#albeit tasteful nudity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Symbiosis: Yandere Cult x Parasite Deity Reader

(Other part here: X. Not really necessary in reading this)

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: body horror mentions, religious themes, blood

Another rise of the sun over the horizon, another birth to your new life of divinity. Beating as one with its roots, you rest at the base of crimson oak; awakening to light gleaming from the heavens to aid in your uprising. Your feet lie in the pool of water below; robes casted like waves around your ankles. Fruit occupied the water's surface; ripened to where they fell right off the branch. The fluid ripples as one such fruit is plucked from it; added to a tray of other produce and baked goods that made up your morning meal.

“Good morning, our Grace.”

Two individuals stand at the end of your sanctuary, patiently awaiting the moment you open your eyes and bless them with your conscious presence. One held new clothing for you, while the other carried the buffet for one. Both greet you with warm smiles – ready for your every command.

You rise from the water, stepping over the border between you and them; staring down upon them. You pick up the new robes, each party lowering their heads to offer privacy as you disrobe. You had no shame in nudity, but were aware those below held shame in the bare flesh; especially in beholding yours. Something about desires not meant to be burdened upon your pure skin. Your old garment drops to the floor with a wet thud; you slipping the new one over head with ease. You then look to the tray of food, surveying the bounty collected in your name.

By now, you knew the name and taste of all the items on display; only one carrying any higher value than the rest. The fruit of your labor; a gift made from your own body for broken hearts to consume and know peace. Oval in shape like one's eye; sweet as the first taste of any candy – addictive to all that ate. Made during your time of slumber beneath the very tree you stood beneath; you found little importance in them yourself, but were happy to let them indulge further in them.

You pick a smaller berry from the pile; its skin bursting beneath your teeth as you bite down. Refreshing as ever; only the best for a God. You place your hand atop the head of the first follower, locks soft at your touch as you pet them. With another grab, you take another piece of fruit and offer it to their lips.

“Morning…”

After finishing your meal, you exit the room and venture to the courtyard. Despite the youth of the day, there are already others at work. Tending to the fields, checking the remaining stocks, and other tasks in similar categories. At times, you felt bad for not helping, but no one would take your offers. After all, you’ve done what no one else could – give them new life.

All of the people around you; your faithful followers, once came to you in times of utter loss. Faith in other powers, friends – themselves. Shattered individuals with no light to turn to. You, a being that fed from misfortune, gave them new purpose; albeit unintentional. Healing their sorrows, though you only sought out for a way to continue existing. An empty shell, their emotions eventually bled into you, forming you into a truly living organism. Any guilt born from your true nature was quickly snuffed; a mutual bond of dependency formed between you all. They had never led you astray, and by proxy would you never do the same.

You pass by one of the edges of the grounds through your walk. A mile high steel fence with pointed spades at each peak. With everything in this world a new experience, you often questioned why it existed in the first place, with few proper answers. To keep things that harm you away; was their most frequent response. You had some knowledge of the outside world from books and the memories of your followers; but it was still such a large mystery. At the end of the day, you pushed that curiosity aside. They had never led you astray, and by proxy would you never do the same.

“It’s nice to see you awake so soon, dearest mercy.”

A conglomerate of footsteps met their end behind you, the leader of the small group at its head and bowing slightly in your direction; their good eye trained up at you.

“Or should I say, Y/n?”

Before you stood the first blood in your not-so-little family. They had unknowingly taken care of you while you rested, and in return you gave them another chance at life after they attempted to cut their own short. They extended your blessing to others till the day of your rebirth, and the rest was history.

“That is my name. Hello, Charmaine.”

They smile; your voice a soothing melody to them – and all that hear. They hold out their hand to you, ready to guide you through the day. You take it, able to feel their raising heartbeat just through their palm.

“If you will allow, I believe it is my turn to be your guidance for the day. We all have been waiting for you.”

With them and others at your side, you begin the day anew. There wasn’t much to do, as stated before, but what you did have was enough. Chatting and spending time with other members, giving blessings to things they claimed needed your grace, being basked in their endless praise. When everyone had seen you, you settled in the library for the rest of the day; just reading all you could about the world around you and the fantasies it imagined. Your fingers linger on the illustrations – a faint spark of yearning in your heart.

By the eve comes your only task in this world. You return to your base, walking along the velvet carpet that led to your tree. Older members stand on each side of the path; candles in hand Illuminating the moonlit room further. You step into the water, sinking into its grasp as the doors open once more. Charmaine enters, leading another behind them down to you.

Dressed in robes similar in hue to your own, they kneel before you. They looked as if they would crumble at any moment, years of pain and unimaginable suffering; all visible in their tired eyes. They don’t even cower at your appearance, desperate for any chance at peace. The only thing they hoped was that the promises they’d been told were true, and if not; that they had a swift demise.

You gently lift their gaze up to you, passing a piece of fruit from your tree through their lips. You feel them swallow as you bring your hands down their neck, stopping at its base with your fingertips at the indent of their spine. Your forehead touches theirs, pain becoming your own as you merge into one. You devour it whole, using it as fuel to numb the anguish of the one who sought for your aid; becoming nothing more to them than null remains of time like a dream.

They collapse to the floor, the relief of a cleared mind overflowing through tears that fell from their eyes. They swear loyalty to you, though it’s not like they had anywhere else to go. The others sing praise for another soul saved and a new member to the group, helping them to their feet and out of the room to finish the ceremony elsewhere. The remaining party wishes you a fair night and takes their leave, mostly off to sleep. You wish to drift off as well, but as you settle once more again the tree’s trunk, something keeps you from resting.

A faint thud vibrates through its roots, rattling through your head with each contact. They spread far beyond the lengths of any normal tree, connecting you to every corner of the camp. Eventually, the sound comes to a halt, but you still couldn’t rest; curiosity taking you by the hand and leading you back to the doors of your room. You peer outside. Normally, guards stood post, but with the new member, their attentions were elsewhere.

You quietly creep outside, turning the corner to find the source of the sound. If your calculations were right, it had come from the southern gate closest to you. Your theory is proven correct as when you approach you notice a metal rod kicked from the gate, spots of red scattered on the ground below and creating a path to whatever caused the damage. With caution an absent worry, you follow it to a shed. If you remembered correctly, most of the farming supplies were stored there. The puddles grow wider at its entrance, dark and fresh with the scent of copper.

You see nothing upon first look. Just bags of fertilizer, tools, and other equipment. The spots still persist through the land and so you follow them behind a group of discarded boxes. It was there that you finally found the cause of all the ruckus.

A young male was sprawled on the floor of the shed. No older than his twenties; he was covered in dirt and scrapes. He was dressed in clothes you’d never seen in person; pinpointing it as a beat up hoodie and jeans from what you recalled in literature. Blood stained the left, lower side of his torso; beads of sweat dripping from his scalp. His eyes were shut, yet his lips moved either incoherent mumbles.

You reach forward, brushing against the handle of something tucked in his pocket as you lift his hoodie. A small hole tore through his flesh, bleeding profusely without the cover of his jacket. He twists around as you touch the wound, eyes fluttering lightly. Unfazed, you place your hand fully against the wound. You pull him into a proper upright position as the skin of your palm unravels and the fleshy roots of your interior push into the wound. They bulge against his flesh, working to repair the damaged organs and remove the toxins running through his body. You feel something metallic within the wound, though it's dissolved like all else. He regains consciousness just as your roots retract from the now healed wound, screaming in alarm at the sight of you.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

He shoves himself further into the wall, jumping to his feet to get away. It's only then does he notice the lack of pain as well as the sudden burst of energy, looking down at where he was hit in confusion. He runs a hand over the skin in shock. Not even a scar remained. You stand up beside him, his blood still present on your palm.

“Are you alright?”

He stammers. “What… the fuck, how did this….”

“I healed you. I am Y/n. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You hold out your clean hand as he stares at you cautiously; slouched like a chained animal. “Who might you be?”

He swallows hard, looking towards the exit behind you. If you were able to heal a gunshot wound like fixing a puzzle, there was no telling what else you could do. It was better to play it safe – yet for some reason he could almost tell you didn’t want to harm him.

“….Smith.”

“Smith. And how did you end up here, Smith?”

His eyes shift away. “Got into some trouble and ended up here while I healed up. Are you… the only one here?”

“No, my family lives here as well.”

“Family?”

“Yes, there are dozens of us by now. They can assist you further if you need.”

“Shit… I need to get out of here.” He squeezes past you, making a beeline for the door. You grab him. “Wait, you should probably get more rest before you go.”

Smith tries to tug his arm away. “No can do. I need to be gone from here like yesterday.”

“That makes no sense.”

He groans. “Not literally. I just have to go.”

You purse your lips; thinking back to the gate, to all the stories and memories you had of life of the other side. This could be your only chance to ever see it. “May I come with you?”

“What?” He cried. “No!”

“I’ve never left home before.”

“Even more of a reason now to let you come. I don’t need your family hunting me down.”

You point at his clothes. “I know enough of your society to know you can’t leave in those clothes. If you allow me to come I’ll bring you others.”

He curses under his breath. You did have a point there.

“Fine, just hurry up.”

After retrieving clothes Smith is hesitant to wear, you make your way to the broken gate. You also bring some fruit, but he’s even more reluctant to take the foreign object. He exits before you, stepping out into the forest beyond. He offers to help you through, but you have yet to take his hand.

“What? Getting cold feet?”

You look back at your home. The only life you’d known in this mortal realm. Somewhere deep, you know that by doing this, it will shatter the hearts of many – but only if they were to discover your absence. You make a silent vow to return before long, one you intend to keep.

“No.”

You both wander through the forest to a location Smith refuses to tell you about. Twigs and leaves snap under your bare feet, cold wins biting at your skin. He charges ahead without checking if you’re keeping up, your footsteps enough to satisfy. After what feels like hours, you break into a clearing upon the border of a highway, cars zipping past in small passes. You had seen pictures, but being so close was a different story. The air of their speed passing by, the hum of their engines. One such vehicle sits at the side of the road, Smith already inside and the passenger door open for you..

“Get in.”

You do as told, your head scraping the ceiling. You jump as he starts the car, vibrations catching you off guard. It’s no better when he pulls onto the road, the crunch of the gravel under the tires popping in your ears. Your eyes linger on the window as he drives off, watching the trees fade away until there’s nothing more than flat land and other cars.

“Where are we heading?”

“First, I’m getting something to eat. I doubt that bitch had the balls to actually call the cops on me. Then I’m going home. I’ll drop you off somewhere along the way.”

You press him for more information on his second question, but he remains tight lipped. The remainder of the ride is mostly quiet on his part, aside from when he allows you to mess with the radio. The music is unlike anything back at home, yet you had the faintest recollection of most. You found similarities, despite the many differences. Speaking to a large crowd, yet trying to touch the individual separately; just like the people that sung to you and the others back home. Smith watches you from the corner of his eye, steady on the road otherwise.

As the night drags on, Smith finally makes his first stop. He turns off the highway and into a road leading to a building with a bright, yet flickering sign above.

“Pancake house? What’s that?”

“The only place that’s open at an like this hour. Come on.” He climbs out, and you do the same; following him inside the establishment. Booths line the walls against the windows, stools at a counter before you. Though nearly empty, all eyes are on you as you enter. Smith quickly looks up at you.

“I know you had a good time at the convention, but you need to take that stuff off when we get back.”

“…Pardon?”

“Let’s just sit down.” A waitress comes by and takes you to a booth. She tosses menus down on the table, before leaving you two to decide. Smith looks it over, while you stare blankly.

“You want anything?”

“I never even seen most of the items here.”

He places his menu down. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head. He sighs. “Jesus you’re hopeless. Just let me handle it.”

The waitress returns and Smith places the order. Under her third return, she brings two plates and places them respectfully. You look at the food; fluffy pancakes, eggs and protein laid out on the porcelain. Smith's came with a single candle and some sort of whipped topping. He had already started eating, practically scarfing down his food. You take a fork to your own, slowly biting into the soft cakes.

They’re somewhat sweet with a slight tang thanks to the butter placed on top. You feel its warmth down your throat as you swallow, immediately taking another bite. Like the music; it’s not like anything you had before, but so familiar. You can taste the love folded into the batter; satisfaction in working in this small diner and feeling every hungry mouth that passes through those doors. Having finished his own meal, Smith watches you; eyeing how your lips pull into the faintest smile.

Once you return to the car, your eyes grow heavy. Your body had grown used to shutting down at a set time and was now unable to function without the sleep. You fall asleep the moment you’re in the passenger seat. Smith checks the trunk of his car, laying an old beach towel over your sleeping form.

Like clockwork, you wake at dawn once more. The car had stopped, Smith out and sitting on the hood with something in hand. He blew smoke into the air, gazing out at something you couldn’t see. You exit and join him; him somewhat happy at your arrival.

“Oh hey. You’re up.”

“Where are we now?”

“The beach.”

“Beach?”

“Yeah. With you saying you’ve never been out, and seeing how you reacted at the diner I thought it would be nice to come out here.”

