

His voice gets stuck in his throat and it’s just as well – what can he even say to that? He’s too confused to find it sexy, too caught off guard to shock her back.

She does not take mercy on him.

“I got compliments, the whole night.” She continues. Her voice gets deeper and deeper, like a bass guitar, like something important and integral but not necessarily front and center. “Others liked it, I didn’t.” She pauses. He does not respond. “But it wasn’t because I didn’t look good.”

There’s an out, right there. There’s something he can say to bring them back to where they were before. She left it open. I’m sure you did look good, honey, in a stupid southern accent, the only accent he can do. You should model it for me sometime, lascivious and lewd enough for her to roll her eyes and not file a report with HR. He says nothing.

“Because I did look good, Mulder,” she says. “I looked very good. And I’m sad you didn’t get to see it.”

The rasp in her voice is not all sex. There’s longing and pain and grief so deeply embedded it’ll probably be there forever. But there is sex. Good lord, there is sex. And he knows it because he’s never heard it before, not from her. Not in her.

“Scully?” In his voice there is longing, and pain, and grief so deeply embedded it will be there forever. And there is sex. There is sex sex sex. “What are we doing?”

Fabric on fabric again, her too-loud sigh puffing in his ear. This time he winces for an entirely different reason. “Do you want me to, Mulder? Do you want me to dress up for you?”

“I don’t think…”

“Mmm.” His stomach slides hotly, his cheeks go red. That sound felt like a caress. “You could tell me no.”

“I could,” he says skeptically. He wants to giggle. He feels crazy.

“Yeah, you could. You could tell me no.” He should. He almost does. This is Scully, he won’t demean her by convincing himself it isn’t, but it’s not his Scully, it’s not his place, it’s not the right thing for him to do. They’re not supposed to be doing this. His attraction for her thus far had been a latent thing, hidden behind layers of intense need so asexual he at times wanted her to cradle him like a child. “You’re my superior, right? The department head. You could tell me no anytime you like.” Oh, fucking hell. “Or you could tell me yes.” Oh jesus christ. “Tell me, Mulder.”

Latent is not absent. Not a bit. Not even a little bit.

And he is messed up. A lot. A lot messed up. Like the kind of messed up you have to be when you find out in the bullpen your partner slept with not one but two of her instructors and you take an early lunch to stop yourself from beating the hell out of Fred from national security who was a friend to Agent Willis and doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. So you file a complaint for sexual harassment and creating a hostile work environment instead, the only bureaucratic B.S. that ever made you feel good, only to immediately erase your good deed by disrespecting your aforementioned partner so thoroughly you almost paint the bathroom stall a whole new color. That – that might have been when it stopped being so latent. He’s not sure. There were the thigh highs, that day she chose a darker lip shade, that time he almost called her name while amidst the throes of passion with another woman, bedding certain death and his own blood-deep misery. He hadn’t even known then. He thought he was grieving.

He tells her yes. What is he supposed to tell her?

“How tight was the dress, Scully?” he grunts, letting the desire consume his voice. He’s already tugging his t-shirt off, reaching to palm himself through his jeans. This is a routine he understands well. It’s different (he’s not paying for it) but the mechanics are the same, only that his wallet is happier. But his soul, oh god his soul. He’s not surprised to find himself mostly-hard and sticking to his boxers.

“I hate the dress,” she tells him harshly. “I’m not wearing it. I’m wearing a suit.”

Okay, good. Good he can work with that. God can he work with that. He’s worked with that for months.

“Color? Pants or skirt?”

“Skirt, it’s too hot in Nevada for pants. It’s the maroon one. I like how it makes my legs look.”

“We’re in Nevada?” They’re in Nevada. He’s touched. He loves her legs, compact and lightly muscled and so smooth under her naughty little thigh highs. He traces the head of his cock bulging through the denim and lifts his hips in the air at how good it feels just from that. He wants to pull it out. He wants to wait, too. “On the coal mining case? Where?”

“At the motel. It’s not like the one I’m in now.  We’re at one of those dives you always pick. I hate the motels you pick, Mulder”

“I know. I know you do. We need the money for the travel expenses. Are we – are we arguing? Talking about the miners?”

