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boricuacherry-blog · 1 month

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One day they hoped to be able to be in contact with the people they loved, but for the moment they couldn't do that. They could give their address to very few people, and even that was a commercial mailing service, a "suite" that was really a locked mailbox in a mall.

Sheila Bellush was thirty-five. She had worked in attorneys' offices since she was eighteen, but was now a full-time mother taking care of the twins she had with her new husband. Sheila did what she had to do, hoping her ex-husband wouldn't find where she had moved to, under the cover of darkness.

And so November 7 was an ordinary day, but only in the context of Sheila Bellush's life. In truth, there were no ordinary days for Sheila; she had lived with fear so long that it seeped like acid into any fleeting serenity she might attain, corroding her thoughts, sending jets of adrenaline through her veins.

Her husband Jamie had begun the paperwork to adopt her two daughters by her ex-husband Allen. That day, Jamie was on the road, planning to visit several doctors' offices for Pfizer. He promised to be home before dark. They would have the weekend together. Sheila had no doubt they would spend the rest of their lives together. She was half right.

Stevie Bellush, thirteen, was petite and small-boned like her mother, although she had her father's facial features and his dark hair. She and her sister Darryl had always excelled in school, but they had been through a lot in their young life.

Today Stevie was in a good mood. She hurried home from junior high school shortly before 4 that Friday. "I heard that a boy I liked was going to ask me out," she remembered. "And I wanted to tell my mom."

The front door was unlocked, which was strange. Her mother was adamant that the doors remain locked.

Afterward Stevie would remember that she couldn't make sense out of the first thing she saw when she walked into the front room. All of the babies were standing in the hallway crying as if their hearts would break. Her mother never let them cry; she always picked them up and soothed them. For some reason they had no clothes on - nothing but the little life vests they wore when they were in the swimming pool in the Florida room. Their faces were swollen from sobbing. Stevie thought they must have been crying for a long time.

What made the least sense to Stevie were the funny pattern of dark red specks on the babies' skin, some in their hair and on their feet. Some of them had swaths of the same color, as if someone had dipped a brush in red paint and then daubed at their flesh. All of their little bottoms were bare under their life jackets. Her mother usually put their diapers back on after they swam, but she hadn't done that.

Shock and disbelief often block the mind from accepting what the eyes perceive. Even so, Stevie's dread was so great that there was a thunderous pounding in her ears. She went looking for her mother, calling out for her as she moved through room after room. She stared at the scattered clothing trailing through the kitchen from the utility room as if someone had just thrown it there haphazardly. In the kitchen doorway there was another mound of clothing. She looked closer and saw that it was a person, a person crumpled on the floor in a sea of red. Then she realized the person on the floor was her mother, lying motionless in the doorway, just in front of the dishwasher. Her face and arms and blue shirt were all covered with the same red. Stevie just stood there, trying to take in what she was seeing. She walked into the bedroom, and dialed 911 on the phone with numb fingers. But then she hung up. Had she really seen her mother lying in the floor with all that blood? She thought she was somehow imagining it. She walked back into the kitchen and saw her mother still lying there, then picked up the phone again.

As the 911 operator began questioning her, the horror of what she was seeing cut through her shock and she began to sob.

When paramedics arrived on the scene, they instantly could tell she was beyond saving, though it was clear she had put up a tremendous fight. Her pupils were fixed and dilated and she was covered in defensive wounds. Her throat had been cut and her shirt was soaked through with blood. The quadruplets might still be young enough not to remember what happened. They hoped that was true.

"Do you know who might have done this?" they asked Stevie.

"Yes. I know who did it, but he didn't do it himself. He probably hired someone to do it."

"Who?"

"My father did it. My father - Allen Blackthorne."

The crew checked the four toddlers who had dried blood all over them. There was evidence they had huddled next to her for some of the six hours they had waited alone in the house for someone to find them. It appeared little Frankie had clung to his mother's leg while she was still upright and moving across the kitchen to the phone, because he had blood splashed inside his life jacket. With her last breath of life and blood rapidly draining from her body, Sheila had managed to get the kitchen phone off the hook, but then collapsed and fell backward before she could call 911.

Warning: Autopsy***

Lieutenant Ron Albritton inspected where the victim lay. It would take an autopsy to determine which of her wounds had killed her. There was a round bullet hole, rimmed with gunpowder, in the center of her right cheek, but there was also a bloodstained filleting knife, its tip bent, lying next to her. Whoever killed her had wanted to be sure she was dead.

