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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

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Betty, My Betty! Part 2

Okay as I'm writing this I'm rewatching this scene over and over to make sure that I'm picking up the vibes correctly.

After all the entire point of my commentary is to digest what the writer, Fernando Gainta, the director and actors wanted us to know.

We're still in the same time frame of Armando finding out Betty has a boyfriend, though to the audience we are fully aware that Nicolas is just Betty's friend and the person she used to disguise her crush on Armando, in other words, Betty's true love is Armando and he doesn't know that but believes that Nicolas is which feeds the cycle of paranoia this man has.

The day between Marcela and Armando started off estranged due to their argument the night before. Though at first they seemed to tolerate each other when Marcela went to yell at Betty for the checks not being in cash, like she said she had told her, Armando went to Betty's aid and yelled at Marcela(in the hall before she made it to Betty's office) and then he got the worse news of his life and has been on a rollar coaster of emotions.

In this first scene I'll be talking about: Marcela enters Armando's office, pissed off. Her eyes are shooting bullets at Armando and his voice is.. how do I say nonchalant but annoyed? It's mostly an oxymoron.She's asked about the money. He does have a sharp tone as he tells her "My love, I just signed the papers for her to do that." His eyes aren't behind as he too is shooting bullets at his fiance.

I have a love hate relationship with Marcela. One moment I really like her and the next I could strangle her, not enough to actually do it but enough to imagine it.

Marcela has her arms folded in front of her looking apprehensive while shifting on her feet and shaking. Not only does her tone of voice allow us to pick up on her mood, so does her body language. She truly dispieses Betty.

I want to add here that the previous night when Marcela insulted Betty as she was leaving you could tell Betty was upset and not only because of the insults towards her and Marcela insulting her work ethics and role in the company but she stared dead at Armando as if also upset at him. I placed myself in her shoes and my inner monologue was "If only this dude could keep it in his pants and stop being such a whore so I wouldn't get told that I don't do what my father paid for me to study and instead I'm his pimp that would me great! I hate this and you." because we do see Betty being level headed and understanding where Marcela is coming from though Marcela also never makes Armando take accountability for his infidelity which is annoying on both their parts.

Back to this scene.

Armando glares at her and says "Can you give me a second, my love?" he mocks at the end. In the next frame we see Marcela rolling her eyes, arms folded in front of her and our dear and sweet(this is sarcastic) Mario Calderon sticking to the shadows observing and inspecting everything silently. This is important to take into account as this is what allows him to be such a good manipulator because you're not even aware that he's doing it.

Armando without taking his eyes off of Marcela then yells for Betty, twice and Betty runs towards him and in her very sweet and calm voice says "Yes Sir?". I've seen this scene one too many times because I often rewind to study certain scenes, even before I started to write these post and it wasn't until now that I paid attention to Marcela's reaction.

Once again Armando has eyes on Marcela the entire time. Not even when Betty enters the room does he turn to look at her. His tone continues to be strong, allowing us to know that the frustration or anger he's feeling is not directed towards Betty here but Marcela.

However Marcela(Let me just say the actress is so pretty) is now playing her neck, and rocking on her feet. As Armando says "Tell me, did you get the money for the lady?" Marcela's body language is very interesting. As she goes to rub her chin and sports a smirk on her face.

I'm trying to understand why she would react that way as just a second ago she was fuming and then annoyed because Armando was yelling.

These are my two conclusions:

1) Since her back is towards them she could be assuming that he is directing that tone of voice and anger towards Betty, which would make her happy that Betty is paying the price for their argument.

2) That it brings her joy to anger Armando. In a previous post I talked about how Marcela always seems to be looking for an excuse to lash out at Armando and it could be that she enjoys to get him riled up as she says in some episodes back (the make up seggs is always good) or she just likes making him miserable.

Betty goes to hand her the money and asks her if she'd be kind to sign the papers. Betty, even when Marcela had insulted her, her profession, and her role in the company, speaks to her with respect and kindness. Marcela doesn't even look at her. Instead she just grabs the money and starts counting. Mario is in the background taking it all in.

