#am i willing to tie this to one particular time frame? no | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrs-march-ahs · 3 years

Note

Hey beautiful!! If you have the time/ inspo could you pls do a full Kit fic based on that nipple clamp scenario you described?? It would be greatly appreciated but no pressure if you cant! Thanks and love you!!

Mr Walker’s Treat, Your Punishment

Yes queen, I’m sorry it’s been literally 6 years since you sent this request, I hope you love it. I chose to use clothes pins instead of nipple clamps, and decided against a daddy kink since y’all brought up a lot of good points. Mr Walker is it.

Summary- After losing a bet with Kit, his dark kinky side comes out and he punishes you with the one thing he’s dreamt of since the day he met you.

Words- 2k. I’ve been writing too many headcannons, need to stop being lazy and start writing longer fics for y’all😤

Another request that was a similar was- “Hi! I don’t really know how to work tumblr so if this is bad or something, sorry but can i get a smut about Kit Walker having a boob kink? I loved your Kai one with the mommy kink and all that but if you don’t wanna write it ofc you don’t have to. thanks <3″, I hope you’re here! I hope you enjoy!

No cap this might be the hottest thing I’ve written, enjoy! 🥵

“This isn’t like you, I kind of like it”, you giggle, as Kit ties your hands to the bed frame with the only two ties he has. He smiles down at you, straddling your stomach, fumbling with the ties before he finishes, and looks around the room.

“Hm?”, you ask.

“I need something to cover your eyes”, he says, before getting off the bed and looking at the pile of dirty clothes by the wall.

“Ooo, kinky”, you can’t help but giggle at how unusual it was for Kit to be this adventurous. Not only a few days ago did he propose a 69, but he also was willing to make it a game. Whoever came first lost, and the winner could do whatever they pleased with the loser. The second the proposal left your lips, a certain dominant twinkle sparkled in his eye and activated the horny young man he had inside of him. You pulled out all the tricks you had, but no matter how deep you took him in your mouth, and how much you choked on him trying to make him let go, nothing seemed to work. He was so focused on slurping you up and licking you raw that he barely realised your mouth was on him. All he had in his mind was the sight of you, tied up, and your kitchen timer set for him to do with you as he pleases.

You could’ve never expected what was to come, since Kit never showed a particular interest in anything kinky. But your body was ready to be at his mercy.

“How about these?”, Kit asks holding up a pair of dirty underwear to cover your eyes with. You scrunch up your nose in disgust and shake your head.

“Absolutely not, do you not have any more ties?”. Kit throws the pants back on the dirty pile and takes some sweatpants out of his drawer.

“How fancy do you think I am, doll?”

You chuckle at the way his accent proved his point, before looking up at him in awe when he returned to his position on your crotch. He shuffled around as he straddled you, before putting the legs of the sweatpants around your eyes, poking his tongue out slightly as he tries to tie a knot. After a minute of struggling, Kit becomes impatient and takes the makeshift knot off your face, and puts your face inside of the pants where his butt would go, making you both laugh at how unsexy your homemade blindfold is.

“Hey, it works”, Kit laughs before reaching over to the kitchen timer on your bedside table. He twists it to an hour and sets it down, then proceeds to get off you and leave the room. You wriggle around the bed as you hear Kit walk out.

“Is this what you wanted? To tie me up and leave me for an hour?”, you whine loudly so Kit can hear. He collects his desired (and prepared earlier) items before shouting back to you from the kitchen, “More whining like that and I’ll leave my naughty girl tied up for two”.

You become visibly aroused at the new dirty nickname and bite your lip at what Kit has in store for you. Just as your mind is about to wander to the filthy things you ache for, Kit comes back and puts, what sounds like quite a few, things on the bedstand.

He kneels at the end of the bed and crawls over to you slowly, admiring the sight of you bare chested and rubbing his body against yours. He presses his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly, the quiet sounds right against your ear making you open your mouth. Admittedly, not being able to see heightens the pleasure, and makes even the simple activity of being kissed down to your chest even more erotic than before. You’re both very touchy and affectionate to one another, so you quickly feel the effects of being tied to the bed, when you tug slightly against your restrains wanting to run your fingers through Kit’s hair as he softly sucks on your collarbone. Kit closes his eyes and breathes against your skin as he moves down to attach his lips to the sensitive skin around your nipple, teasing you before he gets to it. He uses his other hand to wrap around your other boob, not wanting to waste a minute of the hour he has with your girls. You rub your thighs together slightly, aroused from the feeling of Kit’s mouth inching closer to nipple, but Kit stops you when he presses down, putting his body weight on you, only propping himself up on his elbows to be face level with your naked chest. The extra restrain of not being able to move frustrates you; Kit’s chest pressed down on your still clothed crotch stops you from creating any friction.

Kit never makes it to your nipple, after kissing around it for the longest minute of your life, he grazes his lips against it, before sitting up slightly and reaching over to the bedstand. The teasing lack of contact makes you huff.

“Don’t be impatient, you lost, deal with the consequences”, Kit says, now completely sat up fumbling with something in his hands, squishing your lower torso, stopping you from moving.

“Yes, Mr Walker”, you mockingly say like a child. But the term of endearment shows you respect Kit’s new dominant authority, and he swallows it up.

“Mr Walka’s got you, just sit back and relax”. Kit flicks open a cap and drizzles some liquid on your chest, making you gasp. He shushes you softly, and puts his large hand on the edge of your boob, to ensure it doesn’t drip down to the mattress. He places the bottle down and runs his fingers around in the pool of cool oil and slides them around your tits, soaking in the sight of the trails he leaves glistening. He purposely still avoids your nipples, instead circling his fingers around them. Even when he finally places his hands on either breast, kneading them and rubbing in the oil into them, though distracted by the gorgeous sight, he doesn’t give attention to the one place you yearn for it most.

“Please…”

“Please what?”. You open your eyes under the cover, not even realising when a whimpering please left your lips. Although you wanted Kit to do anything he wanted to you, your body was tingling and tired of being teased.

“Touch them, Mr Walker”

Kit smiles at your eagerness and how easy it is for him to dominate you and have you begging, and holds back from the urge to rip your clothes off now and pound you into oblivion, knowing that if he can have you begging already, there’s more to come. He cups your tits and rubs his thumb over your hard nipples. The slightest touch makes you bite your lip, feeling overwhelmed by how such simple affection can send a rush of arousal through your whole body, making you resist the need to arch your back.

Unexpectedly, Kit takes his hands off your chest and takes a few seconds to look at them, making you even needier than before. He flicks your right nipple with his finger, making you flinch at the feeling. The minimal pain it brings subsides quickly, but the lingering touch stays and is only reset when Kit does it again, and again, and again. He takes it in turns to flick each nipple, biting his lip hard at the sight of you flinching every single time. When he stops and puts his hands on his thighs, you relax your body, savouring the slight sting from the consistent flicking.

Kit puts his hands above your shoulders and leans down, not touching you but admiring how pink your nipples turn, satisfied knowing that they will be sensitive and ready for the next activity planned. Kit leans over to the night stand, and messes around with the multiple things he has, leaving you motionless and completely submissive to whatever else he wants to do to you.

Kit sits back up and clears his throat, making you nervous slightly. He cups one boob, and you feel a sudden harsh squeeze on your nipple, making you wince. He takes it off and puts it on further, the uncomfortable nipping turning into a constant pinching of your nipple. The sensation feels weirdly sexual, and leaves you holding back a moan at first, but letting it out when Kit puts a clothes peg on the other nipple, too. Though the sight of you being used is enough for Kit’s bulge to protrude through his white underwear, desperate for attention, Kit’s intention is only to tease you, not to hurt you.

“Is this okay?”, Kit says awkwardly. You can hear the quick slurp Kit has to do as whatever is filling his mouth almost escapes.

“It’s… amazing”, you breathe out.

“Who woulda thought you’d be so naughty, hm?”. You furrow your eyebrows at what he could possibly be eating right now, but quickly melt under the weight of his lewd description of you.

Kit steps off you and stands up, chuckling darkly at the helpless view of you trying not to wriggle from the intense feeling at your sensitive buds. He takes off his shirt and drops it by the bed, not being able to rip his eyes off you laying there, wondering what he’s doing and when he’ll be back and close to you again. He slides his underwear off as silently as he can, before stepping closer to the bed, his hand wandering to his crotch, stroking himself looking at you.

When he kneels back on the bed and flicks the clothes peg, you whimper out at the endurance needed to take the uncomfortable pinch for so long. Kit moans quietly at you whimpering, before quickly slapping away the clothes peg, letting them rip off your nipples and fly across the room. You hiss at the painful turnout, making Kit instantly soothe your pain with an ice cube he holds to your nipple. You cry out at the action, and Kit smiles, before latching his mouth to your other nipple, settling the pain he induced with his freezing cold mouth and lips, swirling his tongue around your pink nipple. Tears escape your eyes at the unexpected pleasure, and a shiver breaks through your body when the ice cube between Kit’s warm fingers begins to melt and run down your side, giving you goosebumps.

Your breaths become hitched as swaps his hands and mouth, softly suckling on you with his cold lips, humming at the way you moan when he suckles harder. Your thighs can barely stay still on the mattress, moving around hoping to feel something and release the pool of pressure you feel between them. But Mr Walker doesn’t accept that, immediately sliding his hand between your legs and squeezing your inner thigh, not letting them touch and not giving you any more release than necessary. You completely let go and quickly become a whimpering and moaning mess when his hands and mouth work wonders on your body, squeezing and licking everywhere but where you need it.

“Mr Walker”, you whimper out, not being able to handle the punishment any longer.

Kit rubs his fingers against your freezing nipple as the last of the ice melts away, and removes his mouth off you with a sucking pop. He slides the sweatpants off your face, revealing the tears filling your eyes and running down your cheek. Alarm bells ring in Kit’s mind and he leans down close to you and wipes your tears away.

“I’m so sorry doll, did I go to hard on you? You shoulda said something”

“No, Kit, I need more… please”

Kit smirks at you begging once again, but sits up cockily and looks down at you.

“Sorry darling, but this was your punishment, you lost, remember? Besides…”

Kit stops in his sentence and you furrow your eyebrow in question, before, as if on cue, the kitchen timer dings.

“Sorry doll, we’re outta time”

You whine in annoyance and look up at Kit, who stands up and twists the timer again. He sets it back down before walking towards the bedroom door to exit.

“Are you not even gonna untie me?”, you whine loudly. Kit stands in the door frame with his hand on the door handle, ready to leave.

“Why? So, you can touch yourself the second you’re free? I told ya darling, if you’re whiny and naughty, imma just leave you here”

You look up at Kit in disbelief before pulling at the secure ties on your hands.

“Have fun”, Kit says, before winking at you and leaving.

━━━━━━♡♤♡━━━━━━

@milly-louise @amourtentiaa @kitwalker02 @tatestripedsweater @therenlover @maria-akira @tatesimper @sallyscigarettes @mossybank @ahsxual @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan @kitwalkerangel @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt @blackbat2020 @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash @kaismessiahbb @elaineygrace @divinerulerluvr

#american horror story #ahs #american horror story asylum #ahs asylum #kit walker #kit walker x #kit walker x reader #kit walker smut #kit walker imagine #evan peters #evan peters character #american horror story smut #the evans smut #ahs smut #ahs asylum smut

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illogicalthinking · 3 years

Text

The Burn Within

warnings: Some NSFW language (Remus), blood/ bruises mention, hurt no comfort and self hatred

word count: 1883

authors note: for this fic i used a prompt by @just-another-ts-prompt-blog which can be found: here

hope you enjoy!

Whilst the ‘light’ and ‘dark’ sides preferred to keep their distance from each other, they had to share certain parts of Thomas’s mind. For example, they shared a common area, and the imagination was split into two separate realms, much like Roman and Remus: Whilst one contained multiple castles and kingdoms living in harmony with each other, the other was a prison of living nightmares.

However, this arrangement did not bring them any closer to each other. The light sides tried to avoid the dark sides at all costs. Remus often played pranks on the others such as swapping the sugar out for salt, spiking drinks with inedible products, and stealing utensils.

This made meal times extremely difficult to control: Virgil would hiss and hide, Patton would try and fail to diffuse the situation, Janus would watch in entertainment and Roman was never around to witness. The only side that could keep the sides from murdering each other was Logan.

Today seemed like one of those days.

“Virgil could you please come down from there, Remus did not do anything” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was far too early for this, Logan muttered to himself whilst taking a large sip of coffee from his “worlds best mum” mug.

“He walked in whilst we were making coffee, that’s more than enough reason to hide. What if he put baby powder in my drink again? I’m going to die because of him!” Virgil hissed from his place on the top of the fridge, hoodie covering his frantic eyes.

Virgil had been more paranoid than usual after the recent video. He had fallen back into his old habit of hissing at the other sides when stressed. It concerned Patton greatly.

“Oh please sunshine, there is a higher chance of me fucking a woman with 3 arms than there is me spiking your drink again, I just walked in!” Remus exclaimed as he passed Virgil on the fridge to the dining table.

“Whilst Remus vocalized his argument in a very unprofessional manner, he is right, we have been awake for approximately 1 hour and 15 minutes whereas, by the looks of it, Remus has only been awake for around 10 minutes.” Logan made sure to maintain eye contact with Virgil whilst voicing his opinion to ensure Virgil knows he’s telling the truth. “There is nothing to worry about Virgil, you are safe”

“Thanks, L”

“You're welcome, now please come down from there, it is very dangerous to be sitting in places you are not supposed to be sitting”

After the incident this morning between Virgil and Remus, Logan remained seated in the common room, his back straight against the recliner with his laptop placed on his lap. He was researching content for a Sanders side video they will be filming in the evening. He did not do this in his room due to not wanting another incident like this morning. Logan is the only side that is willing to deal with the incidents, while the other sides (particularly Janus and Roman) are too impatient and often make the situation worse.

Throughout the whole day, Logan continued to research the link between intrusive thoughts and depression. Thomas had recently been showing signs of this mental illness and Logan wanted to bring it up to him via a video. However, there was a small issue, Logan would have to have all the other sides present including Janus and Remus. He needed Janus because Thomas listened to him more than Logan (much to the latter's dismay) and Remus represented intrusive thoughts. It would only be fair to have Remus take part in a discussion about him, even if the light sides had a problem with this.

Happy with his research, Logan snapped his laptop shut. Due to none of the other sides entering the common room after this morning's incident, Logan concluded it was safe to retreat into his room because he was not needed to split up another argument yet.

To Logan's annoyance, it was time to film the video for Thomas' youtube channel. After the events of putting others first, Logan had started to dread taking part in videos. This was because Janus proved he could take his role as logic, and remain loved and respected whilst providing the necessary information Thomas needed.

“Enough of the self-loathing, Logan, now is not the time,” Logan muttered to himself as he sank down into Thomas’s living room. This evening is going to be a long one for all of the sides, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t know how much longer he could handle the arguing.

None of the other sides were listening to his facts or solutions, too busy pinning the blame on each other for Thomas’s current problem. Roman and Remus were currently swords to mace, about to start a physical fight, Janus remained by Patton’s side trying and failing to calm him down before he turned back into a frog and Virgil remained curled up on his side, his hoodie covered the majority of him but Logan could still see him shaking.

Something had to shut them up.

I will shut them up, Logan thought to himself. Logan became alarmed by the sudden aggressive thoughts. He may have a short fuse but he wasn’t usually aggressive, not without guilt eating away at him. However, this time Logan had no guilt attached to this thought and he shivered at the realisation.

This time was different he reminded himself and with that thought, Logan snapped

“Will you all shut up and listen to what I have to say for once!” Logan all but screamed at the top of his lungs, ensuring he was heard over the arguing.

The silence that came after was enough evidence for logan to continue:

“People who suffer from depression often get stuck with a single or even several intrusive thoughts that arise frequently. These types of repetitive intrusive thoughts are known as 'rumination'.”

“The whole point of me organising this stupid video was to bring this statement to Thomas’ attention and guide him with the help of Janus to seek professional help. You all arguing like a group of immature school children was not part of the script, now if you would excuse me I am going to make myself useful for once and leave” Logan huffed, glad to get that out of his system. Even after snapping, the guilt never choked him like it usually would, which disturbed him greatly.

“Logan, wait!” Virgil pleaded, but it was too late.

“I said I was leaving, now fuck off and leave me alone” Logan hissed at him, the guilt still not reaching him.

Happy with this statement. Logan sunk out of the living room back to his room, leaving six shocked and petrified individuals behind.

“What just happened?” Thomas said to nobody in particular.

“I do not know but it’s best to leave him alone, let’s just get this shit show over and done with” Virgil muttered, far too anxious about Logan to care about the video.

Logan what happened to you. Virgil thought.

When Logan rose up into his bedroom he could not hold it in anymore. All of the pent-up frustration from being ignored for months became too much for the logical side, causing him to slam his fists into the nearest wall. However, without realizing it, Logan’s fist struck a family photo of all the sides surrounding a very happy Thomas.

For some reason seeing the shattered photo frame on the floor and the glass sticking out of his broken skin caused something within him to break.

For the first time in months, Logan allowed himself to cry out all of his frustrations.

After what seemed like hours, Logan finally got up from his place on his bed. He noted that his eyes were swollen and his hand was covered in dry blood and bruises. He did not want to get up and clean his mistake, but he knew he had to because the others would ask questions and he did not want that. Logan did not want the other side’s sympathy. It was a little too late for them and Thomas to care about him but he had to stay because Thomas needed him. They needed him.

“Do they need you though, Logan? Come on, you’re just as useful as me right now and you know it.” A harsh voice sneered into the cold room. Logan immediately knew who it was.

“Be quiet Orange, no matter how much Thomas tries to push me aside, I won’t leave because I am his logic, and Thomas needs his logical side.

“Come on Logan deep down you know I am right, let me prove it to you”

“Let’s just say you were correct in your hypothesis, what happens after that?” Logan sneered. He was far too exhausted to deal with this right now, and he just wanted to sleep.

“Let me show you”

“If I trusted you I would be breaking trust with the others and Thomas and I cannot do that. Thomas’s welfare is my number one priority and I cannot cause any harm to them, no matter how much they have hurt me”

“Oh please Logan, Thomas has not given a shit about you since the beginning. Where is your video, Logan? All the other sides have an episode focused on them, even Remus! And Thomas hates the guy! Do something for yourself for once in your life and listen to me, I can make them listen to you but you have to trust me,” Orange whispered to Logan. Logan knew deep down that what orange was saying was correct, he did not just want to admit it to himself. Until now, that is.

“Fine, what do you have in mind?”

It has been approximately one hour since Logan had sunk out of the video, and Janus was getting worried. No matter how much he tried to get a hand on Logan and summon, he couldn’t. Logan was unreachable

The twins were arguing and Patton and Janus couldn't find a middle ground. Finally, they summoned Logan, needing an impartial side. But when he appears, something is different.

He was wearing a long-sleeve dress shirt, much fancier than usual. He had streaked eyeliner and his glasses were different. He was not wearing a tie.

“Logan? What happened?” Thomas asked, hesitant like he almost doesn’t want to know.

Patton had his hand to his mouth. He spoke up after a moment, “Logan, you look like… like a dark side. What did you do?”

Logan’s voice was quiet and soft like if he spoke too loud he might break. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t try to do this, I-” he cut himself off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I have become obsolete.” His voice broke on the last word and he clamped his mouth shut.

“No, Logan!” Thomas immediately disagreed. “We need Logic!”

Logan nodded, eyes still trained on the floor. “Yes, you do need logic. But . . . you don’t want me”

And with that, Logan sank out for the second time that night, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke that soon vanished, just like he did.

The others could not do anything but feel the burn within.

What had they done?

#logan angst #logan sanders angst #logan sanders #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #character!thomas #sanders sides

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

sex tapes

— Midoriya Izuku is an overanalyzer in every aspect; it shouldn’t surprise you that he’s into making sex tapes too. When you’re stuck at home for an indefinite period of time, it’s finally time to pull them out and watch them together. —

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pairing: midoriya izuku x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, sex tapes, spanking, sir calling, fuck machine, bondage, choking, slight degradation, dom!midoriya

word count: 3,697

a/n: i’m sososooososoosoosooso tired.... I apologize for any and all mistakes i did this from 2 am to 6 am...........im so tired...... this is for the bnharem collab as always, check out the masterlist for the otherssss buhbye!

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“You want to see our sex tapes?”

Two hours ago, you had complained about needing something to do.

Two weeks ago, Japan had been closed down indefinitely due to a pandemic. A virus sweeping across the nation that had even medical professionals with quirks unable to help. As Pro Heroes, you were given leeway to continue working under specific circumstances.

Until things improved, Pro Heroes were not allowed out unless circumstances changed. A particular unit of one hundred heroes was permitted to keep up their patrols throughout the entire country because of their immunity to this virus. Unfortunately for you, both you and your boyfriend were not apart of that group.

Thus that meant that you were trapped at home.

Izuku Izuku had been your sweet boyfriend for a little over a year.

Two years after graduating from U.A., you had found yourself falling for your old schoolmate who worked at a nearby agency. He was no longer the short, awkward teenage boy that he was, but instead this tall stupidly buff adult Pro Hero. On top of his flowering, good looks, the two of you began to have instances together. Instances where you would both find yourself running into each other during patrols, having each other backs during team-up missions, and the many parties your old classmates pulled. It was only a matter of time before you held the sweet boy’s collar in your fist, and despite the aggressive look in your grip, you pressed a loving kiss to mouth.

The rest was history.

He was truly something else.

But you also learned somethings about your boyfriend that you didn’t realize was a thing until you were far too into this relationship.

For starters, despite how kind he was, how calm, beautiful, altruistic, and self-sacrificing he was in and out of his hero persona, it didn’t bleed into the bedroom.

While there was no arguing that he was a true hero, his aftercare was most definitely the best care of your life, you were almost ashamed to admit that you thought he was vanilla in bed. Not that there was anything wrong with being vanilla, you just didn’t expect him to keep a straight face at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest.

You didn’t expect Izuku to be a sadist of sorts, using his quirk to inflict pain on you. To hold you against ties, sex toys stuffed in every available hole in your body. You didn’t believe he would whisper such lewd things in your ears, taunting you to not cum again despite his cock ramming into you at such bizarre speeds that you were completely overwhelmed. You couldn’t begin to fantasize the way that he would force your body into different positions -- positions you didn’t think possible of yourself! At every instance, he surprised you, destroying all of the theories your old classmates and you had once put together during late-night gossip sessions. As you grew used to this new side of Izuku, the side that made you seriously contemplate if he had some type of split personality, there was one thing you should have noticed from the beginning.

For the most prominent thing that shocked you was the one thing you should have seen coming from the very beginning.

The thing that just made sense for your over-analytical boyfriend to be into.

Sex tapes.

It took a single month of your sexual endeavors to begin for him to ask. You could remember it like yesterday; the way his green curls plastered to his sweaty forehead, his muscles tensing with his heavy breathing when his cock pulled out of your abused cunt. His green eyes, nearly black in their lasting lust, a reminder that you were his, trailed down your body.

“Do you mind if we try something new?” he asked, fingers massaging warm circles into your body. You had nodded, always eager to please your boyfriend in bed. “Do you mind if I film us?”

Had you known what you knew now, you definitely would have said yes still. But maybe you wouldn’t have been so willing to put up with every single time you two fucked if you knew this is what was going to transpire from it.

With the quarantine in place, the two of you could do nothing but watch the news in anticipation for the government to call for more Hero backup. Two minutes under quarantines bleed into two days into one and a half weeks.