He nods in the direction he had been looking. You stood atop a hill overlooking a field of white sand, and blue waves crashing at its shores. Animals cried in the distance, water sparkling under the new day’s light. You stand against the railing, gentle breeze rocking against you.

“Can we… go down there?”

“Yeah. There’s a stairway nearby. Come on.”

You venture to and down the stairway, warm sand beneath your feet as you touch the beach’s surface. It takes a moment to get used to, especially as they sink deeper than imagined. Smith snorts as you stumble, but helps you upright and to the water. It's so cold; colder than chewing on ice, but at the same time it feels so relaxing. The waves meet around your ankles, rising higher as you step further. Smith doesn’t stop you, standing at shore as the water rises to your waist. It begins to carry your body atop it, and you allow; turning upright as you float along. Your robes are drenched, but you don’t care. You can feel the ocean’s connection to so many other places in the world; all the life housed within it. It’s so calming.

You’re carried back to shore, practically giggling from this strange feeling in your chest. You hold your hand out to Smith and he takes it, thinking you need help up. Instead, you drag him down beside you; a shout of surprise escaping as he falls into the water.

“Hey!” He begins to berate you, but stops at the sound of the soft laughter that comes from you. Fingers still entwined, he welcomes the creep of water in his clothes; allowing you your moment. It becomes his as well, as he smiles slightly and holds onto you tighter.

After a while, you both get up and sit on the sand to dry before you leave. Smith sits with his knees to his chest; while you spread out to bask in the sun’s full glory.

“I used to come here with my dad.”

You look over at him.

“But you probably knew that already.”

You did; and every other detail until this moment. How his father died before he was even ten, how his mother kicked him out at eighteen and kept every memory of him. How he spiraled into depression and just wanted something of his father’s back. The day he broke into her house and stole his hunting knife, only to be shot by his stepfather.

“I know about you too. I saw it all when you were… inside me. I didn’t know what to think about you then, and I still don’t know, but I know you’re not anything like what I originally thought. You’re just…. trying to exist like everyone else.”

He grips your arm. “I.. I don’t think you should go back home. It’s not healthy for them. For you. You need to experience freedom far beyond what we’ve done today.”

You look down. “I don’t think I can do that. They need me. I need them.”

He lets go. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to convince you. We should go. You really need some new clothes anyway.”

You look at your attire. “What’s wrong with them?”

And just like that, you're back on the road. There’s sand everywhere and the seats are damp, but Smith doesn’t seem to mind. The air is lighter, yet neither of you speak much as before. You fiddle with the radio some more, before he grabs your wrist.

“Wait, stop, I love this song.” He hums along to the rhyme of the music, singing along under his breath as it reaches the chorus. “Sometimes all I think about is you..”

You knew the sound as well, having faint memories of Smith jamming out in his bedroom with it blaring through his headphones.

“…Late nights in the middle of June.”

He whips his head to you, grinning like a madman. You both finish the sound together, enjoying the moment like no other. You continue talking even after the song is over, spirits too high to come back down to silence. It’s the most either of you had ever bonded with another person in quite some time.

You make your way into town, and get you some new clothing; just as Smith suggested. Would take some getting used to; a lot of stuff would, but it was the thought that counted. He even offered to buy you more someday, if you stayed. As you walk out of the clothing store, he reels back as if he forgot something.

“Y/n, stay right here, you gotta try this ice cream from a place nearby. It opens up in like ten minutes.”

“Okay.. He runs off, leaving you alone on the silent street. Everything is still so surreal for you, seeing things only illustrated coming to life; like fantasies blending into the real world. You grab the hand rail separating the street from the crossway; even its rustled metal an intrigue to you. As you run your fingers over it, you pick up on faint noise coming from the street across from you. A grand building stands tall before you; a symbol akin to a lower case ‘t’ at its roof. With few others around, it took your interest. You know you should wait, but couldn't fight curiosity.

You make your way over; using the crosswalk like Smith had shown you. The interior was lined with white wall paper; long seats filled with people on its floor. Another person stood at the room’s end; carrying a book with the same symbol as the one outside. You take a seat on an unoccupied row; looking up at the windows around. Its glass depicted many stories; humans in robes around a crib and others with wings to list a few.

“We hereby gather to honor our Lord in his house, and in Jesus' name. Let us rise in prayer.”

Everyone stands up, locking hands and bowing their hands as the leader speaks. The glass above him shows a white dove, its single eye seemed to gleam down upon you - watching. Your head feels heavy; the light in the room seems to grow brighter as he speaks. The words blend together, while still making perfect; it feels like invisible hands are gripping at your shoulders – many, so many and slowly wrapping you in embrace.

Have you risen as well, dearest Eden?

You feel them holding tighter, but something stops them before they’re at your throat. A scream. A single scream that racks your brain and rings to the heavens. More follow; heart wretched sobs that blare in your skull and never even. You fall to the ground, your own screams joining, and catching the attention of all. The windows rattle, close to snapping from frame; people cover their ears to avoid your shrieks making them go deaf.

“Y/n!?”

Smith bursts through the door, finding you in the middle of the aisle in a fetal position; still shouting in absolute agony. He rushes to your side, ignoring the pain in his own ears as he grips you.

“What’s wrong?! Speak to me!”

“Go back!”

“What?!”

“We need to go back!”

Tires screech along the highway, speeding right under legal limits back to where this all began. They barely cover your own from the back seat; you writhing on the seats as the torment in your mind continues. It still hasn’t stopped, even hours later. You can make out vague whispers in between the bellows.

Where are they? Where are they?!

Never should have looked away.

We need to find them. Who knows what could be happening?

You scream louder. “Hurry, please!”

“I’m trying!” Smith floors the gas. Finally – Finally, he reaches the clearing to the woods. As soon as the car stops, you peel off the seats and into the forest. He follows behind, nearly losing track as you speed off.

God has been taken away!

We’re unworthy of their mercy.

But we need them. We’re nothing without them.

“Y/n, wait!”

You run faster; fatigue the last of your worries and hardly one at all. You can feel all of their emotions. Fear, panic, shame, grief – bloodlust. If they found the one that took you away, he’d be nothing more than a splatter of blood by the time they were done.

“You need to leave!”

You come to the gates of your home; everyone frantic and looks all over for you. As if they can sense your presence, eyes turn to the forest. Smith grabs you and turns you around.

“Please, you must go. They’ll kill you-"

He hugs you. So tight, like you’ll disappear when he lets go.

“Jamie… My name is Jamie..” He looks up with tears in his eyes. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Your expression softens. He slides the handle of his father’s hunting knife into your hands.

“No…” You try to give it back. He closes your hand around it.

“Keep it. I still have the sleeve. It means we’ll meet again someday, okay? Promise.”

Footsteps draw near. Jamie places a kisses to your cheek; and then he’s gone.

“Y/n!”

You turn to look at the members of your cult. “I… saw a rabbit.”

After everyone makes sure you’re okay, you’re brought back to your room. You’re put back in your robes; the parameter guarded extra tight. You unweave the flesh of your arm, pulling the knife from the vacant space within. You touch the wood; the engraved ‘J' on its side. Jamie’s father planned to give it to him on his twenty-fifth birthday. A single droplet of water ripples the waves of your pond. You shed tears in near complete isolation; unaware of the small bird perched at your window.

486 notes · View notes

thefreelanceangel · 4 years

Photo

“Nothing better than a little flexibility work on the beach.”

#C'allie Kyho #FFXIV #Miqo'te #Seekers of the Sun #Screenshots #CM Tools #Mods #Nudity #albeit tasteful nudity

6 notes · View notes

angry-geese · 2 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if I could please request some Nanami x female reader? Like they have been in a relationship for a few months and haven't done it yet so it's their first time together. Reader has only ever been with guys who don't care much about her pleasure or don't know how to please a women, and when Nanami finds out he takes his time worshipping her body and making sure she feels amazing? Thank you!!!

Of course!! <3

All That's Left is Us

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: not sfw, mdni. fluff and smut. fingering, oral (fem recieving), hickeys, lots of praise (use of good girl), nanami is kind of a soft dom. not beta read so i apologize for any errors. fem!reader

Word count: 2.8k

jjk masterlist

“Kenny, get in here!” You call out. “You’re gonna miss it.”

From the kitchen you hear him mutter something. He loathes the nickname. If Nanamin wasn't bad enough, Kenny was worse. So of course you use it to torment him.

Nanami appears a moment later, drinks in hand. Cocoa for you, tea for him. He hands yours to you, settling down next to you on the couch. Steam curls off the surface of the cup.

You can't say you're really watching the movie, so much as you're present for it's duration. It drones on in the background while you talk. Not about anything in particular. Work. Your plans for the weekend. Groceries you need to get. Boring, domestic things that you never really gave much thought to before, let alone talk about them. You used to hate small talk.

You let the warmth from the cup seep out into your hands. It's still too hot to drink without burning your tongue, but you’re too impatient to wait for it to cool down. You sip on the thin, sweet liquid, letting it warm you from the inside out. The feeling of it makes you shiver.

“Are you cold?” Nanami asks, running his hand over your arm, feeling the goosebumps that rise along your skin.

“A little,” you say.

He coaxes you into his lap, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around you. You let your head rest against his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart. His touch is soft as his fingers trace the curve of your spine. You nuzzle closer, stealing any bit of warmth you can from him. Your gaze drifts to the tv.

You shift in his lap, trying to find a more comfortable position. His grip around you tightens, holding you in place. You don't want to annoy him too much with your squirming, and settle down quickly. His arms return to their place around your waist. Nanami’s head settles into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Goosebumps are visible under the collar of your—his—shirt. You giggle and lean into his touch.

It's subtle at first; the weight pressing against your plush thighs. Nanami can't help it; not when you’re grinding your perfect ass against him, or when your shorts ride up to give a better view of your thighs. Oh how he’d kill to be buried in your velvety cunt.

He's the first to lean into the kiss.

It's just a peck on your cheek. One that makes you blush and attempt to bury your face in his shirt. He pulls you back for another kiss. You taste sweet. The taste of the cocoa still lingers on your lips. This time it does more than make you blush. There's a certain neediness behind his touch, albeit a restrained kind. His touch leaves a heat pooling between your legs.

His hand finds its way under the band of your shorts, right at the hem of your panties. The feeling of your slick cunt makes Nanami shudder. You’re this wet already? It doesn't take long for his fingers to find your clit, and begin drawing circles around it. The scent of his cologne is enough to make your head spin. He smells so nice. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, hiding your face in a poor attempt to conceal your embarrassment.

It's not like you haven't been naked around him before- the two of you have taken showers together. Nudity wasn't some taboo thing in your relationship. You've never had a problem changing when he was around. You practically slept naked due to how hot his apartment got in the summer. Nanami never did anything to make you uncomfortable. Throughout your entire relationship, you always thought you were comfortable around him.

It was going to happen eventually. But you found yourself stalling, or backing out at the last moment. Nanami never pressed. He was never going to make you do something you didn't want to do. Sex is no fun if his partner is not completely into it.

The way your body stiffens doesn't go unnoticed by him. Nanami almost curses himself for not noticing sooner, and pulls away.

“Are you alright?” He asks. “Do you want me to stop?”

It's not that you don't want to. You do. More than anything. But your body freezes in a way you can't quite understand. You’ve dealt with curses that are all sorts of nightmares made real, and wormed your way out of fights you were certain would be your last, but now you’re frozen? Never during the months you’ve been dating has he done something to make you uncomfortable. Nanami has always been respectful, never pushing you to do anything you didn't want to.

Then why are you so flustered?

“I want to,” you say. “I’m sorry, I just…”

His touch is soft as he grips your chin, tilting your head to look him in the eyes. The look behind them is unreadable.

“I need a yes,” he says, “use your words.”

“Yes,” you say, “I want this.”

The kiss he pulls you into is nothing short of needy. You shift in his lap to face him, straddling his toned thighs. His hands move to rest on your hips, kneading the soft flesh.

“I've just…” you swallow hard, “never been with anyone who’s done that before.”

He doesn't waste a moment before asking “have you ever mastubated before?”

His calm demeanor, combined with the rather nonchalant way he asked it makes blood rush to your face. You want nothing more than to shy away, and shrink under his gaze. An aching heat pools between your legs. You want nothing more than for him to touch you. The outline of his hardening cock is visible through his sweatpants. The sight of it is nearly enough to make you drool. Despite this, you avert your eyes. Partly to preserve your dignity.

“What?!” You ask, mortified. “I'm not a virgin!”

“That's not what I asked, my love,”

You swallow hard. It's rather hard to lie to him. Impossible even.

“I've tried.” You say. “It's not really that… great.”

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

You know Nanami well enough to know he’s not asking.

He lets you pull back long enough to slide your shorts—along with your panties—down your hips. They're tossed aside with no care to where they end up. He helps maneuver you to sit down in his lap, your back against his chest, your legs spread on either side of his thighs.

Nanami sucks on the skin of your neck. He's fighting back the urge to bite. Not now. Now isn't the time to be rough. But he’d love nothing more than to mark you as his own. Though, he already has, seeing as it's his shirt you’re wearing. His couch you’re currently splayed across. His scent all over you.