When Marcela laughs at this and tells her "Ha! Are you suspicious? (insinuating that Betty was calling her a thief) or what?"Mario's eyes grow big as he panics(remember that he is worried that if people yell at Betty she'll turn against them(he too isn't that bright as he later leaves a letter that does just that))

Now Armando's reaction is different as his expression softens and he shifts from being annoyed or angered to now trying to buffer the situation. He goes to say "My love you know perfectly well that's just formality. Stop bothering so much" his eyes are wide, his tone of voice shifts from annoyed to apprehensive and Marcela yells and tells him "Don't scream at me!" and he hisses her "You are unbearable."

Betty is really just standing between the both of them uncomfortable as I would too.

Marcela reminds Armando of what they talked about the previous night and how he hasn't done neither one thing or the other. We get a brief frame of Armando, lips tight in a line in anger to then softening them a bit to stare at Betty. This allows us to know that it is an unpleasant idea, in a sad way, for him to fire Betty or even think about it and not because she's the owner of Eco Moda.

Marcela proceeds to tell him not to expect a different Marcela or for her to be kind and we get music that sounds like the jaws song as she exits the office.

Now Mario has been there the entire time. He hasn't said a single thing or done anything to aid the situation. All he has done is read the room, hear and observe everything and everyone.

This is reminiscent of what we come to see of Armando and Marcela's relationship. This is the day where it is solidified that their relationship is doomed and over with. At least the side of their relationship that kept them off each others throats for long. Where Armando would at least make the effort to talk to her and be open, even when she always turned it around to make it about herself and he always had to swallow down his feelings and comfort her when it was him who needed it. Their relationship had some sort of fighting ground. That's what kept them fighting but if we're being honest here their relationship was mostly based on two people who just enjoyed screwing each other. It wasn't based on love, respect, honesty, or loyalty but based on the commitment to their parents and family and seggs.

When I was in middle school I had this teacher talk to us girls about lust and love and how at our age, which was emotional immaturity, we could assume that because we felt attraction it was love but that they were two different things.

Lust is based on physical wants and needs whilst love is based on emotional and spiritual wants and needs. Love is the desire to give while lust is the desire to receive.

Armando and Marcela have never been in love with each other instead they've been in lust with each other except one mistakes this lust for love and mistakes love for possession.

Knowing to tell these things apart in our romantic life helps us establish a healthy relationship and sadly Marcela hasn't learned to tell these two things apart and this scene shows us that very well. Their relationship is doomed and there is no going back because she asked for the head of the person who is changing the life of Armando Mendoza and not just professionally and economically but in a mental and emotional way and though he isn't aware of that yet his subconscious is and it's made up its mind.

As Mario proceeds to ask him what she's talking about he[Armando] tells him that Marcela asked for Betty's head. We then see Betty standing by her closed office door listening in.

Mario asks shocked "What?" because of course, how could he allow Marcela to ask for the head of the secret owner of Eco Moda?

Again our dear and stupid Armando is in another planet, or solar system, point is he isn't in the same wavelength that Mario is in. He goes to explain that Marcela thinks Betty is his accomplice and fixes him up with his dates which then leads to Mario frantically telling him that she's crazy and he can't contemplate that option.

Armando again is biting his thumb nail, he's nervous but agrees and his mood changes drastically. He looks determined as he tells Mario "I know, I know. Look, no one is going to touch Betty!"(in spanish he says "Nadie me va a tocar a Betty" making it possessive that no one will take Betty from him) and we get a cut to Betty hearing him say that.

Here's the important thing to note throughout this scene. Armando's body language and his reaction is shown directed towards Marcela, not Betty. While Mario directs the topic to Betty being the new owner of Eco Moda, therefore shouldn't be yelled at or fired, Armando is sticking to the emotional aspect of it all. How could he fire the girl who is unconditional and loyal to him? How can he fire the girl he likes? and most importantly that no one is taking his Betty away from him. Be that Marcela asking for her head(he's willing to pay the price and whatever Marcela throws at him but he isn't firing her) or Nicolas Mora being her boyfriend.