“No,” her breath catches. What is she doing. What is she doing. Licking the tips of his fingers he reaches down to tweak his nipple, pretending it’s her doing it, pretending it’s her nipple and he’s worrying it with his teeth. “No. It’s night time. We’re back and we’re having dinner in my room.” And she breathes out again, trailing into a moan.

“Scully are you – are you touching yourself? For me?” he swallows and thinks to himself, fuck it, unbuttons and unzips and shoves his hand down the front of his boxers.

“Yes, I am,” she says, and she does not elaborate. Fine. He can imagine it just perfectly in his head, decides she’s taking the same route he is. So rarely do they think alike but when they do it’s always brings them closer. She’s pinching her nipples, wishing it was his mouth. She’s cupping her pussy through her pajamas and grinding against her hand for the tease of it. Like he would do it. He likes it slow.

“Eating dinner,” he prompts her. He could take the lead, of course, the scenario is promising and he has ten different ideas for where it might go. But this is her story and she’s trying to tell him something. Maybe one day years later he’ll pick up on it; as for now he just focuses on her voice, on how it starts low low low and rises up with the suspense of a roller coaster, on what she’s doing to herself to make her sound like that, on if she’ll ever let him do it to her.

“Eating dinner.” She repeats. “Chinese. And you’re trying to make me laugh.”

“And you don’t?”

“You’re not that funny,” she says. “Not usually.”

“But sometimes–” he moans and finally pushes his clothes off until he’s completely naked, collapsing back against the couch with guns-drawn urgency. He keeps the phone cradled between his cheek and neck, tonguing his fingers one more time and reaching down to jack himself roughly. “Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you can’t help it.”

“Sometimes you’re funny,” she shoots back, and he is made stupid with adoration. “I’m taking off my clothes, Mulder. In the motel and right now. I’m taking them off and I want it to be you.”

“It is me, Scully,” he promises. He looks down at his cock, jutting out from a mass of tangled curls and so hard in his large hand it hurts. Would she like it? God would it fit. Yeah it would. She’d have to work at it but it’d fit. “You’re wearing a suit. Your maroon one.“ He pauses to really see it in his head, and his stomach clenches. “I kiss you first and you taste so good I get distracted. I unbutton your blazer. The buttons go to your chest, right? And you normally wear a gray sweater with it.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one,” she whimpers. He hears – shit, he hears something wet, something slick, and it can’t be but maybe it is. Maybe she’s riding her fingers and pretending it’s his cock because she’s as impatient as him and she can’t help but fast forward a little. In his mind she’s already undressed and his mouth is between her legs. But still, her story, her pacing. “Do you like that one, Mulder? Do you like the way I look in it?”

“I like the way your cute little ass looks in it,” he replies darkly, stroking himself now in earnest. His words come out in short bursts as he tries to form them around his heavy breathing. “I like when you take the blazer off because the basement is too hot and you’ve got that tight sweater on. I want you out of the suit.”

“It’s off. It’s off. All of it. And you’re…”

Completely naked and so fucking hard for you the rest of my body is numb. Thinking about your pretty mouth and clever tongue and the feeling of your hands in my hair. Thinking of dead sisters and shared purpose and extensive therapy. Don’t talk about Melissa.

“Clothed,” she finishes instead and oh, Scully, that’s dirty. “Clothed. I’m naked and you’re fully clothed, and you have me spread out on the bed.”

“I do? Are you like that right now? Spread out?”

“Mm, no, I’ve got my h-hand between my legs and I’m sort of–” she chokes, and he can guess what she’s sort of doing. “Rubbing against it. Mulder are you. Are you?”

“Are you kid– yes, yes. I couldn’t stop with a gun to my head. I’ve been since this first started.”

“You’re always so defensive,” she says, but it’s filled with laughter, until it’s not. “I’m. I’m fingering myself, Mulder. I’ve got. Two fingers. And. Um.” Lacking eloquence, almost incoherent. He wants to see what it’d be like if he was actually touching her. If anyone needs a break from their own mind it’s Scully, and him, of course, but he’d give it to her if only one of them could have it.

“I have you spread out on the bed,” he picks up. His eyes squeeze shut, his fist tightens, his free hand slips down to fondle his balls. “I have you spread out and Scully. Scully. Let me. Let. I want to.”

“What? You want to what?”