A .45-caliber shell casing was on top of the dryer. The shooter had evidently used a white hand towel, now sooty with gunpowder, to try and muffle the sound of the gunshot, but the towel was black and burned where it had been sucked into the muzzle of the gun, making the weapon useless until someone managed to extricate it. With Sheila fighting back - as she apparently did, even with the bullet wound in her face - her killer would have had to look for another weapon. There was an empty spot in the knife rack on the kitchen wall. She had probably been stabbed with her own knife. The filleting knife had gone completely through her right hand and her throat had been savagely cut. The single gunshot wound that broke her jaw had bled profusely, but from the veins, not her arteries. It had taken awhile for bleeding out to occur. There were numerous nonfatal stabs and scrapes, but two heavy blunt-force blows to her head that had caused her brain to hemorrhage. These were consistent with blows from the butt of a gun.

*** End: of autopsy

As she lay now on the autopsy table, Sheila was still beautiful, her eyes clear and her face serene. Unlike some murder victims, there was no terror etched on her face. She had put up a tremendous fight, but as she died, perhaps she had seen another world - the Heaven she had always believed in despite the emotional pain in her life.

Nothing had been stolen from her home, but someone had kept stabbing and beating her long after she was fatally injured. And that someone had a heart icy enough to walk away and leave four babies alone with their bleeding mother. They were too young to be witnesses, but they had seen what happened. One of her tiny boys was already worrying about "Mommy's bad boo-boo," and another said, "The bad man hurt Mommy." Would they ever sleep again without nightmares?

Neighbors reported seeing a strange man in the neighborhood the day of the murder - a well-built, youngish man who was wearing what appeared to be fatigues with a variegated camouflage pattern, who owned a white Mitsubishi Eclipse. A run on the license-plate showed the registered owner was Maria Del Toro of La Pryor, Texas, a small town west of San Antonio, near Eagle Pass on the Mexican border. Maria was a woman in her sixties who had not reported her car stolen. They soon found out Maria had purchased that car for her grandson, José Luis, who was also called Joey. Maria and her husband had raised him as their son.

They found where José Del Toro, a.k.a. Juan Del Toro, had been - at a girl named Carol Arreola's house. Carol shared her apartment with two other girls, Olga Gonzalez and Keren Martin. Carol said she knew Joey but he didn't live in the apartment. He never had. But he had stopped there over the last several days. She had given him a key to the apartment - she knew him well enough to trust him, even though she and her roommates would be away most of the weekend. His sloppiness was a bone of contention between Carol and her roommates; they were annoyed when he left signs of partying in the rest of their neat apartment. Asked if he did drugs, they said he smoked marijuana and snorted cocaine. When searching Carol's room, they made a jarring discovery - a khaki duffel bag with heavy military boots sticking out.

Carol, who was a criminal justice major in college, said she had known Joey since the previous December, and they had dated, and were still dating, but only as "friends."

They didn't believe her, but didn't press her on that matter. Carol last recalled him asking her to get rid of the clothes and boots he left in her apartment, "and a duffel bag that was in his car. He said I should make all those things 'disappear.'"She said he had told her he'd done "something he shouldn't have done" but he wouldn't tell her what.

Frightened, Carol kept adding to her statement, before revealing, "He told he had done something like a hit man would do" and that the victim's ex-husband had ordered the hit. She said she had withheld this information out of fear for her own safety.

He had also confessed to her that he now "knew what it was like to look into a woman's eyes that you're about to harm."

The former South Texas high school football star, dressed in a long-sleeved electric blue Tommy Hilfiger shirt and khakis, sang about the mercy that he is under the impression that God has given him, though some inside sources state he's actually going to Hell.

#every breath you take #ann rule #book quotes #true story #true crime #allen blackthorne #sheila bellush #joey del toro #stevie bellush

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boobo13cambridge · 2 months

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Sheila Ki Jawani | Kylian Mbappé

"I know you want it, but you're never gonna get it.

Tere haath kabhi na aani

(I will never come into your hands)

Maane na maane koi duniya yeh saari,

(Whether anyone believes it or not,)

Mere ishq ki hai deewani.

(This whole world is crazy behind me.)"

The music was blasting from the Bluetooth speaker that Kylian had got you for Valentine's Day after you had complained to him that your iPhone wasn't enough to jam to your favorite songs while getting ready.

Kylian, ever the attentive one, couldn't possibly not buy his bébé anything she asked for. Carefully applying the shade Limitless on your eyelids from your Huda Beauty palette, you were jamming to one of your favorite songs of all time while getting ready for your friend's birthday party. You were so happy that Kiara decided to make it Bollywood-themed because you wanted to wear the gold saree that your mother had gotten for you from her trip to India last month.