What makes this concrete? When he tells Mario that Marcela is just taking advantage of the situation with Claudia and that she's always wanted Betty out it shows us hIS thought process. He isn't concerned over Betty being the new owner. If he were he'd mentioned it, just like Mario has. He would say "Marcela isn't aware she's the new owner but we are and I can't fire her." but those words never escape his mouth, even in secrecy with Mario. However, Mario does say those words even when Betty is in the room over or at least insinuates it.

Fast-forward a bit we get a scene of Claudia picking up a bottle of an alcoholic beverage and we get a clean cut to Armando pouring himself a drink. The parallel would be Claudia is drinking because she is heartbroken due to Armando kicking her out of his office so angrily the previous night and then we have Armando pouring himself a drink in the same time frame, he is stressed and he has started to drink more in the past few days but the back to back scenes with the same music tell us that he's also drinking due to a broken heart.

Armando can't catch a break right now.

Again this isn't speculation as when Mario point that out and tells him that it's too early to be drinking Armando gives him a list of excuses saying "Don't you think I've got a pretty sinister day today? Marcela and I are at each other's throats and today is the new[collection] launch. Plus! In that hotel there's a crazy model waiting for me and I don't know what she's going to do when I get there" The problems go escalating little by little as he list them and then he says "and on top of that, on top of everything-" when we say that phrase it means that we've already established we've got problems but what makes all those problems worse, what makes your situation worse is the next problem you're about to list which is the worst. His tone goes from being frustrated like he was naming the other problems to bringing his voice down and in a solemn tone saying "My Betty, has a boyfriend." he then proceeds to say that they are in his[Nicolas aka Betty's eternal love] hands.

Now one again could argue that his concern is Eco Moda because now he is untrustful of Betty and Nicolas with Eco Moda and I will argue back that the writing tells us otherwise.

[Read my two previous post regarding this because it makes it clear that the writer wanted us to know that Armando did trust Betty and Nicolas previous to the knowledge that Nicolas is Betty's eternal love.(I like to say that because I imagine that's what Armando hears in his head when he thinks of Nicolas)]

Had that been his concern he would have said this: 'Don't you think I've got a pretty sinister day? Tonight is the launch for the new collection, there's a crazy model waiting for me at the hotel and I don't know what she's going to do to me when I get there and plus we're in Betty and Nicola's hands now because I've lost the company and on top of that Marcela and I are at each other's throats!' but he continues to hang onto the fact that Betty, his Betty, has a boyfriend which is his biggest concern next to Nicolas existing.

His anguish is that: Betty has a boyfriend.

His concern is that: The boyfriend works in Terra Moda.

His pain in the butt is: Marcela is at his throat asking for Betty's head.

Mario then tells him that he won't deny that he is worried about Betty's situation but that they need to handle the situation delicately and that Armando cannot judge her for it. Cut to a frame of Armando staring at his glass of whisky to squinting his eyes at Mario; who then tells Armando not to criticize Betty's personal life. Again Mario is trying to keep Armando from pushing Betty against them in turn taking away the company.

"You can't question her for not telling you about the boyfriend. You can't take away your trust!" he hisses at the end.

Armando's eyes are the main reaction we get here as the rest of his face is covered by the whisky glass he had in hand. His eyes narrow. He is concentrating on what Mario is telling him and is paying attention to him.

This is setting ground for the later manipulation as Armando begins to do this a lot.

The music changes to a more intriguing one. Mario stands up and leans towards Armando on the desk and whispers "you know what we have to do? What we have to do is to really figure out who he is, what he does and what kind of person he is before we start to panic."

Now who is Nicolas?

We know he is Betty's oldest friend and longest friendship and that he cares about Betty. He went to defend her against Roman and his friends even when he got hit for it. We know that he is protective of her and besides having a crush on a woman we know and he knows bullies and mistreats Betty, he is a good friend to Betty.

He prioritizes her feelings and he does anything to make her happy. Even going along with Betty's lies and schemes.

He tries to advise her to put everyone in their place when they abuse her for her looks when she becomes the owner of Eco Moda, once again showing us that he wants Betty's best interest and doesn't like that people treat her poorly. He is naive and somewhat dumb when it comes to real life problems like dating and social interactions.