“I want to lick your pussy, Scully,” he says in a rush, gritting his teeth. There’s the dim awareness that he’s just kicked it up about ten different levels and she might bail, which is terrifying. What’s more terrifying is how viscerally he wants it, how he’s thought of it in the past but never quite yearned for it so badly, never licked his lips and tried to guess what she’d taste like. “It’d be – so good. I’d make you come so hard.”

“Say please,” she demands huskily. He bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, willing desperately not to come. The mothership soaring over the British Isles in 1975, everyone pissed at the lack of crop circles.

“Please,” he says. The hard plastic of the phone digs into his cheek, and he presses his mouth to it like he’s worried she won’t hear him. His eyes close, his hips roll into his touch. “I want to put my mouth all over you. I want to lick you out until you’re begging me to stop. Please let me do it.” She doesn’t respond for a moment, so he takes the time to listen to what she’s doing on the other end. Shit, yeah, okay, she’s definitely fucking herself. He hears something like a headboard slamming on a wall, a muffled shout. And then finally, finally, “Yes. Yes, you can do it. Tell me how you’d do it.”

her words hold a power Mulder’s never in his life been privy to in another person; it’s the way he’s constantly reminded that it’s her saying them, and the effect this has in him scares him into acting blindly. His body goes hot all over for the fiftieth time as he fucks his fist and thinks about dragging his tongue from the small of her back to the crack of her ass and further down, tugging her labia with his lips and licking the juices off of her thighs. He tells her this.

“I’d do it so sweetly, Scully, and so, so softly. You’d come before you could ever expect it, and then I’d do it again, and again, and again. I wouldn’t let up. You’d have to pull my hair out of my head to get my attention.”

“Mulder, fuck.” He’s heard her say it once before; she’d been cursing out a local cop for calling him a creep. He still doesn’t know why she got so heated. His reaction now is not all that different to what it had been the last time he’d heard it. “Mulder, fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me please.”

“Yeah, Scully, I’ll fuck you,” he hisses. His hand is her wet heat, she’s sinking down on him, he’s got her folded in half on his couch and he’s got her on her hotel bed, the nice one she’s writhing in right now, with her back to his chest and her calf in his hand so he can look down and watch himself push into her. The pressure builds, and by the way she sounds he is positive she feels it too, in the base of her spine and then everywhere else. He’s never wanted to see her face more in his life. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll never forget it. I’ll fuck you into the mattress. Anything you nee-” he gulps and cuts himself off. “I-I want to make you come. Are you coming? Scully. Scully tell me I’m going to make you come.”

“You’re going to make me–COME–” she shrieks, and that is it for him. His seeds spills out between his fingers and over the back of his fist and he gasps brokenly into the phone, her name, her full name, the name he’s given her, tells her how much he wants her, thanks her, rocks into his fist until it physically pains him, talks her through her orgasm until she’s shaking from overstimulation and telling him okay okay okay okay.

They breathe together until they’re all caught up with their oxygen and their feelings. He keeps the phone against his cheek and his eyes shut tight. He’ll let her speak first. He tells himself, don’t mention how wrong this was. Don’t talk about Melissa. Space. The mothership descends and no one is taken that day and no one is hurt and the cows are all fine.

“Thank you,” she says finally. The worst part is she means it. Oh, Scully, he winces. If he wanted a partner just as messed up as him he’s apparently got it now. He knows, without a doubt, no matter how much he’s already beginning to wish otherwise, that they will never bring this up again. “I think – I think I needed that.”

“You have to leave me a review in the Washington Examiner,” he jokes sleepily. “It’s only fair.” It doesn’t earn him a laugh. But she doesn’t hang up.

“And thank you for telling me about Melissa.” His eyes pop open and he wraps his hand around the phone to press it closer to his ear. “I don’t know… how you know, or if you’re keeping track of it somehow. But I just - thank you.”

“Of course, Scully,” he says fiercely. “Don’t thank me for that. Of course I would. Don’t ever thank me for that.”

“I just miss her so much.” The tears in her voice are frighteningly intimate. He hates that he loves it, that he needs it. “It should’ve been me, Mulder. I can’t stop thinking that. It should’ve been me. Why wasn’t it me?”

Because I am the luckiest son of a bitch alive on this planet, he doesn’t tell her.