Your hand trails between your legs only to stop. You're this wet and he's hardly touched you? The sheer lewdness of the action is enough to have you stumbling over your words. Facing away from him is your only solace in all this. You don't know if you could look him in the eyes and do this.

Your fingers find your slit only to clumsily play with it. There's no real pattern to your movements. You just do what feels nice, but it's not getting you anywhere any time fast.

His fingers lace with yours, pulling your hand from your swollen clit. This draws a frustrated moan from you. Nanami brings your fingers to his mouth, popping your slick-covered digits inside. The feeling of his tongue makes you squirm. It's not entirely unpleasant, though it is strange. You're not really sure how to feel about that.

A shock of pleasure is sent up your spine the moment his fingers graze your clit. Soft at first. Hardly there. But you’re left sensitive, and aching for more. Nanami draws slow, lazy circles around the bundle of nerves, coaxing soft moans from you.

“How’s this?” He asks.

“Feels fine-” you say, between heavy breaths.

“Just fine?” He teases through a sigh, “I can stop.”

The moment he pulls his hand back, you’re reaching for his wrist. Nanami takes the hint to not tease so much. Though, the question stems more out of curiosity, than malice. All he wants to do is make you feel good.

His thumb traces circles around the bundle of nerves. Steady. Tension builds in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents in your skin. You're so close to your release, balancing on that edge but never falling over the side. You want nothing more than for him to keep touching you. To fill the aching emptiness in your cunt.

“Nobody’s ever touched you like this, have they?” He asks.

Your face burns. But you’re too focused on the absence of his hand to think straight.

“I think you know the answer to that,” you say softly. It takes great effort to force the words from your throat. Your mouth feels dry.

He hums in response. Though he takes that for an answer, which is comforting.

“We’re doing this in bed then,” he says.

You hardly get out a “what?” before he’s hauling you into his arms bridal style. The blanket falls discarded at your feet. You gasp at the sudden weightless feeling, scrambling to wrap your arms around his neck.

He chuckles, and softly says “I'm not going to drop you.”

Nanami isn't going to have his first time with you on your couch. The bed is better suited for such things. And though he’s not opposed to a quickie, he wants to take his time with you.

Though your face is buried in the crook of his neck, you have a vague notion of where he’s headed. Your room. Well, his, but it might as well be your own as you spend more time in his apartment than your own. The bed is still unmade from this morning. You've had the day off, and not bothered to make it, as you planned on lazing about the apartment all day. Rather than tossing you, he sets you down, taking great care that your head doesn't accidentally bump the wall.

He's not oblivious to your past partners. Some he's met, others he's only heard of through you. You've talked about them in passing. Not with much fondness, or frequency. Those chapters of your life were closed. And you were content to leave it that way. Everything was either too much trouble to bother with, or had come to its own conclusion.

It all makes sense now. At least to him.

You part your legs to allow him room to settle between them. The bed dips as he kneels at the foot of the mattress. Nanami strips off his shirt, tossing it over the edge of the bed. His hands work under the hem of your shirt, nudging it up over your breasts. One of his hands gropes greedily at your breast, kneading it in his hand. Though your gaze remains firmly locked to the ceiling, you feel his eyes travel down your body.

“Look at you,” he coos, “how pretty.”

You're not certain you could blush any deeper. Embarrassed, your arms move to cover your face.

“Don't hide from me,” he says, “let me see you.”

Slowly you remove your hands from your face, arms crossing over your chest. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb running across your cheekbone.

“There's my pretty girl,” he coos.

His praise falls on deaf ears as his fingers return to your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves. You’re soaked. If only you knew how wet you are.

He leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It's nothing more than a peck. A soft, fleeting touch. You gasp at the feeling of his lips on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and hickeys down to your collarbone, then the valley between your breasts. You’re so focused on the feeling of his hand that you hardly notice his head moving lower.

Your body freezes at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit. Nanami licks a stripe up your slit, tongue briefly dipping between your folds. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you towards him. His mouth quite literally feels like heaven. Better than that, even. Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Tension builds in your stomach with each skilled flick of his tongue. The vibrations from each grunt and groan that leaves him works your clit in a way that has you crying out his name.

Your first orgasm rolls over you like a wave, blindsiding you completely. Your thighs clench around Nanami’s head, trembling as you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. You're left a mess. The both of you are. You moreso than him. The inner parts of your thighs are coated with a mix of saliva, and your own cum.

When he pulls away, his chin glints in the low light. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You can taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you. It's not unpleasant, but you don't understand why he seems to like it so much. You expect him to say something. Anything, really. But he stays silent.

Your legs part to make room for his body as he settles on top of you, caging you in his arms. He shoves his sweatpants—along with his boxers—down his hips. His cock springs loose, slapping against his toned stomach as it's freed from his boxers. Nanami isn't the most intimidating in size. He’s certainly not small, but his cock is fairly average, albeit a bit on the thicker side. You’ve seen it before- it's not like this is your first time seeing him naked. But whether it's your first, or your hundredth, you’re always stunned by the sight of it.

He groans as he bottoms out. The sound makes a heat burn low in your stomach, which soon turns scorching in nature. Such a noise is not drawn from him so easily. You feel better than he could have ever imagined. There's little resistance as he presses into you. Despite this, he gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“How’s this?” He asks. “Feel alright? Nothing hurts?”

“Feels good, Ken,” you say.

His thrusts are slow at first. He’s testing the waters, eyes locked on your face for any sign of discomfort. You want more. You need more. You need him to fill your aching, needy cunt.

“Faster,” you whine. He silences you with a kiss, nibbling at your bottom lip until you allow his tongue to enter your mouth.

The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. Mindless praise falls past his lips; calling you a good girl, telling you how good you feel around him. His head falls into the crook of your neck, teeth finding the junction where your shoulder meets your neck. It's hardly enough to leave a mark, but the feeling of his teeth against your skin is enough to make you shudder. His touch is pleasurable in the strangest sort of way. You've never felt anything quite like it.

Nanami can't tear his eyes away from how your breasts bounce with each thrust. His hands trail up your body, feeling every dip and curve of your form.

“Beautiful,” he coos, “so- fuck!”

You can hear it in his voice. He's close. His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his own release. But he’s holding back. There's a sense of restraint in his actions as he fucks you senseless.

When you finally cum, you cum hard. Your orgasm tears through you, pulling you apart and putting you back together wrong. Your legs clench around his hips as you gush around his cock.

Your mind is too clouded with lust to realize he’s not put on a condom. Nanami almost doesn't realize himself. It's only at the last moment that panic crosses his mind, and he tears himself away from your sweet cunt. He pulls out as his release nears, giving his cock a few pumps as his seed spills onto his hand and your bare stomach.

Your limbs feel weak, but your head feels light, and floaty. You’re not sure your legs would support your weight even if you tried to stand up.

Nanami moves to rest beside you on the bed. And for a moment you lay there. His eyes are locked on the steady rise and fall of your chest. Between the weight of his body beside you, and the warmth that spreads through your limbs, you find yourself nodding off. You groan as he pulls away, missing the warmth of his body. He simply says “I’ll be right back” as he disappears into the other room. While he’s gone, you discard your shirt, that's grown damp with sweat.

He returns a moment later with a damp washcloth, motioning for you to sit in his lap. You practically melt into his touch, basking in the warmth of his body. He drags the rough cloth across your skin. Soft. Lovingly. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body.

If your heart wasn't still racing, you could almost fall asleep here.

“How was it?” He asks.

“I don't know,” you say, “I think I need another round to help me decide.”

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #not osha compliant

286 notes · View notes

buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

Every Part of me - Tom Holland smut

The one where you and Tom are ex-lovers

Warnings: smut, kinda dubcon? but maybe not really (Tom just steps in and makes sexual decisions without discussing previously with the reader, but she accepts it wholeheartedly), slight degradation (Tom calls the reader cockslut and greedy little whore and dumb little baby, but I think that’s it), face fucking that causes slight asphyxiation, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking and the likes

A/N: Day 2 of Kinktober! Today’s prompts were face fucking and breeding kink with Tom Holland. Hope you guys like it! And thanks for everyone who has sent me messages about my accident, I’m actually feeling a lot better, although still in huge pain.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I knew he’d been watching ever since I stepped foot in the set. To be fair, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t do the same. It hadn’t been much over a month since we decided to call it quits, and despite knowing it was for the best, it didn’t change the fact that my body still felt perfectly tuned to him and his gaze, the way he’d lick his lips after his eyes caught mine. So I tried not to look, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the end.

At least my job was quick and easy and despite knowing he’d be around, we weren’t expected to be in a scene together. Still, two weeks felt fourteen days too long and the day before I was expected to leave, the exhaustion of being on the edge all the time had caught up with me. I was scared, constantly tense about the possibility that I’d find myself standing too close to him and one whiff of his cologne would make me lose all the control I was struggling to hold onto.

I couldn’t even predict what would happen, I just know it wouldn’t be good. Not for our intentions to stay away from each other. So that’s why when Anthony and Robert asked if I wanted to go out for drinks, to celebrate my last night on set, I politely refused, explaining how utterly drained of all energy I felt. Thankfully, they conceded, leaving me alone to sleep this last night before I could go back to the comfort of my own house. I guess the fact that they knew about our break up helped a bit. Robert had looked at me with kind eyes that let me know he was understanding of my situation.

Nonetheless, as soon as I got into my room, I grabbed a bottle of wine and unscrewed it, determined to finish it tonight. Perhaps the buzz would help me sleep, but what I needed the most, however, was a distraction, and since a night out with friends wasn’t possible, I decided to give myself a night of relaxation.

As I poured myself my first glass, I stripped down to nothing, leaving my clothes on the floor as I opted to put on one of the silk robes the hotel offered. Nothing says solo party like semi-nudity. Besides, I was planning on jumping in the tub any minute now.

My idea, however, was cut short by a strong knock on my bedroom’s door.

Raising an eyebrow, I approached the door cautiously. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t even called for a meal yet. Another knock resonated and I sighed, quickening my step to open the door to the stranger.

“Tom.” The word came out more as a whisper than anything else. He, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. Instead, his eyes gazed hauntingly into mine with an intensity I hadn’t ever seen before. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I felt enough courage to break the silence, but my voice came out weak and hesitant. I hated myself for that. I wanted to sound strong, enthusiastic, even. Not like someone who missed the weight of his body over mine.

The same thought must have been in his head because at last, his eyes broke our connection to travel the extent of my body. Self-conscious, I tried to better adjust the robe around me, hoping to hide more of my skin from his view.

It didn’t take a genius to see that he didn’t like that.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Seeing Y/N wearing only a robe, not even a foot away from me, after only dealing with memories of her scent, was too much and yet everything I needed at that moment. I could smell her now. That vanilla body wash she always took with her wherever she’d go, lilies and wine. I guess she’d been drinking.

Maybe that’s why her lips were so red.

I wanted to lick it off of her, kiss her until she lost all the air in her lungs, bite her luscious lips until they were red for a completely different reason.

I subconsciously licked mine, eyes still fixated on her mouth before looking down to admire the skin that was available for me to look at.

She fixed her robe, trying to hide more from me.

I didn’t like that.

Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was pushing her inside the room, slamming the door behind us. To every step I gave in her direction, she gave one to distance her body from mine, but I was having none of it. I quickened my movements until I was able to wrap an arm around her lower back and pull her to me, my lips immediately finding hers.

It was like heaven and hell all at once. God, I knew I’d missed her taste, but having it in my lips again, being able to explore the inside of her mouth with my tongue brought me such a powerful exhilaration that I felt like my knees would buckle at any second.

Still, I couldn’t separate myself from her. Not even when she tried to push me away, to end our kiss - no doubt struggling with the memories of that terrible night when we decided to call it quits. But I was done going through the same reel again and again. I didn’t want to remember her anymore. I wanted her right here, with me.

So I chased her away, making sure our lips stayed connected until she had nowhere to run anymore. Pressed up against the wall, I had all the control I’d been wanting over her now. So I deepened our kiss, burying one of my hands on her hair so I could force her head back to accept my eager tongue, and when I was finally able to do so, my other hand pulled on the string of her robe until it fell open and I had all of her body exposed to me.

“Tom…” She managed to gasp as she struggled against my hold on her, but I was having none of it.

“Shut up,” I warned her, already prying her lower lips open with my index and ring finger as I inserted my middle one on her weeping hole. “Fuck.” The chuckle that I gave held no humor, only a mocking tone that I hardly recognized as mine. “For someone who’s so resistant to my touch you sure are wet, sweetheart.”

Perhaps I was still angry at her. Maybe that’s why I felt this overwhelming need to be mean, to make sure that she did just what I wanted. Perhaps then she’d know how I’d felt ever since that night.

She stopped struggling then, accepting my invasion of her space as I took her mouth on mine again, pressing her against the wall as I fucked her with a single finger, before adding another and another.

I could feel her struggling to accept me, the thickness of the three digits stretching her open and I had to laugh. “I can see you haven’t been properly fucked since I was last inside this little pussy, huh?” I teased, and she only whined in response, moving her hips to thrust back against my hand. “Gotta prepare you, love…” Kissing her, I made sure to leave a few bruises on her neck when I left her lips, my fingers never stopping their movements inside of her. “Gotta make sure you’ll be able to accept my cock in here again.”