Personally I find Nicolas endearing and I think Nicolas has always been very kind to Betty and always done his best to put a smile on her face.

He does let himself get distracted with the idea of riches and he brags about what he doesn't have but even then Nicolas is still morally and ethically correct. He has those tendencies and desires but he never goes through with them because his love for Betty and his loyalty to her keep him from it.

Nicolas is a good person flaws and all.

We know this, Betty knows and Armando knows this.

How are we sure he knows this?

Betty herself said to him "He is my other me" I don't have to breakdown what that means because we know she means that he is basically the same person within that she is therefore, Armando knows who Nicolas is and his distrust isn't based on Nicolás taking the company away. When he said that they were now in his hands he could have meant "Betty is in his hands".

It's important once again to understand this because it isn't until later that day that he finds out about what Mariana told Betty, again we know that Nicolas is the alias Betty uses for Armando, but he doesn't know this.

Right now his true anguish is that Betty has a boyfriend and that boyfriend is Nicolas Mora, an object of disdain to him now and we understand his mistrust isn't based on Eco Moda and what they could do to it but that Nicolas is Betty's boyfriend and he can take her away from him.

It isn't until after Bertha tells him everything Mariana said about Betty and her eternal love(I am referring to the real one being Armando) that he begins to distrust Nicolas as an individual(without Betty) who can "manipulate" Betty with love to turn against them and this then shows the true disgusting nature that two egocentric and selfish people will show.

Armando did use Betty to secure Eco Moda and it is wrong. Mario thought that the only way a girl like Betty could ever get anyone interested in her or get someone to love her was only on interest of money. However and I need to remind you of this, Armando had another reason to go with the plan and it wasn't just that he is a disgusting human being at this point of the novela, but he subconsciously already liked Betty. He already had feelings for her that he didn't understand and he tried to justify for other things.

My personal theory regarding this topic is that Armando in a sense thought he was saving the company and Betty. He thought that by going along with this plan to make Betty fall in love with him he was saving her from Nicolas, who didn't truly love or care about Betty in his opinion and was only going to use her for the money but unlike him [Nicolas] Armando did care for her even if he didn't understand how and the depths of his feelings towards Betty. So he killed two birds with one stone.

He would secure that Nicolas wouldn't convince Betty to take away Eco Moda by promising her love and that Nicolas didn't take Betty away from him therefore saving Betty from pain.

I still haven't gotten to those episodes, I have seen them so I'm going off by memory but again, these three minute or five minute scenes give so much information. Fernando Gaitan did a tremendous job with foreshadowing and parallels(also the actors all have so many ticks that identify their moods that it's so fun to watch!) that it's really fun to pick apart these scenes because they have later consequences in the following episodes.

This post is already long enough lol so I will make another post about this same episode.

#armando mendoza #don armando #armando ysblf #analysis of ysblf #ysblf #beatriz pinzón solano #betty ysblf #betty la fea #mario calderon #marcela valencia #nicolas mora

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

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Sneaking Around | Chapter Ten

All of the thoughts went out of Aelin’s head except for one: Rowan was cheating on her. No, they hadn’t specifically said they were exclusive, but Rowan seemed to agree when they discussed his date earlier.

But hold on a minute. Rowan knew she would be here. Is that really something he could forgot? Did he really bring a woman back to the apartment his girlfriend’s in? Rowan isn’t that much of an idiot, she thought.

But why else would he have her - Remelle, she could only assume - clinging to him like that? She was dressed in the shortest dress Aelin had seen in a long while, and her breasts were largely exposed.

All of this raced through Aelin’s brain within a matter of seconds. This was when she saw Rowan turn to her and his expression morph into one not of panic, but relief. Why is Rowan relieved to get caught with some other lady?

Aelin was thoroughly confused at this point. The most she could muster was a raised eyebrow.

Rowan said, “Aelin! I thought you were coming in tomorrow. Sorry, Remelle, I should spend some time with her. I only see her a few times each year.” Aelin had no idea what to say to this, so she kept her mouth shut, eyeing the hand Remelle had on Rowan.

Remelle frowned. “And who is she?” As if Aelin couldn’t hear them.