Causing Conflict

Kozik x Reader where Tig decides to pursue the reader, even more so when he finds out she’s Kozik’s girl.

Originally posted by small-town-wayward-daughter

“Who is she?” Tig asks, whistling lowly as he sees you get out of your car, you grabbing your bag before locking the car, completely unaware of the eyes upon you.

“No idea, but she’s way out of your league.” Jax says, smirking to himself. Tig scoffs, shaking his head in denial. He continues to watch you, a determined look in his eyes. “I think I know who she is now.”

Tig frowns in confusion, before his lip curls up into a snarl, Kozik emerging from the clubhouse, a grin on his face. You share the same expression, your boyfriends arms weaving around you as you press your lips to his. “No fucking way.”

“Seems like she’s already occupied, Bro.” Jax laughs, slapping his friend on the back before leaving the garage.

“Not for long.” Tig promises to himself, a mischievous smile tickling at his lips.

Your eyes widen as you leave the bathroom, not expecting someone to be waiting right outside the door. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

“Sorry about that, sweetheart.” the man apologises, stepping back slightly. He extends his hand out, smiling at you. “Just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Tig.”

You have to stop yourself from reacting once he speaks, his name being the same one Kozik has been ranting about on the phone for the past week. You shake his hand politely, him holding it a little longer than you’d like. “(Y/N).”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” he flirts, you unable to control your smile at his words. “Fancy a drink?”

Knowing Kozik is out on a run and you have nothing better to do, you nod in response, following Tig as he heads towards the bar, one of the prospects handing him two beers. He holds one out to you, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thanks.” you say, taking a seat next to Tig on one of the couches, him sliding closer to you so your thighs are touching. “How come you aren’t out with the others?”

He shrugs his shoulders, taking a gulp of his beer, his heated gaze making you feel uncomfortable. “Couldn’t leave you all alone could I?”

You choke on your drink, liquid spraying everywhere as you splutter, your cheeks reddening as you try to recover. “Guess not.”

“So…” he starts, sliding closer to you, his arm resting behind your head as you shrink into the cushions. “How about we make good use of having the place to ourselves?“

“You do know I’m with Kozik, right?” you say, dodging his advances and pulling yourself free as quickly as you can, Tig standing to follow you as you walk backwards.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Tig reaches for you, you slipping under his arm and practically sprinting for the door, thankful to hear the rumble of bikes as the others speed into the lot.

A hand on your waist makes you jump, Tig smirking at you once you turn around. “C'mon darlin’, I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

“What did you just say to her?” your boyfriend spits, Tig wearing an expression of accomplishment as he licks his lips, winking at you.

“She’s been aching for it since she got here. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” Tig says, spurring Kozik on. You open your mouth to defend yourself, Kozik beating you to it as he slams his fist into Tig’s face, the darker haired biker stumbling backwards from the impact.

“Koz!” you shout, reaching out for your partner before you’re pulled back, Happy gently guiding you backwards, away from the fighting men. “Stop them!”

“They need this, (Y/N).” Happy responds, holding you firmly as you struggle in his grip. You’re forced to watch in horror as the two men brawl, Koizk throwing Tig into the wall harshly, Tig dodging a hit before delivering one of his own.

After what feels like forever, Jax separates the battered men, you jogging over to Kozik and inspecting the damage. “I’m fine, babe.”

You ignore his reassurances, taking his rough hand in your own and leading him to the apartment he was currently staying in, pushing his shoulders and forcing him to sit on the bed.

Kozik watches you as you work in silence, your delicate fingers disinfecting the cuts upon his face, cautiously swiping away any dried blood with your featherlight touch.

“Are you gonna talk to me at all?” he mumbles, capturing your hand in his grasp and kissing each of your knuckles, a soft sigh leaving you.

“I hate seeing people fight, Herman. Even more so when it’s you.” Your eyes are slightly glassed over as you meet his gaze, his own softening before he guides you onto his lap, one arm going around your back as the other rests on your thighs.“It makes me feel sick.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” he whispers, squeezing your hip comfortingly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your thigh. “I couldn’t just stand there and listen to him-”

You nod in understanding, cradling his face in your hand, his eyes closing as he nestles into your touch. “Thank you.”