Maybe it was what I said, maybe it was the fact that I finally relented and started to rub on her clit with my thumb, but I had her cumming around me in seconds, making me grin darkly as I continued to fuck her through her orgasm.

“Such a dumb little baby, thinking you could leave me. Saying all of those things and leaving me to pick up the pieces of my heart. Well, let’s see how you speak now, with my cock in your mouth.”

I pushed her on her knees and immediately she was reaching out for my jeans, but I slapped her hands away. “You get what I give you, nothing more. Now sit back and wait for my cock like a good girl.”

The sight of her with her bottom lip sticking out, those cute puppy eyes appearing from under her eyelashes made my heart grow twice its size. How did I think I could live without her? How did she so easily give up on me, leaving me behind after one single fight?

The ambers of anger rose high again, and I grabbed her hair in my fist, pulling her to meet my erect member. “Suck it up, little whore.” I allowed her to do as she pleased for a little while, albeit keeping my grip on her hair, relishing in the feeling of her talented tongue and warm mouth. But the feeling of despair was still threatening to cut me open, and before long I pulled her away by her hair.

“Open your mouth,” I barked. “Leave it open. I’m gonna fuck your face.” She didn’t fight as I pulled her on my dick until her lips were touching my navel, my cock hitting the back of her throat.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

It took every bit of concentration I had to control my urge to gag around his cock, but I knew by the way he looked down at me that it was a battle I was destined to fail. He wanted me to hurt. He needed to see the tears in my eyes as he constricted my need for air, and I could allow him this release.

Despite our break-up, I still trusted him with my life.

So I relaxed against him, allowing him to do as he wished as he guided my movements through his grip in my hair, and I found some new appreciation by the way I was a sputtering, whiny mess, tears and spit running on my face just like he wished to see.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Take it. Take this fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are for me.” I couldn’t even find it in myself to care about the degrading nature of his comments, not when they were making me so wet I could feel it dripping down my thighs.

We’d never fucked like this before, but god, were we missing out. I was so aroused by our activities that I couldn’t wait anymore, I needed another release soon. So one of my hands ended up between my legs, while the other rested on one of his thighs, just for support.

At first, he was so wrapped up in the pleasure I was giving him that he didn’t even notice, but when I moaned around his cock after a particular tug in my hair that made my finger slip inside of myself, he opened his eyes to look down at me, finding me halfway through an orgasm already.

“You’re such a cockslut, aren’t you? Already gave you an orgasm, but the second my cock is in your mouth, you need another one.” I obviously couldn’t answer, but he didn’t really want a response, from the way he pulled his dick from between my lips with a pop before pulling me up by my hair and dragging me to bed.

“You’re not gonna cum if it’s not me giving you the pleasure, sweetheart.” It was the first time in the night he called me by one of the pet names he used when we were still dating, and even if the tone was still slightly colder and bossier than I was used to, I felt myself melting at the memories that it brought me, leaving me putty in his hands.

He was then free to easily manipulate my body how he saw fit, which was on my hands and knees, my head pushed down against the hotel’s mattress. “Fuck, I missed this ass,” he commented just before slapping me hard, making me yelp. The sound must have entertained him because he did it again and again until I was shaking from the ardor and dripping down on the bed from arousal.

And then he pushed into me, releasing one of those breathless little moans that I loved to hear and that I’d missed so much, and it felt like I’d blacked out for a second. Having him inside of me was everything I had been dreaming of for the last couple of weeks, and now that I was struggling to accept his thickness, it felt like the only thing in my mind was Tom, how Tom’s hands felt as he rubbed them all over my back before wrapping my hair around them again, the feeling of his thighs hitting the back of mine, the sound of his balls slapping my clit with each powerful thrust he gave.

It was enough to have screaming out his name with zero regards for the other people on this hotel floor. “Fuck yes, baby, let them know who’s fucking you this good.” There was no way anyone staying close to us didn’t know, and I could only pray none of our co-stars would be around to tease us about it.

Suddenly, just when I was about to reach that peak again, he pulled out, easily manhandling me onto my bed as he held my ankles spread out for me. I moaned out loud when I felt him spit on my pussy before he pushed into me again, immediately getting back into the same rhythm as before.

“I want to see your face when you cum again,” he whispered hotly in my ear, making me whimper as I pulled him closer to me, my sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. It didn’t take me long to get back to the same state as before, and the second he sucked on my earlobe, I came all around him, hearing him curse against my ear.

When I opened my eyes after calming down again, I realized he’d been waiting for me, predatory gaze glued on mine as he found a way to pound me even harder against the mattress, so roughly bumping against my uterus that it almost hurt.

“I’m gonna cum,” he suddenly announced, still looking deep into my eyes, and all of a sudden, I was shaken awake from my reverie by the realization that we’d been fucking raw this entire time. But before I could even come up with something to say about it, he beat me to it, adding, “I’m gonna cum inside of you. I’ll fuck a baby into you. This way you won’t be able to walk out on me ever again.”

Just as he oh-so-casually mentioned his plans for our future, I felt him spill into me for the first time, the warm feeling eliciting another small orgasm that left me trembling in his hands as he continued to softly thrust into me, like he didn’t want to leave and let any of his cum escape my pussy.

“I mean it,” he randomly interrupted my attempt to gather my breath, still panting himself, still very much nested inside of me. When I raised an eyebrow in question, he simply shook his head before leaning down to drop his body weight over mine, just like I’d been dreaming about. “I want you forever. I’m not letting you go again. Baby or no baby.”

Snorting, I hugged him to me, relishing on the smell of his cologne as I hid my face in the crook of his neck. “We still have a lot to talk about, Tom… but it’s safe to say that I feel the same way.”

#tom holland #tom holland smut #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #my fics #tom holland reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland insert fanfiction

430 notes · View notes

nitrateglow · 3 years

Text

Favorite films discovered in 2020

Well, this year sucked. I did see some good movies though. Some even made after I was born!

Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon, 1997)

I watch a lot of thrillers and horror movies, but precious few actually unsettle me in any lasting way. This cannot be said of Perfect Blue, which gave me one of the most visceral cinematic experiences of my life. Beyond the brief flashes of bloodletting (you will never look at a screwdriver the same way again), the scariest thing about Perfect Blue might be how the protagonist has both her life and her sense of self threatened by the villains. The movie’s prescience regarding public persona is also incredibly eerie, especially in our age of social media. While anime is seen as a very niche interest (albeit one that has become more mainstream in recent years), I would highly recommend this movie to thriller fans, whether they typically watch anime or not. It’s right up there with the best of Hitchcock or De Palma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (dir. Sergio Leone, 1966)

Nothing is better than when an iconic movie lives up to the hype. Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef play off of one another perfectly. I was impressed by Wallach as Tuco in particular: his character initially seems like a one-dimensional greedy criminal, but the performance is packed with wonderful moments of humanity. Do I really need to say anything about the direction? Or about the wonderful storyline, which takes on an almost mythic feel in its grandeur? Or that soundtrack?

Die Niebelungen (both movies) (dir. Fritz Lang, 1924)

I did NOT expect to love these movies as much as I did. That they would be dazzlingly gorgeous I never doubted: the medieval world of the story is brought to vivid life through the geometrical mise en scene and detailed costuming. However, the plot itself is so, so riveting, never losing steam over the course of the four hours it takes to watch both movies. The first half is heroic fantasy; the second half involves a revenge plot of almost Shakespearean proportions. This might actually be my favorite silent Fritz Lang movie now.

Muppet Treasure Island (dir. Brian Henson, 1996)

I understand that people have different tastes and all, but how does this movie have such a mixed reception? It’s absolutely hilarious. How could anybody get through the scene with “THA BLACK SPOT AGGHHHHHHH” and not declare this a masterpiece of comedy? And I risk being excommunicated from the Muppet fandom for saying it, but I like this one more than The Great Muppet Caper. It’s probably now my second favorite Muppet movie.

Belle de Jour (dir. Luis Bunuel, 1967)

I confess I’m not terribly fond of “but was it real???” movies. They tend to feel gimmicky more often than not. Belle de Jour is an exception. This is about more than a repressed housewife getting her kicks working as a daytime prostitute. The film delves into victim blaming, trauma, class, and identity-- sure, this sounds academic and dry when I put it that way, but what I’m trying to say is that these are very complicated characters and the blurring of fantasy and reality becomes thought-provoking rather than trite due to that complexity.

Secondhand Lions (dir. Tim McCanlies, 2003)

The term “family movie” is often used as a synonym for “children’s movie.” However, there is an important distinction: children’s movies only appeal to kids, while family movies retain their appeal as one grows up. Secondhand Lions is perhaps a perfect family movie, with a great deal more nuance than one might expect regarding the need for storytelling and its purpose in creating meaning for one’s life. It’s also amazingly cast: Haley Joel Osment is excellent as the juvenile lead, and Michael Caine and Robert Duvall steal the show as Osment’s eccentric uncles.

The Pawnbroker (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1964)

Controversial in its day for depicting frontal nudity, The Pawnbroker shocks today for different reasons. As the top review of the film on IMDB says, we’re used to victims of great atrocities being presented as sympathetic, good people in fiction. Here, Rod Steiger’s Sol Nazerman subverts such a trope: his suffering at the hands of the Nazis has made him a hard, closed-off person, dismissive of his second wife (herself also a survivor of the Holocaust), cold to his friendly assistant, and bitter towards himself. The movie follows Nazerman’s postwar life, vividly presenting his inner pain in a way that is almost too much to bear. Gotta say, Steiger gives one of the best performances I have ever seen in a movie here: he’s so three-dimensional and complex. The emotions on his face are registered with Falconetti-level brilliance.

The Apartment (dir. Billy Wilder, 1960)

While not the most depressing Christmas movie ever, The Apartment certainly puts a good injection of cynicism into the season. I have rarely seen a movie so adept at blending comedy, romance, and satire without feeling tone-deaf. There are a lot of things to praise about The Apartment, but I want to give a special shoutout to the dialogue. “Witty” dialogue that sounds natural is hard to come by-- so often, it just feels smart-assy and strained. Not here.

Anatomy of a Murder (dir. Otto Preminger, 1959)

I’m not big into courtroom dramas, but Anatomy of a Murder is a big exception. Its morally ambiguous characters elevate it from being a mere “whodunit” (or I guess in the case of this movie, “whydunit”), because if there’s something you’re not going to get with this movie, it’s a clear answer as to what happened on the night of the crime. Jimmy Stewart gives one of his least characteristic performances as the cynical lawyer, and is absolutely brilliant.

Oldboy (dir. Park Chan-Wook, 2003)

Oldboy reminded me a great deal of John Webster’s 17th century tragedy The Duchess of Malfi. Both are gruesome, frightening, and heartbreaking works of art, straddling the line between sensationalism and intelligence, proving the two are not mutually exclusive. It’s both entertaining and difficult to watch. The thought of revisiting it terrifies me but I feel there is so much more to appreciate about the sheer craft on display.

Family Plot (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1976)

Family Plot is an enjoyable comedy; you guys are just mean. I know in an ideal world, Hitchcock’s swan song would be a great thriller masterpiece in the vein of Vertigo or Psycho. Family Plot is instead a silly send-up of Hitchcock’s favorite tropes, lampooning everything from the dangerous blonde archetype (with not one but two characters) to complicated MacGuffin plots. You’ll probably demand my film buff card be revoked for my opinion, but to hell with it-- this is my favorite of Hitchcock’s post-Psycho movies.

My Best Girl (dir. Sam Taylor, 1927)

Mary Pickford’s farewell to silent film also happens to be among her best movies. It’s a simple, charming romantic comedy starring her future husband, Charles “Buddy” Rogers. Pickford also gets to play an adult character here, rather than the little girl parts her public demanded she essay even well into her thirties. She and Rogers are sweet together without being diabetes-inducing, and the comedy is often laugh out loud funny. It even mocks a few tropes that anyone who watches enough old movies will recognize and probably dislike-- such as “break his heart to save him!!” (my personal most loathed 1920s/1930s trope).

Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

This feels like such a zeitgeist movie. It’s about the gap between the rich and the poor, it’s ironic, it’s depressing, it’s unpredictable as hell. I don’t like terms like “modern classic,” because by its very definition, a classic can only be deemed as such after a long passage of time, but I have a good feeling Parasite will be considered one of the definitive films of the 2010s in the years to come.

Indiscreet (dir. Stanley Donen, 1958)

Indiscreet often gets criticized for not being Notorious more or less, which is a shame. It’s not SUPPOSED to be-- it’s cinematic souffle and both Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant elevate that light material with their perfect chemistry and comedic timing. It’s also refreshing to see a rom-com with characters over 40 as the leads-- and the movie does not try to make them seem younger or less mature, making the zany moments all the more hilarious. It’s worth seeing for Cary Grant’s jig (picture above) alone.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (dir. Joseph Sargent, 1974)

This movie embodies so much of what I love about 70s cinema: it’s gritty, irreverent, and hard-hitting. It’s both hilarious and suspenseful-- I was tense all throughout the run time. I heard there was a remake and it just seems... so, so pointless when you already have this gem perfect as it is.