The two of you were restless, on edge, and near feral.

Neither one of you wanted to be stuck indoors, and it was beginning to transpire into your daily interactions. Who knew you would miss physical interaction?

But you two find common ground in releasing this built-up tension through passionate love affairs. You had always believed you and Izuku had a healthy sex life, the both you always finding time to get a good fuck in despite your demanding lifestyle. But this was different.

All-day, the two of you were going at it like horny bunnies in heat. If you hadn’t fucked on every inch of your shared apartment yet, you most definitely have now. The liter of lube the two of you had was gone in five days, and you were beginning to cross off all the sexual fantasies the two of you wanted to try.

Pegging? Done.

Sounding? Done.

Upside down sixty-nine? Done.

Food play? Done.

Every essential role play in existence? Done.

Putting on his costume and fucking him? Done.

You two had definitely gotten a lot of the ‘let’s try it out to see if we like it’ kinks out of the way. As a matter of fact, you were still recovering from wax play gone wrong because you didn’t have the proper wax but were too impatient for the proper one to come in the mail. There was a perk in being a masochist, you guessed.

If you were honest, you really wanted to watch the sex tapes he had of the two of you. There was something oddly hot about sitting on the couch in front of the T.V. and view the various shots of the two of you fucking. You wondered how different it looked like from an outsider’s position, or if it seemed as good as it had felt. However, you didn’t know how to bring it up without being embarrassed.

So after failing to bring it up, you were stumped on what new to try. To get past this, the two of you had resorted to a website that had over 500 kinks and were now going through it. Things took a turn when Izuku sat behind you on the couch, his hands holding your waist, lips pressing against your neck while you scrolled through the list, trying to find one you both could agree to at the time. But you were never good at paying attention when Izuku’s lips pressed sinfully against your neck.

It took no time for you to straddle his lap, fingers raking through his thick curls, ragged moans pouring from your mouth when you ground against his hardening cock. His fingers gripping your waist in the same spot so hard you wouldn’t be surprised at the time this was all over your skin would be permanently dimpled in that area. Mouths meshed together in wet lust, his tongue coercing you for louder noises, more dramatic reactions to his dizzying force.

It’s when he presses your shoulders against the cushions of the couch, his teeth imprinting against your sensitive skin, do the words slip from your mouth.

“I-I wanna see our s-sex tapes,” you stammer, heat flashing deeply through, burning through your core as if you hadn’t had sex in years.

For months now, he’s kept the videos hidden from you. You didn’t watch them, they definitely weren’t leaked anywhere, and as you said, your sex life was healthy, so there was no reason for Izuku to be watching them for pleasure afterward. Especially not of late. Your need to watch them on your T.V. was too high, and with them plaguing your mind, it seemed to come out now.

Thus the question that started this all poured from Izuku’s mouth when he pulled away from you.

“You want to see our sex tapes?”

His forest green eyes peered down at you, they weren’t their usual nearing black with lust eyes, but instead a light green.

Excitement.

Darkened eyes were almost universally known as a promise for something good to happen, but no, not for Izuku. A smile spread across his face, pink tinting his cheeks while he nods his head in that same boy like excitement.

“Such a dirty fucking girl, wanting to get off on watching us fuck? ...I’ll go get it!”

Light eyes on Izuku was a threat. A promise that you had no idea what you were getting yourself into, a sign that you were going to be nothing but an experiment for him to try out.

Izuku stood up, his tall frame seemingly bigger than he was, and walked away. You let out a ragged breathe that you had no idea that you were holding in while he retreated to where his phone most likely was.

You lay awkwardly on the couch, pushing up against the plump cushions you could only imagine what his plans for you were. You didn’t expect him to pull out popcorn for the both of you to eat while you watched this, not after feeling his hard cock against your crotch.

But what would he do to you?

You yelped when his fingers grabbed your wrists, tugging them upwards, forcing you onto your feet. Blinking rapidly, you watched while Izuku wrapped a silk tie around your wrists, attaching it to the hook on the ceiling most definitely not to be used to hold your weight.

“Izuku?” you whine when he appears before you in a flash of green electricity.

“The thing about our sex tapes is that I take them for... educational purposes,” Izuku sighs, his thumb running against your lower lip. He coats his thumb lightly with your saliva, his eyes remaining bright when he pushes your mouth down. “I take them to make sure that I fuck you properly each time.”

You whimper when his fingers hook around the waistband of your shorts and yanks them down. Your mouth drops in a shriek because something cold and full enters your cunt.

“If you want to watch them, that means I expect you to learn to. I want you to be able to fuck my dick the way that I want you to,” he sighs in your ear, obviously pleased by the way you arch into him. “Don’t worry, y/n, if you do well, you’ll get the real deal. If not? Well, we have time to waste until you get it right, don’t we?”

“Izuku, I didn’t think you,” you try to form sentences, but your mind is already foggy when he places a stool between your legs. It dawns on you that this wasn’t just a dildo that he shoved into your cunt, it was a fuck machine. “Holy shit…”

Izuku chuckles, stepping away from you and turning on the T.V. You watch while he connects his phone to the T.V., your arms already feeling like lead above your heads, and nothing had even started yet. His phone connects, and you watch with growing shallow breaths when he makes his way back behind you.

“Don’t look away from the screen, baby girl. I don’t want you to miss anything.”

Your eyes shift to the T.V., a familiar scene of your naked, cum stained body showing up on the pixels before you.

It was the very first sex tape.

“Now, I’m going to be giving you instructions. Pass them, you get my cock. Fail them, and well, we’ll see how long you can last there until you get it right.”

Without a second delay, the video plays, and with it, the fuck machine is turned on.

You watch the screen Izuku, and you kiss sensually. Your body stiff under his, obviously tired from the rounds you’d already endured. Izuku’s arms wrap under your legs, quickly slipping his cock back into your cunt, and the pornstar moan that ripped through your screen you’s voice made you scarlet in embarrassment.

“See, right there,” Izuku speaks to you from behind, and you shudder. The feeling of the cock slamming up into you was something new, the new angle was something similar yet different from riding Izuku’s own. But the tension of keeping yourself was proving to be a challenge. “When you circle your hips, throw your ass out more. Don’t be a prude about it.”

Your eye focuses on your swiveling hips, and you see what he’s talking about. Your ears burn in embarrassment, and you stammer in your discomfort. But before you could genuinely get your opinions out, a heavy hand comes down on your ass.

He slammed his right hand against your ass cheek, making you shriek while your skin throbbed in his wake. The sharp pain made your legs buckle, a hot pressure igniting in your core, and another loud slap repeated on your opposite cheek.

Fisting in your hair, you yelped loudly when Izuku yanked your head back. The arch in your back was dramatized by this action; your back ached as another heavy slap echoed against your wounded skin. His light, but still wild breathing hits the shell of your ear, chills shoot down your spine when he snarls.

“What did I fucking say?” he whispers in your ear. “I said to follow my instructions—” his hand comes down against your ass with every word, ignoring your growing wails— “I’m the one who’s keeping you from my cock, so you better start listening because my patience is already thin.”

The next spank that comes across your ass nearly sends you stumbling over at the strength and power behind it. Your arms tremble above you, the weight and struggle to keep yourself upright was a challenge as Izuku abused your ass.

“Answer me, baby girl.”

There was no stopping Izuku’s mighty hand against your tender ass, and you could not think of anything but how your cunt throbbed for the man behind you. Your sobs of pain had long ago become those of pleasure, and you could feel the raised prints of his hands on your sore cheeks.

It delighted you.

“Y-Yes, sir!” You pant, your body trembling in your excitement and need for more.

“You like this, don’t you,” he laughs almost delightfully while he rubs circles against your heated skin. “I guess we’ll have to make this harder for you.”

And harder, he made it.

Izuku came for your speed, intensifying the machine that was currently slamming into your squelching cunt, insisting that you needed to outpace the machine. At one point, he even grabbed your waist and assisted you on your conquest of out fucking the sex machine, but it was overwhelming you. You could barely hear Izuku’s corrections, his demands for you to improve the dipping of your pounding hips, his advice of how you should be louder in bed, of how you should stop using your head so much.

But right now, you could no longer keep the focus on the POV video of you sucking his cock and were entirely mesmerized with the dildo thrusting into you and the way the recently placed gag felt in your mouth.

The fuck machine blows into your tight and slippery cunt, your eyes rolling backward at the mere sensation of the speed it was at, and a loud mewl leaves your throat. His fingers snuck behind your head, unfastening the gag, and was removed with a saliva string, and a sob croaked through your voice as your mouth was finally free.

“Suck my dick just like that, baby girl,” on-screen Izuku pants, pleasurable noises following after only fueling the hot lava heat in between your legs.

You whimpered, watching yourself take his cock into your sore throat. The ever so eager on-screen Izuku wasting no time starting his face fucking.

You try to keep up with the momentum of the toy, pretending they were his viciously thrusting hips on-screen. Your hips fall against the toy despite its insane speed, keeping up with it according to the praises that now fall from Izuku’s mouth. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and you moan, seeing yourself choke against his cock. Izuku chuckles, standing up behind you, his hands fondling with your breasts, his moans satisfactory and low, he was enjoying this a lot by the feeling of his cock pressed into you from behind.

“Look at you, so desperate,” Izuku chuckles, his fingers tweaking your hard nipples. “So fucking needy.”

The words ignite a fire within you, and your legs tremble in unspoken glee. You wanted him to fuck you until you were nothing less than a mess. You needed him to give you his cock instead of this stupid fucking machine.

“IZUKU, PLEASE,” you scream, no longer satisfied with the fake cock stimulating your core. “PLEASE FUCK ME! PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR DICK! PLEASE, I NEED IT SO MUCH!”

Izuku chuckled, somehow pleased with your desperation, and with the sloppy noises of you sucking him off on-screen, and the machine billowing into your cunt, he let you free from the ceiling.

He threw you against the couch, your tied arms moving over his head and pressing your sweating chest against his taut one. His fingers held onto his cock, teasing your entrance while he stared up at your pathetically needy form.

“Let’s see how well you learned.”

Without so much as a warning, his hips slammed entirely into you, and your mouth dropped into a silent scream at the way his thick cock pressed against your cervix. It was a familiar sensation now, and excitement you had grown to lust over despite the pain it brought you.

You panted as he slammed into you, pulling you by your hips so he could get a rapid rhythm going. You kissed him, saliva, teeth, and tongue clashing together in this desperate clash, you clawed at his back, desperate to hear him snarl. Unsatisfied with his lack of response, you bit down hard against his lip, the familiar taste of iron filling your mouth.

He let out his own pained moan as you sucked at his skin, which only coaxed him to drill harder into you, driving you further down into the cushioned couch that would have your back imprinted into it permanently.

His hand found your neck. “You’re a fast learner, huh?” he squeezed his hand around your neck, while he found the perfect soft spot above your breast to suck on, your choked moans a song in his ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you managed to squeeze out, your eyes clenched shut when you felt the burning coil build up in your stomach. “Oh, fuck, Izuku, I’m… I’m so c-close!”

“Is that right?” He said through his own labored breathing. He sucked on his index finger before trailing it down to your sensitive nub and began rubbing it, making your hair stand up on your skin.

His hand against your throat tightened, and black dots littered your vision; the heat of his hands burned against your skin. His teeth sunk far into your shoulder, enough for you to feel your skin breaking as his tongue moved in heated wet strokes to calm your now irritated skin. Then there were his nimble fingers running against your clit, your spastic walls clamming around his hammering and throbbing cock. But your bouncing and swiveling hips-- his taught lesson -- held no value anymore. Izuku’s hips snapped upwards fast enough and powerful enough to overcome and overwhelm you, disregarding any improvement you had made. The only thing you could make out with the way that you were no longer able to keep your eyes open was that his cock was hitting your bruised cervix. The sounds of your sopping wet pussy crashing against his forceful hips rang in your ears in a primal yet excited fashion, and the familiar sound of him using One for All to intensify everything about this fucking.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, and you dug your nails into his back, crying out when an ecstatic wave shot out through you, causing your legs to shake more than before.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he growls, and once again slams into you.

Your scream is silent, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your fingers digging into his neck, and your toes curl. His hips are driving, persistent, and have a goal in mind. You can barely keep up with him, your long overstimulated body wanting to collapse at the seams, but he doesn’t stop.

The couch creaks loudly under you, shifting against the floor until you swear you can feel Izuku having to take steps to keep with you against his powerful thrusts.

“Cum, Izuku,” you beg, your hips wildly thrashing against his. “Please, fill me with your cum!”

That’s all it takes, and a hot and heavy load shoots through you, and Izuku collapses onto you. His body twitching while his cock remains hard within you, the feeling of his cum swimming in your cunt, making your head spin with euphoria.

“Holy shit,” you mumble, unable to say anything but that. No amount of fucking had made you feel like this yet.

“I didn’t think you’d have such a… such a good reception to the sex tapes,” Izuku admits, pulling out of you and stumbling to his feet.

“We are pretty hot,” you jest, trying to compose your sweaty and sticky self.

“You are,” he agrees with a sweet smile. “Give me a sec to clean you up!”

You could only hum when he presses a last kiss to your mouth before retreating to get you cleaned up. Your eyes fell on the camera that had been recording everything and was still recording. A smile perked on your face, maybe you did really like this sex tape thing he had.

#midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha

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llemonteaa · 3 years

Text

Your daily dose of angst

No one deserves to be second best. That’s something you learnt the hard way.

Pairings: Oikawa x f!reader & Iwaizumi x f!reader

WC: 1,769

Warnings: swearing, angst (with a little dose of fluff at the end :)

You always wondered, even to this day, why Oikawa had chosen you in the first place. When asked what his ideal type was, Oikawa would laugh and say, “Someone who makes me look greater than I already am of course,” Cue Iwaizumi smacking him in the head.

“Mean Iwa-Chan! Fine, my ideal type would preferably be someone with fair hair, an adorable smile and a lovely ass to rest my head on. Oh, and she must also love milkbread.”

None of those boxes would be ticked for you unfortunately. Your hair was jet black and curtained part of your face, which only added to your supposedly mean aura. Your resting face was somewhat frightening and your smile could be described as Kageyama’s Cheshire Cat grin. Not to mention your ass was almost as non existent as Oikawa’s (oops), and you much preferred pork buns to milkbread.

Yet despite that, Oikawa had asked you out one humid Friday afternoon, exactly 7 months ago today. But you realised, maybe a bit too late, that a lot can happen in 7 months.

Oikawa of course, was infamous for having fangirls practically glued to his hip wherever he went. And dating you didn’t change that in the slightest. In fact, his fangirls, especially one in particular, seemed to go up and above their way to spend time with your boyfriend, even when you were inevitably stood by his side.

“As I was saying-” you began.

“Oikawa! I was just hoping to bump into you!” someone swatted you aside, your vision now platinum curls.

Reni. She practically threw herself onto Oikawa, bending over slightly so that he’s have a clear view of the lace panties underneath her unbelieveably short skirt.

“Oh hey Reni. What’s up?” Your boyfriend turned to face who you called his number one, entirely devoted, fangirl.

“So, about our History project, would it be too much trouble to ask for some help? I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure it all out, even sacrificing much required beauty sleep, but I’m still yet to make any progress. And seeing how you are quite the History whizz...”

“Of course Reni, you’re the first person who’s complimented me on my brains. When would you like to meet up?” It was almost a joke how YOUR boyfriend seemed to be spending more time with a girl who had nothing but the audacity, than his s/o herself. And History whizz your ass, everyone including Iwaizumi, who had overheard that particular part of the conversation as he passed and scoffed, knew that it would be a miracle if the teacher graded him on History at all.

“If you could, now would be a great time.” Reni fluttered her eyelashes which reminded you of rather hairy caterpillars.

“Well I’m not doing anything as of now, apart from talking to y/n, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Right y/n?” Both pairs of eyes seemed to acknowledge you for the first time. You, the girlfriend, but at the same time you the thirdwheel, apparently.

“Well in fact I do mind but...” you hadn’t even managed to get out before Reni used her large boobs to push you out of the way.

“You see Oikawa, y/n doesn’t mind at all. So come on now, my books are in my dorm.”

And with that, she grabbed your boyfriend’s arm and dragged him down the hall in the direction of the girl’s dorms, Oikawa throwing a sheepish glance over his shoulder.

“We’ll resume our conversation in a bit y/n~”

Yeah right. You’d probably forget what you were even talking to him about by the time he came back from the spawn of Satan’s hellhole.

In the weeks that followed, you found every minute of your time alone with Oikawa accompanied by Reni. No matter where or what you were doing with your boyfriend, she always seemed to find an excuse to but it. And Oikawa was nevertheless, just as oblivious to Reni’s attempts to jump in his pants as he was to your blatant annoyance.

“But y/n you have to understand. Reni hurt her ankle yesterday during her cheerleading practise and being the kind friend I am, I had to help her make her way around school.” Your boyfriend attempted to reason with you, after you had pulled him behind the school gym where he was moments from entering. This was partially because you had desperately needed to confront him about how much time he seemed to be unnecessarily spending with Reni and also in an attempt to prevent the devil herself from seeking you guys, Oikawa specifically, out.

“No, I don’t have to understand. Reni dropped the sprained ankle act the moment she thought my back was turned. God you can be so blind sometimes.” You rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“y/n, now you’re just being unreasonable. You know I only ever spend time with Reni when she’s in need of my help. I’m simply doing what any decent friend would do.”

“Except she needs your help all the goddamn time. You could ask anyone, anyone, and they’ll tell you how Reni’s been crushing on you since way before we got together.”

“Yes, I know that, but she’s stopped liking me since I asked you out. y/n what’s so hard for you to understand?”

“Everything Oikawa, everything is so hard to understand. And yet I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand the most. Reni doesn’t ever need your help, she just wants it. And she wants it to the point where she’s willing to make up any crappy excuse to get alone with you. I’m starting to think you guys are the ones dating and I’m just the ‘friend’.”

“y/n you know that’s not true...”

“Do I know that? Do I? Because if I did, then I wouldn’t constantly need to be fighting for your attention knowing it’s always going to be a losing battle. Your there for Reni more than you’re there for me, and we’re the ones in a relationship. I’m not stopping you from seeing Reni because that would just be wrong on my behalf, but at least put some effort in Oikawa.”

“Put some effort in? Oh you must be fucking kidding me. You should be grateful I even asked you out in the first place instead of telling me to put some effort in. The difference between you and Reni is that she’s not a jealous and clingy bitch who can’t even handle her own partner from seeing his friends without kicking up a fight. I could easily dump you anyday y/n and yet I haven’t, so how about you put some effort in and stop being so fucking controlling.”

It seemed as if everything came to a standstill the moment those venomous words left his mouth. It made your eyes water and your heart clench, every syllable of ‘jealous’, every syllable of ‘controlling’, stabbed your heart to the point you wondered if you’d ever be able to piece it back together.

Yet through the darkness a tiny flicker of light fought its way through. And that tiny flicker of light is what reminded you that not a single bit of this stupid argument was your fault. Blinking a few times, you forced yourself to bite back your tears that threatened to tumble, before clenching your fists to the point your knuckles turned white, and glowered up at your soon to be ex boyfriend.

“I lowered my fucking standards for you Tooru. Lowered my fucking standards to be with someone who only sees me as second best. Who’d rather let some bitch with a skirt shorter than your hindsight to drag you around like a doll with no brains. All this time I could’ve been with someone who wouldn’t let their ‘friend’ control every minute of their life and completely disregard the fact that they were taken. Well lucky for you Tooru, Reni’s all yours now. She’s won, that bitch with the cockroach eyelashes has won. So now you can get the fuck out of my way because we’re over.”

And with that you shoved your way past your ex, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your blazer, your hair framing your face now slick with fresh tears.

It was his loss after all. His loss that he wasn’t able to decipher friendliness from flirtiness. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe Oikawa knew ignoring his relationship status to spend time with someone who was quite blatantly ready to jump into his pants at any given opportunity was wrong. Maybe Oikawa knew he’d have you forever, he’d have you to come back to when everyone else left him for the same reason his last girlfriend did. Except this time he was wrong. He didn’t have you forever. And it was all his fault.

Deep down he knew you had every right to shove past him, he knew you had every right to be furious with him, yet admitting that would’ve been the last thing he’d do. So instead Oikawa just scoffed before heading in the opposite direction that you had disappeared in, and into the gym. Completely oblivious to the fact that his best friend had just heard the entire event go down.

2 months later

You giggled as you let your boyfriend Iwaizumi drag you along the school halls. Similar to how you used to watch her do to him. Except in this point in time, you could honestly care less about_ them._ Now you had found yourself a perfect boyfriend who saw you as nothing but the best. He’d see through any girl’s lame attempts to buy themselves alone time with him and would certainly cherish every moment spent together. Hajime knew just how easy it was to let someone slip through your fingers when you took advantage of them just being there, after seeing the exact situation enravel in front of his best friend only a couple months ago.

“Babe are you even listening to me?”

God was her voice annoying.

“Babe.”

Oikawa sighed before finally glancing down at the girl who spent every second possible hanging off him like the school tie he wore.

“Hm Reni.” He zoned out the moment she began rambling on about God knows what. Probably something to do with how he seemed to have gained more fangirls or whatever. But he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was you. You, who was currently skipping along with his best friend, happier than you’d ever been with him. You who was never like this. Never like Reni who was jealous, clingy and so fucking controlling.

Oh.

a/n: We all know that both Oikawa and Iwaizumi would be the best boyfriends ever despite Oikawa being a piece of shit in this.😌

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scripttorture · 3 years

Note

I'm not sure if this question has been asked before, but what would be usually the reason why people would torture someone? Not to justify (torture is unjustifiable in any situation) but I really needed a driving force for a villain why they would w/o sounding ridiculous or implausible, and any reason I come up with falls kind of flat (... Which I suppose is expected, since that's how the reasonings behind tortures are in rl I guess)

I can help you out here. And I want you to know that from a writing stand point this does make perfect sense. Motivation, however shallow, is important for capturing a character.

Yes a lot of the motivations in reality are flat, shallow and outright stupid. And it can be a careful balancing act, showing those motivations making them understandable without straying into justifying them. It can also be hard to make an interesting character with flat motivations.

I think I’ll start off with talking about motivations/‘reasons’ in reality and then talk a little about when and whether we should break from reality when we write about torturers.

Remember that there isn’t a lot of research on torturers. So I’m working from the little bit of research I can access, interviews with torturers and anecdotal reports. It isn’t perfect, but this is (so far as I can tell) the best information we have at the time of writing.

Understanding why torture occurs means understanding that it is structural violence.

I do take questions on abuse, I personally don’t see much point in sticking to the strict legal definition of torture when I’m trying to help authors do a decent job portraying trauma survivors. But sometimes the definition matters. And torture is essentially defined as abuse by government employees*, by public servants in positions of authority.

Over and over again the reasons torturers give for their crimes come back to flaws in the organisations they were part of. Consistently, across cultures and time periods, they describe understaffed, high pressure environments with no training, little supervision and the instruction to produce results or else.

This combines with cultural messages that violence ‘works’ and existing sub-cultures of torturers within organisations to perpetuate abuse.

It’s also worth mentioning that for most torturers they’re coming into an organisation where there are already established sub-groups of torturers. The group dynamics do seem to play a role in all this. Though it’s difficult to say how much when we’re entirely going from what torturers say and they are… demonstrably inaccurate when it comes to talking about torture.