“Don’t. You’re my girl, it’s my duty to look after you.” he says, a soft smile making it’s way onto his face. He hisses as you press your lips to his, the fresh cut stinging sharply.

“Shit, sorry babe.” you say, pulling away swiftly, not wanting to hurt him anymore. He pouts, the action making you laugh as you lightly kiss his lips again, him taking your lip between his teeth once you try to pull away, your body tingling in response.

A/N - I hope you guys liked this, my first Kozik imagine! I’ve got about 8 drafts of uncompleted work that I’m slowly trying to finish, but I’m still struggling with my block 😭 thank you for being so patient, your support amazes me ❤


Timeless Rewatch: s01e05 - The Alamo

“When I was young, I read stories about great heroes doing great deeds. But truth is, real heroes don’t look at all like I pictured. They’re far from perfect, bull-headed, stubborn, reckless… and also recklessly brave. They charge in, without a thought to themselves, not without fear or doubt, but in spite of it. We are all scared but we are going to fight and die anyway, to give everyone else a chance at a better future. Because the future matters. Victory or Death.

                                                                               The Men and Women of the Alamo

So yesterday we talked about how Robin Hood made friends with John “Little John” Little, and maybe you are craving some more Real Deal Robin Hood, but there’s also the distinct possibility that you are hoping today’s story of the day also involves more of those riverside fights to the death between psychopaths. If you want more of both, BOY, HAVE I GOT GOOD NEWS FOR YOU, because today, we are going to talk about how Robin Hood made friends with his other famous ally: Friar Tuck. And YES, it also involves riverside violence, because Robin Hood is a psychopath and that is his only way of making meaningful bonds with others.

RIGHT, so this happens a while after Robin and John have become even bigger threats to society by combining their savagery. There’s like three hundred odd bandits in the Murderous Mass of Merry Men now, their mansion has received some expansions, courtesy of all that money they were totally giving to the poor SNRK and Robin was pretty famous by now. So Robin and the lads were shooting arrows at animals just for kicks, because killing shit is the only consistent hobby a psychopath has, and he decided “YO BUT LET’S KILL COOLER”, so they started aiming at farther and farther away animals, until the only two that could land their shots were Robin and John. 

Now, Robin is kinda really into John, so he’s like “MAN, YOU AND I, WE’RE SO– THERE’S NO ONE BETTER THAN US AT HIGH PRECISION SENSELESS KILLING IN THIS BARBARIC LAND OF THE 1400′s ENGLAND ” because Robin is really proud of their murderous bromance.

But before Robin could get down on one knee and present a ring of engagement to John “Steroids” Little, a resounding “WAIT!” echoed in the forest. “You two are good at high precision senseless killing. Pretty good. But I know someone better than you at high precision senseless killing. He kills things with more precision and less sense than you.”

“NANI” yelled Robin Hood, drawn in chalk in the style of 1980′s anime. “Who the HELL are you talking about, Will Scarlet!”

OK QUICK INTRO: Will Scarlet is another one of Robin Hood’s lads. The youngest one and a passionate youth, he was the finest, best swordsman in the Merry Men, while Robin Hood was the best archer, and John “Hercules’ Bigger Cousin” Little was the best staff wielder (also a really good archer). He was famous for not sucking Robin’s dick despite being loyal to him.

“Well, see, over yonder by The River” elaborated the swordsman “there’s this friar that is even more of an uncouth savage that you two put together”.

“WELL THIS WON’T DO, NO ONE IS A LOWER LIFE THAN ME” and with his arse chaffed by jealousy and his eyes full of Studio Ghibli tears, our man Hoodie grabbed his utensils of murder and went to meet this friar, stomping his feet like the psychopathic manchild he was.

Now, finding a friar in a forest shouldn’t be too hard by itself, because friars are not usually alone in the middle of a forest by a river, but in case there was any doubt, Robin Hood, astute fox, immediately realized that that particular friar by the river was the one he was looking for. Not because he is, like, intelligent and wily or anything, but because, see, when I say “friar”, you imagine this

but what stood in front of Robin was more like

In his usual eloquent and poetic demeanor, Robin Hood let out a “holy fucking shit what” and reconsidered his life choices that led to this moment. That sure was a friar, alright, but he was packing. Weapons, cool armor, the hundred yard stare of someone who was Seen Some Shit, this guy had it all. Are you familiar with the souhei (warrior monk) Musashibo Benkei? The guy that camped out in a bridge and beat people who passed by and stole their weapons? And who ended up with 999 weapons he stole from people he defeated? Ok so this friar was the western equivalent of Benkei, in that you did not fuck with this friar.