They All Laughed (dir. Peter Bogdonavich, 1981)

Bogdonavich’s lesser known homage to 1930s screwball comedy is also a weirdly autumnal movie. Among the last gasps of the New Hollywood movement, it is also marks the final time Audrey Hepburn would star in a theatrical release. The gentle comedy, excellent ensemble cast (John Ritter is the standout), and the mature but short-lived romance between Hepburn and Ben Gazarra’s characters make this a memorably bittersweet gem.

The Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942)

Absolutely hilarious. I was watching this with my parents in the room. My mom tends to like old movies while my dad doesn’t, but both of them were laughing aloud at this one. Not much else to say about it, other than I love Joel McCrea the more movies I see him in-- though it’s weird seeing him in comedies since I’m so used to him as a back-breaking man on the edge in The Most Dangerous Game!

Nothing Sacred (dir. William Wellman, 1937)

I tend to associate William Wellman with the pre-code era, so I’ve tried delving more into his post-code work. Nothing Sacred is easily my favorite of those films thus far, mainly for Carole Lombard but also because the story still feels pretty fresh due to the jabs it takes at celebrity worship and moral hypocrisy. For a satire, it’s still very warm towards its characters, even when they’re misbehaving or deluding themselves, so it’s oddly a feel-good film too.

Applause (dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1929)

I love watching early sound movies, but my inner history nerd tends to enjoy them more than the part of me that, well, craves good, well-made movies. Most early sound films are pure awkward, but there’s always an exception and Applause is one of them. While the plot’s backstage melodrama is nothing special, the way the story is told is super sophisticated and expressive for this period of cinema history, and Helen Morgan makes the figure of the discarded burlesque queen seem truly human and tragic rather than merely sentimental.

Topaz (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1969)

Another late Hitchcock everyone but me seems to hate. After suffering through Torn Curtain, I expected Hitchcock’s other cold war thriller was going to be dull as dishwater, but instead I found an understated espionage movie standing in stark contrast to the more popular spy movies of the period. It’ll never be top Hitchcock, of course-- still it was stylish and enjoyable, with some truly haunting moments. I think it deserves more appreciation than it’s been given.

What were your favorite cinematic discoveries in 2020?

155 notes · View notes

what-the--curtains · 3 years

Text

Not a Piece of Art

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 5 - Revelations in the Moonlight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Will Javier reach you in time? That is if he’s coming at all.

Notes: sorry this keeps getting longer and longer! This is the second to last part I hope y’all enjoy it (if not let me know how to improve!) 💕🌻✨

Tw: 18+ (NO MINORS ALLOWED) Violence, blood, language, nudity.

Tagged: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot @trash-dino-5000

Words: 3.7k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flutter open as you feel flecks of cold water bounce off your cheek. Your pupils dilate into the fluorescent lighting bearing down on you, and a dull throb begins at the base of your skull. You go to rub the ache, but your hands are tugged backwards at the movement causing your shoulders to stretch around the pillar you were currently being tied to. Your eyes scan the area landing on the two men from earlier who stand guard at the doors of what you assume must be the mansion's basement.

“Carlos...What the fuck is going on?” you rasp out, miraculously remembering to maintain your accent.

“I could ask you the same question?” he snarls. Feeling his meaning you hold your tongue, waiting to see what he knows. “You know why you’re here?” He asks, taking a sinister step towards you.

“Carlos I can honestly say, I don’t have the foggiest,” you respond, the metallic taste in your mouth worsening the growing nausea caused by the lights.

“The painting, the one you gave me, was stopped at the border yesterday. The first time it’s happened in years. Some of my best men were taken, they're dead now of course. Loose ends have to be tied up. The painting, and its components were taken by the DEA. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?” he snarls. You do your best to maintain your facade, though a panic has set in. “Still not getting it?” he queries, taking your face between his hands forcing your eyes up to him. “Maybe you are as dumb as you look. Let's try a different approach, shall we? Why would this painting be stopped? After years without issue, then you show up and in one day, our program has been compromised.” he continues, letting go of your cheeks and swinging your head out to the side as he walks back over to his desk.

“Statistics dictate…. “ you start, not turning back to face.

“Shut up!” he shouts, slamming his hand down onto the desk, causing your body to flinch into the stone pillar.

“Carlos let me go, I do not know what happened or what was with those paintings, I thought they were for your friend. Why were they taken?” You try and reason frantically.

“See I do not know that, my wifes convinced you're too convenient, and after today I’d have to agree. Ohhh…” he tuts in mocking sympathy, noticing the waiver in your voice “Don't worry cariño, all shall be revealed soon, I wouldn’t dare keep you in suspense. I had a man deliver a message to your supposed husband. He has 15 minutes to show up here alone or we kill you.” he states flatly, pulling a small pistol out of his desk, checking the barrel.

You swallow, leaning your head back against the pillar, 15 minutes, that's how long it was from the DEA’s main office to the house. That's how long it would take for a SWAT team to get here and catch Carlos, but not to save you. A cleverly crafted plan, no doubt administered by Helena, heavens knows Carlos wasn't capable. You can’t help but let out a tiny laugh, as you blink back tears, making your peace as you prepared to meet your maker. If there was one thing you knew about Peña it was that he would do anything to catch Escobar.

“Five minutes left darling, any last minute confessions?” He says now inches away, staring down at you.

“Carlos, please, I didn't do this.” you beg, playing your final hand.

“We shall see. A shame to waste such beauty, but ….” He brushes your cheekbone with the gun and you close your eyes. They open as the sound of doors swinging open echoes throughout the basement. Looking towards the sound you see a sweaty and enraged Peña emerging. You’d never more happy to be seeing his stupid face. You exhale shakily cursing yourself for nearly bursting into tears when his eyes meet yours. Immediately he starts towards you, one of the men places a hand on his chest, but a swift uppercut breaks the guys nose and the other two henchmen retract allowing him to make his way behind you.

“Are you hurt, my love?” he asks, frantically untying your wrists that were rubbed raw from where you had worked to free them. You shake your head no. He unties your hands and you feel yourself unravel with the cord, as your entire system begins to shut down. “I’ve got you” he whispers, as you fall into his arms.

“Now, friend, come let us chat for a moment,” Carlos says, almost as surprised as you that Javi had shown up.

“No, I don't talk with people who kidnap the only thing in my life that matters” he spits, hooking his arm under yours and starting slowly towards the door. You're almost out when you hear the unmistakable sound of the safety being turned off. You both turn to see Carlos aiming the gun at you.

“You passed information?” he sneers more of a question than a statement.

“Think Carlos,” he snarls through gritted teeth, “You never gave me any information,you asked for a painting and we provided, you never told me more.” After a few minutes you hear Carlos click the safety back into place as he lowers his weapon.

“You’re right. We thought perhaps we had been infiltrated but it seems like someone else has been leaking information. My wife was wrong for the last time.” he mutters, tossing the gun back into its drawer.

“We’re free to go then?” Javi fumes, the rage he felt towards Carlos seeping out of every pore. With a curt nod, the two men clear the door and Javi scoops you up and carries you out the house and down across the beach where the moon had risen high. You look over his shoulder, and back towards the house. You make out Helena's outline on the balcony watching you as you leave.

“I should have gone with you” he whispers as he places you down onto your feet at the front step so he can open the door. You waiver for a moment, but you're quickly steadied by Peñas hand supporting your waist as you lean into him. He hadn’t had time to assess the damage but the moonlight illuminated the blood coming from your lip and forehead. Wounds caused by his incompetence, by his failure to assess the situation.

“Then we'd both be dead” you respond walking into the kitchen and stupidly lifting yourself up onto the counter, the movement causing every ounce of your body to exude with pain, eyes watering as a result. Despite your attempt to mask your pain, it did not go unnoticed by Javi. Based on everything he knew about you, he figured you’d try and play down your injuries, but based on your expressions he knew the visible blood wasn’t the only damage done.

‘Hey, don't strain yourself,” he says, watching you grimace when you lean over to take off your shoes. You go to shift off the counter. “No, don't move now, you're already up there,” he continues, bending down and taking off the shoes for you, tossing them to the side before rummaging through the cabinet for the first aid kit. He passes you the bottle of tequila that was blocking the kit. You bring it to your lips, hoping it would help mask some of your pain.

“We have to get you to a hospital” he says, as he tilts your head gently from side to side seeing darkening areas around your forehead. Dried blood covered your hairline and your mouth.

“No then the mission will be ruined, beside i'm still breathing and no blood’s been coughed up, so nothing’s punctured” you murmur, your breathing was fine as well, albeit painful, but no wheezing. There was nothing that needed immediate care.

“What?” he says, glancing down to your side, increasingly concerned with each passing comment. Your eyes dart up to the ceiling, not wanting to burden him anymore than you already had “Show me.” he demands softly.

“It's fine Javi,” you try and reason, not wanting to put any additional stress on the man, knowing he’d already be blaming himself for your injuries.

“Show me,” he repeats, firm this time, but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, “that's an order” he muses, causing you to roll your eyes.

“It hurts to lift my arms” you admit, he nods and slowly removes the straps of the dress pulling it down to your waist immediately identifying a concerning dark patch covering your entire left side. You didn't look down, you knew it was probably internal bleeding but, you didn't want that information to get back to Javi.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he whispers, amazed that you were still conscious let alone rolling your eyes at him. He pulls out a bag of ice from the freezer wrapping it in a tea towel and placing it gently on your side.

“Hold that there for a second,” he says, turning back to the freezer for more ice.

“He's going to kill Helena, we should try and get her out” you reason, shifting the ice around.

“How hard do you hit your head querida?” He laughs “She's the one who ratted us out and you're worried about her?” He continues, bringing the ice up to your forehead. You shrug wincing as your side is inadvertently pulled on by the motion. “For someone with such an ability to hold a grudge you're certainly very forgiving when you want to be”

“C’mon Peña, you know she's doing it to survive, she doesn't deserve to die. Besides she may have information she's willing to trade ” you offer, Helena was no angel, but she was definitely useful.

“After what they did to you? They don’t deserve to live, not in my book,.” he says, placing the ice back down on the counter as he takes a damp cloth and begins to wipe some of the blood off your face. You laugh, presuming he’s kidding, but when you look at him, he's not laughing, there's no trace of humour on his face. His head’s down as he wipes your face. He looks... vulnerable, visibly upset by what's happened to you, almost like he cared about you. Had he this whole time and you were too busy being angry at him to notice? Angry about something so stupid in the grand scheme of things. His eyes meet yours and you find your answer, their softness only confirming your current feeling.

“What wrong querida?” he asks, his free hand caressing your cheek. Your hearts beating out of your chest. How can he not hear it? You're sure everyone within a 50 mile radius could. You bring your hand up to his pressing it against your cheek hoping to convey the sudden onslaught of feelings you were having. He stares back into your eyes, not willing to try anything without your full permission, a hand hold wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the proof he needed to kiss you like he'd been wanting to for the past four weeks, hell, the past year.

You drop your hands and run them along his shoulders encouraging him forward. He doesn't drop the ice he's holding to your side, and using his free hand he pulls you closer to him. Your faces now centimeters apart and each of your breaths shallower than the next.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

“What about the contract?” he says, making sure this was what you wanted.

“Fuck the contract,” you say and with that you press a gentle kiss to his lips, pulling away when you don’t feel him kiss back. You keep your eyes closed wondering if you had misread his meaning? His thumb traces over your split lip gently pulling your chin towards him for a deeper kiss, warm . You smile into it and he goes to close the gap between. Lost in the moment, his grip becomes rougher than intended and he feels you flinch away from him.

“Fuck, i'm sorry,” he says, pulling back and placing a kiss on the area before reapplying the ice

“We should get you to bed, before I do any serious damage” he says, and you nod your head in agreement, allowing him to carry you back to the room bridal style. He places you on the bed, but noticing the blood stuck in your hair he makes you an offer you can't refuse.

“You wanna wash that blood out of your hair? Might make you feel better,” he says. You nod silently, too tired to speak, and Javi leaves to run you a bath. He helps you lower yourself into the tub and begins to rinse the blood out your hair, hands slowly massaging your scalp and running down from roots to end the runoff staining the water a light pink. He glances down and sees your eyes staring up at him, your lips pursed slightly, silently hoping he’d read your mind and kiss you again.

“Gotta stop looking at me like that” he chuckles, and you let out a small grunt.

“You want something darling?” he asks, and you extend your neck out, parting your lips expectedly causing him to smile “you want more kisses cariño? From me? They gonna make you feel better?” He asks.

You nod causing him to grin as he washes the last of the blood out of your hair before leaning down to pepper your lips with light kisses pulling back and chuckling at the small humph you make in his absence.

“What?” you murmur sleepily

“Last thing I thought i'd get to do was kiss you” he admits, turning off the shower head.

“You thought about it a lot, Peña?” you tease, feeling better now you weren't plastered in your own blood.

“Every day,” he confesses “every time I’d walk into your lab and you’d ignore me,” He continues lifting you up out of the tub and toweling you off.