Having said that; torturers do seem to encourage each other to more and more acts of violence. They treat it almost competitively. They will also, sometimes, approach new recruits and bring them into the torturer sub-group, pressuring them to participate.

I’m unsure how much of a role the social factor plays in torturers starting to torture, but it definite seems to keep them torturing when they say they’d rather stop. There are a couple of reasons why.

First of all there’s a sort of implicit threat; refusing to torture is seen as a threat to the torturer sub-culture. And these are people who have already shown a capacity for violence. There have been cases of torturers attacking other members of the same organisation for their opposition to, or refusal to, torture.

There’s also a social aspect; once involved with the torturer sub-culture the individual tends to become more and more cut off from the rest of the organisation. The group of torturers becomes more or less their entire social circle.

We’re social animals. So leaving, rejecting the entire social group, is a big deal. It’s hard for us to do.

The toxic sub-culture torturers form encourages them to root part of their identity in their capacity for violence and how ‘good at it’ the other members of their group think they are. They tend to tie ideas of toughness, dependability, achievement and (often) masculinity to torture. They frame themselves as especially manly, strong and ‘willing to do the tough jobs no one else has the guts to’.

It’s complete nonsense but it’s what they do.

And it means that facing up to the fact torture is pointless feels like an attack on their self worth. A lot of them choose to double down rather then face that reality.

This isn’t a definitive list of relevant factors. It’s my assessment of the ones that always seem to show up. There are usually other factors that feed into particular situations. Rejali’s Three Systems is a worth a read on that front.

Ideas about social hierarchy and transgression are common features. So things like ‘anyone who does That Terrible Thing deserves to be tortured’ or ‘no one Like That would be in this part of town for an innocent reason’.

All of this means that motivation can be tricky to write, because the real motivations are often not the sort of thing we’re taught are ‘interesting’.

Real, honest motivations are often things like:

‘I think those people deserve it’

‘I was told to’

‘Everyone else was doing it’

‘I couldn’t think of anything else to do’

‘I got angry and took it out on someone else’

‘I thought it would work and no one ever taught me another way’

That’s not a definitive list but you get the idea. And probably get the point about these sorts of shallow motivations being narratively unsatisfying.

So let’s step back from the reality and tackle the writing problem at the heart of this: how do we make this interesting?

There are a couple of different approaches.

The first approach I see is to accept that the motivation and the villain are shallow and shift the interest away from the villain.

Villains don’t need to be interesting. And they don’t need to be the focus.

If your story is structured in a way which primarily makes the villain a looming threat and focuses on the heroes, their journey, their relationships then adding detail or depth to the villain is unnecessary.

The Lord of the Rings trilogy does this with several of its major villains. The Shape of Water does it for the main villain. Zelda: Breath of the Wild (yes I bought a switch during lock down, and it’s my first Zelda game I am not sorry) does it with Ganon.

Another approach is to accept the motivation is shallow and shift the focus away from the villain’s motivation.

Villains do not need to have a grand philosophy or deep motivation or underlying pain in order to be a good read. They don’t need to be an intellectual threat to the heroes in order to be a legitimate threat.

For instance Joker in Batman: The Animated Series, I’d argue one of the best takes on the character ever. But if you go back and watch the episodes he isn’t deep. His motivation almost always boils down to pettiness, greed and a vindictive streak a mile wide. It is incredibly shallow.

But he’s fun to watch, because he’s unpredictable and funny. He’s also a legitimate threat to the heroes because he’s so incredibly destructive. More then any other villain his crimes are aimed at effecting large numbers of people. That sets the stakes high without any motivation or philosophy coming into it.

The focus is on what he does each time he shows up, not why.

Persona 5 pulls off a similar trick. Every single one of its villains has a shallow motivation. But each of them also has power over one of the heroes or another innocent person. They don’t need a deeper or more interesting motivation in order to make life miserable for the heroes. And every caper hinges on the heroes trying to stop that worst outcome.

As much as Fullmetal Alchemist is a deep story which touches on many complex topics, neither version (the original manga or the 2003 anime with it’s very different plot) had a particularly complex villain at the end of the story. In both cases the ultimate leader of the ‘bad guys’ just wanted more power. And didn’t care how many lives they destroyed to get it.

Not all stories need a Killmonger.

It’s always worth taking the time to consider what your story needs, rather then what’s fashionable in fiction at the moment. On a personal note some of my favourite stories have been either entirely focused on the heroes or had explicitly shallow villains.

The reality is that most of the time motivations for large scale atrocities are shallow and unsatisfying. Giving fictional villains deeper or more complex motives can work, but it can also mean twisting the narrative up to make it look like the villain (and hence their actions) are more reasonable then they are.

Killmonger’s twisted vision of what would make Wakanda ‘better’ works in Black Panther, just as White Wolf’s similar motivation did in the comics a decade or so earlier. They work because they’re directly competing with the hero’s vision of what would make the world better. And because ultimately it’s about showing why T’Challa’s way is better then the villain he’s facing off against.

But I can think of other stories where giving the villain a ‘deeper’ reasoning just served to make them look reasonable. While they were arguing for torture and genocide.

And… I just think we’ve got enough of that in real life.

At the end of the day your villain should be serving a role within the story you’re creating. Motivation is one of many ways that we try to make sure they serve that function effectively and entertainingly.

But, despite what some people would have you believe, it ain’t the be all and end all of whether a villain or story is entertaining. Personality, plots, aesthetic and sometimes how satisfying it feels to see their day ruined, all feed in to how well a villain works.

The threat they represent in the story isn’t dependant on whether their motivation is deep or nuanced or rational. It’s about their ability to follow through and sometimes the horrific nature of the desire itself.

So I guess a lot of my advice here is to consider what your villain actually needs to do in the story. Then take a step back and consider whether deeper motivation adds anything to that.

Be aware that the more complex motivations and drives you add the further you’re getting from a realistic torturer. Which is not inherently apologia, or inherently a bad writing idea, but consider what any deviation from reality implies.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*The international definition can include groups that control territory, ie an occupying force. In some countries the definition is slightly wider and encompasses some international criminal gangs.

#writing advice #tw torture #writing torturers #behaviour of torturers #motivations of torturers #threatening villains #motivation #writing villains #effects of torture on organisations #defining torture

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ohpedromypedro · 4 years

Text

Pour toi? Toujours.

A/N: This is my first Max Phillips fic and I’m excited to finally get it posted for my fellow Max lovers to read. 😍 In my world, Bloodsucking Bastards ended differently than it did canonically, so most characters are still alive, just vampires. (Except Ted. He’s still dead, but it’s not actually mentioned in the fic. 😏)

word count: 4.4k

pairings/characters: Max Phillips x f!Reader, bout 70% of the characters from the movie (only half have dialogue lol)

warnings: Is a lot an acceptable answer? lmao. uhm in no particular order to how it’s written in the fic; language, smut, mild nudity, public sex, very vocal Max and reader during the sex, possessive/overprotective Max, sleazy jock dude trying to get laid, sexist/homophobic comments from said sleazy guy, character death (guess who?), use of vampire powers, complete mind control, alcohol use, etc.

summary: none, cause I suck at them lmao let’s just say this fic idea came about from one of @a-seeker-of-imagination‘s and my many thirst conversations about Max. 😘

When Tim suggested a small office staff gathering at some random bar, your immediate response was going to be “hell no” because you did not want to be around your coworkers when they’re intoxicated, seeing as you suffer being around them all day at the office enough as it is, but Max being Max jumped the gun and said “hell yeah let’s do it!” for the both of you. You want to be annoyed, but you love your vampire boyfriend enough not to be annoyed with him for longer than a few lingering moments. If he wants to have fun watching humans get wasted on a Friday night, why not let him have it? If anything you’ll stick right by his side the entire time, not wanting to entertain your coworkers with your presence, maybe only Amanda, Evan, Tim, and Frank. The others, not so much.

“Are you ready, babe?” Max hums when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind while admiring the view of you in the reflection of the mirror. The dress you chose hugs you in all the right places, accents every one of your best features and the best of all, it’s red just for Max’s viewing pleasure.

You smile when you feel his arms wrap around you, lifting your head a bit to press a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Just gotta throw on some shoes and I’m good to go, handsome.”

“You look sexy,” he sighs, running his hands along your sides while breathing in the scent of your recently shampooed hair.

“Yeah? I was hoping you’d think so,” you tease, turning around in his hold and leaning up to press a deep kiss to his lips. “This is all for you, Phillips. Remember that.”

“How could I forget?” He groans, dropping his hands to give each of your ass cheeks a firm squeeze. “I get to share the same bed as this.”

“Mmm.” You hum, small little smirk on your face from the way he grabs your ass. “If you keep that up, we won’t make it to the bar and you’re the one who wants to go.”

“Can’t help it when you’re donning my favorite dress.” He smirks right back, moving his hands back up to your waist and giving a gentle knead with his thumbs.

“Topped with this necklace and I look like a snack.”

“Oh absolutely, Sweetheart. I could just eat you right up,” he murmurs, leaning close to press his lips to the most sensitive part of your neck, his fangs just barely poking into your skin moments later.

“Max,” you gasp, your still human heart thudding against your chest. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you intentionally, yeah he’s a vampire and one little accidental slip could end in him injecting you with his venom, which you’re not quite ready for just yet since you want to wait for the perfect moment, but your heart is racing for other reasons.

“Mmm I can hear how fast I make your heart beat when I do that, baby… Am I making you nervous?” He teases, pressing his nose against the pulse point of your throat.

“I trust you,” you whisper, willing yourself not to focus on the arousal you feel from the dangerous prick of his fangs to your neck.

“And that’s why I love you.” He pulls back, gazing down at you with a gentle touch to your cheek. “And why I will wait as long as I need to for you to be ready for the night I change you.”

“Oh, Max… I love you so much.” You breathe, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips, both of his hands now cupping your face. “How’d I get so lucky?” You whisper when he presses his forehead to yours, smile wide on his face.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” He chuckles, gently brushing his thumbs against your cheekbones.

“You? I’m the one with an immortal boyfriend,” you giggle softly, giving your head a small shake.

“And I’m the immortal vampire who found a beautiful young woman worth spending his life with and one who’s so willing to be turned when the time is right.”

“I guess we’re both lucky then, huh?” You bite your lip with a smile, gently running your hands over his tailored chest. “You know what else we are, Mr Phillips?”

“What’s that?” He smiles, lightly brushing his nose against your own.

“Late.”

“Oh shit you’re right,” he chuckles, giving his head a shake as he looks at his watch. “We’re too easily distracted by each other sometimes.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you smirk, pressing a quick, teasing peck to the corner of his mouth before going to the closet to quickly slip on your shoes. “Alright, now I’m ready.”

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

“About time you two got here,” Tim rolls his eyes, assuming that the two of you were busy getting a quick lay in before coming, which oh how wrong he is.

“Didn’t know we had to be here in a specific time frame,” Max tuts in an annoyed manner as he and you approach the side of the bar Tim, Evan, Amanda, Frank, Andrew, Zabeth and a few other new office coworkers are occupying, sort of claiming the area as yours for the time being.

“Don’t listen to Tim. He’s just mad that we decided eight against one to wait until you two got here to order our drinks.” Amanda smiles sweetly at the two of you, moreso genuine to you than to Max, she still doesn’t trust him and she probably never will until you convince her otherwise.

“Well, thank you to everyone besides Tim,” you smile, giving Tim a light teasing tap on the back. “Now, I’m gonna go order myself a drink. Coming, handsome?” You muse to Max, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him with you toward the bar.

“Eager, are we?” He chuckles, settling his hands on your waist from behind after you stop at the bar and wait for the bartender to come over.

“Just dying for a Bloody Mary,” you hum, resting the top of your head against his chest so you can look up at him. Of course he’s smirking.

“What an interesting beverage choice. I wonder what made you choose it.”

“Maybe I like vodka and tomato juice,” you shrug, knowing he’s more referring to the name, but you just love to tease him.

“Mmhm and when’s the last time you drank a Bloody Mary?”

“Uhh…”

“Exactly,” he smirks, playfully nipping at your nose.

“Whatever,” you laugh, giving the bartender a smile when she comes over. “I’ll have a Bloody Mary please.”

“And I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks with a water on the side, thank you.” Max smiles, rubbing his hands over your hips.

“You got it,” she smiles and nods, walking away to go make your drinks.

“So,” you hum, spinning around so you can rub your hands up Max’s chest and fix his tie a bit. “I’ve gotta use the ladies room real quick, could you bring my drink to the table if the bartender’s done before I finish?”

“Of course, beautiful. You know I will either way.”

“I love you, handsome.” You smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips before excusing yourself to the ladies room to relieve your bladder.

Amanda’s at the sink washing her hands when you walk in and you give her a small smile before going into one of the small stalls to pee. After wiping and fixing yourself up, you flush the toilet with your foot and go to wash your own hands. She’s still standing there at the mirror when you come out of the stall, applying a small amount of lip gloss to her lips.

“Hey. How’re things with Evan?” You smile, turning the faucet off after rinsing your hands and grabbing some paper towels to dry.

“Good,” she says with enthusiasm. “We worked things out after the success of the Phallicyte presentation and everything just started falling right back into place, where it should be, you know?”

“Yeah,” you smile, giving your head an understanding nod. “I’m glad you both worked things out together and I’m also happy to be able to help keep Max off your back since I know how he was before Tim suggested he hire a personal assistant to “keep him busy”.” You shake your head and laugh softly, looking at her with sincerity. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, you know. I’m not just his personal assistant anymore, I’ve...fallen so hard for him and he’s willing to wait until I’m ready to turn me into an immortal vampire. That’s not the point, though, my point is that I love him and I’m willing to keep him in line for the sake of the people who work for and with him.”

“I appreciate that. Really. It might be hard to trust him, but I’m willing to try knowing he’s got you to tame him.”

“He needs that human touch and interaction for as long as he can before I’m ready to give it all up to spend eternity with him.” You muse, shrugging your shoulders as you take a quick glimpse in the dimly lit mirror to make sure your own makeup is tip top. “Plus, girl’s gotta stick by each other’s sides in every situation.”

“You got that right,” she laughs, the two of you moving to exit the bathroom.

The bar is a little busier now, more people than there were five minutes ago. Your gaze searches the area for Max and you spot him at the table setting your drinks down. You smile and are about to start heading that way when an obnoxiously tall figure steps in front of you blocking your view and your way to the table.

“Well hello gorgeous.”

You look up and meet the gaze of some clearly 21 year old college jock, your eyes rolling back as you take a step away from him. You don’t have time for dumb college guys’ drunken stupors.

“Way out of your league, bud. Nice try though.” You smile tightly, moving to walk around him but he only steps to the side to prevent you from walking away.

“Come on, pretty girl. You can’t come to a bar dressed like that and not expect someone to pick you up.” He smirks, looking you up and down as though you’re nothing but a piece of meat.

“That’s extremely sexist and disgusting,” Amanda chimes in, moving to stand by your side. “Not everyone dresses like this to be picked up by sleazy boys like you. Leave her alone.”

“No one was talking to you, dyke.” He glares at Amanda and you can only gasp with disgust at this asshole’s words.

“Dude, your parents raised you the absolute wrong way. You’ll never find a woman to marry with an attitude and sick personality like that.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Can’t you see I’m clearly not interested? Plus, my boyfriend is right over there and he’s well on the extreme side of dangerous, so watch what you do and say or it’ll cost you.”

“Oh come on, you think that’s going to work on me? Trying to scare me with your “dangerous” boyfriend? Pathetic. Come on,” he says, stepping toward you again and this time grabbing your waist and pulling you against him, his hand travelling down toward your ass. “I can show you a better time than this imaginary dangerous boyfriend of yours.” His hand squeezes your ass as he smirks down at you.

Max looks over at just the right moment to see the guy grab and violate you and instantly his eyes are filled with murder. Who dares put their hands on his woman like that? And judging by the look on your face and the way you shove the guy away and slap him, just shows Max that you aren’t enjoying this guy’s presence very much, so immediately he starts stomping toward the three of you.

You see Max coming the moment he moves away from the table, can see the rage and hatred in his eyes for the guy who not only put his hands on you, but spoke such vile, offensive and sexist things to you and Amanda. You bite your lip and step back, pulling Amanda with you until the both of you are leaning against the wall. The jock guy goes to move toward you, but Max speaks up.

“Hey asshole!” He growls, earning the guy’s attention now. “You put your filthy little human fingers on my girlfriend and think you’re gonna get away with it?” His tone is dangerous, obviously, and the speed his vampire ability has him approaching the guy with barely gives him time to react. Max’s fangs are already showing and before the guy can even attempt to make a run for it, Max is already grabbing him and going right to snapping his neck.

Both you and Amanda watch with wide eyes as the jock’s lifeless body drops to the floor of the bar, mysteriously the only gazes on the four of you being the eyes of your fellow company. No one else has any clue as to what just happened, powers of being a vampire, you suppose. Max’s chest is heaving and quickly you rush to gently lay your hand on his chest, the other raising to touch his cheek.

“Max… It’s okay. I’m okay. Breathe for me, baby.” You murmur, touching your forehead to his own.

“I need fresh air,” he sighs, taking your hand and pulling you outside with him, leading you to a darker part of the building toward the back so he can clear his mind. There’s a few long moments of silence before he speaks again, his words a low growl filled with lust now. “I can smell you.”

“What?” You whisper, your cheeks turning a bright red from his sudden change in tone.

You can’t lie, watching Max snap that guy’s neck without a second thought turned you on more than you care to admit and it’s the overprotective manner in which he did it that has your pheromones so noticeable to him.

“I can smell how wet you are, how turned on me snapping that prick’s pathetic little neck made you.” He presses his nose to your throat, his body caging you against the building.

“Max,” you moan, your fingers carding through his hair while you give your head a tilt to the side. “Fuck, it was just so hot...watching you kill a man for me, over me.”

“You are mine,” he growls.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Like I said earlier, this is all for you, Max Phillips.”

“No one will ever dare put their hands on you again.” His hands squeeze your hips before moving up toward your breasts where he gently massages them through the fabric of your dress, earning himself soft moans from you in response.

“Please take me right here, Max… Please, I need you.” Your voice is soft, but the begging is powerful in your tone and hearing it is pleasant to his ears.

“I know,” he smirks, capturing your lips for a hard kiss while sliding the hem of your dress up, revealing your lack of panties beneath when his hand moves to rub over your drenched folds. “Fuck, you didn’t tell me you weren’t wearing panties.”

“You didn’t ask,” you moan into his mouth, your own hands dropping to start freeing his cock from its confinements. “I figured we’d end up like this at some point.”

“Oh?” He chuckles, hooking one of your legs around his waist and easily sliding two of his fingers into your drenched core, giving them several curls against your spongy walls.

“Y-- fuck,” you moan, your walls clenching around his digits when they curl inside you. “Yes.”

“Such a good girl you are, huh baby?” He rasps, groaning when your hand reaches into his now unbuttoned pants and gives his cock a firm squeeze.

“Only for you,” you murmur while you pull his entire length free, giving him a few hard pumps as you move to kiss him even harder.

“Fuck,” he groans into the kiss, his fingers promptly pulling out of your heat and replacing them with the head of his cock, pushing his hips forward so your walls engulf each thick inch of him.

“Oh Max,” you moan, jumping up so you can wrap your other leg around his middle and allow him access to your ass to hold you up against the wall while he fucks into you.

“That’s right, baby...only my name leaves that pretty mouth of yours, no other man could ever compare to how good I make you feel.” His movements still once he’s buried completely inside of you, your walls clenching around him like a vice while they adjust to the way he stretches you. God, his cock still takes getting used to.

“Move,” you finally whine out after he stays sheathed inside of you a few moments too long, rocking yourself against him for some sort of friction. “Please fuck me, so anyone that’s in hearing distance knows who I belong to.”

“Good fucking girl,” Max groans, kissing you hard once more while starting to thrust in and out of you at a rapid pace, your arms thrown around his neck to keep yourself grounded as he fucks and publicly claims you against the back wall outside the bar. “Want to hear you scream my name into the night sky, baby...” he murmurs as he presses his lips to your ear, forcing his length deeper and harder into you.

“Max! Oh yes, like that!” You cry out, head now thrown back against the wall behind you. Max takes the chance to start kissing along your throat, teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin with his fangs, knowing how much you get off on it despite the risks. “Oh fuck yes, don’t stop!”

“Wasn’t going to,” he growls, giving your ass a light slap while continuing to hold you up against the wall, the force of his thrusts visible in the way your breasts bounce beneath the fabric of your dress. “You feel so fucking good, Sweetheart… There’s no way I’m stopping yet.”

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” you moan louder the deeper and harder he sends his cock, your hands moving to tangle your fingers through his hair and give a few hard pulls. “Mmmmm you feel so f-fucking good inside of me, Max...stretch me in all the best ways.”

“That’s right,” he groans, burying his face against the pulse point of your throat and sucking a nice dark bruise there, marking you for others to see in a temporary way until he can finally mark you with his fangs. “Only I fit this perfectly inside of you, I’m the exact puzzle piece your sweet little pussy needs.”

“Oh yes,” you softly groan from the way he marks your throat, eyes slowly rolling toward the back of your head as your impending orgasm starts to creep up on you. “Mmmm Max! I-I’m...fuck, gonna cum soon...”

“Yeah? Gonna drench each inch of my cock, baby? Show the world just how good I fuck my girl?” One of his hands moves to start rubbing fast circles on your clit, his other hand still gripped hard on your ass.

“Yes!” You cry out with a hard clench around his length from the added stimulation to your bundle of nerves, only spurring his rubs to be even harder from how damn good you feel wrapped around him. His rubs to your clit, along with his continued harsh and deep thrusts into you, pushes you right toward your orgasm and soon you’re screaming out his name with another tight squeeze around him. “Oh Max!”

“Fuck. That’s it, baby...cum for me, all for me. My good girl,” he praises in your ear, licking and sucking at your earlobe while he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Please fill my sweet little pussy with your cum, Max! Want your seed coating my thighs by the time we get back inside…”

“Fuck,” he growls, moving to kiss you hard while starting to thrust so relentlessly that he has to swallow all your screams as he fills you with his cum. “Take every last drop and let it be a reminder that no one will ever have the pleasure of filling you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else. Want you, only you... Only need you Max Phillips,” you groan in between kisses, your body slowly overcoming the aftereffects of the waves of pleasure your orgasm washed onto you. “I love you so much.” You breathe, resting your forehead against Max’s as he gradually slows his thrusts after filling you with a thick load of his cum.

“Je t’aime plus que tu ne le sauras jamais.” He says it so fluidly, as though French is the only language he speaks in this moment, and it makes you smile so wide that he knows you love it when he does. translation (per google translate lmao): I love you more than you’ll ever know.

“Say something else in French, something romantic.” You murmur, sighing softly when he slowly pulls his length from inside you and sets you back onto your feet.

“Je veux que tu deviennes ma femme avant de te transformer...je veux savourer ton humanité aussi longtemps que je peux.” He kisses you again, his hands fixing the hem of your dress so it looks undisturbed.

“Touché, mister romantic over here.” You smile against his lips, helping tuck his cock back in his pants and zipping him back up. The things lovers do for another after a nice quickie.

“I said,” he chuckles, holding you by the waist and gazing down at you with a large smile. “I want you to become my wife before I turn you. I want to savor your humanity for as long as I can.”

“Really?” You whisper. “Oh Max, I… You’re actually asking me to be your wife?” You bite your lip, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

“Would you marry me first?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding your head fervently. “Absolutely one million times yes.”