Robin Hood, however, is not an intelligent lifeform, so as soon as he got over his initial, visceral fight-or-flight reaction, he was like “EH” and went to face him, anyways.

And by “went to face him” I obviously mean that Hoodie went and told him “hey dude, carry me across this river”. And the heavily armed friar, as you do, SILENTLY picked Robin up and, uh, carried him. At this point, Robin’s brigand mind was a string of 0s and 1s because he could not fucking compute this dude didn’t attack him for disrespecting him like that and instead just silently complied. Well, whatever, free piggyback, Robin is happy.

But as soon as they get to the other side of the river, the friar says “hey, do me a solid and carry me across the river, mang”. OH, SO THAT WAS HIS GAME. Robin picks him up and returns the favor, because piggybacks are awesome. As soon as they get back to the other side, Robin immediately says “hey HEY carry me across this river”, and the friar is like yeah alright it’s not like this is a huge waste of time, so he lifts Robin and starts carrying him again, but in the middle of crossing the river, PSYCHE the friar legit powerbombs Robin against the river. PRAAANKED.

Robin gets up, screams “KISAMA!!! and boss fight music begins to play as he gets his longbow out and starts shooting arrows at the friar, who deflects every single one of them with his shield. “K-kisama…” silently screamed Robin in a very tiny voice when he saw that his signature move had been completely invalidated and was forced to draw his sword to engage Mega Ultra Friar in melee combat. Robin really oughta stay away from rivers because he only ever almost dies near them.

But Robin was a pretty good swordsman in his own right, so they go left and right, swish and swoosh, until they both get tired. The friar has the upper hand on principle of his superior equipment, and also because he’s a Dark Souls boss. Seeing this, Robin remembers he is an outlaw and shouldn’t be playing by the rules, so he grabs his horn and blows it three times, which is the “HELP ME, I SOILED MY DIAPERS, LADS” signal. Almost immediately, Robin’s whole gang of happy killmen turn up and surround the Raid Boss Friar. The friar, however, looked nowhere as terrified as he should look for a tired man outnumbered 300-to-1. He simple put his fingers on his mouth and whistled three times.

“HEY YOU DUMBO” Robin yelled “I’m the one with the bandit gang, so whistling three times is not going to–” but before Robin could finish his tantrum, a rumbling noise surrounded the battlefield. One of the Merry Men looked to the source of the sound and yelled “DOGS…!”, which would usually be a great thing, except these were very angry, very murderous hounds that began attacking the Merry Men. 

Things Robin Hood Didn’t Account For: The friar having a personal army of dogs.
Things The Friar Had: A personal army of dogs.

Around 300 dogs appeared, matching each Merry Man head by head, and all out bandit-versus-dogs war was unleashed. Bandits using swords to defend themselves, dogs dodging skillfully and catching arrows with they mouth (LITERALLY, THAT IS WHAT THE BALLAD SAYS), fucking John “Hulkmania” Little fighting for his life as a dog wanted to french kiss his jugular, it was PANDEMONIUM. The fight goes on and Robin tells John to PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS, so John activates the Kaio Ken times 10 and kills like two dozens of dogs with staff blows and arrows because he is kind of a big deal, and the friar is like “dude no don’t kill my dogs, can we reach a compromise?”, and of course, Robin, the sensible guy, says “yeah, if you join our band of murderous and dangerous criminals, we can all be happy together and ransack Nottingham and her roads”. Of course, the friar, a man of the cloth, a servant of our lord Jesus Christ, passionately answered “YOU DON’T HAVE TO ASK TWICE” because he sure as hell loves senseless violence as much as these psychopaths, and he finally found a band of men dangerous and vile enough for him to feel comfortable with, for him to call “his brethren”.