“You want pyjamas?” he asks.

“Just want to sleep” you murmur, shaking off the towel and crawling under the linen sheets.

“Okay i'll get the lights, call me if you need anything, i'll just be next door,” he says, preparing to sleep on the couch.

“Javi…” you whisper, as the lights go out.

“Yes” he responds, turning around, overjoyed at the sound of his first name coming from your lips.

“Stay with me” you plead,

“As long as you want,” he says, crawling in under the sheets with you allowing you to settle around him comfortably, not closing his own eyes until the faint sound of your snoring starts up.

You shoot up in bed as the sound of gunshots ring out through the night. You turn quickly and see the imprint of where Javi had been before you fell asleep. Stumbling out the bed, you grab a nearby lamp, the pain from your side dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you descend the stairs.

“Javi” you whisper-yell frantically, wielding the lamp as you turn the corner. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see his figure on the balcony, placing the lamp down on the counter. The sound causes Javi to turn around and he rushes towards you grabbing you by the shoulder.

“What was the gunshot? Are you okay?” you ask running your hands over him scanning for an entry wound.

“Im fine dulzura, im fine. Go back to bed,” he whispers, with a tone indicating that everything was not fine.

“Helena?” you ask eyes wide.

“I don’t know” he lies, “We'll figure it out tomorrow.” he continues trying to sooth you, despite knowing exactly who was at the other end of that bullet.

“Tomorrow?” you whisper.

“If we go over there now, he’ll kill us both, if he's not already on his way to do it now. Go back into the bedroom, lock the door, do not open it for anyone. I'll keep watch” he says, more serious than you’d ever heard him.

“Stay with me.” you plead, not willing to lose Javi now that you had him.

“No, they put me with you to keep you safe, that’s what I'm going to do, that's what you're going to let me do.” he says, escorting your back up the stairs to the bedroom, not leaving until he hears the lock click into place.

Your eyes open as the mid morning sun seeps in through the cracks of the curtains reminding you of the events from the night prior. Quietly, but quickly, you get out of bed and unlock the door, holding your breath as you tip-toe down the stairs, turning the corner you exhale upon seeing Peña sitting on a chair gun in hand facing the door. He glances at you once, then again, he was over tired and on edge from being up all night.

“You should get some sleep, I'll keep an eye out,” you offer, going over to him and taking the gun from his hand, placing it down on the coffee table.

“How are the ribs?” he asks, reaching back for the gun.

“Broken, but fine,” you say, grabbing his hand in yours to stop it.

“That’s an oxymoron, you need to see a doctor,” he responds rubbing his thumb over your knuckles

“And you need to sleep, If he hasn’t killed us yet I think we're in the clear,'' you say, beginning to pull him up. He gives in and gets up himself, knowing you're only making your ribs worse. He lifts your chin and sleepily kisses you before heading off into the bedroom, leaving you with a gun that you didn't know how to use. You begin to cook breakfast leaving a plate in the fridge for Javi when he wakes up, you hoped the DEA would be extracting you soon. The situation was already volatile, you didn't want it to become explosive when the second painting was stopped. As you're cleaning up the dishes you hear a faint knock at the door. Your heart drops, and you look over to the door, letting out a shaky breath as you place the pan down in the sink. You open the door to Carlos who's standing before you looking charismatic as ever. You want to call out for Peña but you know it'll only make the situation more suspicious.

“Carlos,” you say taking a step back, crossing your arms over your chest

“You did not go to the hospital?” he asks, eyes scanning over your body as he speaks

“We don’t trust hospitals,” you offer up.

“Or the police? Kidnapping is a very serious crime after all.” he muses, smiling down at you.

“If we don’t trust hospitals, why would we go to the police? They’re a bunch of incompetent fuckers. Besides, they don’t need to know about the counterfeit work I've been doing on the side,” you offer, as you hear the sound of Javi descending the stairs. It had only been a moment but it felt like forever when Javi finally showed up at your side, quickly putting distance between you and Carlos.

“Get out. You may have built this house but we bought it, leave.” he spits

“Listen…” Carlos chides.

“You think you can break my wifes ribs and I will welcome you back with open arms? That I would listen to you, no, no, no….” he laughs.

“Darling... '' you say, trying to get his attention, but he's not done.

“Get out, do not come back, we’ll be moving shortly. As I said before we like to keep decent company and it seems we’ve run out of it here.”

“Darling.. that’s quite enough, Carlos apologies please do go on.” You interject. You can practically see the steam coming off Javi when you say it, his eyes wide as he turns back to face you.

“Thank you querida, I came to offer my sincerest apologies, I was mistaken in my belief that you were federal, misinformation is like a disease. It festers, rots your brain, I let Helena rot mine. As a result we will be moving for a time, we suggest you two do the same, police will be sniffing around here soon enough”

“Wait” you say, exiting into your art room returning shortly after with the portrait “here. The last counterfeit you had asked for, it rough but passable. Think of it as a farewell gift” He takes it and just like that he was gone, out of your lives for good.

*************************************************

The two of you sit in the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs in the ER’s waiting room, you'd been there for a few hours now, mainly sitting in silence, still trying to process what was going on.

“She's dead because of us,” you finally whisper out, Helena hadn’t left your mind since the gunshots had sung out last night, “We could have tried to get her out, she could have had information,”

“Then the whole operation would be gone, and this all would have been for nothing,” Javi responds in an attempt to unburden you of your guilt. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and pull you into him, to kiss your pain away, but you were back to the real world and the rules were different here, less clear to him.

“She was telling the truth and she still died. Do you realize how fucked up that is,” you state, emotionlessly staring off into space unable to process how you were feeling, or not wanting to, knowing it could result in everything flooding out of you.

“It’s just part of the job, they think the paintings can be linked to Escobar which is the only thing that matters.The only thing good that came out of all this pain is that were one step closer to catching the bastard” he reassures, not realizing the meaning of the words he was speaking.

“The only thing Javi?”, you question, unable to believe that everything between you had meant nothing to him.

“Ya, the only thing, in the end,” he says, turning just in time to catch the look on your face, only then realizing what he was implying. He opens his mouth to explain that what he had just said was not what he meant, but the doctor calls your name and you stand up quickly, walking ahead leaving him in the dust. He looks from the chair then to the exit, weighing his options.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #javi x y/n #agent peña x you #agent peña x reader #narcos fanfic #javi x reader

38 notes · View notes

thefatalmarksman · 4 years

Text

@nixniivalis

[[ continued from X ]]

At this point, Luxu could not logically explain why it was he followed Neraine around like this. He could at least offer the superficial and quite believable excuse that he was simply bored, that there was some sort of existential pull that demanded he break from the norm and she had conveniently offered him a temporary solution to that. Demons got bored, after all. It was nothing new. It was how new sins were invented and doled out in abundance as tempting whispers in humans’ ears, catching them unawares with their own subconscious vices; how the mentally vulnerable sometimes found themselves flung bodily to the ground, writhing and thrashing and babbling ancient and evil languages; how, every once in a while, one might enter an abandoned abode and feel... a certain way.

Demons simply bide their time---waiting. Doing what they can to abate the insistent restlessness that was simply the cornerstone of their existence.

But Luxu knew that to be untrue. That his companionship with Neraine was not simply out of practicality for his own needs. As they continued traveling down this road together, his overtly lascivious nature hadn’t entirely disappeared, obviously, yet it had been... quelled. Calmed. Soothed. He did not much enjoy admitting it, but her presence to him was as a lullaby for a stubborn child.

And yet that restlessness had found him yet again this night. Sleep was not something he required anyway, but it was at least one activity that could pass the time after already reading every single book lining the shelves and arranging the flowers (then rearranging them) to his specific tastes. However, the solace of rest did not greet him, and after staring at the ceiling for more time than he preferred to admit, he had risen from his composure and opened the window for some fresh air. Oftentimes, due to their extended lifespans, his infernal ilk did not take the proper time to admire earthen wonders---oftentimes, creation proved a blight upon their consciousness. It represented all that they were intended to destroy, and seeing such lush greenery and hearing the gentle hum of cicadas and the feeling of the wafting breeze upon his bare skin were merely reminders of such a reality.

He hadn’t considered his partial nudity when Neraine had knocked, and he had invited her in without hesitation---in fact, perhaps he had been a tad too eager to do so. However, after her rather unexpected silence, he turned his face towards her, slightly perplexed by her flustered expression. He realized after a moment that it was, perhaps, that he was a bit lacking in attire, but before he could offer a remedy, he became even more perplexed by her approach after her bout of stammering---and certainly reached the epitome of perplexed when she tenderly brought her hand outward and, very gently, traced one of the numerous scars upon his naked flesh.

And though he would not prevent her from doing so---in fact, he would not even dream of staving off her touch, relishing in the internal shiver upon experiencing the contact of such soft fingertips---he still had to, after an odd sort of swallowing motion (some unfamiliar gesture of... nervousness, was it?) be his sarcastic self, albeit of a tad gentler flavor at this moment:

“When I fell from heaven? Well, let’s just say, it’s an experience not worth repeatin’.”

#im havin a loT OF FEELINGS RIGHT NOW???#nixniivalis #rp #au: goat man dancing on your bridge

13 notes · View notes

thegoodomensdumpster · 4 years

Text

I UPDATED MY ABOUT, SO HERE IS THE MANDATORY COPY PASTE OF IT [x]

ABOUT ME

I’m YiHa. I’m a storyboard artist by day and a webcomic artist by night, as well as a compulsive reblogger of everything Good Omens related.

I’m a french white cis girl, 28 years old, and I try to stay chill. I don’t care about the pronouns used to refer to me.

If, by any chance, you’d like to take a look at the webcomic I work on, you can follow this link. It’s about vampires and werewolves and teenagers.

I sometimes make drawing streams, and I warn about them on this blog when they are specifically Good Omens drawing streams.

It’s chill and has weird music, and it happens on my Twitch channel over here.

You’re welcome to hang out if you’d like :)

The other places to follow my work would be @yihagathe on Tumblr, @yihadoodles on Twitter and yiha4real on Instagram (this one is private because it contains NSFW, but I accept basically everyone).

I have also set up an AO3 account to post my ficlets.

WHAT I DO NOT CONDONE: pedophilia, pedopornography or predatory behaviours in any shape and form; transphobia, homophobia, sexism, racism, ableism, fatphobia (for some of these, as a someone who is not concerned, I am still working on my own bias so I might slip up unknowingly. Don't hesitate to tell me if you caught me saying something hurtful.). I think you get the gist.

HOW TO REACH OUT TO ME

Asks, PMs are open. You can tag me, but depending on how much trafic I have to deal with on this blog, there is actually very little chance I will ever see it.

Please, do not ask any NSFW.

Also, please, do not ask me to spread information about illegal stuff (aka: piracy, mainly …).

More details about asks below.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

What to expect here ?

I started this monstrosity of a blog just to gather everything GO related I liked in one place, and that in itself is the real guideline of this dumpster. It is a space for me before anything else, meant to cater to MY own tastes.

What kind of posts are there ?

I mostly reblog fanarts, fanfics, meta and other funny things. Anything I like, really. That’s why this place is a “dumpster”.

Sometimes I draw fanarts or write ficlets myself. You can find any of the things I come up on my own by going through the archive of this blog following the #my stuff.

The list of ficlets I wrote is conveniently gathered in this post.

I have set up a #yiha go prompt for any kind of prompt I may answer, drawing or writing, so you can either follow it to find my work or block it if you don't like my art but enjoy my reblogs.

NSFW ?

This blog contains the occasionnal NSFW (gore, body horror, erotic stuff, nudity …). I do not mind NSFW. Even though I rarely share that over here, it can happen, and I try to think about tagging it accordingly for blacklisting purposes. It is not the usual brand of this blog, but it can happen. You are warned.

(This doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want NSFW asks and submissions, because I just don’t want any unwanted NSFW. I don’t want to deal with having to sorting out what I’m ok and not ok with in my askbox. It’s exhausting.)

Asks / Submissions / Etc ?

I have stopped taking submissions because it turned out to be more work for me (people never seemed to use the tags correctly so I had to clean up after them) and the way it appears on Tumblr makes it seem like I originated the post which bothers me.

I take asks, even anonymous ones.

I take writing and drawing prompts.

HOWEVER !!!

That doesn’t mean I will answer everything. I give myself the right to answer at my own pace, and also the right to not answer at all if anything makes me uncomfortable in the slightest or doesn’t align with what I want this blog to be (or if I don’t have anything to reply, sometimes I receive things I just don’t know what to make of). I also give myself the right to close Anons or asks or submissions altogether if I don’t feel like handling them anylonger.

Please note that I am not a robot, and therefore I like to be adressed to with politeness and respect.

In return, I am willing to listen to criticism if I ever do or say something that made someone uncomfortable, or if there is a real issue in one way or another. It doesn’t mean I’ll be able to offer a solution, but I can try to improve.

Fics ?

A lot of people ask me about fics to find or recommend. I’m happy to oblige, but it’s mostly because I have a large number of followers to help. I haven’t read that many fics myself, and I always encourage people to check out @aziraphales-library for fic related quests because they actually specialize in that over there.