“Then yes, I am asking you to be my wife.” He whispers, kissing you one more time before pulling back and taking both your hands in his own. “I...already had a ring made for you and everything. It’s back home in my drawer.”

“You had a ring made for me?” You murmur in awe, looking up at your now fiancé with admiration.

“It not only symbolizes our eternal bond to one another, but also has the power to protect you from sunlight. My ring will do the same.”

“Oh Max Phillips, you are such a romantic.” You giggle, giving him one more quick but passionate kiss before pulling back and leading him back toward the front entrance of the bar.

“Pour toi? Toujours.”

Your smile is wide when you and Max walk back over to the table where your fellow associates are waiting for you, their eyes sort of wide with questions. You only shake your head and move to slide in the large booth next to Amanda.

“Everything’s okay.” You reassure, a smile still on your face. “Actually, it’s perfect.” You look over at Max when he slides in beside you, his arm slipping right around your waist. “Max and I are perfect.”

“Sooo we’re not gonna talk about the dead guy over there?” Tim questions nonchalantly, his thumb pointing in that direction. Evan slaps his hand down.

“What’s there to talk about?” Max inquires, grabbing his water and taking a quick sip. “Guy put his hands on my girl without consent, he deserved it.”

“Amen,” you and Amanda say it at the same time, both of you giving each other a smile.

“He also said some questionably offensive and sexist things, so yeah, he deserved it.” Amanda shrugs, sipping on her fruity cocktail.

“Are we also not going to talk about how absolutely no one in this bar saw a thing?” Andrew’s eyebrows are raised and Max only laughs.

“Mind control, duh. You’re a vampire now, you should know that.”

“Right,” he nods, realizing now that Max had everybody under his control. “How’d you manage to get the whole bar to pay no mind to any of that?”

“Lots of practice and loads of charm,” Max smirks, rubbing his thumb along your upper arm.

“Did you use it on Y/N to make her fall in love with you?”

“Tim!” Evan scolds, giving his best friend a “what the fuck?” look.

“No,” you and Max say in unison, earning each other’s gaze and a smile.

“I would never use it on her like that, never against her will,” Max shakes his head as he looks back at Tim.

“And I pretty much fell for him before he even took his first glance at me the day I started working as his personal assistant,” you admit with a blush, nestling yourself closer against Max’s side. “There was just a certain aura about him that I felt when I first saw him through his office windows...and I knew then that this job would change everything for me. I was right.”

“She changed my world and it’s why I’m making her my wife.” Max says it so proudly that you can’t help but smile up at and kiss him.

“Is that why you two were taking so long outside? Being all lovey dovey and getting engaged?” Tim asks, giving his eyes a small role.

“You could say that, yeah.” You smile, taking Max’s freehand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, Max is quite the romantic.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Evan mumbles and Amanda gently elbows him in the side.

“Say what you want, Evan, but it won’t change the way I love the woman I’m going to spend eternity with.” Max retorts, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Je t’aime,” you smile up at him.

“Je t’aime pour toujours, chérie,” he muses, lightly rubbing his nose against the tip of yours.

“Oh gag.”

“Shut up Tim!”

You laugh at all the simultaneous outbursts at Tim, shaking your head with an amused smile as you gaze up at Max and gently rest your hand against his cheek.

“Let’s go home and celebrate, my love. Just you and me.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, baby.”

Everything taglist: @halefirewarrior @takemepedropascal @wildcard566 @readsalot73 @talesfromtheguild @msmona @oberynispunk @whiskeyxinxaxteacup @pedrosdoll @ah-callie

Max Phillips taglist: @a-seeker-of-imagination (if you’d like to be added, let me know! 💕

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x female!reader #max phillips x y/n #max phillips fic #max phillips smut #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #pedro pascal #nsft #my writing #ohpedromypedro

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A New Arrangement [Part 1/9]

Part 2 ->

Summary: Left with severe burns all over his body, the vain Dr. Frederick Chilton has retreated from the world, and will not let anybody see his face. One day, he decides to get his affairs in order in case he dies, or nearly dies again. That’s when you enter his life.

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

CW: mentions of hospitals, death, end-of-life planning

820 words

An uneasiness swam in your gut as you rang the doorbell of the looming mansion that looked too expensive for you to be touching. It was the centerpiece of a swanky gated community outside of Baltimore and you had come here for one reason.

A man named Frederick Chilton was preparing for his death.

People don’t think about how much there is to take care of, from advanced directives, to living wills, estate planning, funerals, calculating life insurance requirements… That was what your startup company dealt with—end-of-life planning. You were the one-stop-shop for all of it. A sort of death concierge service.

People assumed from your job that you were compassionate. That your heart was wide open with nurturing and a desire to hug people on the worst day of their life.

The truth is, you were a glorified accountant, and you did not like making home visits. They could get too personal. Too emotional. But this client was very fussy, particular, and most importantly, very wealthy, and he had insisted. He would only do business over the phone, email, and any in-person meetings would be at his home, not your office.

So here you were. At his doorstep. Praying that you wouldn’t have to hold anyone’s hand while they cried.

Or worse—that he wasn’t just some creep luring you out here. This guy was much younger than your usual clients, which either meant he was dying of a tragic terminal illness, or he could afford the sort of lawyers to make murder charges go away, and was maybe stalking you? A string of bad internet dates had you a little paranoid.

So your heart jumped when he opened the door. And then it leaped clear out of your throat when you saw him.

He was wearing a very sharp suit and tie (complete with an old-fashioned gold tie pin), leaning on an audaciously silver-embellished cane, but the thing that made you vomit up your vena cava was the fucking mask.

He was wearing a Venetian masquerade mask that covered his entire face with smooth, sculpted white porcelain. Fine engravings serpentined around the eye sockets, inlaid with silver and black, as if the mask were wearing its own mask.

“Nope.” You backed up from the door. “Oh no. No way. Sorry, I am not getting dragged into some Eyes Wide Shut thing.”

His eyes, though a bit shadowed, were visible enough to for you to see their dramatic rolling skyward, paired with an equally annoyed sigh. “Do not flatter yourself,” he said tersely. “Apparently you do not know who I am?”

“Should I?” You narrowed your eyes. Fuck. You knew you should’ve googled his name.

“I suppose count myself lucky my misfortune is not so public. Do you recall the Dr. Frederick Chilton who was maimed and set on fire by the Red Dragon last year? It was in the papers. I have a clipping of it framed,” he said dryly. “My book, The Dragon Slayer was on the New York Times Best Sellers list for ten weeks.” He scoffed when you showed no sign of recognition of him, personally.

“The Dragon…” you nodded. “Yeah, I remember that was all over the news. He set you on fire?!” You definitely should have fucking googled him. Now you felt like an asshole.

“Given the state that maniac left me in, I have the choice to be gawked at for my disfigurement, or for the tedious quirk of wearing a mask. I prefer the latter.” His voice had a slight sort of lisp to it, suggesting the placement of some of his injury. “Ironically, being maimed near death is precisely why I contracted your services—one can never plan too early when one associates with the criminally insane. Now if you are finished? Believe me, if I wished to engage in an ‘Eyes Wide Shut thing,’ I would hire one of the many high-end escorts Baltimore is home to… not some drab clerical worker.”

Your eye twitched. You were not insulted the snobby weirdo didn’t want to fuck you. That was a good thing. You forced yourself to smile and your jaw creaked like an old wood floor with the effort.

“More people should be planning ahead proactively, so you’re setting a good example,” you chirped, towing the company line. “All right, let’s get to work. Sorry about the misunderstanding. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chilton.” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a professional shake.

He leaped backward, nearly tripping over his cane in the process, as if you were extending a poisonous snake. The mask stayed perfectly calm, but his eyes flashed. “It is Dr. Chilton. Doctor.” he hissed. “I did not spend eight years in medical school to not have my proper title used.”

“Sorry—Doctor Chilton.”

You followed him inside, never in your life more certain you were going to hate somebody.

#Frederick Chilton x reader #raul esparza #frederick chilton #hannibal #female reader #I DON'T KNOW #I was going to do a oneshot but decided to try writing some chapters instead?????#my writing

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razieltwelve · 3 years

Text

An Offer (Final Rose x Game of Thrones)

Daenerys paused. There was a musician with a harp in her room. She couldn’t remember asking for a musician, and she doubted her brother would have sent one. Her brother had not been kind to her in a very long time, and she doubted he ever would be again. People often whispered of the madness that lurked in Targaryen blood, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had ruled over Viserys.

Was the kind brother she could only vaguely remember nothing more than a figment of her imagination, or had time truly changed him for the worse?

“Who are you?” Daenerys asked. She backed toward the door only to find her path blocked by a pair of men. Their appearances were so ordinary that she couldn’t help but be afraid. Ordinary men were dangerous, for they could strike with impunity and melt back into the crowd. “If I scream, the guards will come for me.”

“The guards,” the musician replied. “Have already been dealt with.” She flicked her wrist, and a knife appeared. She twirled it around with the sort of skill and ease a master craftsman might have used to carve a block of wood. The weapon was a blur of steel, flicking up and around her fingers before settling into her palm. Another flick of her wrist lodged the knife in the door frame, a single lock of Daenery’s hair pinned against the wood. “And if I had wanted you dead, Daenerys, you would be. So sit, and let us have this conversation like civilised women, and perhaps you might even find yourself enjoying the music.”

Daenerys sat.

The young woman - a girl, really, for she could not be that much older than Daenerys herself - began to strum the harp. Despite the situation, Daenerys couldn’t help but appreciate her skill. It was... lovely, a cultured, measured song that called to mind days spent in quiet contemplation by bubbling brooks or whispering shores.

“You have a choice before you, Daenerys,” the girl said. “And depending on what you choose, it may be the last choice you have in a long time.”

“What choice?” Daenerys asked bitterly. “If you are here then you know what my brother wants me to do.” The mere thought of it made her shudder in disgust. The things her brother had said to her... that he would let all forty thousands of the Khal’s men have their way with her if it would secure him an army...

“There is always a choice.” The girl smiled. “Why, you could take that knife in the doorframe there and cut your own throat. If that is a little too difficult, then perhaps you could slit your wrists instead although I recommend going up and following the vein rather than simply cutting across. It tends to work far more quickly, and the last thing you want is someone stopping you.”

Daenerys stared. “What kind of choice is that? I... I don’t want to die! I want to live! I...” Daenerys knew what she wanted, but she had never quite dared to voice the words. Viserys would have beaten her or worse. “I... I want to be free.”

“Free,” the girl replied. “It’s an interesting word. Is anyone truly free? Take your friend the magister. He has wealth and power, yes, but he has obligations. He has things he must do if he wishes to retain his wealth and power. Is he free? More than a slave, perhaps, but truly free? I doubt it.”

“A king is free,” Daenerys retorted.

“Are you sure?” The girl’s lips twitched. “You brother calls himself a king, and by blood, he may very well be. But does he act free to you?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No.”

“In fact, I’d say that being a king is the precise reason he isn’t free.” The girl chuckled and continued to strum her harp. There was something vaguely disconcerting about the melody now, something that made Daenerys shiver. She thought of turbulent seas and dark waters too deep for anyone to see the bottom. “You’re not stupid, Daenerys. I’m sure you and your bother got offers from wealthy magisters and nobles eager to add your royal blood to theirs. You could have lived a life of comfort and luxury. Your brother wouldn’t be a king, but he wouldn’t need to marry you off to a Dothraki warlord either.”

Daenerys’s fists clenched, and for a moment, she felt a stab of anger so hot and heavy it made it hard for her to think. Viserys liked to talk of sacrifice, but it was she who was always being asked to sacrifice. If his plan worked out, he would be a king, but where would she be? She would be stuck with the Dothraki, treated as little more than a broodmare by some savage warlord. “Then what? What am I supposed to do? You sound like someone who thinks they have all the answers! Well, what is my answer? How can I be free?”

The girl smiled beatifically. “Oh, Daenerys, I thought you’d never ask.” She stopped playing the harp and stood. She was tall for a woman, Daenerys thought, but there was something about her that made her loom larger still. It was the knowing gleam in her eyes. It was the absolutely certainty in her gaze. This was a woman with power. This was a woman who did as she pleased. “Your answer is very simple.”

“What?” Daenerys whispered. She shook herself. “Who are you?”

The woman gestured, and the room around them darkened. For a moment, they were bathed in utter darkness, and the only thing Daenerys could see were the shining eyes of the other woman. Was this magic? She had heard that there were those who used magic in Essos, but she had never met them before.

“I am the person who can set you free, Daenerys. All you have to do is come with me, here and now.”

Daenerys recoiled. “Stop this.” She swallowed thickly. The darkness seemed to be closing in on her. “Please.”

“There is magic in your blood, Daenerys,” the girl said. “I can feel it.” She took a step closer, and Daenerys tried to retreat only to find her feet rooted to the floor. “Your brother calls himself a dragon, but the fire in his blood is weak, little more than embers. There is an inferno raging inside you. I wasn’t sure until I met you, but I can feel it.”

The darkness retreated, and Daenerys looked around frantically. If the men standing behind her had noticed anything odd, neither of them gave any sign of it.

“I...”

“You have a choice, Daenerys, you can come with me, or you can stay here. If you stay, you will wed the Khal, and what happens next... well, I’m sure you’ve had nightmares about what that might be.”

“And if I go with you?”

“If you go with me, I will see you educated. I will see you trained. I will see you made into a woman worthy of the great name you bear. Daenerys Targaryen... the Stormborn, some call you. By the time I’m done with you, they will call you Storm Queen.”

“You offer much,” Daenerys murmured. “But what would you ask in return?”

“Valar morghulis... all men must die.” The girl chuckled. “And all women too. But when I die, I wish to leave a legacy that shall live long after I am gone. You see, I am from Braavos.”

“Braavos?”

“Yes. And if there is a dream we Braavosi have had, it is to wipe out slavery in Essos. You wish to be free? We Braavosi wish for everyone to be free. If you go with me, then you must swear on your life and all that you hold dear that you will do everything in your power to aid me in this quest.”

“What could I possibly do to help you?” Daenerys asked.

“You’d be surprised.” The woman flicked her wrist, and the space beside her shimmered. There, settled upon a trio of velvet cushions, were three dragons eggs. “The dragons are dead, or so I’ve heard, but magic has returned... and perhaps, just perhaps, the dragons might not be dead forever.”

Daenerys stared at the dragon eggs. Something called out to her, a tug on her very soul. “I...”

“If you wish to be free, Daenerys, then you must be willing to make the choices that come with that freedom. A free woman chooses her fate, so you must choose yours.” The girl extended her hand. “Come with me, Daenerys. They call your brother the Beggar King. One day, perhaps, with the right training and support, they will call you the Breaker of Chains, the one who brought fire and ruin... but not to enslave, no, to free.”

“Did you see that with your magic?” Daenerys whispered. “Have you seen my future?”

“There is no future but the one we make,” the girl replied. “So... stay or go, Daenerys?”

“I...” Daenerys reached out and took the girl’s hand. “I will go with you.”

The girl smiled. “I’m so glad you chose wisely.”

X X X

Alera, the girl who had once been Jahne, was not surprised that Daenerys had practically collapsed after being smuggled onto her ship. The poor girl was utterly exhausted emotionally, and Alera had no doubt that she would have to spend the next several months at least dealing with all of the various problems that Daenerys had developed over the years. There had long been rumours about the madness of the Targaryen bloodline, but after closely studying their history, Alera was willing to bet that it had more to do with the absolutely horrific way most of them were raised.

Good grief. Targaryen parenting was awful.

Still, with the city in a state of disarray as the magisters searched frantically for Daenerys, Alera still had one last loose end to tie up. After all, having the second-last Targaryen wouldn’t be nearly as good as having the very last Targaryen.

She had brought her more... gentle associates to the meeting with Daenerys, men who radiated quiet menace rather than the sort of pure, undiluted malice some of her other associates were capable of. However, those were the ones she’d brought to this particular meeting.

“You know,” she drawled as one of her men drove a meaty fist into Viserys’s gut. “If you’d been any less stupid this wouldn’t have worked. Honestly, what sort of fool gets an anonymous message claiming to have found Daenerys and then charges off to the meeting point without bringing any backup.”

“A fool, my lady,” Tereno replied. Despite his towering size, the man was sharp and cunning. She’d saved him from the hangman’s noose, and he’d sworn his life to her. Naturally, she made sure to keep him well rewarded. Amongst his many, many skills, Tereno was a master of beating a man until he wished he was dead without actually killing him.

“Indeed.” Alera waited until Viserys had dragged in some air before nodding at Tereno. Another punch folded him over again, and Alera shook her head. “Such a waste. Now, if I had been born an exiled Targaryen prince, you can be sure that nobody would be calling me a Beggar King.”

“I am no Beggar King!” Viserys growled, somehow finding the air to speak. It was almost admirable. “I am the rightful King of Westeros! The people clamour for my return!”

“The only thing they clamour for,” Alera replied. “Is Robert Baratheon’s favour. After your family’s disastrous rule, Robert has proven to be quite a good king, or so I’ve heard. The small folk praise his name, and revel in the prosperity his reign has brought. Besides...” Her lips curled. “What sort of king finds himself being beaten along the docks in the middle of the night?”

Viserys reared back to spit, and she calmly nodded at Tereno. Another punch folded him over again, and she heard him curse as the sudden impact had him biting his tongue.

“I do hope you didn’t bite your tongue too badly. It would be shame for you to go that way. I mean... your end isn’t exactly going to be the stuff of legends, but it will still be a good deal less ignominious that simply biting your tongue off.”

“What?” Viserys groaned. “You can’t! You can’t kill me! I am the rightful King of Westeros! I am a dragon! I will -”

“You know,” Alera said as another nod brought another punch. “You’re not very bright. Most people would have learned that speaking out of turn gets them a punch in the gut.” She glanced at Tereno. “I’m making you work quite hard tonight, it seems, old friend.”

The brawny man chuckled. “You also pay me very well. I’m not afraid to earn my keep.” The others laughed. Behind her, and slightly to her right, Velena gave a throaty chuckle. The assassin was an absolute master of using her looks to her advantage, and there were few who could match her expertise in stealth, poisons, and daggers. It was Velena who had lingered here, catching Viserys’s eye just enough that he never noticed Tereno closing in on him until it was too late. “Shall I keep hitting him?”

“No.” Alera smiled. “Now, do you think you can keep quiet?”

Viserys looked as if he wanted to say something, but a scowl from Tereno had him nodding quickly.

“Ah, very good. It seems you are capable of learning.” Alera rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You see, Viserys, you’re something of a problem for me. For all that you’ve treated her horribly, there is a part of Daenerys that still loves you as her brother. It would be most inconvenient for me to spend so much time and effort training her only for you to return and mess everything up. Moreover... are you familiar with the concept of supply and demand?”

Viserys shook his head.

“In simple terms, Viserys, if people want something, then they’ve got to pay for it. But the more of that something there is, the less they have to pay. All things being equal greater supply lowers the value of something. But if everyone wants something and there is hardly any of it, well, in that case, the value of that something increases dramatically.” Alera’s warm smile turned cold. “Targaryens are in high demand, Viserys. Every city and noble in Essos would like to have one. That’s the only reason you’re not out on the street like the beggar you are. But supply... now that’s a tricky one. If there are two Targaryens left, then the one I’ve got - and yes, I’ve got your sister - is less valuable.”

His eyes widened in sudden horror as he put the pieces together.

“Ah, yes. You see. Oh well. If only you’d used that brain of yours earlier, we might not be standing here.” She grinned. “Imagine how valuable your sister will be if she truly is the last Targaryen.”

“You can’t do this!” he blurted. “I... I’ll pay you!”

“With what?”

“I... when I become king!”

“The only thing you’ll be ruling will be the bottom of the harbour.” She nodded at the others. “Help our friend here put on his new shoes.”

As Viserys writhed against Tereno’s steely grip. The others attached thick, weighty metal shackles onto his legs. The moment they released him, the chains clanked onto the ground with a heavy, ominous thud. Combined with the block of stone they were attached to, Viserys was looking at an extra hundred pounds or more of weight.

“They say that fire cannot kill a dragon,” Alera said as Tereno dragged him toward the water’s edge. “But it was also said that in days long gone, the water wizards of the Rhoyne drowned the dragons in its waters.” She smirked. “I’m not water wizard and this isn’t the Rhoyne, but I’m sure you can see the similarities.”

“No!” Viserys screamed. “No -”

Whatever else he might have said was drowned out by the splash he made when Alera kicked him into the water, the shackles dragging the block of stone in after him. She leaned over the edge and watched him sink toward the bottom, flailing and screaming, before she slowly counted to a hundred just to make sure. When he failed to miraculously return to the surface, she shrugged.

“I don’t know if fire can kill a dragon, but it seems like water can.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Good, old Alera (Jahne) turning that charisma stat up to eleven. This Daenerys is still young and relatively easily influenced. That’s why Alera tells her the truth, more or less, about what she wants to do with her. As she will later say to Daenerys: ‘I may not tell you everything and I may even twist things a little, but I will never outright lie to you.’

Being capable of ‘magic’, Alera can sense the growing strength of magic, and she has done enough research to know what that might mean. Once she heard about the dragon eggs, she knew that she could no longer simply observe (she had travelled to Pentos in disguise to get a better idea of what was going on). This was her best chance to secure both the eggs and Daenerys’s loyalty.

Of course, she also had to deal with Viserys. No loose ends, and all that. If Danaerys ever asks, she’ll simply tell her that Viserys drowned while searching for her. It’s the truth, albeit not the whole truth.

And to everyone else, it will seem as though Daenerys has simply vanished. By the time she arrives in Braavos, she will have a disguise and a backstory, so that Alera can continue to teach her without anyone asking any unneeded questions.

As for the people Alera brought, you’ll see more of them. She does need minions to help carry out her plans, so she’s been very careful to choose only the best, brightest, and most loyal.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #game of thrones #fanfiction #jahne nabaat #daenerys targeryan

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humansofhds · 3 years

Text

Don Abram, MDiv ’19

“In the same way that the Black Church has been queer through its very existence—by operating on the undersides of power, by existing in the margins, by advocating for the least of these—me advocating for LGBTQ rights is simply an extension of that tradition. It is an extension of that Black, freedom-loving tradition. I want to be able to walk congregants through this as we center the lived experiences of LGBTQ+ folks in the Black Church.”

Don Abram, MDiv ’19, is the founder of Pride in the Pews, a nonprofit that seeks to amplify the voices and experiences of queer Christians in the Black Church.

A Call to Identity and to Faith

I grew up on the far South Side of Chicago, and I was raised by a single mother and a very active Jamaican grandmother. Every Sunday I attended a hand-clapping, toe-tapping Black Church right down the street from my house, within walking distance. I attended every Sunday, initially reluctantly because I didn’t like waking up in the morning. I would come up with a myriad of excuses and reasons for why I could not attend on Sunday, including not being able to find matching socks or not being able to find the right tie. It never worked.

At the age of 14, I was called to preach. I moved from the pews to the pulpit, which was really a paradigm-shifting change, especially in the Black Church, wherein the Black pulpit is often centered over and above other positions and places in the congregation. At the same time that I was called to preach, I was also introduced to my sexuality. But what I knew instinctively was that I could not embody both of those identities without losing both my community and my calling.