And that’s the story of how Robin Hood recruited a boss fight into his party. And all of his dogs. They christened him “Friar Tuck” because his real name, “Ultra Friar Arnold Schwarzenegger On Steroids” wasn’t as catchy.

allirica  asked:

Merlin/Arthur? (I miss my Merlin days :( )

- It takes them a really long time to get together. On Merlin’s part, it’s a bone-deep conviction that Arthur will do what’s best for the kingdom, and that’s not and could never be him. On Arthur’s part, it’s the pervasive fear that his position of authority will somehow influence Merlin’s feelings towards him and coerce him into the relationship, no matter how ridiculous he knows that to be because Merlin has never kowtowed to him for being royalty before. It’s years before either of them can work up the courage to put themselves out there.

- Once Arthur finally manages to overcome his knee-jerk reaction of denying how much he cares of people for fear of getting hurt, he insists on training Merlin to fight. Technically he’s made efforts before, but they weren’t real efforts honestly. Now, though, it truly matters to him that Merlin is safe and able to protect himself, especially if he keeps following Arthur into battle as everyone damn well knows he will. This time around he uses all the same patience and persistence that he does with his famously skilled knights. (And a few brand new methods of encouragement that he would never employ with his men but work wonders on his lover, lol.)

- Arthur loves holding hands. He never would’ve thought that he would enjoy something so simple and innocent, but it’s a tangible connection that comforts and pleases him on a level deeper than he would ever have expected. If given the chance, he will spend hours just holding Merlin’s hand in his while he does his work, idly playing with his fingers, rubbing a thumb in circles over his palm. Merlin’s happy to let him, even if he’s got chores he’s supposed to be doing. This moment takes priority.

- Merlin likes to read to Arthur, and Arthur loves being read to. Arthur’s never been good enough to reading to do it for pleasure; it’s not worth the headaches, no matter how affecting good literature can be. But Merlin’s always been surprisingly well-read for a peasant (courtesy of his mother’s own surprising literacy, and the books she managed to acquire to keep him occupied as a child hidden away to hide his uncontrolled magic). Now they’ll lie in bed together, Arthur’s head on Merlin’s chest and Merlin’s fingers in Arthur’s hair, while Merlin reads aloud for one of the books of poetry he smuggled out from under Geoffrey’s nose. He’ll keep reading until Arthur falls asleep with the rumble of Merlin’s voice in one ear and the steady thump of his heart in the other.


23 Attractive Men Who Aren’t White

 Buzzfeed’s post made me mad so I made a proper list with lazy captions

1. Bob Morley - you can see him as Bellamy Blake on CW’s The 100 he’s everything (he has like no photoshoots so I used a gif)

2. Oscar Isaac - you probably know him as Poe Dameron (the best damn pilot in the resistance) by now. You can also see him in Ex Machina, A Most Violent Year, Inside Llewyn Davis, etc.

3. Daniel Wu - if you think he’s fine now you should see what he can do with a sword in AMC’s Into the Badlands.

4. Idris Elba - Ok everyone knows Idris. (Luther, Pacific Rim, The Wire. Thor..)

5. Jussie Smollett - Jamal “my favorite” Lyon in Empire

6. Trai Byers - Andre “my second favorite” Lyon in Empire

7. John Boyega - FINNamon roll in Star Wars and an actual precious angel in real life

8. Pedro Pascal - you can see everyone’s favorite Chileno as Oberyn Martell in season 3 of Game of Thrones and as Javier in Narcos on Netflix

9. Rami Malek - USA’s Mr. Robot


11. MecHad Brooks - Supergirl, True Blood and Desperate Housewives

12. Jesse Williams - arguably the most beautiful surgeon in Grey’s Anatomy and more importantly a wonderful black rights activist

13. David Ramsey - John Diggle in CW’s Arrow enough said 

14. Elliot Knight - He played Merlin in Once Upon A Time and y’all he’s GORGEOUS this photo doesn’t do him justice I swear

15. Keiynan Lonsdale - He was in the Divergent series but you can now see him as WALLY WEST in CW’s The Flash

16. Ricky Whittle - Lincoln from The 100 and he’s shirtless a lot so yea you should seriously watch that show just sayin

17. Carlos Vela - Mexican football player for Spanish club Real Sociedad, good job Mexico

18. James Rodriguez - Colombian player for Spanish club Real Madrid. I tried really hard not to use shirtless pics but I… couldn’t… resist. 