What about the non Good Omens stuff ?

I very rarely take interest into reblogging or talking about things that are not – or only tangentially – related to Good Omens, such as the other works of the authors and the cast, or their private lives. Don’t ask or submit things about them to me. I don’t want to deal with that.

If I ever break this rule, it’s because I felt comfortable doing it for once, but that’s it.

Sometimes I can have more personnal asks or stupid asks or things related to this blog that are not exactly Good Omens things. I mean, it’s a blog. I do blogging stuff once in a while.

IF YOU AREN’T INTERESTED IN NON GOOD OMENS STUFF YOU CAN BLACKLIST THESE TAGS: psa not good omens yiha blogs yiha go prompt (this is GO but if you don't like my sketchy art you can block this)

OVERALL !!! This blog is MY SPACE before anything else, and I’m thrilled if people enjoy following it, and I try to be mindful about what having a large number of followers implies, BUT it will remain a space for me before being a space for you. Albeit, I hope to make it a happy and loving space, because this is what Good Omens brought me and what I wanted to make for myself here. A dumpster of joy.

#psa #yiha blogs #about #long post #sorry for the long post but i will not put any of this under a read more #i think i might actually try to do one of these drawing streams this afternoon #it wasn't why i updated the about but i just thought about it

62 notes · View notes

jingle-bones · 5 years

Text

K-12 (Dir: Melanie Martinez, 2019).

The movie debut of singer Melanie Martinez, released to coincide with her album of the same name.

The plot of K-12 follows on from and elaborates on the themes of Martinez’s previous album Cry Baby. However, prior knowledge of Cry Baby is not essential, as the movie is best enjoyed for its music and stunning visuals in what is, essentially, a long form music video. Albeit one with an ambitious cinematic grandeur.

With a distinctive colour palette utilising mostly pink and pastel shades, it has an arresting otherworldly quality, at times recalling the work of Terry Gilliam and the high kitsch of John Waters.

There is a certain brutal beauty to Martinez’s music which she has matched perfectly to the visuals. The dystopian fantasy addresses issues such as bullying and acceptance, but always in tuneful fashion!

As you might expect from Martinez the movie is sweary and creepy and not recommended for those of a sensitive nature. With its language, drug taking and no nips nudity, it is definitely not one to show the kids!

In truth, K-12 is a bit of an acquired taste and is probably limited largely to Melanie Martinez’s fan base. But it is artfully produced. Recommended especially to fans of Martinez but also to open minded movie lovers in the mood for an off kilter fantasy musical.

K-12 is available to steam on Melanie Martinez’s official YouTube channel: https://youtu.be/2HtaIvb61Uk

Check out my blog JINGLE BONES MOVIE TIME for more movie reviews! Link below.

31 notes · View notes

mz-hide · 4 years

Text

Mowing the Lawn - Chapter 3

Aka: a Dragon Ball Z AU slash fic.

Chapter 3

May I interest you in some morning after shenanigans?

Summary: Mowing the lawn (in almost every sense of the term). Goku and Vegeta have a secret relationship. Turles has a cute dealer and needs someone to smoke his pot with. Raditz thinks the only thing hotter than the weather is his moms’ new lawnmower boy. Ships & Pairings: Son Goku/Vegeta, Raditz & Turles, Raditz/Turles, Gine/Seripa | Fasha, Bardock/Toma, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Brolly/Raditz, Brolly/Turles, Daiz/Turles, Daiz/Raditz/Turles, Bardock/Turles, Bardock/Toma/Turles Contains: Gay Sex, Established Relationship, Casual Sex, Fuckbuddies, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Secret Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Alternate UniverseAlternate Universe - Human, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, seducing the pool boy, Dirty Talk, Smoking, Explicit Sexual Content, Resolved Sexual Tension, Open Relationships, Open Marriage, Age Difference, Sexual Roleplay, Friends With Benefits, Sexcapades, masturbation

You can find the rest on my AO3 page (username: originalmonkeyhydes)

Yamcha had foul breath and wore the same smelly clothes from the night before. Nevertheless, there was a spring in his step when he made his way back to the hotel the next morning. He’d had a wonderful time the night before. Bulma was the kind of girl that made it hard for him to believe his luck every time she invited him into her bed. He had all but forgotten he hadn’t been the one winning the medal and the prize money at the tournament. He idly wondered how his room mate had celebrated his victory, after the unannounced meeting of the night before. If a fight had broken out, he would have heard something about it from Krillin or master Roshi. Surely, his friend handn’t just gone straight to bed. Even after so many years of acquaintance, Goku was still somewhat unreadable to him. If Yamcha had to guess, Goku had probably wondered off to look for some cheap thrill -or rather, what his version of a thrill was- most likely a place that served food late at night, because that’s what Goku did when he was in a good mood. He was somewhat of a hedonist in that way… As the elevator doors opened on his floor, however, the trail of his thoughts was interrupted. Yamcha couldn’t help but stare at the disheveled beauty that hurried past him to catch the elevator. His bewildered eyes followed her, duly noting her embarrassed, shifting gaze, the way her hair stuck to the back of her head, how the dress she wore and the high-heeled shoes that dangled from her hand didn’t suit the time of the day. Only when the girl’s eyes met his, he averted his prying stare. He was by no means an expert, but he knew enough to know what a walk of shame looked like. Then the elevator door closed and the vision disappeared. Yamcha didn’t quite know what exactly had clicked into his mind -maybe it was because the girl was dark and fiery-eyed- but he suddenly suspected he knew what door she’d come out from. Pursing his lips, he opened the door to his room. What he saw, seemed to confirm his suspicions. His side of the room was just as he’d left it. Goku’s side however… “Well… Who would have thought!”, Yamcha whistled, impressed, smirking from ear to ear. “Seems like Goku is not as innocent as he would have all of us think!” Beer cans were scattered here and there on he floor. The sheets on Goku’s bed were crumpled, the pillows in disarray and the scent wafting weakly off of the bed erased what little room had been left for interpretation. As it should have been expected, the faint sound of running water came through from underneath the bathroom door. Yamcha knocked, calling out loudly over the noise. “Hey, Goku, It’s me. I just came back to pack my bag. But I still have to get some stuff from the bathroom.” “Uhhhh… Can it w- uh… can it wait?” That made Yamcha smirk even wider. The alarm in his friend’s tone was proof enough to confirm his suspicions once and for all. Goku had never been shy about his nudity. He must have been in pretty rough shape… But the man had also just won a martial arts tournament, so Yamcha thought it wise to let his hand draw away from the door handle. The teasing would have had to wait. “Sure. Just make sure to bring my stuff down”, he let him know on his way out, showing his back over his shoulder, “We’re all meeting up in the lobby later. Check out is in thirty minutes. Don’t forget!” He left the room as merrily as he’d walked in. He couldn’t wait to tell Bulma what he’d just found out. Inside the bathroom, Goku was standing still under running water, pricking his ears. “I think he’s gone”, he finally let out in a sigh. “Good”, his lover hissed, irritated. The tiles of the hotel shower were hard on his knees. “Let’s make these thirty minutes count.” Goku stifled a groan. Vegeta's head had promptly sunk down and the two of them had resumed where they’d left off. Lucky circumstance indeed, that Goku hadn’t wanted to shower the night before, or Yamcha would have walked in on his friend writhing against his rival’s generous mouth.

“You know, waiting you directly at the train station like we’d agreed would have saved me a lot of trouble. What is so exciting that you wanted me to come all the way here for?”, Bulma complained, fanning herself with a hand. She’d received a cryptic text from Yamcha, summoning her to the hotel where he was staying quite urgently. He’d refused to tell her why. She’d had to walk quite fast to get there in time. The effects of her morning showers had already been defeated by the heat and the rush. Instead of smelling like her delicate, lily-of-the-valley shower gel, she was now sweaty, sticky and slightly out of breath -and patience, at the sight of her boyfriend looking childishly expectant when he saw her. “So, where’s the fire?”, she inquired, already unimpressed by the seeming lack of anything remotely interesting happening in the hotel lobby. “No fire. At least, not now. But some sparks definitely flew yesterday night”, Yamcha reported, leaning close, animated and conspirational like a teenage girl over some saucy gossip. For some reason, he looked and sounded very proud of himself. “Gosh, Yamaha, is this about last night? You know I was there, right? You better not had me come here just to-” “No no no, this is something better! Er- even better!”, he corrected himself, after catching his girlfriend’s glare. “How so?” “I saw the hottest chick when I was coming back to my room this morning. I swear, she was a vision. All ruffled and dark-haired and she had the skimpiest dress and a great pair of- Ouch!” “What part of this nonsense is supposed not to make me want to rip your face off, exactly?”, Bulma inquired in a venomous hiss, as she yanked her boyfriend by the ear, quite harshly, “Ugh, and you smell too! Weren’t you supposed to have plenty of time to shower?” “I was getting there!”, Yamcha complained, clasping his abused earlobe, “You see, this girl, she clearly looked like she had some fun the night before, right? And she got on the elevator on our floor. And, then, when I got to our room Goku was in the shower.” He paused, theatrically, waiting for a reaction. “… And?” Bulma wasn’t sure she’d understood where her boyfriend was trying to go with that absurd revelation. “Don’t you get it? Our good ol’ friend got lucky last night! With some stranger hottie!” Bulma seemed to consider the scenario for a moment. “That might not mean anything. Maybe she came from another room.” “Maybe. Maybe the mess on Goku’s sheets was just mayo, then. A whole jar of it-” “Ewww. Too much information!”, Bulma grimaced, swatting the air before her eyes as if to disperse the disturbing visual that had just been conjured up in her mind. “You see my point now? Goku definitely scored last night.” “Why on earth did you think I needed to know that? Or call me all the way here, for that matter.” “So that we could both be here for this moment.” “And what moment would that be?” “Oh, you know. It’s a very special moment in a boy’s life…” “Oh, please! This is not his first time.” Bulma’s remark sounded just a touch too knowing for Yamcha’s taste. This time it was his turn to frown. “Just what makes you sound so sure about it?” He’d always known Bulma had had a crush on their mutual friend. It had gone unspoken, but it had been clear as day for years. Bulma was the kind of girl who’s very open with her feelings and very direct with what she wants. Uncharacteristically, she’d never really come on to Goku -probably because she saw him more as a little brother than anything else- but she’d never bothered to hide the way she looked at him, at times, when she felt significantly less sisterly towards him. Goku being younger, buffer and stronger than him, this crush of hers, albeit insignificant, never failed to make Yamcha feel insecure and, consequently, jealous. “Get your mind out of the gutter, stupid, it wasn’t me!”, Bulma retorted, returning the indignant frown, “I just happen to know some things.” “And you never thought to share this knowledge? I thought he was a virgin all this time”, Yamcha carried on, his sensibilities now upset by her secrecy. “Would that have been important to know, for your friendship? That he isn’t a virgin?” Bulma was visibly annoyed. That was yet another sore spot in Yamcha’s pride, and a strain their relationship: Bulma had been Yamcha’s first, but not the other way round. “Well, no- not really, I’m just saying…” “I swear I will never get you boys and your inferior logic”, Bulma sighed, rolling her eyes. In that moment, Master Roshi made his appearance, looking a lot merrier than someone who should be suffering quite a grandiose hangover. “Morning, lovebirds! Had fun last night?”, he inquired, eyeing the young couple ever so significantly. Bulma scoffed, turning her head the other way. She found herself wondering why she still hung around that old sleaze. “Master, I absolutely need to tell you about this chick I saw last night on the elevator”, Yamcha approached his master, grateful for the distraction and hopeful that he of all people would have been positively receptive of his story. He was halfway through describing said chick when Goku finally got down to the lobby. Yamcha turned to him as soon as he caught a glimpse of his signature orange sweater, ready to grill him about every raunchy detail with a toothy grin on his lips… A grin that died as soon as he laid eyes on the shorter, darker figure that walked behind him. “Hey guys, sorry I’m late!”, the young man greeted them as if there was nothing unusual about the situation, “Here, Yamcha, this is the stuff you left in the bathroom.” “Thanks, man”, he replied, drily. He eyed Bulma and saw his same confusion reflecting on her features. “We’re off to the station now. We’re running a bit late and Bulma has to buy her ticket, so…” “Oh, don’t worry, she can have mine”, Goku helpfully offered, fishing the piece of paper from his bag. “I won’t need it?” “Sorry, what?” The weider the situation got, the wider Yamcha’s eyes became. It was clear nobody was gonna address the elephant in the room, who was currently waiting a few steps away, burly arms crossed over the sculpted chest and an annoyed look on his face that was clearly directed at their group, despite facing in another direction. “I decided I’m not going back home just yet”, Goku said, simply, as if that explained anything at all, “I’ll see you soon at training as soon as I do come back. Have a safe trip!” “W-wait! So… where are you going?”, Yamcha stopped him as his friend started walking towards the entrance. “Dunno”, was the disarming -yet, frankly, not unexpected- reply. Equally disarming and less expected, was the expectant look the young man shot behind his shoulder. “To get breakfast”, the older man informed, heading for the entrance himself, “Before you get whiny.” “How does he know that about Goku? Since where those two hang out together without breaking each other's bones?”, Bulma whispered in her boyfriend’s ear, staring at the odd couple as they walked off together. Yamcha slowly shook his head. He’d barely registered what his girlfriend had said. His mind was too busy processing the stinging feeling that his nose had picked up a hint of the same pine-tree shower gel wafting off both men. Or maybe it had just been his imagination. “You don’t think they got into a fight?”, Bulma continued, “I thought I saw some bruises on Vegeta.” “Maybe. Or maybe he was the one that got lucky last night”, Yamcha wondered out loud, trying to remember seeing the man in their hotel at any point during their stay. “With the dark-haired hottie from last night you were telling me about earlier?”, Master Roshi butted in, “Like hell he did!” “What makes you so sure?” “Because I did.” “What?”, Bulma let out, slightly horrified. “How?”, Yamcha asked, not unimpressed, despite himself, “Goku and I were with you all evening and walked you to the hotel!” “Picked her up at the hotel bar. Took only a couple extra drinks too”, the old man gloated, toddling proudly ahead of them, “This old grandpa still got it!”