"Ab dil karta hai haule haule se,

(Now slowly my heart wants,)

Main toh khud ko gale lagaun.

(Me to embrace myself.)"

You continued shaking your hips in a sensual motion while you curled your lashes and applied a coat of mascara. To be honest, you were running a bit late and hoped Kylian wouldn't come home too soon so you could blame any tardiness on him. As a girl, you felt that being on time was overrated; no matter how much you prepared in advance, it didn't matter. What can you say? Beauty can't be hurried.

"Kisi aur ki mujhko zaroorat kya,

(I don't need anyone else,)

Main toh khud se pyar jataun.

(I'll express my love to myself.)"

This was your favorite part of the song. While waiting for the eyelash glue to dry, you struck a pose at every line.

"What's my name?

What's my name?

My name is Sheila, Sheila ki jawani.

(My name is Sheila, young Sheila.)

I'm too sexy for you,

Main tere haath na aani.

(I will never come into your hands.)

No no no no Shei-"

"Having fun, mon amour?" your husband's voice cut through the music as you stood there, your index finger shaking in front of the mirror with your expression stuck in a deer caught in the headlights motion.

Smirking, your husband stood there leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Kyky! What a surprise! I didn't know you were going to be home so early!" you blushed, trying to quickly put your lashes on, while wholly ignoring the fact that you were obviously late.

"Early, bébé? Really? T'es sérieuse?" he said, raising his eyebrows and walking behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "It's 8:00 pm, and we are supposed to leave by 8:15 pm."

"Honestly, Ky. When you really think about it, does it really matter? I mean, it's an Indian birthday party; no one's on time," you rambled on while applying your primer. "Besides, time is just a con-"

"Bébé,"

"-cept. According to Allen Bluedor, time is a result -"

"Bébé,"

"of humans interacting with each other -"

"BÉBÉ!"

"-and socialization processes," you trailed off as he spun you around in his arms and gave you a stern look that made you immediately shut up. Kylian looked positively over your antics, as his dark eyes peered into your soul. The stern press of his mouth made it clear that he was less than impressed with your incorrigible habit of not getting ready on time.

"Qu'est-ce que je t'avais dit la semaine passée quand on a failli être en retard pour la fête à ma mère?" he asked, his thumb tracing circles on your exposed hip bone. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes that had your pulse suddenly racing. A slight shiver went down your spine as you had a hard time looking into his eyes.

"Euh, que j'étais vraiment belle et que de toute façon on avait juste failli être en retard?" you said while fluttering your eyes at him. You knew you were in trouble when you felt his hands tighten around your hips, as he frowned and pursed his lips, almost surprised by your audacity.

"Et maintenant, tu mens, eh?" his growly voice sent a spark of heat into your lower belly as he slowly backed you into the counter. Feeling the edge digging into your back, you placed your hands on the planes of his chest, the soft fabric of his black kurta providing comfort despite the tension in the air.

His right hand, which was on your hip, slid up your body slowly, wrapping around your throat and giving it a light squeeze. Your breath hitched as you felt your panties dampening.

"I asked you a question, and I expect an honest answer, bébé."

"Okay, fine. You told me that if I were late one more time, you would bend me over your knees…"

"Don't get shy on me now, princesse. You've literally had my cock in your mouth."

"Oh my god, Ky. You're such a perv sometime."

"Answer me."

"You would bend me over your knees and spank my ass raw," you mumbled quickly.

"Unfortunately, mon amour, I don't have time to bend you over my knees but I'm sure this counter will do," he said while his left hand slid down your ass, giving it a possessive squeeze.

"Turn around, and bend over."

At this point, you were so turned on that you wanted him to do it, all previous traces of nervousness vanishing from your body as if it was never there in the first place. Gulping, you bit your lip, as you slowly turned around and bent over the cold countertop. you weren't wearing a bra underneath your silk robe, so your nipples were hard as they touched the cool surface.

You heard Kylian inhale sharply as he slowly lifted your flimsy robe, gradually exposing your derrière. You heard him curse as he caressed your soft flesh. A sharp smack on your ass had you whimpering as the sting left behind a film of ecstasy in your soul.

"You're going to count for me now, bébé," he said, his commanding voice slowly seducing you into submission.

"One…" The word barely left your lips when Kylian let out a snort, shaking his head not in amused disbelief at your antics. "T'es drôle. Celui-là ne compte pas."

Despite the dark lust clouding his deep brown eyes, a glint of mischief and a touch of affection shone through. You drove him absolutely mental but he loved every second of it.

"T'es méchant, tu sais," you retorted, a pout forming on your lips, challenging his authority with your audacity.

Smack.