19. Thiago Alcantara - He makes poor choices regarding football teams but at least he has a nice face 

20. Alfred Enoch - Wow. A Man. Everyone knows him from the Harry Potter movies and How to Get Away with Murder (If you don’t like Wes you’re wrong)


21. Marcelo Vieira - the most important Brazilian in all the land and he’s literally made of sunshine (also plays for Real Madrid are you sensing a bias here) 

22. Phillippe Coutinho - Another very important Brazilian made of sunshine who plays for Liverpool FC. 

23. Steven Yeun - Glenn from the Walking Dead. If you don’t think he deserves to be on here, you can fight me. 

I’m probably eventually going to make this list longer but here are your 23 attractive men of color. Hope you enjoyed.

Coven - Preview

a sharp pain at the side of your head, pounding with every heartbeat, brought you back from unconsciousness. You tried opening your eyes for the first time, slowly blinking so you could get used to the flickering yellow lights, dancing and illuminating in the dark. Your back ached due to the hard, cold and uncomfortable surface underneath it and goosebumps scattered all over your skin when the frigid air washed over your body. 

When you tried to sit up, you groaned in pain while the pounding headache surged through your head twice as hard as before, you found your muscles straining and struggling. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. Why couldn’t you move? You tried again, without success. You finally managed to open your eyes completely, but you couldn’t believe them. Not with what was happening in front of them.

There were people, positioned in a perfect circle, their faces anonymous and concealed by the hoods of their dark cloaks. They were chanting words in perfect unison, words you’ve never heard before in your life. They sounded baritone, archaic, compelling and they scared the shit out of you. This must be an awful nightmare.

You tried getting away, again to no avail. You snapped your head to the side, only to find your wrist firmly bound to the hard surface underneath you. Same thing on the other side, and your legs were forced to immobility as well. Meanwhile, the volume of the chants swelled on, the intonation more urgent. It sounded like they were getting close to something. You quickly realized this wasn’t a nightmare. You knew this was real, despite the fact you didn’t know how you ended up here, wherever ‘here’ may be . The pounding pain in your head and the sweltering chants of the mysterious men felt too real to be made up by your own mind in your sleep. Panic flooded over you like a tidal wave, an acute fight or flight reflex taking over as you started pulling on the ropes that pinned you down, tearing, squirming and thrashing for dear life.

The almost song-like chants were gradually reaching their peak, the cloaked men adding synchronized gestures to the words as they sang with full conviction. Distressed noises started to tumble from your lips, high squeaks and whimpers when the realization you wouldn’t be able to free yourself started to kick in. The ropes were too thick and too skillfully knotted, there was no way you could escape.

And then, one of the hooded males approached you with controlled steps, almost leisurely while still radiating discipline and earnestness.

‘Who-who are you?’ you asked him, your voice hoarse and trembling with fear.

He didn’t answer, he only kept chanting and gazing at you with those cold eyes, devoid of emotion when he removed the cloak from his head. You weren’t going to get any sympathy from him, you knew, especially when he pulled out a silver dagger from his wide sleeve.

Your eyes widened, cold sweat breaking out and streaming down your back, soaking through your clothes. The panic made it feel like you broke out in a heavy fever, almost making you pass out on the spot.

‘No…Don’t-’, you pleaded, almost inaudible over the loud chanting of the human circle, drums starting to join the hypnotizing harmony when the older man grabbed the haft with both hands and raised the knife in the air, pointing straight at your cardiac area.

You screwed your eyes shut, tears flowing out of them and wetting your cheeks as you mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable, for death. Whatever this was, it meant the end of your life. You sucked in your last breath, silently awaiting the sharp pain of the knife crushing and splintering the bones of your ribs and sliding into the pounding muscle in your chest. 

But nothing came. 

You noticed the chanting had also stopped. It was suddenly eerily quiet.

You didn’t dare open your eyes, scared of what they’d find, until you felt friction between the rope and your wrist. You ultimately decided it was safe to open one eye, only to take a peek at what’s happening, nothing more.

That’s when you first saw him, feverishly cutting through the rope with the knife that was supposed to end your life, his fair hair falling in random strands in front of his eyes, too concentrated to wipe it out of his face. You barely had enough time to register his features as ‘handsome’ before his wide eyes met yours.

And then you felt it.