#kakavege #yamcha x bulma #vegekaka #dbz fanfiction #dbs #dragon ball z #dragon ball super #dbz yaoi #my fics #mowing the lawn

5 notes · View notes

unmourned-unremembered · 5 years

Text

I finally had the chance to see Barry Jenkins' adaptation of If Beale Street Could Talk yesterday and loved it. I'm both a film buff and an avid reader so I'm subject to the irritating snobbery of both where screen adaptations of books are concerned, and this film is the rarest kind of experience for someone like me: the unique satisfaction of seeing a gorgeous and very faithful film adaptation of a much loved book. It got me thinking about how rare this is and when exactly I can remember experiencing that surprise and elation watching other films based on books I liked. The following list is more reflective of my own tastes than any absolute measure of greatness but anyway, here goes.

John LeCarre', The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1963)

Martin Ritt, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965)

My personal all-time favorite (although now perhaps my second favorite, after If Beale Street Could Talk) is this relatively little-known gem starring the great Richard Burton. I loved the novel and read it twice, once when I was around 10 or 11 years old and again a few years ago. It's a tremendous espionage novel and while it doesn't represent LeCarre's style at its most refined (see the next entry for that), it's a great introduction to what makes his books so engaging. They're unflinchingly realistic and pay very close attention to the actual tradecraft of spying, which you would expect from a writer who was a British secret agent in real life. The film manages to capture so much of the flavor of the source material, and a great performance by Burton translates the internal thought processes of the main character in all their subtlety. In my favorite scene, Burton's character sees a news article about himself in a London paper and realizes his cover's blown and he's completely screwed. You can see all of that registering on Burton's face in a single shot.

John LeCarre', Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (1974)

John Irvin, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (BBC TV miniseries, 1979)

Some writers are luckier than others. I was completely absorbed by LeCarre's rich and detailed account of British intelligence officer George Smiley's hunt for a highly placed Soviet mole within MI6. I just couldn't put it down and I was TERRIBLY disappointed by the 2011 Tomas Alfredson adaptation, which conveyed none of the nuance or atmosphere of the book. It was a crass and irritating film that wasted several good performances, including an excellent turn by Gary Oldman as Smiley. I stayed away from the miniseries for years before my wife and I began it one morning, and we were so drawn in that we binged all seven episodes the same day. I could not have been happier with it. John Irvin's subdued and skilled direction allowed the performances to take the fore and moved the plot—the most important element in any LeCarre' book—accurately and addictively. Alec Guinness totally inhabited the role of Smiley, to the point that I'm now incapable of thinking of anyone else's face when I read LeCarre's other novels.

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five (1969)

George Roy Hill, Slaughterhouse Five (1972)

Two things surprised me when my mom told me that she'd seen this movie and that it was good: 1) it exists; and 2) it’s a good movie despite being based on an unfilmable novel. Vonnegut's work hasn't had the best of experiences on the silver screen. The 1990s produced two highly regrettable adaptations of great Vonnegut novels: the awful Nick Nolte Mother Night directed with zero flair by ham-and-egger Keith Gordon and the risible Breakfast of Champions starring Bruce Willis and directed by some guy named Alan Rudolph. Given that both of those books had vastly simpler narrative structures than Slaughterhouse Five, the fact that George Roy Hill's film is effective is really a testament to his skill. With the nearly unknown Michael Sacks anchoring a cast of other 1970s no-names and small-timers, this is a surprisingly affecting and satisfying film for a fan of the novel. Its odd time shifts and alien abductions/interactions are done very well, albeit without nudity. It's not considered a career highlight for Hill but it really should be. He stuck the film treatment equivalent of the triple axel.

George Orwell, 1984 (1949)

Michael Radford, 1984 (1984)

1984 is another novel that I read first in childhood and then again much later, in around 2004, at the height of the war in Iraq when my hatred of the US government under George W. Bush was at its apex. I remember not being able to connect with the experience of Winston Smith on the first reading, when I took the book to be a pretty straight-up criticism of the Soviet Union (still in existence at the time…). The paranoia and dystopian insanity of the Bush era, with its baleful exhortations to patriotic fervor and national unity and demands for submission to an ever-expanding police state, made the second reading a surreal one. I totally identified with Smith's alienation and the book worked for me in a whole new way. I stayed away from the screen version for a long time. I just didn't see how it would be possible to render the novel faithfully in visual form when so much of it takes place inside Smith's head. Radford did a remarkable job. Oceania's oppressive visuals bring Orwell's descriptions to stunning life, and the casting could not have been better with John Hurt as Winston Smith and Richard Burton as O'Brien. The largely unsung Cyril Cusack is also great as Charrington. In a point of trivia, he also plays Richard Burton's boss in the above-mentioned Martin Ritt The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and is part of James Mason's IRA cell in Carol Reed's Odd Man Out. Great British character actor.

Honorable mentions:

James M. Cain, Double Indemnity (1943) / Billy Wilder, Double Indemnity (1944)

James M. Cain, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1934) / Tay Garrett, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

James M. Cain, Mildred Pierce (1941) / Michael Curtiz, Mildred Pierce (1945) / Todd Haynes, Mildred Pierce (HBO miniseries, 2011)

Mary Shelly, Frankenstein (1818) / Kenneth Branagh, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1994)

H.P. Lovecraft, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward (1927) / Dan O'Bannon, The Resurrected (1991)

H.G. Wells, The Time Machine (1895) / George Pal, The Time Machine (1960) / Simon Wells and Gore Verbinski, The Time Machine (2002)

H.G. Wells, War of the Worlds (1897) / Byron Haskin, War of the Worlds (1953) / Steven Spielberg, War of the Worlds (2005)

4 notes · View notes

presidentlauraroslin · 5 years

Text

Sooo I saw @moocowmoocow tag on this post and it said Chrisjen owes Bobbie an actual trip to the beach. Well, my brain took it and ran with it. It’s kinda fluffy and ridiculous. But it’s a trip to beach, so yay?

The light was so goddamn bright that for a moment, Bobbie couldn’t see anything, but it smelled unlike anything she had ever smelled before. Fresh and warm, it was inviting, even if the first wave of heat rolling over her was just a bit too much for her Martian blood. And then her eyes got used to the light and she forgot how to breathe.

There was a seemingly unending stretch of a white sandy beach and water so blue it almost looked fake. The rocks far off in the water looked gravity defying. It all seemed fake, too beautiful. But a soft breeze blew though her hair and it hit her like suddenly pulling 10 G’s. This was real. And Chrisjen had arranged it for her.

“Are you just going to stare it or you going to move your ass?” The shorter woman came to stand beside her on the edge of the ramp of the transport. Bobbie had briefly wondered why Chrisjen had chosen to wear something short sleeved and with airy look to it when New York was at the end of autumn. But she had decided a long time ago to not make any remarks about Chrisjen’s outfits unless she was taking them off her.

“It’s so different from New York.” The water wasn’t some sickly shade of grey, it didn’t smell. Even the beach itself looked healthier somehow. It was exactly how she had pictured the ocean and also what she had thought wasn’t possible anymore, the way Earthers treated their planet. This was her dream for Mars.

“The oceans and seas around the United States haven’t been clean in decades. You deserved to see open water that we haven’t completely fucked up yet.”

“Beautiful,” Bobbie breathed as she toed off her shoes and stepped off the transport. The sand was impossibly soft and warm, as if it weren’t close to an enormous body of water. She looked over her shoulder at Chrisjen who just made a shooing motion. Grinning, she took a few steps more on the beach and then ran off towards the water.

The water was almost warm. Somehow she had still expected it to be stone cold. It was pleasant, welcoming. She had never actually swum before, but as the water lapped at her ankles, Bobbie decided that it didn’t matter. She had imagined swimming in water, in open water for so long. Fuck it.

She quickly stripped off her clothes, leaving her in her underwear as she took a few more steps into the water. With a wide smile, she dove into it. Salt water went into her mouth and strange sort of weightlessness that was both like being in zero G and nothing like at the same time. Bobbie popped her head above the surface and coughed. Despite its beauty, the water was disgusting. It didn’t matter. She was swimming. Well, floating, with her feet close enough to the ground to touch it if necessary.

Turning around, momentarily distracted by her hair floating around her, she looked towards the beach. Chrisjen looked straight out of a fairy tale with a deep purple sari, the water just touching her toes and the paradise-like background. Her soft smile felt warmer than the sun.

“Are you coming?” she asked, partly walking, partly floating closer to the shore.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a swim.”

“So? Neither am I.” She hadn’t even been dressed for a tropical climate. And if Chrisjen had taken the effort to arrange this ‘field trip’ and taken the time to come with her, she definitely had the time to take a little dip in the water as well. If anyone could use a little relaxation, it was her. “When was the last time you swam in the ocean?”

“Technically speaking you’re in a sea right now.” Bobbie rolled her eyes. Nothing would ever be easy with her.

“Come on. Join me,” she tried as she stood up, the water level at her hips. With some difficulty and probably looking a lot less sexy than she had hoped, she managed to wiggle out of her wet bra and toss it on the beach. She sort of assumed this beach was private or that Chrisjen would have had security clear it. A little nudity wouldn’t harm anyone and judging from the look in Chrisjen’s eyes, she agreed.

“Fuck. Fine.” Bobbie grinned. She did enjoy it so much whenever Chrisjen conceded to her, especially if it involved less clothes. She moved closer to the edge of the water and lay down on her stomach, allowing the gentle waves to move her a little. It was soothing, but her attention was mostly on the woman on the shore, methodically unraveling her pallu until she was left in a skirt and a short blouse that revealed a generous amount of skin around her midriff.

Bobbie closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the strange weightlessness and the sun warming her back. She had gotten so used to Chrisjen’s chaotic schedule that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to do nothing an enjoy it. And to do it here, it was just amazing. No matter what was going to happen in the future, she’d always have this memory.

“I can’t remember the last time I went skinny dipping,” Chrisjen commented and Bobbie’s eyes flew open in time to see Chrisjen walk past her into the water and dive into gracefully, not wearing a stitch of clothing. Well fuck. A naked Chrisjen Avasarala. She hadn’t thought the ocean could get much better. Apparently, she had been wrong. She looked around, but wherever their security detail was, they were out of sight.

“No one told you to take off all your clothes,” Bobbie muttered when Chrisjen appeared above the surface again, her long hair floating around her. Comparing her to a fairy tale had been right, she looked like a mermaid, albeit one that no one ought to fuck with.

“Salt water and that kind of lace are fucking disastrous combination.” Chrisjen shrugged and just shook her head, moving deeper into the water to join the acting Secretary-General who was swimming like it was her second nature. Maybe someday, Bobbie would able to swim as well, a fairly useless skill on Mars, but it would make for an interesting story. Until then, she made sure she could still stand wherever she went.

“Sure.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?” Chrisjen raised an eyebrow and somehow even while naked and soaking wet, it was still impressive. But Bobbie reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer until Chrisjen was pretty much forced to wrap her legs around Bobbie’s waist, unable to stand to stand in the water without submerging most of her face.

“I was taught never to trust the enemy.” The enemy. That seemed like ages ago when she had used Chrisjen face for target practice. Now here she was, running her hands up Chrisjen’s sides, marveling at how it all felt familiar and so different at the same time.

“Remind me of that the next time I take you Thailand.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and Bobbie couldn’t resist, leaning in and kissing her. Chrisjen’s lips tasted of the sea, salty and breathtaking. Without even hesitating, Chrisjen deepened the kiss and Bobbie prayed that their security detail was discreetly looking the other way, because she didn’t want to share this moment with anyone except the woman in her arms.

“How long can we stay here?” Bobbie asked, resting her forehead against Chrisjen’s. She heard the older woman sigh.

“Not long enough.” Bobbie understood. Maybe better than anyone. Duty called.

Then she had better enjoy this while it lasted.

#the expanse #chrisjen avasarala #bobbie draper #fanfic #warning it's silly and possible verging on crack #and it has not been spellchecked whatsoever

14 notes · View notes