“This is my cousin. Aelin, meet Remelle.” His eyes widened and he mouthed help.

Aelin summoned a smirk and said, “Rowan dear, catch yourself a girlfriend?” Her voice came out sharper than she had intended.

Rowan quickly said, “No! I mean, Remelle is only here for a little while. She’s heading out now.” He said this with a pointed glare at Remelle.

Remelle scowled. Before she could say anything, Aelin offered in her sweetest voice, “Remelle, you should stay for a little while.” Rowan glowered at her.

Luckily for his sake, the woman shook her head in distaste and walked out without saying goodbye.

“Nice lady,” Aelin commented. “Why, exactly, did you bring her here?”

Rowan sighed and closed the door, taking a seat on the couch beside Aelin, who still hadn’t risen. “I did not bring her here. That woman is a menace. She was trying to seduce me throughout the whole dinner. When I refused, several times, her offer to go back to her place, she insisted on walking me home. I said no but she told me she was staying right next door, which I doubt. Anyways, I figured the easiest option was finding my “cousin” here.”

Aelin smirked. “And what if your cousin was running late?”

“Then I would have had to shove that woman out the door. She doesn’t seem to know what no means.”

A laugh from Aelin turned Rowan’s worn out expression into a scowl. “Is this funny?”

Another laugh. “A little bit, yeah. I kind of wish I had been running late just so I could see you shove her.”

Despite his attempts to remain angry, Rowan laughed too. “You’re a menace too. And how the hell did she become a family friend of the Moonbeams?”

“Gods only know. And you are such a wimp if you couldn’t just say “Go away Remelle.””

“You have no idea how hard it is to deal with her. She was making eyes at me the whole time and what could I say? How do you tell someone you’re not interested when you’re on a date with them?”

Aelin couldn’t stop laughing. “Poor baby, all the women love him.”

Rowan responded, “I wouldn’t call that love, I’d call it issues.”

Aelin giggled. “Can you blame her for not expecting a refusal? She’s very beautiful.”

“You did not just say that. Anyways, looks aside, surely someone’s turned her down before.”

“No one’s turned me down before,” said Aelin with a simpering smile.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Aelin gasped. “Excuse me! I’m desirable. And don’t deny that. You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

Rowan rolled his eyes yet again. He didn’t reply to that, though. “I need to brush my teeth.” He got up and stalked away, giving Aelin a view of the back of his neck, which had reddened. Ha.

When Rowan came out minutes later, Aelin was standing. She walked over and pushed him against the nearest wall. “I’ve been waiting all week to do this. I need to start staying over on the weekdays.”

Rowan chuckled, but that didn’t entirely hide the catch in his breath.

One of Aelin’s hands traced its way down his chest and grabbed his belt. He hadn’t bothered dressing up for Remelle, only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Probably in rebellion of Fenrys’ damned favor.

Aelin unlatched his belt and pulled it off. She unzipped his jeans. Rowan’s breathing was ragged.

Rowan grabbed Aelin’s arms before she could go any further. He spun around and pressed her against the wall where he had been.

Aelin gasped as he pressed his body against hers. Her back arched and her breasts dug into Rowan’s chest. She ground her hips against his. Rowan returned the pressure with equal fervor.

Aelin managed to say, “I think I can forgive you for being a pushover.”

Rowan’s hand roved over her body. “If you spent the evening with that creature, you wouldn’t blame me. Maybe for your insistence to be as rude as possible, I shouldn’t give you what you want.” His hand brushed the apex of her thighs to make his point.

Aelin couldn’t think of anything better to say other than, “Or maybe you should,” as heat pooled inside her.

“What’s the magic word?” Rowan whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

“Prick,” Aelin got out.

Rowan chuckled. “Not quite.” He nibbled her earlobe, drawing a gasp, and his fingers once again traveled south. This time they pressed against where she needed them, dragging a guttural groan out of Aelin.

“You’re an asshole,” Aelin breathed as his hand retreated. Another chuckle.

Rowan wasn’t giving in. He got so close, but every time, his hand stopped when she needed the pressure. She tried to grind against his hand, but he slid it back up. Across her navel, her breasts, her neck. But not where she needed it.