So to put it simply, I did not embody both of those identities, at least not on Sunday mornings. When I would preach in my church or go to different churches for revivals, I was a straight preacher. Outside of the four walls of the Black Church, I was able to explore my queerness – still in the shadows, but not nearly as tucked away as when I was in the pulpit. Frankly, I didn’t have an opportunity to explore the theological foundations I was brought up under until I arrived at HDS. That was the first time I was able to take a deep dive into toxic theologies, unpack them, and reconstruct a theology that spoke to the fullness of who I am. And I did all of that from within the radical Black religious tradition.

I was reading folks like James Cone and Martin Luther King Jr., as well as folks like Fannie Lou Hamer—all of these amazing scholars who took seriously the Black Church as an institution. Not just what transpired at the spiritual level, but the ways in which the Black Church showed up in the public square. And the Black Church historically showed up pursing justice and pushing back against systems of oppression. I was able to reconstruct this theology and I loved it. I was able to reconcile my faith and my sexuality. There was no distinction between the two. I saw them as inextricable.

An Invitation In

I would also travel back home, to the far South Side of Chicago, to the same old hand-clapping, toe-tapping Black Church, where folks did not have access to the same sort of conversations I was having at HDS, or to the same thinkers or luminaries who were engaging in prophetic critique of Black Church theology. I wrestled with how to invite my church into these conversations around the intersection of race, religion, and sexuality.

At HDS, we didn’t talk a whole lot about how to translate what we were learning, or how to engage in conversations with folks who didn’t have access to that space. And that’s really where Pride in the Pews emerged. I wondered, how might we think of a sustainable way to engage congregants, on the South Side of Chicago and in cities like it across the country, in these conversations that are central to our theology and our understanding of ourself as an institution? That is where it began.

And then came the George Floyd murder, after which I was protesting. Alongside me were Black pastors and clergy, and they were chanting along with me, Black Lives Matter. My immediate retort was, does my life matter to you? As a Black queer man who shows up Sunday after Sunday to a sanctuary where my sexuality is demonized and condemned? I realized that now is a great time for the Black Church to recommit itself to pursing justice for all people—for those who exist at the margins of society, for those who are on the underside of power. I launched Pride in the Pews in the hopes that in this particular socio-political moment, we would be able to take a deeper dive into our commitments and the way we carry them into the world.

Different Faiths, Same Justice

Religious communities like the one I come from—Black Baptist, fundamentalist communities—are quite skeptical of “out-there,” liberal places like HDS. There’s this fear that you’re bringing folks of all different faiths together, and they’re just going to steer you away from Jesus. Steer you away from God. But what I found was that being in conversation with Buddhist, agnostic, and atheist colleagues, with folks who practice Indigenous African religious traditions, did not bring me away from my faith, but actually brought me closer to it. My colleagues were asking questions and framing the pursuit of justice in ways that pushed me to ask, how might Jesus see this? In doing so, it actually gave me permission, or offered an invitation, for me to think more critically about the values that I hold as a Black Christian—and more specifically, a Black, Queer Christian in the Black Church.

For me, this was an opportunity to take a deep dive into my convictions, both theological and philosophical and spiritual, and begin to ask the scary questions. The questions that would lead to answers that I didn’t already have. Being willing to engage in that humble inquiry, that audacious questioning, presented an opportunity for me to say, ok, let me re-imagine the way I’ve interpreted the gospel. Let me reimagine the way I understand harm and violence and white supremacy and homophobia.

I got to the place where I was able to see both my queerness and my faith as inextricably connected, but also where I was able to go broader than that. I was able to say, when I’m talking about the injustices caused by queerphobia in the world, those are intimately connected to white supremacy. Those are intimately connected to patriarchy and homophobia and transphobia. These things are not separate and independent from one another. What we are really talking about is interlocking systems of oppression. My colleagues from different faith traditions and I, we were able to work together and agree on the fact that we should be pursuing justice. We should be doing good in the world. Whatever it is that we deem ministry or our calling or the philosophical tenets that we subscribe to, it should all work toward a world where we are safer, more whole, and more free.

“Can I Get a Witness?”

I started Pride in the Pews not only when this country was confronting a racial reckoning that was catapulted by state-sanctioned violence against Black bodies. It also happened when we were seeing unprecedented and historic attacks against the Black community, with a specific emphasis on attacks on the rights of trans-folks to exist. At the same time as we saw this racial reckoning, we saw these concerted attacks across the country on LGBTQ folks. That’s the intersectional context that Pride in the Pews emerged into. That intersectionality makes Pride in the Pews so powerful. We recognize that we’re fighting on multiple fronts. We’re fighting for our right to exist as Black people, and we’re fighting for our right to exist as queer-embodied people. For me, that context was key. It gave this push power.

Context is important. Since I’m trying to reach folks in the Black religious tradition, any content that I create, any story that I tell, any voice that I lift up, needs to reside within that tradition. One thing that is central to our tradition is storytelling. It is with this in mind that we started with the Can I Get a Witness Project, which aims to capture the stories of 66 Black Queer Christians within the Black Church. Whether it’s my enslaved ancestors who didn’t have access to the scriptural texts to be able to read them, who accessed the word of God through story; or whether it is my African ancestors who were passing on sacred religious traditions, not by writing them down, but through word of mouth—that oral tradition is rich. That’s the one I’m centering in this project.

When we’ve collected all 66 stories, we hope to take all of the wisdom, all of the insights we’ve been able to gleam from our conversations with Black queer Christians, look at the trends and salient points, and turn that into a curriculum. A curriculum that is shaped and fashioned by the Black religious tradition.

The Black church was born fighting systems of oppression and dehumanization. I want to bring that history in. I want to bring in the history of folks like Reverend Jesse Jackson, who was the first Democratic politician in this nation’s history to ever advocate for LGBTQ rights. That’s a part of our tradition. And I want to bring in the history of Dr. King, the freedom fighter, truth-teller, and table-shaker who decided to speak truth to power, and in doing so, lost his life. These are the traditions we are part of. I want to lift that up and say, in the same way that the Black Church has been queer through its very existence—by operating on the undersides of power, by existing in the margins, by advocating for the least of these—me advocating for LGBTQ rights is simply an extension of that tradition. It is an extension of that Black, freedom-loving tradition. I want to be able to walk congregants through this as we center the lived experiences of LGBTQ+ folks in the Black Church.

We are going to turn some of these stories into case studies. We are going to read and hear the stories of the Black queer folks as sacred texts. We’re going to take them seriously, to wrestle with them, and to create tools that combat queerphobia and transphobia and homophobia as it shows up historically in the Black Church context.

A Call to Action

I would like to invite folks to participate in the Can I Get a Witness Project. If they identify as Black, Queer, and Christian, we’d love for them to be a part of this work and of this project. We have just over 30 folks that we’ve interviewed, and we have just over 30 to go. And of course, for all the allies out there who don’t identity as Black or Queer, you can support us by following the work that we’re doing, contributing financially to the work we are doing, and sharing our work. Our work will spread by the willingness of folks to share their stories and to open up those spaces where liberation and love do not abound, so that we can make it abound.

Interview by Gianna Cacciatore; photos courtesy of Don Abram

#harvard #Harvard Divinity School #Black Church #queer #christian #faith #chicago #Religion #large

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kuroshitsuji-scenarios · 4 years

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Hmm since I can't think of any scenario, would it be alright if I just say a prompt one-liner statement? Haha :(( so hmm how about "But we are no longer just 'dating', because I've already committed myself to you." idk maybe modern sebastian and s/o??¿ heehee if that's fine uwu thanks so much!! 💕

This is wildly out of control from the beginning to an end, enjoy my imgination!

The very least thing you expected to see when arriving to the address Sebastian lived at, was to witness the utter chaos and destruction in his apartment. The open front door allowed you to peek inside from the corridor and notice broken furnitures, devastated kitchen counter and the sofa, seemingly cut thoroughly multiple times until the white balls of the filling scarreted around the room like a freshly fallen snow.

You couldn’t truly comprehend what did the image in front of you meant and what could possibly happen there to cause such a huge amount of damage. Prehaps someone has broken in, prehaps they were looking for something particular, prehaps they did not find it and escaped with nothing, leaving the mess behind. Prehaps Sebastian was not there when it happened, prehaps he managed to run away before they hurt him, prehaps, prehaps, prehaps…

Gulping at the ball which formed in your throat, you pushed the door slightly, carefully looking inside the apartment and listening to even the tiniest noises which coud mean that the burglars were still there—most likely dangerous, armed and not hesitating. The silence, though, proved that there was nothing to be afraid of, not anymore, only the peaceful blows of the wind sliding over the broken window, which was partly laying on the carpet in the milions of small pieces.

What if they hurt him—or even worse? You never doubted Sebastian’s abilities to take care of himself, your boyfriend was quite skilled in the martial arts, after all, but they could have guns or knives and he was most likely not expecting to get attacked in his own home. It was supposed to be your evening together, the wonderful time spend in a restaurant on eating delicious food and drinking until you would feel tired. When he was two minutes late, you started to worry. It was not like him to be late, never, and it could only mean that something truly important happened.

Important or terrifying.

Eventually, you decided to check on him in his own home, to make sure that he simply forgot or had some other place to attend to or that it was all just a simple misunderstanding, something you could laugh off soon. And yet, there you were, the dreadful silence from his apartment being more than a proof that it was the latter reason for his absence.

With trembling hands and jaw clenched tightly, you slipped inside the room and slowly closed the door behind yourself, eyeing the interior and looking for the intruders only to find nothing but the leftovers of what was once his property. The books, the magnificent collection of his books was now of the floor, thrown away like a trash, just like the colourful bottles full of various, centuries old alcohols splattered on the carpet. Even the weird but somehow adorable cat figurines, which were once placed on the shelf, disappeared under the overwhelming chaos. Nothing seemed to be stolen, just stepped upon with the complete lack of respect.

You were taking next steps carefully, not wanting to destroy more than the whole apartment already was, noticing the cuts on the wallpaper and the dark stains on it, as if someone was trying to even burn this place to the ground but the fire did not grow fast enough to consume it all. Who could have done that to him? It could not be any mistake and Sebastian, although bringing the jealously in the hearts of many, did not have any foes—or at least none you would know about.

Every step further, your heart was beating louder and louder, pulsing in your ears with the repetitive thought that Sebastian was still there, lifeless in his bedroom with the sharp blade sinked deeply between his ribs or even worse, the bullet in his head or…

Suddenly frightened, you stood still and listened to your surroundings, fighting the urge to cry, scream or puke from the amount of terrible emotions burning your insides. You did not want to witness him dead, laying on the bed of satin with open, dull eyes staring right at you in the very same place you were once making love, where you were sharing sweet kisses and stealing each others’ breaths in the symphony of your beating hearts. It could not be true, he must have run away while he had the time and the apartment was all empty now, not a single soul at the abandoned battlefield.

Sebastian’s bedroom was, too, hidden under the veil of darkness and the first sight was enough to prove that this place was not spared either. The bed was broken in half, the feathers covering almost every surface, so white they were almost glistening in the contrast with the wood. Looking at the tips of your own feet, you noticed that some of them were laying next to you, fluffy and delicate, and just when you were about to rise your head again and move forward to the bathroom, you noticed that one of them was nowhere like the others.

On the contrary, it was as black as the night, that is why you did not see it at first. Intriguing, considering the fact that the white ones were once stuffing the pillows and you have never seen any black ones nearby—especially not as long as your forearm.

That was, when you heard the rustle and immediately looked at its source, only to find a large frame, hiding deep in the corner, covered with darkness like a second skin. The creature, whatever it was, had its back facing you or at least that is what you thought, considering the lack of any visible eyes. Was it the reason of this whole mess and the tears which were now running down your cheeks? Was it the reason Sebastian did not come for you? Did it kill him?

Its voice was quiet and soft when it spoke, not causing you to jump in fear and sounding more like a calming whisper in your own head.

“I truly did not want you to see me in such a poor state, my love.”

You blinked, confused, but before any sounds managed to escape your mouth, the creature continued.

“Actually, I was hoping that I will make it before 8 p.m., just like I promised. Prehaps I am getting old, after all…”

Another flutter and more feathers fell down on the floor, ink black and much longer than any animal you have ever heard of could lose.

“Sebastian…?” you whispered cautiously. “Is that you?”

“Due to the very unfortunate event, yes. And I beg you, for everything dear to you, leave.”

For a moment, you stopped breathing, only to exhale deeply when the first thoughts of this completely surprising evening were starting to get to your mind, processing slowly but surely. Sebastian was safe and sound and it was all that mattered.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, slowly taking a step closer to him, until you stopped in the middle of the track after hearing the hiss coming from his direction.

“Stay back.”

The curtains were flowing on the wind, bringing the smell of the night sky to your nose and reminding you of an upcoming winter.

“Do not come any closer. Please.”

“What is going on…?” All the bottled emotions seemed to start taking over when you felt the warm tears on your skin once again. You could not understand anything what was happening right now and it felt like a horrible, neverending dream, a nightmare you could not wake up from. “Tell me what is going on.”

Sebastian remained silent and it hurt you more than a slap on the cheek. You were so lost, so scared and you needed answers, right now and there. You loved him, after all, and you could never possibly just leave. Building all your courage up, you wandered to him, avoiding the broken glass and the dark feathers, this time not hearing any kind of objections from him. When you were barely few steps away, you noticed that the strange creature disappeared and there, in the shadows, was indeed, your Sebastian, sitting on the floor with a bloody dress shirt and the tie hanging miserably at his neck.

At this point, he was not a lesser mess than his apartment.

He looked up at you when you approached him and slowly kneeled next to him, looking for any kind of fatal wounds.

“I am so sorry, my love” he muttered barely audiably. “I swear I did not want you to find me there, especially not now.”

“Who did this to you?” Seeing his familiar face made you bolder and caused the unknown fear to slowly fade away. “Goodness, you can not just leave it like that, you are bleeding!”

“It is just a scratch, it really is,” Sebastian emphased the last word when he noticed that you were already willing to stand up and call an ambulance. “I will tell you everything if you promise me to calm down and not do anything reckless.”

“Since when is calling the help reckless?” you asked, but his serious gaze was enough to remind you about his words. He was not dying, that much you could tell and if he wanted to explain to you what was the meaning of all of that, then maybe you should allow him to. It is not like you could easily explain this all to the police either.

“Do you promise?”

“I do,” you nodded and the corners of his lips twitched in a faint smile.

And so, he did told you the truth—both about him and the creatures sent to kill him in the name of the almighty. You were listening to him without interrupting, staring at his pale face and lips which were speaking such a weird words. With every passing moment, it felt more like a dream and less like a reality, especially since the time around you seemed to stop only to allow you to listen to him—the real him, someone you had, apparently, did not know until now.

Finished, Sebastian waited for your answer or any kind of reaction. Fear? Disgust? Anything would be better than your blank stare and the dreadful expectation. Prehaps he has made a mistake by telling you all of that, maybe your mind was not ready for all those revelations and yet, it felt right to finally be honest with you. Whatever will you do with this informations was not his concern anymore.

“I should tell you to leave now once again,” he stated. “But goodness, I am so selfish and I can not help but want to beg you to stay. Despite of all you have heard of, stay by my side, because I have never met anyone as significant as you. What I showed you before, since the day we met, was not a lie, not even for a moment, but simply an untruth. And if you were as honest with me, as I am with you now then please, stay with me a little bit longer.”

“Always a silver tongue, huh?” you commented and Sebastian could not tell whether you were mocking him or not. It was the shine in your eyes and your cold fingers, now slowly entangling with his which showed him that you did not plan on running away. “Maybe I am selfish, too, but it seems like now we are no longer just dating, because I have already committed myself to you, utterly, wholly and completely.”

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis imagine #sebastian #scenarios #demons #queue

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ayellowbirds · 4 years

Text

33 Usher Street chapter one script, First Draft

I’m planning to go back and do a major revision on this, but i wanted to share what i have for the time being! This was part of last years NaNoWriMo project, about Jewish (and otherwise) vampire hunters in an alternate history 1920s, including a transgender golem and an intersex dhampir as the joint protagonists.

What follows is an unfinished draft of a comic script intended for my own reference as the artist. Some art directions are absent, intended to be filled in later; or reflected a lack of a particular concern about how the panel looked.

Questions and comments are welcome! I’d love to get some other folks’ ideas about what needs changing. Please excuse any formatting issues! This didn’t copy-paste so well.

Italics outside of quotation marks indicate art directions and page layout.

[Square brackets] indicate sound effects (SFX), signage, captions, or other non-bubbled matters of lettering.

“Quotation marks” indicate speech bubbles.

1. Three panel page.

1.1. Full-width view of a bus (reference 1920s buses) puttering along beneath and above autumn leaves.

[CAPTION: September 24, 1923]

1.2. A thick black full-width border. Repeated on the following pages at full-width size, same height, to be indicated as BORDER

[BORDER: SFX: Bus engine chugging]

1.3. Interior of bus. Driver, assorted passengers, and towards the rear, SOLOMON “SOL” SZOMBATHY. He is a slight young man in a jacket and oversized “Oxford bags”,. His hair is thick, black, and curly (3B type); his features Ashkenazic but on the darker side. He holds a plain-looking wooden cane. Behind him, occupying the last row of seats, is a long, coffin-like box or chest, sealed with rope or cord.

2. Six panels.

2.1. A close-up of Solomon. He seems lost in thought, leaning against the bus window.

2.2. [BORDER: SFX: THUMP!]

2.3. The bus bumps, Sol is jolted upwards.

2.4. Sol settles, squeans emanating.

2.5 Sol looks out the window.

2.6 Exterior, the wooded roadside. A sign reads: [WELCOME TO Jackson, Mass. EST. 1842]. Perhaps the bus is visible here, chugging past the sign.

3. Six panels.

3.1. The bus stop. Perhaps a sign indicating that’s what it is. The bus has stopped.

Driver: “JaaaAAACKson station!”

3.2. A tail extends from the speech bubble from the previous panel, to overlay the BORDER. Driver: “Last stop!”

3.3. Passengers exiting the bus. Sol is lifting the box.

3.4. Same as 3.3, with more movement ahead of Sol. He is pulling the box, struggling.

3.5. Same as 3.3, the bus now empty of other passengers. The driver is standing, impatiently watching Sol. Sol is half-way down the aisle, perspiring with effort.

3.6. Same as 3.3, Sol finally exiting the bus, with his box.

Driver: “That everything?”

4. Two panels

4.1. Sol, wiping sweat with a kerchief.

SOL: “Yes, thank you. And—”

4.2. As in 3.2, a tail extends from the previous bubble into the BORDER, which fades from black to white.

SOL, stylized as the chapter title : “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher Street?”

[Credits:

A 33 Usher Street story

Written and Illustrated by K.P.S. Roman Religious Consultation by Quell Nessuno]

5. Six panels. Wide, double, double, border.

5.1. Sol, walking along a Jackson street, dragging the box behind him on wheels and hoisting his cane over his shoulder. The city is sparsely populated in spite of its size; apartment buildings and businesses line the streets, but there are few people visible. The buildings have the sagging, unsettled look of those built on swampland.

5.2. More of Sol, rounding a corner and excusing himself past some locals, including ADRIAEN TEN BOOM, a stogie between his lips.

Sol: “Pardon me!”

5.3. Sol, looking up at a street sign for the corner of [MARSH ST] and [WASHINGTON ST]. A car putters past. WILHEMINA FAWKES is in the driver’s seat.

5.4. Sol continues past some kids playing marbles. He’s starting to visibly sweat. An older black man [ALEISTER JONES] watches the game from a stoop, his gloved hand resting on his cheek.

5.5. Sol, stopping at another corner. A conspicuously incognito figure [CONSTANCE WRIGHT] watches from behind a newspaper. A sledgehammer leans against her side.

Sol: “Ah!”

5.6. BORDER, Sol’s speech bubble extends from 5.5.

Sol: “Here we are!”

6.1. The sign for the corner of [WASHINGTON ST] and [USHER ST]

6.2. Sol moves a bit more speedily down the street, indicated by hites. PLUTON, a large black cat with only one eye watches.

6.3. Sol, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, exhaling a panting puff. Pluton is visible following behind at a distance.

Sol: “Let’s see…”

6.4. Sol looks up at the numbers of the buildings. He passes the unremarkable numbers twenty-one and twenty-three. Pluton cocks his head.

6.5. BORDER. Sol’s speech bubble tails from 6.3.

Sol: “Number... Thirty-Three?”

6.6. Sol stops before a row of thorny bushes. The speech bubble trails from 6.5. Pluton is posed as if looking around the tail of the speech bubble, to see Sol.

Sol: “Oh!”

7.1. Sol, standing before 33 Usher Street. The building is assembled from a mix of newer construction and old ruins with the masonry at diagonals to each other, as if someone happened upon the leaning remains of a graystone castle and chose to join it together in red brick. The 33 is quite large and visible on the exterior of the building, and a less-legible sign hangs beneath it.

7.2: BORDER, a caption (Sol): “There it is.”

8.1. A close-up of the sign beneath the 33 from 7.1. It now more clearly reads: [USHER STREET HOUSE OF ANTIQUITIES AND CURIOS]

8.2. BORDER. A speech bubble trails down to 8.3.

Sol: “That wasn’t... so hard to find... after all.”

8.3. Sol walks up the path, while Pluton, indicated by tracing lines, bounds up into the building out of Sol’s view and onto a windowsill. He has set down the box.

9.1. Pluton, pausing at an open window, looks out imperiously at the approaching Sol.

9.2. Interior of the room from 9.1. A view from the back of JAMES “JIM” CULLOCK III. The room is full of talismans, wards, and assorted scraps of paper framed upon the walls.

Jim: “Yes, that would be him.”

9.3. A hand [that of MARIE BOSLEY] sets a Victrola to play.

Marie: “I’ll leave the interview to you, then.”

9.4. A partial view. Pluton bounds down into the room. Enough of Marie is visible that she can be seen cranking the Victrola. Jim appears to be fussing at something invisible on his sleeve.

Jim: “If you’re certain.”

9.5. [BORDER: SFX: the opening lyrics of Marion Harris’s “After You’re Gone”]

9.6. Jim’s feet descending the stairs.

10.

10.1. Deliberate parallel to 9.6. Sol coming up to the front door. The lyrics of the music continue from 9.5, and there on until otherwise indicated.

10.2. Sol’s hand raised, to the door, there is a simple bronze door knocker.

10.3. [BORDER: SFX: KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.]

10.4. Sol waits at the door.

10.5. Same framing as 10.4; Sol looks back at the box.

10.6. Sol looks back at the door, anxious, patting his head with his kerchief.

11.

11.1. The door swings open. Inside stands Jim. A tall, older white man with the slender yet solid look of a longtime dancer or a runner, clad in two parts of a mismatched three-piece suit: striped trousers under a diamond-patterned vest, with bow tie. His hair is close-cropped, styled fashionably, and streaked with gray.

Jim: “Good afternoon...”

11.2. BORDER. A trailing tail from Jim’s line in 11.1.

Jim: “...young man.”

11.3. Sol holds out a crumpled envelope.

Sol: “The Rev. Dr. Hammer sent me, sir?”

11.4. Jim takes the letter in his left hand.

11.5. Jim looks at the letter.

11.6. Jim tosses the letter over his shoulder, smiling.

Jim: “James Cullock III, son.”

12.

12.1. Jim, extending his right hand to shake.

Jim: “But, call me Jim.”

12.2. Sol, returning the handshake.

Sol: “Sir, my name’s Solomon.”

12.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Mr. Grundy, then?”