"Deux," you said, your voice laced with defiance, determined to test his limits as the sting of his slap reverberated through you. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, the person staring back seemed almost like a stranger. A flush of red painted your cheekbones, a vivid testament to the intensity of the moment, while your teeth sank into your plump bottom lip.

"You're such a brat. I shouldn't let you cum for a week," he admonished, his tone firm as he caressed the bruised flesh.

"No! How could you even think of doing that?" You protested breathlessly, alarmed that he would even dare deny you your pleasure.

Just as he was about to retort, the sudden ring of your phone sliced through the charged atmosphere of the room, the beginning notes of Standing Next to You breaking the intimate bubble that you were both confined in.

"Who is it, Ky?" Your voice was curious, a slight edge of impatience cutting through as you tried to peek over his shoulder at the glowing phone screen.

"Oh putain, it's Kiara."

"Oh shit, she's going to kill us. We're so late." The words tumbled out of your mouth, a laugh hiding just beneath the surface, acknowledging that your best friend was about to tear you a new one.

"I wonder whose fault that is, mon amour," Kylian smirked, his gaze teasing and accusatory all at once.

"Ugh, get over it, Ky."

Smack.

"Cheeky brat." His words were a playful growl, the affectionate smack a punctuation to your ongoing banter. "C'mon, let me help you with your saree."

"Je t'aime, bébé." you said blowing a kiss in his direction, giving him a quick peck.

He just rolled his eyes at your antics, the gesture full of love and a resigned acceptance of your playful nature.

╚══════╝ A/N╚══════╝

Hi lovelies! I had this in the drafts and finally decided to post it! Yay 😁

I think I’m leaning towards writing short prompts because i have a hard time doing longer ones.

Anyways, I hope you guys like it 😊😊

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe smut #kylian imagines #kylian mbappé #kylian mbappe imagine #asks #kylian mbappe x y/n

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year

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DC character headcanons, cuz why not.

I’m really bored in class, and I said forever ago I might do this. So, here’s DC characters and my hcs for them (ethnicity, gender, sexuality, etc).

Bruce Wayne: Half-Jewish (mothers’ side, see Kane family). Pansexual. He/Him.

Dick Grayson: Romani. Bisexual. He/Him, but is fine with They/Them.

Jason Todd: Hispanic from his mother’s side (Sheila and Catherine). Unlabeled, but dates any gender. He/They.

Tim Drake: Wasian, Chinese from his mother’s side. Bisexual, leans towards men. He/They.

Duke Thomas: Half African American, Half whatever his dad (Gnomon) is. Demi bisexual. He/Him.

Damian Wayne: Jewish and Caucasian from Bruce’s side, Mixed Arabic and Chinese from Talia. Unlabeled, just likes whoever. He/Him.

Clark Kent: Kryptonian, though raised American. Bisexual. He/They/Ze. Though is open to most masculine or genderless pronouns, as krypton has a different expression of gender (this is a headcanon of mine)

Conner Kent/Kon-El: Kryptonian from Clark, has some German and American from Luthor. Homosexual. Genderfluid. He/Him or any masculine or genderless pronouns.

Jonathan “Jon” Kent: Kryptonian from Clark, some Latino and Caucasian from Lois. Unlabeled, just likes whoever. He/They.

Barry Allen: Might be Jewish (has described himself as an attractive Jewish boy). Bisexual. He/Him.

Wally West: Caucasian, American. Pansexual. He/Him, but is fine with They/Them.

Bart Allen: Caucasian, American. Omnisexual, but leaning towards men. He/Him, but is fine with They/Them or Xe/Xem.

Hal Jordan: Half-Jewish (mothers’ side) though raised catholic (fathers’ side). Unlabeled, just likes whoever. He/They/Xe, is fine with any masculine or genderless pronouns, as many alien languages don’t have multiple pronouns.

Guy Gardner: Caucasian American for the most part, but is a descendant of the space-traveling Vuldarians, so he’s part Alien. Queer. He/Him, but is fine with They/Them or many other pronouns used by alien species.

Oliver Queen: Caucasian, American. Pansexual. He/Him but is fine with They/Them.

Roy Harper: Caucasian, but adopted by and raised Navajo. Unlabeled, just likes whoever he likes. He/Him.

Michael Jon Carter (Booster Gold): Half-Jewish, through his Levin ancestors. (Confirmed by Jeff Katz). Omnisexual. Genderqueer. He/She/They, any pronouns, though used He/Him for the most part since its easier for others.

Ted Kord (Blue Beetle): Might be Jewish (Again from Jeff Katz). Demi Bisexual. He/Him, but is fine with They/Them.

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