12.4. Sol looks tired of this joke already.

Sol: “No, sir. I was born on a Saturday.”

12.5. Jim laughs

Jim: “You’re the right one, alright!”

12.6. Jim motions Solomon in.

Jim: “Come in, Mr. Szombathy, and have a seat.”

13. Three panels, the top full-width but narrow, as is the border: the main action is 13.2.

13.1. The foyer of 33 Usher St. The room is set up for greeting visitors and entertaining, and Sol is already seated opposite Jim.

13.2. Full view of Solomon, seated and without his coat. He is wearing a tight-fitting sweater, giving him the silhouette of a paintbrush when paired with his trousers.

NOTE: Use the antiquated “Rumania” spelling whenever it appears on the page.

[CAPTION: Solomon “Sol” Szombathy Age: 20

Born: 10/31/1903

Hometown: Pittsburgh, Vandalia

Background: Hungarian/Rumanian Jewish, First Generation American

Likes: Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazines, spicy foods, cooking.

Dislikes: Running, swimming, high noon.]

13.3. BORDER.

Jim: “So, Solomon Szombathy. I understand from my old friend Matteus—he wired me here before you arrived—that you have had quite a remarkable encounter, of late.”

14. Reversal of 13.

14.1. BORDER.

Sol: “Just so, sir. I am told it is within your area of expertise?”

14.2. Full view of James, seated and with his legs crossed.

[CAPTION: James “Jim” Cullock III

Age: 56

Born: 2/18/1867

Hometown: Roan Mountain, Nickajack.

Background: Scottish-American

Hobbies: Gardening, Morning Constitutionals

Profession: Antiques, Estate Management, ???]

Jim: “By which you mean…”

14.3. Pluton enters the room.

Pluton: “Miaou.”

15.

15.1. Sol watches as Pluton approaches.

Sol: “Vampires, sir. A vampire. Just the one.”

15.2. Pluton inspects Sol, who is now focused on Jim.

Jim: “You have no need to worry about being doubted on that subject here, Mr. Szombathy.”

15.3. BORDER.

Sol: “Ah, yes. Dr. Hammer told me that you are in the business of…?”

15.4.

Jim: “Formally, the Usher Street House of Antiques and Curios is in the business of the management of estates belonging to those who passed without clearly defined wills, or without leaving behind heirs to manage their estates.”

15.5. Pluton approaches Jim.

Jim: “Informally, better say genuinely, we are in the business of public health. To deal with the threat of vampires to the general public.”

16.

16.1. Pluton settles down at Jim’s feet.

Jim: “Tell me, what are your opinions on the morality and ethics of vampirism?”

16.2

Sol: “Well, in my father’s collection, there was a commentary on the Sefer Hasidim, which says that a person who must consume the blood of another human being… should be pitied, for it is in her nature and her needs to survive, and if she should make recompense to her victim, should be treated with compassion as a member of the community.”

16.3 BORDER

Sol: “But that’s regarding a living vampire, what some call an estrie, and the exceptions made for one who must violate kashrus for the sake of pikuach nefesh. And Eleazar Rokeach said that one should stop up the mouth of a deceased estrie, to prevent her from feasting on the living, after death.”

16.4

Sol: “From a strictly Halakhic standing, it is permissible for the living to eat as they must to remain living, but the deceased are deceased, and are forbidden to do so.”

16.5

Sol: “So, I think that, ultimately, it depends on the circumstances, case by case. It requires careful but decisive investigation.”

16.6. Jim, close-up, a scrutinizing gaze.

Jim: “But Mr. Szombathy, you are not solely the books you read.”

17.

17.1. BORDER.

Jim: “What was your experience with a vampire? How do you feel about the morals and ethics?”

17.2.

Sol: “I… my family lived in Pittsburgh, you see. Since I was born.”

17.3.

Sol: “My mother had been pregnant, just newly so, when they came here, from the old country.”

Jim: “Which…?”

Sol: “Transyvlania. In Rumania.”

17.4. Sol is in silhouette in the foreground. We see KÁLMAN SZOMBATHY, a Hungarian Jewish man nearing middle age.

Sol: “My father—he was always very learned. In many ways. And he had acquaintances, friends, contacts? Who knew….”

17.5. Sol, younger, looking out the window at his father, who is outside with a candle in hand at night.

Sol: “Strange things. Secrets. Mysticism.”

17.6. Sol, a bit older, looking at his father examining a book. A diagram of the sefirot is visible—ish-style, or yosher?

Sol: “I saw so much of it, growing up. I didn’t think it was strange.”

18.

18.1. Sol, almost his present age, sitting by the window with a book, while his father talks with some baalei shem.

Sol: “Just… another thing we didn’t talk about with go—gentiles.”

Jim: “Like this… golem?”

18.2. The golem, standing with toddler Sol. It looks more lumpy and vaguely defined than when we see it later.

Sol: “Yes. It was around before I was born. Like a caretaker or guardian. A nanny.”

18.3. Sol sitting, reading a book aloud. His narration is not bubbled, but bleeds into the scenery.

Sol: “I would talk to it. Just… talk to it. My parents, my father only told it what to do.”

18.4. Sol looking up at the golem.

Sol: “And you may think it silly, sir, but sometimes, I thought that it spoke back.”

18.5. The golem looking down at Sol.

Jim: “Golems are said to be mute, are they not?”

18.6.

Sol: “So I am told.”

19.

19.1. A bedridden person.

Sol: “This summer, people started taking ill. A doctor came to visit, every one. But people just got worse. Wasting away.”

19.2. A doctor at the door, tipping his hat. He looks flushed, and has a distant expression.

Sol: “My parents had boarders. Renting rooms. And the doctor, the physician, came to call on one.”

19.3. Kálman stopping the golem, which seems determined to approach the “doctor” and has an upset expression.

Sol: “The golem kept… my parents said it was menacing him.”

19.4. Sol’s mother, DOINA URS-SZOMBATHY, shooing the golem from a door. Doina is about the same age as Kálman, with darker features.

Sol: “And it happened, the same day, that the Reverend Doctor Hammer was visiting. Resting, from traveling. He knew my father, somehow. The golem had been bothering him, too. Trying to push him around.”

Jim: “Hm.”

19.5. Sol, looking down.

Sol: “Which I guess is why he didn’t notice the physician was actually undead.”

19.6. Sol’s parents, reclining on a couch, resting their heads against one another. The shadow of the vampire looms over them.

Sol: “Which was why my parents thought it safe to rest, as well.”

20.

20.1.

Sol: “My parents—they were in the other room, you see. They had left the golem with me. Because it kept bothering everyone. Getting in the way.”

20.2.

Sol: “I guess the vampire got greedy, though. It came into my room. I was reading.”

20.3. The vampire reaching for Sol, who looks shocked. It is an upiór type, with a sharp, barbed tongue instead of fangs.

Sol: “I only realized what it was, up close. Too late for my parents.”

20.4. The golem’s clay fist swings at the vampire, sending it sprawling.

Sol: “But not too late for me.”

20.5. The vampire is sent flying across the room, slamming into the wall.

20.6. The Rev. Dr. MATTEUS HAMMER, a wild-eyed trans man of mixed Scandanavian and indigenous heritage, with a shock of white hair, in his pajamas and brandishing a sword and pistol.

Sol: “The fight woke up Dr. Hammer.”

21.

21.1. Splash of Hammer shooting the vampire in the heart.

[CAPTION: THE REVEREND DOCTOR MATTEUS J. HAMMER

Age: Like, So Old

Born: A Man, In Spite Of What The Nurse Said Hometown: Tarrytown, NY

Background: Finnish/Swedish-American and Lenape, He’s Pretty Sure Fears: God And Nawt Else, Also Centipedes

Enjoys: Fresh-Baked Bread]

21.2. The golem stands between Hammer and Sol, protecting Sol.

22.

22.1. Hammer looking over Sol.

Sol: “The Reverend Doctor, he checked me over. Asked me a lot of questions about what happened. About me.”

22.2.

Sol: “Checked everyone else, too. Everyone who... survived.”

22.3.

Sol: “And he told me… all things considered, I should come here.”

22.4. Jim, pensive.

Jim: “To report on your experiences? I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, your loss, but….”

22.5. Sol, surprised.

Sol: “No, sir. He sent me here for me to seek employment.”

22.6. BORDER.

Sol: “As stated in the letter you dropped upon the ground.”

23.

23.1. Jim, flushed, looks at the envelope.

23.2. Jim, bends over to pick up the letter.

23.3. He dusts it off.

23.4. He opens the envelope.

23.5. He begins to read.

23.6. BORDER Hammer: “Dear Jim. Give the lad a job. Do something about the golem. Remember: that matter in Chattanooga. Or I will tell Marie. Sinc. The Rev. Dr. Matteus J. Hammer.”

24.

24.1.

Jim: “Well, then I suppose that this is an employment interview, although....”

24.2. Jim sighs through his nose.

24.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Chattanooga, eh?”

24.4. Jim: “In that case, we had best find the best place for you.”

24.5.

Jim: “Let me explain a bit more about what we do here.”

24.6.

Jim: “Through a number of agents, contacts, and former customers, we are apprised of events that may require our attention. Our more ordinary business provides both cover and funding for this.”

25.

25.1. Jim, facing Sol, sidelong view.

Jim: “We employ both in-office experts, and traveling agents who visit locations where vampirism is believed to be at play.”

25.2. Sol, headlong view.

Jim: “What qualifies you to act in the field, rather than from behind a desk?”

25.3. BORDER. Sol’s speech trails to .4.

Sol: “Well, sir, as a dhampir,”

25.4. Jim, headlong view. Two ghosts are visible, framing him: RODERICK and MADELINE USHER. They are the spirits of two young WASPs nearly identical in appearance, with large eyes, wild fine hair, and aquiline noses, clad in shrouds.

Sol: “I can see the dead.”

26.1. Roderick and Madeline notice Sol is looking at them.

Jim: “...”

26.2. Roderick waves coyly at Sol. Madeline seems disinterested.

Jim: “You would be far from the first to claim that you are able to see the unseen. Do you have any proof?”

26.3.

Sol: “Outside of the word of Dr. Hammer…?”

Jim: “If you please.”

26.4. Jim, an eyebrow cocked.

Sol: “I don’t suppose you know that you have twin siblings hovering in the air around your study?”

26.5. Jim looks up at Roderick.

26.6. Jim looks up at Madeline.

27.1.

Jim: “You will, I trust, forgive my skepticism. Even in this trade, there is always room for incredulity.”

27.2. Jim lets out a puff of a sigh.

27.3.

Jim: “I myself have found that what one sees is not always what is.”

27.4. A view of Sol, from Jim’s perspective. Sol and the room are crawling with transparent insects of imaginative and unnatural anatomy. Take care to note that they are only visible on surfaces of a solid, continuous color.

27.5. BORDER.

Sol: “Do you find that very often?”

27.6. Jim, looking weary, dusts one ‘bug’ off the table.

Jim: “For many a year.”

28.

28.1.

Jim: “But, here, you said that you were a dhampir! How comes that to happen?”

28.2. Sol, obviously embarrassed.

Sol: “In the usual manner, sir.”

28.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Which is to say, one of your parents—your birth parents—was a vampire?”

28.4.

Sol: “My mother’s first husband. After his death. My father, I suppose, my stepfather, was his brother.”

28.5.

Jim: “My condolences.”

28.6. Sol, holding the cane tightly.

Sol: “I don’t think of it much. It wasn't his fault.”

29.

29.1. Jim stands up abruptly.

Jim: “Quite! Not his fault. Not his fault. The majority of vampires—people want someone to blame, you know?”

29.2. Jim begins to walk out the door, motioning ‘come here’ to Sol. Pluton perks up.

Jim: “But a vampire—follow after, won’t you?—is not really a someone. It’s a something.”

29.3. Jim walks outside towards the box, Sol and Pluton following.

Jim: “Are you familiar with the association of vampirism with cases of tubercular consumption in Connecticut?”

29.4. Jim has reached the box and is inspecting it, leaning over it.

Sol: “That there was some similarity, but that the word ‘vampire’ was not used?”

29.5. Jim circles the box.

Jim: “Well, the papers used it—here, how do we open this—though the locals did not.”

29.6. BORDER.

Sol: “Open it, sir?”

30.

30.1. Jim, gesturing at the box.

Jim: “This is the golem in here, is it not?”

30.2. Sol, hesitant. In the background, RANDOLPH CARTER appears in the doorway, startled. Reference HP Lovecraft, naturally.

Sol: “Yes, but—” 30.3. Carter rushes up, waving the letter from Hammer in his hand.

Randolph: “Mister Cullock! James! I can see what you mean to do and—this is folly of unfathomably cyclopean proportions!”

30.4. BORDER.

Randolph: “The letter from Matteus Hammer is entirely explicit in its brevity, this container is as an inscrutable Hebraic box of Pandora!”

30.5. Jim, gesturing bemusedly to Randolph.

Jim: “Ah, Mr. Szombathy. Allow me to introduce our Rare Books Expert, Mr. Randolph Carter.”

31.

31.1. Carter looks down at Sol.

[CAPTION: RANDOLPH CARTER Age: Younger than he looks, really.

Born: 8/20/1874

Hometown: Some Nameless New England Town

Expertise: Ancient Tomes, Forgotten Lore, Adjectives

Hangups: Xenophobia, Icthyophobia, Anglophilia]

31.2. Carter nods at Sol in greeting, ignoring Sol’s offered handshake.

Randolph: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Szombathy.”

31.3. Carter whips his head around (speed lines!) back to Jim.

Randolph: “I really must protest, James!”

31.4. BORDER Randolph: “The golem acted without instruction, in a violent and destructive manner according to its inhuman whims!”

31.5. BORDER, again. The text is less contained within the bubble.

Randolph: “It is a lifeless husk animated by eldritch secrets, which has demonstrated a readiness to cause harm!”

31.6. BORDER, once more. The text is almost overtaking the space, no longer contained in a bubble.

Randolph: “It is every bit the arcane monstrosity that we are employed to eliminate, an idiot half-form!”

32. The thickest BORDER panel so far, over a three panel of one full width over two half-widths.

32.1. BORDER. A single, solid, centered speech bubble, trailing down.

Jim: “Enough.”

32.2. Jim, over the box, holding a pair of gardening shears to the ropes binding it.

32.3. The severed ropes falling, in view of Sol.

Jim: “Mr. Szombathy; I should like to employ you. But after hearing your story, I suspect that you are but one part of what the stores would call a ‘package deal’.”

32.4. Jim opening the box, viewed from as if within.

Jim: “Would you mind if I were to awaken it?”

33.

33.1. Sol, looking resolute, with Carter looking horrified behind.

33.2. Repeat of 33.1, but with Sol nodding, Carter faint with terror.

Sol: “Please do, Mr. Cullock.”

33.3. A full view from above of the golem in the box. It is squared and inanimate, eyes shut and form even more vague than in the flashback. Pluton bounds into panel.

33.4. BORDER, more gray than black, now.

Jim: “Please, call me Jim.”

34.

34.1. Jim reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of paper. Pluton appears in the corner.

Jim: “Matteus had sent this ahead, as well.”

34.2. He holds it up for Sol and Carter to see. An א is visible, but the rest is concealed by the curl of the paper.

Jim: “I take it this is the ‘sacred words under the tongue’ type of golem, rather than the ‘אמת’ variety?”

34.3. Sol, confused.

Sol: “Yes, s—Jim.”

34.4. Jim, looking contemplative and holding the strip absently.

Jim: “I wonder. Was the golem silent for fear of spitting out the paper?”

Sol: “Eh?” 34.5. BORDER. Still gray.

Jim: “I would keep mum, myself, if my continued animation depended upon something held under my tongue.”

34.6. Jim’s hand pressing a tiny hole into the clay. Pluton is looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “Just like planting a seed, hm?”

35.

35.1. Jim’s hand swipes over the hole, sealing it by pushing clay back over.

Jim: “There, now—”

35.2. BORDER, but with the image of ‘eyes opening’, slightly, in white.

35.3. BORDER as 35.2, but wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter coming into view.

35.4. BORDER as 35.3, wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter in full view.

35.5. Same panel width as 35.2-4, but a full, unshaded panel of Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter.

36.

36.1. The golem sits up, form still vague, androgynous. Carter shocks, Jim smiles, Sol looks nervous, Pluton is deadpan and does not move from looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “How is that?”

36.2. The golem looks at Jim. Everyone’s expressions are the same as 36.1.

Jim: “Can you try speaking, now?”

36.3. The golem, closeup, mouth open slightly.

36.4. Same as 36.3.

Golem: “C’n try… speaking.”

36.5. Now Sol is shocked, too.

36.6. Same as 36.5.

Sol: “He can talk?”

37.

37.1. The golem, frowning.

Golem: “...can.”

37.2. Sol and Carter, even more shocked.

Randolph: “M-mimicry?”

37.3. The golem gives a headshake.

Golem: “Nuh-uh.”

37.4. The golem’s gaze shifts in the direction of Sol.

Golem: “Why… c-call me….”

37.5. The golem, looking down.

Golem: “He?”

37.6. Sol looks as though he has realized; unlit lightbulb? Carter is fizzling smoke from his noggin.

38.

38.1. Repeat of 37.6. More smoke from Carter, lit lightbulb on Sol.

Sol: “You’re a girl!”

38.2. The golem nods.

38.3.

Sol: “I’m so sorry, I never realized—you looked like a boy, so?”

38.4. The golem, puzzled.

Golem: “...looked?”

38.5. The golem starts to push out of the box.

Sol: “Of course, I should know, appearances and all, but—”

39.

39.1. The golem starts to rise from the box, form changed towards a more definite shape.

39.2. Continuing from 39.1, more and more defined, more and more upright.

39.3. Fully upright, fully defined as feminine. Dotty as per concept art.

39.4. The golem, in full view, looking down at herself while Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter are gathered around.

Golem: “Be...tter?”

40. Four quarter-width panels, one full, two half-width.

40.1. Jim, smiling.

Jim: “Quite so.”

40.2. Sol, beaming.

Sol: “Amazing!”

40.3. Pluton, feline.

Pluton: “Miau.”

40.4. Carter, stunned.

Randolph: “Transmogrification!?”

40.5. The golem, smiling.

40.6. Jim, Sol, Pluton, Carter.

Jim: “And how should we call you, Miss…”

40.7. The golem, thinking.

Golem: “D…”

41.

41.1. The golem, DOROTHEEA “DOTTY” SZOMBATHY, smiling, her speech bubble forming the CAPTION:

[Dorotheea Szombathy But you c’n call me Dotty!

Age: I dunno, like eight’r nine months older’n Sol?

Birthdate: I guess February of 1903? It was Tu B’shvat, I think.

I love helpin’ Sol, and all kinds of toys and games! My clay came from Horezu, but I was born in Bran! That’s in Transylvania, you know? The one in Rumania, not Usonia]

41.2. A view from behind Dotty as she continues talking. Jim and Sol look dumbfounded, Carter is letting out smoke from both ears and his eyes have rolled all the way back in his head.

Dotty: “I was asleep on the boat to Usonia, but someday I wanna try riding it while I’m awake….”

Jim: “Oh, she certainly can talk.”

Sol: “יא”

42. END page of “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher St?”

42.1. CAPTION:

[סוף.]

42.2. A bubble of Dotty.

Dotty: “Say, c’n I wear clothes now?”

#33 usher street #my writing

14 notes · View notes

cilldaracailin · 4 years

Text

Play The Game

Hello my Tumblr lovelys :)

And finally I have made it back with the next part of Play The Game and I hate to say it, but it is also the last part of this particular adventure for Robyn and Taron.

Thank you so much for all the love, comments, followers and reads on this one. It’s been a fun adventure.

I don’t really have anything else to say except enjoy and yeah... I enjoyed writing this part :)

Suze xx :)

“I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.”

“Are you going to be singing the songs the whole way back to the hotel?” Laughed Taron once Anthony had closed the back door of the car.

“You knew this. I warned you.”

“So I take it you enjoyed the musical?” He asked, shifting in his seat so Robyn could sit a little sideways against him.

“Oh it was just stunning. The music and costumes and cast and the whole production. Thank you so much for asking me to come Taron. I would have come to see it anyway at some stage but this was just perfect.” Robyn went back to humming as she sent a quick text to her mam telling her how her evening had gone, popping her phone back in her clutch. She pulled out the receipt she got Taron to sign. “I am going to frame this.”

“Really?”

“Well I don’t have your autograph.” Robyn crossed her legs, leaning a little more into Taron and held the little piece of paper which had been in her clutch from the last time she used it, the index finger of her right hand running over Taron’s signature.

“I wrote a note on your rocketman DVD.” He reminded her, the fingers of his left hand making light circles on her bare shoulder.

“That was a personal note, not an autograph. It is very different.”

“You could have just asked me for one.”

“I may ask you for another one. I am going to frame this one and then sell it on eBay for hundreds of pounds especially when I say it’s from me!”

“Then you have to split it with me. It’s is my name you are selling.”

“Or I could just photocopy this one.” She grinned shaking the paper at him. “No one would know!” Robyn giggled as Taron tried to pull the paper from her, but she quickly pushed it in through the left arm hole of her dress and into her bra.

“Robyn I will go in there for it.” Grinned Taron, his eyes darkening, knowing exactly where Robyn had pushed the page.

“I have no doubt but you won’t.” She countered.

“No I won’t but I could and would.”

“But you won’t.” She repeated.

Sighing Taron nodded. “I won’t.”

Robyn nodded and leaned back against him smiling as Taron loosely draped his arm around her shoulders again and she happily sighed, starting to hum once. It was a very quick drive back to the hotel and just as she had comfortably settled against Taron, the car stopped and Anthony had opened the door to let them out.

“I will see you tomorrow at half five?” Asked Anthony once he closed the door of the car again.

“Yes please.” Confirmed Taron.

“Well I will see you then. Have a good night.”

They waited for Anthony to get back into the car and drive away before they made their way into the hotel. It was a quick walk to the lift and back to their hotel room, Robyn opening the room this time as she minded the key in her bag. Turn down service had been and gone and she squealed when she saw the two chocolates on the pillows, picking them up and throwing one to Taron who caught it, grinning as he unwrapped it and popped it on his mouth.

“Yum.” He smiled walking over to the bed and sitting down, loosening his tie a little. “Happy you got your chocolate?” He asked her as she sat beside him.

“Hmm. Very.” Robyn watched from the corner of her eyes as Taron stripped himself of his tie and opened the top two buttons of his shirt. “Do you want to go and have a drink or anything before we hit the hay for the evening?” She asked him as he slipped his jacket off, her eyes not missing the wince he tried to hide as he let the material fall to the bed just by shuffling his arms a little.

“Is it ok if we skip it?” He said turning to look at her. “Normally I’d say yes and happily sit and nurse a beer but I’d rather just lay on the bed and watch some TV.”

“Of course. I am very happy to do that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Even after a cosy nap earlier, now that the excitement has died down a little, I am very much open to relaxing on this bed and watching TV. I vote for PJ’s and pie.”

“Pie?” He asked confused. “I understand PJ’s but pie?”

Robyn smiled as she got to her feet. “Give me ten minutes to take this face off and I shall reveal all.”

She walked towards the bathroom and as she walked balanced on one foot so she could take her left shoe off and then her right, throwing them on the floor under the desk. It always felt great to be out of her heels and she enjoyed the softness of the carpet and then the coolness of the bathroom tiles under her bare feet. She turned around to close the bathroom door behind her and her smile faded as she saw a look of pain on Taron’s tired face, his two hands on his shoulders as he rubbed them hard, his chin against his chest. She knew he had been hiding the whole evening and hiding very well the ache he was feeling but even if his face as he sat watching the musical didn’t convey the truth of the soreness he felt, his eyes did. Taron’s beautiful eyes always gave away his true feelings and emotions and after seeing the look of misery in his green irises for most of the night, she could see he was now finding it harder to physically hide how he was truly feeling. As she closed the door, she knew her surprise for him would make him smile, but it wouldn’t really help his shoulders. “Some paracetamol and if I can convince him a little shoulder massage.” She said to herself.

After flushing the toilet and washing her hands, Robyn looked in the mirror and grinned that she still looked pretty well put together, her hair still crimped and holding its shape. She routed through her toiletry bag for her make-up remover and as she pulled it out, knocked over Taron’s leather brown wash bag from the counter, sending it falling to the floor.

“Shit.” She cursed and bent down to pick it up, putting his toiletries back in. The last thing she picked up was a piece of scrap paper which looked very familiar with the light blue lines. She unfolded it, turned it over and her head titled as a sad smile filled her face. “One shoulder massage” She read aloud. “Taron.” She sighed as she stood up with his wash bag in one hand and the page in her other. Placing his wash bag back on the counter she laid the page on top. She quickly took her make-up off and washed her face, rubbed some moisturiser in and brushed her teeth once she was done. She searched through her bag on the counter and once she had found the two things she was looking for, made her way back into the bedroom with the hand written page she had given Taron for Christmas.

Taron was still sitting on the bed with his hands on his shoulders, his eyes closed. He hadn’t heard the bathroom door open and only realised she was finished when he felt the bed sink beside him. He quickly moved his hands and gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All done?” He asked her.

“All yours.”

Nodding, Taron stood up and made his way towards the bathroom. “I am just going to take a quick shower.”

“Taron?”

“Hmm?”

“Want to use this after your shower?” Robyn held up the piece of paper to him and he padded slowly back over to her and took it from her.

“You found this?”

“I accidently knocked your wash bag over and it fell out. So, would you like to use it after your shower?”

“I am good Robyn. The shower will help.”

“Like shit it will.” Replied Robyn sternly. “You forget who you are talking to Taron. I know you very well.”

“Robyn…”

“Why did you bring it?” She gently pulled the page from his hand and she waited a few seconds, watching as he tried to come up with an answer but his blank eyes met with her concerned ones. “You brought it because you wanted to use it and it didn’t just slip into your wash bag by itself.” Taron felt his shoulders drop along with his head to his chest. “Go and shower and then come back out to me and we will make use of this voucher.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” He glanced her way, feeling better in himself about bringing the voucher with him, especially when Robyn was so willing to follow through with it.

“We going to have the talk about presents again?” She responded with a half grin.

Taron smiled a little. “No, we don’t need to have that talk. We definitely don’t need to have that talk.”

“So…”

“Give me five minutes.” Taron turned and headed back for the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from his case on the way to change into once he was out of his suit. Robyn’s belongings were neatly lined up on the sink and it always made him grin when he saw the travel bottles of creams and liquids, she brought with her. Robyn wasn’t one to fuss too much but she was still a woman at heart and had her own favourite products she liked to use. He quickly stripped himself of his suit, hanging it back up in the bag that still hung in the bathroom and as he waited for the water of the shower to heat up, brushed his teeth, using Robyn’s toothpaste, Taron forgetting his own. He rolled his neck slowly hearing his bones creak and crack as he moved his shoulders round a little too. It was the last hour of re-shoots and his fall from the top of a yellow cab that had left him so sore and tender but he hadn’t told Robyn that. He lost his footing and slid down the front windscreen of the taxi and then onto the hard ground on his shoulders and back of his neck. He didn’t know how his head hadn’t hit the ground but after a check-up by the onset medic, he was given the all clear immediately. The fall had hurt though and the continuation of filming hadn’t helped when what he really needed was an ice pack and some rest but with half an hour before the sun went down, he got back up on the taxi cab, shook the pain away and carried on filming, knowing he had time off once he was back home to rest. He just hadn’t told Robyn what had happened because he knew she would worry about him, knowing her protective nature of him would come straight to the forefront. This weekend was his turn to look out for her and he wouldn’t have it any other way but he wouldn’t refuse her offer of a shoulder massage even though he pretended she didn’t have too. He was almost desperate for one and had to keep his face straight from showing that need he felt.

Fully stripping down, Taron carefully stepped into the shower and stood under the hot spray, the water flattening his hair against his forehead and he closed his eyes and just stood. After about a minute he moved so the focus of the jets of water was on the back of his neck and the thundery downpour and force of the shower definitely helped to knead some of the knots out. Steam rose all around him and he could see the mirror fogging up and feeling a little overheated, his thoughts on the single-minded subject of Robyn’s soft hands, he turned the dial from hot to cold, allowing the change in temperature to cool his heated body down. The shoulder massage voucher Robyn had given him for Christmas had been constantly on his mind, more so than the back massage as he knew a shoulder massage was more likely than a back one and knowing how delicate and gentle she was as she ran her fingers through his hair, he shivered in anticipation of what was about to happen. Closing his eyes, he had etched in his memory the feeling of how she traced the features of his face the time he fell asleep against her in the tent they made for his sisters and knowing how intimately wonderful that felt especially when he pretended to still be asleep when he was actually awake and he had no doubt that her hands on his shoulders would be just as tender.

The cold water that had been needed, now made his body shiver and letting the water run over his face once more, he turned the dial to shut the water off. He ran his hands through his wet hair, squeezing the water out, shaking once more as the chilly drops, dripped down his back. He very carefully stepped out and quickly dried himself off, pulling on his sweatpants and t-shirt. He rubbed his hair hard, trying to get most of the wetness out, laughing at his reflection in the mirror when he was done.

“Really need a haircut.” He said to himself, not bothering to fix the fuzzy mess he was left it. Even though it felt longer, he opened the bathroom door five minutes later and strolled back into the bedroom. Robyn had changed out of her dress and was wearing a pair of blue shorts and a black oversized t-shirt, that came off her right shoulder and she sat on the bed with her legs crossed, the television on in the background.

“How are you feeling?” She asked him as he walked over to her. “And loving the hair.” She laughed a little at his dishevelled appearance, his hair sticking up everywhere.

“Better thanks. Showering always helps and yeah, the hair. In need of a cut.” He sat on the edge of the bed and as he had hoped, Robyn’s hands went straight for his hair, flattening it down for him.

“Just a trim.” She said.

“Because you got just a trim?”

“I desperately needed a haircut and my hair was so long it really was just a trim and my hair is still long. You only need a trim. I like it this length.”

Taron smiled. “I know but I will probably get it cut a bit shorter and don’t pout at me. Hair grows. You told me yourself.”

“Knew that would back fire on me.”

Taron’s grin faded a little as his eyes caught the piece of paper he had torn from his voucher book on the bed. “You don’t have to do this Robyn.” He picked up the page from the duvet. “I didn’t bring it so…”

“Taron…” Robyn interrupted him and took the page for him. “I gave you that book of vouchers for you to use them and you brought it with you because you wanted to use it and I am so very happy to pay up for you now. Who knows when we will see each other again?”

“St Patrick’s Day.” He answered.

“That is three weeks away and not certain.”

“Then at RENT.”

Robyn frowned at him. “And that is even further away.” She reached for his hand. “I gave you that present because I wanted you to use them when you needed them the most and right now this…” She placed the page in his free hand. “… This is something you need and would like. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t have given you one, let alone five.” Robyn let go of his hand and patted the bed in front of her. “Come and sit down in front of me.”

He hesitated a little, not wanting to rush, to show her how eager he was and then climbed up onto the bed and sat in front of her crossing his legs, smiling at the confused look she wore. “What?”

“It’s a shoulder massage rocketman. I need to get to your shoulders. You have to turn around for me.” With a little sheepish grin, Taron moved and turned around so his back was facing her. “And this is going to have to come off too.” Robyn lightly pulled on the bottom of his t-shirt.

Taron nervously laughed and gripping his t-shirt, quickly pulled it up and over his head, taking it off completely throwing it to the side.

“Take this.” Robyn handed him a pillow from the bed. “You can either sit with your legs crossed and hug the pillow or bring your knees to your chest and use the pillow on your knees to rest your head on.”

Going with the second option, Taron pulled his knees to his chest and balanced the pillow on them. With his arms hugging his legs, he rested his head on the soft cotton of the pillow. The position placed an uncomfortable strain on his shoulders and he loosened his arms a little so his back wasn’t pulled too tight.

“You ok there Taron?” Robyn asked him, her eyes roaming over the freckles and moles on his back and the smooth skin that was longing to be touched. Telling her heart to slow down, Robyn was slightly regretting some of the vouchers she had wrote for Taron’s Christmas present. She hadn’t really thought the process through and that it would be her hands on his skin. Robyn had held Taron in her arms before when he was shirtless but that was before her developing feelings were so intense and she had to wriggle her fingers and shake her hands a little, feeling a wonderful but yet a jumpy drop in her stomach as she got ready to give Taron one of his first shoulder massages.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“I have some oil Taron which I use as a moisturiser for my own skin and I am going to use that for your shoulders. It’s by a brand called Nuxe and it’s got a little fragrance to it but nothing overly strong and I also have a tube of that medicated rub I gave you when you were at my house last year. Then when we are done, I am going to get you to take some paracetamol and then we can get to the pie.”

Taron face broke into a grin and he looked over his shoulder at her. “You are full of surprises. What have you got up your sleeve?” He fully grinned as she winked at him, laughing a little as she used an index finger on his jaw to gently push his face back around. “You can be so secretive sometimes.”

“And that is why you love me.” She replied confidently, moving to sit on her ankles right behind him. “Now you never answered me when I said I would be using a little oil on your shoulders.”

Taron nodded. “That’s ok Robyn. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I trust you.” He knew he wasn’t cold, even after his cold shower and the hotel room was toasty warm but he still felt little shivers running down his spine and Robyn hadn’t even touched him yet.

Rubbing her hands together to try and warm them up as she knew her hands were always cold, she gently placed them by his neck, feeling him jump a little at the first contact but once she slipped her thumbs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, his whole body relaxed to her touch and once she started to move her thumbs in slow circles on his skin, his body further loosened up, easing the pressure with which he held himself against his knees, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. Robyn played with his hair for a little while, giving Taron a chance to get comfortable. “Close your eyes rocketman and just stop thinking too much.”

Once she knew he was completely at ease and not going to jump when she touched him again, she reached for the gel and small glass jar of oil beside her, poured a little of each onto the palm of her right hand, and once she had rubbed her hands together, hovered over his shoulders for a second before she placed them on his neck again her thumbs rolling in easy circles on warm skin. “Taron?” She asked hearing a whisper of a groan from him, stopping her thumbs from moving immediately.

The groan left his body involuntarily and his squeezed his eyes shut with embarrassment when Robyn heard it, her wonderfully caring hands lifted from his neck. The combination of the slick oil and the feathery caresses below his neck were incredible, the light pressure she used perfect on tender muscles. Burying his face into the pillow, he was glad that his silence was enough for Robyn to replace her hands on his shoulders and this time with a bit more pressure, she worked her thumbs a little deeper into his skin, making trails down in-between his shoulder blades and back up to his neck, her long fingers sweeping over his shoulders to his collar bones.

Robyn took Taron’s continued silence and deep breathing as permission to continue with his massage and she went a little harder with her movements and a little lower too, smoothing over his shoulder blades. She moved her thumbs back down his back, tracing the line of his spine as she went, moving even more slowly as her eyes were distracted by the beauty marks on his back, her index fingers tracing over them. Applying firmer pressure, digging deeper into his skin, Robyn smiled as Taron moved his head on the pillow so she could reach more of his neck and she moved her hands at a snail’s pace back up to his neck and while her fingers kneaded the front of his neck, her thumbs worked the stress tenderly from him. She was completely in her element, so glad Taron had brought the voucher with him. She absolutely hated massages, except for when he played with her hair but had always been told she was good at them, good with her hands and if she could help alleviate some of Taron’s sore muscles, she was more than willing to help him, probably enjoying having her hands all over him more than she should. With every stroke, Robyn could see his tense muscles slacken and whereas before his shoulders were held tight, now as her hands moved further across the top of his body, his arms fell down by his sides, his face turning sideways on the pillow.

“You ok rocketman?” She asked quietly.

“So good.” He cooed back to her. “Best Christmas present.”

“Not as good as my Care Bear.” She laughed back at him.

“Uh-uh.” Taron replied. “Care Bear’s don’t give massages like you do.”

With a laugh, Robyn knelt up on her knees and she poured some more of her expensive body oil onto the palm of her hands with some of the gel and once spread over her palms, moved back to his shoulders, concentrating now on his actual shoulders. As she knelt behind him, Robyn was taken aback by how broad Taron actually was and she rolled her thumbs across his warm soft skin, smoothing over the light dusting of freckles on his skin that she hadn’t seen before. She had been in so many tight hugs with him and even fallen asleep on his shoulders but it was only now as she faced his bare back that she could take in his stunning physic and frame. His training for Eggsy had him in peak shape, not that she was bothered by his fit physic, knowing herself it wasn’t exactly her preferred body type and she could feel the tightness of his muscles as she rubbed his shoulders, making sure she didn’t knead into his skin too hard. Some parts of his upper back had been the cause of his twinges during the day and she didn’t want to hurt him more. She had a feeling his tough re-shoots were the root of his discomfort but was keeping the reason why to himself and she didn’t want to push him for an explanation. So instead she dipped her hands down his arms, feeling the little bump of the scar on his right upper arm as she palmed her way back up and down a few times, before moving over towards his neck, her thumbs circling in that spot she knew could make Taron almost turn to jelly. She could feel him push the tiniest bit back into her thumbs, so continued in that same spot, dipping up into his hair every now and again, taking her time and kneading his neck lovingly.

“You ok for just a little more pressure Taron?”

“Give me all you got chicken.”

“You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t Robyn.” Taron turned to look at her and nodded her way. “Honestly you won’t hurt me and I would be very happy for you to go a little harder.” His cheeks immediately tinted and he lifted his head, the pillow falling from his knees as he sat up. “Jesus Christ, why do I always put my fucking foot in my mouth.”

Robyn stretched over him and picked up the pillow. “I can go harder for you.” She answered placing the pillow back on his knees. “And you only get your words muddled when you are either knackered or completely comfortable. Now, get yourself settled again and just let me know if it’s too much.”

Still wishing he could eat his previous words, Taron snuggled into the pillow on his knees, letting his arms rest by his sides as before. He was in absolute heaven and what he thought was going to be a loving tender massage was so much more. He knew Robyn was so talented with her hands and loved every head massage she had ever given him, the delicate face one nearly coming out on top but it was nothing compared to how she manipulated her hands on his upper back and shoulders. The moment she ran her two thumbs down his spine, he had to hold his moan of pure delight in and only wished she pressed harder into his back, needing to feel a much more intense kneading and when she had asked him if she could massage his skin a little harder he could have turned around and hugged her tight. The cooling effect from the pain relief gel along with the slickness of the oil felt so sensual and as Robyn increased the strength at which she was rubbing his shoulders, her thumbs were digging so wonderfully into his raw and tender muscles that had been aching since he came back from New York. Soon he got his wish of deep pressure on his spine and couldn’t help but push his back into her hands, smiling as she repeated the motion once again and again. His whole body went limp and he hoped she hadn’t heard the guttural moan that came from the back of his throat as she put a lot more force into her movements, really grinding into his shoulders and it felt so gratifying and pleasurable. The tension and friction he had been cursed with since he fell was being kneaded away with a strong fluid movements and Robyn wasn’t going easy on him which he was so thankful for. He needed this. He desperately needed someone to just not be afraid to go a little harder with his back and shoulders and as her thumbs moved to that wonderful soft spot at the nape of his neck that she found so quickly when she hugged him, his eyes rolled a little, if felt so good.

When Taron asked her to go harder, Robyn didn’t hold back and put a little bit of her body weight into her movements, smiling to herself as she moved her two hands from one shoulder to the other and back to his neck, Taron moving back into her hands a few times, which gave her the confidence to push just a little harder into his skin. Her eyes were following the movements of her hands and his skin rolled with her thumbs as she pushed into his shoulders, hoping she wasn’t hurting him but as his whole body leaned further into his knees and feeling his deep breathing under her hands, she took it as a sign that he was thoroughly and literally under her thumb and relishing in every moment and move she made and increased the pressure just a little more. His skin was toasty warm under her hands and as the oil soaked into his neck and shoulders, she knew it would only make his silky smooth skin under her palms so much more so. The expensive oil she used to rub his back also had a slight hint of shimmer in it but Robyn just hadn’t told Taron that. It was barely noticeable and as she dragged her thumbs from one shoulder to the next, it could only be seen when his body caught the light in a certain way. Robyn wasn’t worried about him finding out either, knowing he was going to shower in the morning anyway and the shimmer would wash away under the water. As her thumbs made their way down his spine once again, she was sure she heard another moan of appreciation from him, Taron’s face moving into the pillow once more and she ran them very slowly back up to his neck, her two hands moving through his hair before brushing over his shoulders and down his spine again.

She took no notice of the time or how long they sat on the bed together, Robyn just wanting to give Taron something to not only relax him but to thank him for looking after her so well on the red carpet but when she felt it had been at least half an hour since she started, she knelt up to her full height and dragged her two hands up through his slightly damp hair, pulling gently, Taron catching on quickly that she wanted him to lift his head from his knees. Robyn sat back down on her ankles and guided Taron with her so his back now rested against her chest and his head was under her chin. With his new position she was able to rake her fingers through his hair easily, her nails scratching his scalp deliciously, her fingertips running in soothing circles over his temples, forehead and top of his head.

“The voucher was only for a shoulder massage.” He replied a little sleepily.

“Want me to stop?”

“Absolutely not.” Taron moved so his legs were stretched out in front of him, leaning right into Robyn behind him and closed his eyes. “How am I going to repay you for this?” He questioned as his arms lay by his sides.

“You don’t have to pay me back. It was your Christmas present and you already have. Tonight was amazing.” Robyn kneaded his head, a little harder than she normally would but hearing no complaints from Taron, she kept the pressure up for a few minutes, her hands moving back and forth through his hair and over his forehead. She smoothed her two index fingers over his eyebrows and carefully down his nose, one finger at time, running under his eyes and back to his eyebrows, repeating the movements a few times, her hands then sweeping back through his hair. As she traced down his temples and back up again, she knew Taron was completely in a trance and haze of glorious of pleasure as he lay against her with his arms resting by his sides palm up.

Deciding she was going to take a huge risk, hoping it was going to pay off, Robyn slowly moved her fingers down his face and neck, her hands then resting on his shoulders. With slow and purposeful movements, Robyn advanced her hands down his chest, her eyes locked on his stomach waiting to see if his breathing changed as her fingers slipped through the wonderfully soft hair on his chest before she travelled back up to his shoulders. Taron didn’t even move an inch and his breathing was still steady and controlled. It was a completely different story for Robyn and her heart was racing in her own chest and it took all of her inner strength to keep her hands from shaking as she took another chance to travel her hands down his chest again, lingering a little on centre of his sternum where only five months ago she had performed CPR on him. Without thinking Robyn ran her fingers in circles over the spot, soft delicate twists and turns now compared to the rough powerfully thrusts she had made on him before. Closing her eyes, she shook the imagines of an unresponsive Taron from her mind and concentrated on how she was practically running her hands all over him and he was letting her and kept her eyes focused on slow rise and fall of his stomach as she gently caressed his chest once more, smoothing over his collar bones and then the strong muscles of his arms.

“Robyn?” Taron’s voice was as quiet as a whisper.

“Hmm?” She asked, her hands grazing down his arms slowly.

“I don’t have a voucher for this.”

“I know.” Robyn brushed her fingers over his chest again. “This one is on the house.”

Taron was in complete and absolute heaven. He thought the shoulder and neck massage was wonderful and so soothing to his aching muscles and as always when someone played with his hair, he was putty in their hands but when Robyn pulled him against her, his body nestled so comfortably against her chest, Taron found a position and new comfort he never knew he needed. He had never been given such attention before, his whole body was on fire from her touch but he felt so calm and relaxed. His time on set had been cruel and hard, his body put through the mil by Matthew but now as he lay against Robyn , he couldn’t even open his eyes to look to look to the woman who so tentatively moved her hands down his chest and over his heart. When Robyn lingered over the centre of chest, his whole body heated up and he hoped Robyn hadn’t felt the increase in his body temperature. When she had previously been incredibly rough with him, her hands leaving bruises on his chest, Robyn’s nimble fingers were running in the sweetest of circles on his skin and it felt so comforting for him. Taron didn’t remember the CPR only feeling the after effects of what Robyn had done for him but as her hands moved over his chest again, Taron knew the motion of what she was doing was of vital importance to her and was happy to let her have her moment with him, not really wanting to ask her to stop as he was very much enjoying the new take on a shoulder massage. If Robyn needed the time to place her hands on his chest to feel him breathing and his heart beating, he was always willing to let her do it, even remembering that he had told her to do so when he stayed with her once they had left Florida. As far as he was concerned Robyn basically had every right to his heart, because he had his because of her.

Robyn lingered over his upper body for another minute or two, selfishly taking the time to draw shapes and designs on his chest, enjoying the slight intimacy Taron was giving her, glad he was doing so as she suddenly felt a strong need to feel a steady heart beat under her hands. Sometimes, the reality of what they had been through, would come back to the forefront of her memories and being able to feel his beating heart, always calmed the slight anxiety she felt as she thought about Taron not breathing under her hands. Almost reluctantly, Robyn ran her hands once more over his body once more, before moving back to his head.

“So, you going to tell me what happened on set?” She asked him, as she dragged her fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly, his eyes still closed.

“You are sporting some bruising on your left shoulder. Did you not notice how I kept the kneading lighter on that side?”

Taron sighed. “No.” He opened his eyes. “I was lost in a haze of pure happiness.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not really.”

“Shall I ring Matthew?”

“I slipped off the roof of a yellow cab, slid down the windscreen, bonnet and to the ground, banged my shoulders and neck off the curb.”

“Taron, Jesus, why didn’t you tell me? I could have hurt you.”

“I got the all clear from the medic on site.”

“I still could have hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He felt Robyn take her hands from his hair and rest on his shoulders. “You didn’t.” He repeated. “It felt so good Robyn. I can’t even explain how good. I wish I had of brought another voucher with me so I could get another one.” He lifted his body from hers and spun around so he could kneel opposite her. “I know you worry about me and I also know I can’t tell you not too but if I was to tell you about every time I hurt myself on set, I would probably be ringing you at the end of every working day with about ten stories of a caught finger, or bumped head. It’s just natural on such a physical set and I promise I was absolutely fine after I fell. Just a little sore.”

“I still could have really hurt you Taron. I really applied some heavy pressure into your shoulders at one point.”

“And it felt amazing Robyn. I am so glad you asked me if it was ok. I really really needed that extra hard pressure.” Taron rolled his shoulders to prove a point. “See no twinges any more.” He half grinned. “And you know you can do this whenever you need too.” He lifted her hand and placed it onto his chest, over his heart. “Whenever you need too.” He repeated. “It’s beating because of you.”

Without hesitation, Robyn threw her arms around his neck and have his body a tight squeeze, her palms resting flat against his bare back. “Thanks for letting me do that Taron.”

“Anytime you need to Robyn.” He kissed her temple and hugged her close to him. “But we may have to replace the free head massages with free shoulder ones.” He grinned as she let him go quickly, ending their hug.

“You have four vouchers left. Use them wisely.” She replied reaching her hands up and brushed his hair from his forehead, keeping her hands in his hair so it was spiked up a little. “Next time you need to warn me if you’ve had a fall Taron. This…” She raked her hands through his hair again, her voice deadly serious. “… Is very different from this.” Her hands ran the whole way down the back of his head and to his shoulders which she gentled rubbed. “I am not a professional and just good with my hands, as you have told me before so I should be aware before I even touch you if you are carrying even the lightest of injuries. A simple wrong move could be disastrous.” Her hands wandered down his arms and to his hands.

“I will make sure you know if I am carrying a somewhat of an injury next time.” Taron gripped her hands tight. “I will have to return the favour some day.”

“No need.”

“What?”

“I hate massages.”

Taron’s eyes opened wide. “Shut up.”

His words made her laugh. “I don’t like them.” She said again.

“What is wrong with you?” He asked letting go her hands dramatically. “You don’t like massages?”

“You know how tickly I am and I just don’t like them.”

“I have given you a massage before.” He titled his head to her.

“You have played with my hair before. It’s different.”

“And I have rubbed the back of your neck and your head.”

“Still different rocketman.” Robyn climbed off the bed.

“I am going to change your mind someday.” Taron reached for his t-shirt and as he pulled it back on, immediately noticing an ease with his movements. “Hey I have given you a massage before.” He said excitedly, fixing his t-shirt and getting off the bed, walking over to where Robyn was routing through the mini fridge, rolling his shoulders feeling such a relief from the pain he felt during the day. “In the 7/11.” He continued. “When I rubbed the aftersun into your shoulders. That was a mini massage.” Robyn looked up to him. “And you didn’t flinch away from me.”

“That was because you were helping me with the horrible sting I felt from the sunburn and the aftersun was helping to take the burn away.” Explained Robyn as she got to her feet with a frosted plastic box in her hands. “Different situation and it wasn’t technically a massage.” She closed the fridge with her foot.

“I bet I can change your mind.” He grinned. “When I come visit next month, I will change your mind.” Robyn didn’t answer him but walked around him and the bed so she was at her side. “I will change it.”

“You can try but there is no guarantee.”

“I like a challenge.” He winked. “What you got there?” The frosted box intrigued him and as Robyn settled herself on the bed, he moved around the opposite side of the bed.

“Pie.”

“Pie?” Taron got up on the bed and sat right beside her. “What you been up to now?”

“Take this.” Robyn handed him a fork, which he did, staring at the piece of cutlery as he held it, still completely puzzled but once she opened the tuber ware box on her legs, his eyes lit up.

“You absolute dream!” In the box were two pieces of key lime pie, nestled together in neat triangles, a blob of cream on top of each one. “Where have you been hiding this?” He asked watching as Robyn pushed her fork into her slice and ate it with a grin.

“I wasn’t hiding it. It was in the fridge.” Robyn smiled at the childlike grin that Taron wore as he took his own bite from his slice.

“You need to stop bringing baked goods with you every time you visit me.”

“You really want me to do that?” She asked, handing the box to Taron so he could get better access to his share. “Not bake for you?”

Taron stopped mid-bite and shook his head. “Ignore everything I have just said. Always bring me yummy things to eat when you visit me.” He finished off the rest of the zesty treat on his fork. “Yours tastes much better than mine.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Robyn reached over and took another piece of pie to eat. “It’s a fool proof recipe.”

Taron leaned happily against the pillows behind his back and he sighed as he chewed away. “Any more surprises for me?” He asked.

“I am all out.” Robyn answered simply. “But I also want you to take these.” Hidden in her free hand she had two pain killers. “The shoulder rub is only temporary. These will definitely help more to take the ache away.”

“Do you just keep a supply of these for me?” He asked her as he handed her back the box and his fork to hold.

“Not necessarily for you but I have a stash.” She watched as he got off the bed and walked to the fridge. He stood a little straighter and his eyes were definitely brighter and as he carried a bottle of water back to the bed, his was smiling widely. “Sometimes I drive up to Newry in the North of Ireland. It’s only about an hour and half away from Kilcreen and because it is technically part of England, things are much cheaper like paracetamol and I can get a packet of sixteen for forty pence instead of a pack of twelve for two euro fifty. I stock up so I always have them.”

“Should I be a little worried?” He asked after he had settled himself on the bed. “Please tell me you buy other things and not just medication.”

“I buy other things. Normally spend the whole day walking around.” As Taron took the tablets from her, she took another bite of her slice of pie. “Ireland is quite expensive so I take advantage of part of the UK being in Ireland sometimes.” Once he had taken a drink and placed the bottle on the bed between them so Robyn could use it to drink from too, she handed him back his fork, satisfied he had taken something that would further ease his achy shoulders.

Taron dropped the fork on the bed and took the box from Robyn and reaching in, lifted his slice out, taking a large bite from it, grinning as Robyn rolled her eyes at him but copying him, she picked up her slice too ate it from her hands.

“So good.” He sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “Aren’t you cold?” He asked her as she moved to lay next to him, her legs crossed at the ankles. “Shorts? In February?”

“That time of the month.” She replied to him as she brushed her hands together to get rid of the remaining crumbs on her fingers, her slice all eaten. “I always run a little warmer and you are always warm so I picked something a little lighter to wear.”

Taron, who was finished his surprise treat, moved so his left arm was resting alongside her right one, for once feeling that her hand was actually warmer than normal. “Anything I can do for you?” He asked her remembering that last time he had been around her when her monthly visitor was around.

She pulled on his hand and he let her guide his left arm to her lap. “I am good. Last time was a one off. I just know I will be warmer than usual so came prepared with shorts.”

Taron looked down to her hands, his eyes closing as she made feather light touches up and down his arm, her fingers making zig-zag patterns along his skin. He naturally just sunk a little lower on the bed and let his cheek rest on her bare shoulder that was on show with the way her over-sized t-shirt sat on her frame, understanding more now how she explained about how her body temperature was a little warmer than usual, her skin soft and balmy om his cheek. Robyn had a knack for being so gentle with her movements when it was needed and she now traced his arm so lightly as if a harder touch would break him, already having used her strength to knead his shoulders so wonderfully. He felt like he was in a complete dream world, as Robyn took to now massaging the skin on his arm. He opened his eyes when he felt her swirl her finger in the same spot a few times and he grinned as he realised she was running over his moles on his arm.

“What are you doing?” He asked as her as she moved to another one near his elbow.

“You have so many of these.” Robyn moved her hand back down towards his wrist, his arm hair silky under her fingers and she stopped as she spotted another two moles.

“Not as many as you.” He laughed as she tapped each one along his arm and up past his elbow.

“Yours are here all the time. My freckles fade.”

“Not these ones.” Taron copied her movements and stretched over to use his right hand to tap her own freckles.

“I like yours.”

“Meh.”

“What’s the meh for?”

“They have been photoshopped out before from a few photoshoots I have done.”

“What?” Robyn stopped rid stroke, her fingers hovering over his arm.

“Particularly the mole on my neck.” He had to lift his head from her shoulder as Robyn moved suddenly and he started to fall. “It’s all true chicken.” He saw the looked of disbelief on her face.

“But why?” She asked and automatically stretched her arm over to his neck.

“Guess it’s not perfect enough for them.” He couldn’t help but smile at the scowl she wore and let her lift his chin a little and her eyebrows stayed furrowed as she ran her fingers lightly over his mole on his neck. “I know what you are going to say.”

“Fucking vain tosspots.”

Taron chuckled. “Ok maybe not.”

“You are perfect Taron.”

“And there it is.” He grinned, his smile widening as she still frowned.

“I hate that you have to be subjected to that shit Taron. It’s so mentally draining and just disgusting.”

“You are so wonderful Robyn and with you around, I don’t need to worry about people taking my moles and freckles away.”

“But they shouldn’t do it Taron.”

Still smiling, Taron moved a little further down the bed so he could lay his head back on her shoulder and draped his left arm back across her lap. “It’s just the way it is Robyn.”

“Well I love your freckles and moles.” She said firmly. “I love all of you. Every bit.”

“Every bit.” He grinned as she started to stroke his arm again.

“Every bit.” She confirmed, her whole hand moving up and down his arm.

“I love every bit of you too but probably your hands the best, especially at the moment.”

“Mr. Egerton is a little softie at heart, isn’t he? You love these cuddly and cosy situations.”

“I don’t get them very often Robyn and normally only in private when I am with you.” He admitted. “I don’t really have anyone who is willing to give me the hugs and cuddles or such soothing massages.”

“Deian?” She asked with a little laugh.

“Dear God no.” He laughed. “Just no.” He snuggled a little more into her, closing his eyes, feeling a little tired as the heat from her body and the movement of her hand on his skin, helped to relax him completely. He felt her kiss his head and without a second thought, turned to lay on his left side so he could lean a little better against her, moving his left arm, so his right arm was now slack against her stomach.

“I like these moles too.” He heard her say and felt her gentle touch on his other arm. “And these ones.”

Robyn, now with Taron’s other arm, could touch and caress and examine his beautifully soft skin, her fingers running over tendons and veins on the back of his hand, feeling strong defined muscles under his skin. She was completely in her element as she lay with Taron, finally getting the chance to do what she had been desperate to do to him since she was sitting with him in the 7/11 and that was to get to his wonderfully strong arms and his hands. She continued to draw patterns on his toasty skin, over his moles and freckles and rub back and forth over his arm hair. She eventually linked her fingers with his and she smiled happily. He hadn’t been in a bad mood when they met that morning but she knew something was up with him. Now as he nestled into her, not only was Taron much more content in himself but Robyn was doing what she loved doing best, looking after the man in her arms who had spent the whole day making sure she felt entirely comfortable and her heart was filled with nothing but true and honest love for him.

Taron felt his face was going to start hurting from the permanent smile that filled his cheeks and he opened his eyes as he felt Robyn trail a finger down his nose and back up again. “I am really starting to understand why you like that so much. I don’t know how to describe it but it is wonderful.” Robyn’s body moved under him as she laughed and he watched as she moved her legs a little, crossing them at her ankles, her right ankle over her left. “Chicken?”

“Hmmm..?” Robyn hummed as she brushed his nose again.

“Why are your legs all bruised?”

Robyn’s hand stalled on Taron’s nose and she looked to her legs which had little bruises below and above her knees, some darker ones on her thighs. “Along with my busy week of paperwork I also had to fill in for one of the girls as she was out sick so I was in the Preschool room with the children and walked into the furniture a few times, maybe the tables too.”

“You really do bruise easily.” With his position, Taron was able to reach down and delicately stroked the blue tinted skin of a bruise on her right thigh.

“You have no idea. I am so used to adult sized furniture in the office that I forget when I am in a room and catch myself on the corners of the wooden play kitchen a lot, normally when I walk past it.”

“It’s kind of depressing in a way but I am glad I was caught under the shelf in the 7/11 and not you. I know how bruised I was afterwards but I would have hated to have seen the bruising on your skin.”

“It would have been pretty grim.” She agreed. “It doesn’t help that my iron levels can be low.”

Taron moved to sit up against the pillows so he wasn’t leaning on her shoulder any more, his whole face turning stern. “We have had this conversation a few times before. Should I be getting my serious lecture face ready for you? Low iron can be dangerous Robyn.”

Her heart swelled as she saw the genuine concern on his face and she knew he would be ready in a heartbeat to tell her off for not taking more red meat into her diet. “You don’t have to tell me Taron.”

“Sometimes I feel like I do have to tell you and look after you too. I think you forget to do so. You are too busy looking after everyone else.”

“You look after me.” She told him. “Every time I come and see you, you look after me.”

“I feel like I might be the only one who does.” He answered her. “And cwtch doesn’t count.” He quickly added, earning a grin from her. “You need to take care of yourself Robyn and I mean that. It’s ok to stop and breathe and do things for you. I was serious when I told you this morning that you are going to burn out. You need to slow down.”

“Says the actor who can work a sixteen-hour day.”

“Who gets breaks during his day and a few weeks after and in-between filming. You work every single day with only an hour lunch.”

“I have some days off coming up.”

“And when I come to visit, we are going to do lots of relaxing and sleeping and baking.” He was glad to see her smile. “I don’t want to have to come and visit you in hospital Robyn.”

“You won’t Taron.” She assured him. “You won’t.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

“You can’t distract me with kisses Robyn.” He closed his eyes and inwardly sighed as her lips found the corner of his. “Robyn…” He opened his eyes and was taken back at how close her face was to his. “You are a tosspot.”

“And you are wonderful caring man. I promise that I will take it easy the next few weeks in work.”

“No overtime.”

“No overtime.” She repeated.

“And lots of Taron cuddles starting now.”

With a little change of position and making sure they were tucked under the duvet cover, Robyn found herself in what had become her usual cuddling position with Taron, her head on his shoulder while his arm wrapped around her shoulder, tucking her into him. She didn’t get a chance to move her arm over his waist, as Taron pulled her hand over his stomach himself his own hand now trailing shapes up and down her arm, repeating the same tender touch she had been using with him. “I love you.” Taron whispered so quietly into her hair that Robyn didn’t hear him. He smiled as her hair was still crimped and in her plaits, enjoying the extra warmth her body provided him which he easily felt through his t-shirt. He found himself becoming more and more protective of the woman in his arms, each time he saw her and knowing how hard she worked, almost until she was dead on her feet, even more so and after how she had so lovingly just cared for his whole body with her hands, he was more than willing and ready to look after her. He wished he could whisk her away for a few days where it was just the two of them, both just spending the time together like they did when they were in her home but with their lives so busy, they were lucky to get a weekend together and he knew he was going to do everything to try to get to her for St Patrick’s Day, just wanting to spend more with her, just to make sure she was taking care of herself while letting her do the same for him.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Massages #Love #Friendship #Cuddles #Caring #Freckles and Moles #Light touches #Skin #Looking after each other #Robyn and Taron

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starker-stories · 4 years

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A Boy in a Dress

Created for @mcukinkbingo Also on AO3 Square Filled: Crossdressing Ship: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker Rating: T Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 1914 Additional Tags: Crossdressing, Not Feminization Summary: “Peter… I…” He slowly blinked. “There are things you only see in fantasies. You don’t even have a frame of reference to explain them. Ideas you never let yourself think because what you want is impossible,” Tony explained. “Baby, you’re perfect.” ——————————————————

“Oh my god Tony. It’s… they’re… oh… beautiful!”

Peter rushed over to the bed and started rifling through the clothes draped on it. “You have a whole wardrobe here!” There were flowy skirts and narrow tight pencil skirts. Skirts that came to the floor and ones that looked like they’d barely cover the curve of his ass. Blouses made of soft silk. The fabric draped over his hands and flowed like water until it puddled back onto the bed. Ones of sheer fabric and lace that were more air than cloth. Shoes. High heels, cute little ballet flats, sandals that had string laces that looked long enough to tie all the way up Peter’s legs. Dresses — narrow waisted, broad shouldered. And lingerie! Every kind imaginable. Suitable for day, and especially, for night.

When his initial rush of excitement passed, he noticed that the clothes weren’t just women’s clothes from a store, like he used to sometimes sneak out and buy.

“You had all of this made?”

“Yes baby. You explained to me what you wanted. You’re very happy being a boy and don’t want to change that, never wanted to.”

“Right. But people have misunderstood before…”

“Pete, am I ‘people’?”

“No Tony.”

“So, taking you at your word, I do listen to you, you know.” Tony ticked on his fingers. “Very much a boy. Not a drag queen. Not trying to hide the fact that you’re a boy while you’re dressed. Sensuality is a big part of it. Not costume-y but not ordinary. Not done as a political statement.”

“This dress!” Peter held the dress up to his front and let it drape, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Baby, that’s going to look gorgeous on you.”

Peter quickly stripped out of his t-shirt and jeans then shimmied the golden yellow soft chiffon dress on over his head. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the mirror. He’d tried dresses before, but they never worked as well as a skirt and a blouse. The ones he could get were designed to fit the curves of a woman. There were always places that hung in un-filled-out wrinkles or pulled too tight. His arms and shoulders hardly ever fit. But this fit him perfectly.

The vintage silhouette was styled like when girls wore shoulder pads, but not the cartoonish 80s style. It was more classic, elegant. Of course Peter needed no pads on his broad shoulders. The shape of his body was one of the things he always hated when he dressed. He thought it made him look awful. Yet he liked the way he looked when he wasn’t dressed.

Tony watched as the boy turned this way and that, frowning at times, looking like he was working a puzzle. “There was very little that needed to be changed. The problem was that you needed couture. Off the rack is designed for women. Couture is designed for models. It's a less curved body.”

“Tony, how did you know all this?”

“I’ve dated a lot of models,” he said with a shrug. “Eventually you get bored enough to listen to them.”

“It’s all so beautiful. Thank you.”

“So… I have reservations for eight. There’s more things in your bathroom. I didn’t know what sort of style you wanted though. I’m afraid I picked things I like. More natural.”

“Exactly. Not drag, not obvious. Just a bit of glamour. But…” Peter’s face fell.

“What Pete? What can I fix?”

“Tony, I can’t go out like this.”

“Why?”

Peter sighed. “People get the wrong idea. You might not be people, but people are people. I got caught one day at Columbia wearing a blouse like this,” he held up a simple white linen blouse that wasn’t far off from looking like a shirt, “and I still don’t think I ever convinced them that I wasn’t trans and in denial. I kept having to tell them my pronouns were he/him and yes my name really is Peter. It’s not that I think that being trans is wrong, it’s just that…”

“You’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Baby, what you are right now is a very beautiful boy in a very beautiful dress. I’d like to take you out to dinner so that everyone can see how beautiful you are.” Tony walked up behind Peter and wrapped his arms around his waist, looking at him through the reflection. “I think you’re stunning.”

It was wonderful that Tony thought he looked that way. When Peter looked at his reflection, he could almost believe it too.

“Baby, when you first started telling me, I mean… I’ve always liked a boy in a bit of lingerie. But the problem was the opposite as it has been with you. They were willing to wear it but it was a kink. And while that’s fun…” Tony shrugged.

“I know! It’s impossible either way.”

“It’s possible. People will see what you show them. If you act camp, they’ll see a drag queen. If you mime the way a woman behaves, then they’ll see a transvestite. If you actually behave like a woman, they’ll see a trans woman. If you’re just you, baby, they’ll see a beautiful boy in a beautiful dress.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes!”

“Try. Get ready as if we were going. Come out into the living room with me and we’ll just be together a bit first. If you’re really not ready, then I’ll have the restaurant send dinner here.”

Peter bit his lip. It was amazing seeing their reflections standing there. Peter and Tony had very different body types. Tony was a compact, muscular, solid man. Peter was a lithe, fluid, delicate… man. And they did look beautiful together. Or would if Tony was dressed to match. Right now, in a torn t-shirt and a pair of dad-jeans that did nothing for his ass, they most certainly weren’t a match. He laughed. “You have to dress nice too.”

“Pete, I do clean up all right, you know.” He kissed the side of Peter’s neck. “Can you trust me? A little? But if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you let me know.” Peter looked like he was about to start going through all the reasons he couldn’t do it. “Baby, don’t overthink it. Right now just start by picking out what you want to wear and getting ready in whatever way makes you feel… like you. Don’t think about ‘people’. Just Peter and Tony, okay?”

When Tony bought Peter’s wardrobe, everything he had for himself looked wrong in comparison. He didn’t explain the particulars about the gender of his date to his tailor, he just brought several of the dresses with him and said he wanted to look ‘better than I usually do’. Apparently it took more than simply spending a lot of money on a suit. Wanting to look a match for Peter, he let the man put him through, what Tony joked was, ‘finishing school’.

Peter was beautiful to Tony no matter what he wore. But since the boy told him about this, he hadn’t been able to stop imagining what ‘a boy in a dress’ might actually look like. Every one of his imaginings was more beautiful than the last. He never thought Peter would look incongruous or awkward and certainly not camp or drag, like the boy worried about. Peter couldn’t look that way. He was graceful and light and… as he stepped into the room, perfect.

Peter’s hair wasn’t ‘done up’. There were soft, messy curls with something in them that made it look wet, but not wet. Glistening? Yeah. Glistening. Tony could tell he was wearing cosmetics, but he didn’t look like it. Not even like the ‘natural’ makeup that some of the girls he’d dated wore. There was a bit of shadow to his eyes, but just barely enough to heighten the depth of them, to bring out the honey-color. His lashes looked brighter, but Tony couldn’t tell if that was something he was wearing because Peter naturally had the most amazing long lashes. His lips though… the color was perhaps just a tiny bit pinker, but they were shiny and looked like they did when he got nervous, because he had a habit of licking them. Tony wanted to bite.

That dress. It was beautiful when he saw it on him in the mirror, but in combination with everything it was… The fit was as before, and the way the fabric draped, Tony’s fingers were itching to feel. The stockings had just a little bit of shimmer to them but weren’t ‘fetish’, not black or red, but the same color as Peter’s pale skin. Tony hadn’t been sure if Peter actually knew how to walk in heels, but the boy flowed into the room.

“Oh Peter. I…” Tony stumbled over his words. He was a man who had dated some of the most beautiful women in the world. Without a bit of exaggeration, he told Peter, “Baby, you take my breath away.” When the boy blushed? Tony’s words were literal.

“I don’t look ridiculous?”

“Peter… I…” He slowly blinked. “There are things you only see in fantasies. You don’t even have a frame of reference to explain them. Ideas you never let yourself think because what you want is impossible,” Tony explained. “Baby, you’re perfect.”

Tony rushed to Peter, wrapped his arm around the boy’s narrow — muscular, masculine — waist. He lifted him and spun him around like they were dancing. The way he felt in Tony’s arms. The lean body of a boy who took ballet lessons. Everything about him was the same. There wasn’t anything about him that wasn’t Peter. He was a stunningly handsome young man. Graceful, but the fabric, the clothes, the way he looked, went from graceful to otherworldly. Formed of beautiful renaissance paintings, old black and white movies, and stylized images of long-limbed saints.

“Please tell me you feel this,” Tony said, stopping them in the middle of the room.

Peter stepped closer until he and Tony were against each other. “I… Tony… you’re… we’re…”

“Beautiful, Peter.” He nestled Peter on his shoulder. “Shh, don’t cry. You’re a vision.”

“It’s not just a…” Peter sighed. “Like you said, a kink?”

“Baby, do I want to take you into the bedroom and fuck you senseless? Yeah. When don’t I? Do you remember the first time I took you to a gala and you put on that tux? I wanted to fuck you senseless then too. You in my old sweatshirt and jeans makes me want to fuck you senseless. You just do things to me, kid.”

Peter laughed. But then he stopped and swallowed hard. “We can’t though.”

“Go out? Why? People?”

Peter nodded. “No one will understand.”

“Peter, you don’t look like that. You’re without camp, without drag, without imitation.”

“Well there is some imitation.”

“No. None. There’s a… derivation of style, that’s all. It suits you. But why don’t I call the restaurant. I’ll put on some music, because god Peter do I ever want to dance with you. And then we’ll eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen for a change. Save going out for another time. Let you get used to everything at home first.”

“You don’t mind if we don’t go out?” Peter said hesitantly.

“Baby, that means I get you to all to myself. Saves me from having to beat the shit out of some guy who looks at you too long.”

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#starker #Von writes stuff

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