“Please,” Aelin moaned, too far gone to care about her pride anymore.

She could feel Rowan smile against her neck. Then he slid a hand under the waistband on her pants.

Rowan’s fingers worked their magic, reducing Aelin to a trembling mess. She couldn’t even get out coherent words. Rowan’s weight pressing her against the wall was the only thing holding her up as she writhed at his touch.

He slipped a finger inside of her, and then another. In, out, in, out. Aelin shook as she climaxed, held throughout by Rowan. He pulled his fingers out, causing Aelin to hiss.

Rowan murmured against her ear, “Not so smooth now, are you.” She couldn’t bring herself to protest as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

The group gathered at Aedion, Gavriel, and Lorcan’s the next evening.

After a morning with Rowan, Aelin had informed Ansel of the Remelle situation, to which she had laughed her head off. Aelin couldn’t help but join in. She had also mentioned Fenrys’ knowledge of the affair.

The two had driven over in Ansel’s truck, and were now at the door. It was opened to reveal Rowan. He didn’t even live there; perhaps he had just been closest to the door. Whatever the case, Ansel leaned over and whispered “pushover” in his ear as soon as she saw him. Aelin giggled, and then giggled some more as Rowan directed a glare at her.

He muttered something about “immature schoolgirls” and moved aside to let them in.

Most of the others were already gathered on the various seats. Aelin chose a different sofa than last time, and kicked her feet onto Lysandra’s lap.

“So,” Lysandra drawled, “How’s Mystery Man?”

Everyone turned towards them. “Piranhas,” Aelin muttered, not for the first time.

“Who is it, Aelin?” asked Aedion, perched on a stool. She just glowered. “Is it serious?” he demanded.

“Suppose so,” muttered Aelin.

“What, really?” exclaimed Lysandra. “You should bring him to the Christmas party!”

Aelin scowled. “I am.”

“What, no fair!” shouted Elide. “I’m going to my parents’ for Christmas.”

Aelin smirked. “I know.”

Lysandra narrowed her eyes. “Ansel, darling, why do you look so amused? I thought you were going home for Christmas too.” To damned observant.

Ansel grinned. “I know who it is.”

“Ansel,” Aelin growled.

“What? I didn’t say who.” At least she wasn’t making obvious glances at Rowan, who Aelin was trying not to look at.

Everyone was outraged. Geez, Aelin thought. Immature schoolgirls is right.

Ansel chuckled. “I promised not to tell. Fenrys didn’t, though.” Everyone turned their attention to him.

“Hey,” said Fenrys. “I’m not dumb enough to face the fire-breathing bitch-queen’s wrath. I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

“Don’t worry, Elide. I’ll text you when I find out who it is,” Lysandra promised.

“You have to tell me,” said Connall, looking at Fenrys. The twins were also going to their parents’ for the holiday.

Vaughan and Gavriel were also told they would be informed. Because they couldn’t wait another week to find out the latest gossip. Aelin sighed.

“Lorcan, you’ll be here, right?” asked Manon. The two got along because they were very similar people.

“Oh, um,” started Lorcan. “I’m going to Elide’s parents’ with her.”

This caught everyone’s attention. Lysandra, the drama queen of the bunch (actually, they were all drama queens), shouted, “Fuck you two for not telling me! This surely isn’t last minute!”

“This is why we didn’t say anything earlier,” said Elide, sighing. “You people are the nosiest humans in existence. I pity Aelin when you all find out who she’s fucking.”

“Hypocrite!” It was Aelin’s turn to yell. “You’ve been just as nosy as the rest of them. At least I don’t pretend I’m not a busybody.”

Rowan snorted. “You have something to say, Whitethorn?” Aelin growled with a menacing glare.

He smirked. “Nothing.”

Fenrys and Ansel chuckled, aware the two were more than just a couple of people who didn’t get along. The others chuckled as well, used to their arguments.

Aelin didn’t feel like adding fuel to the flames, so she just grunted at Rowan and turned away.

Everyone went around sharing their plans. Aelin, Aedion, Lysandra, Rowan, and Manon would be at the party. Only three people would be finding out about Aelin and Rowan’s relationship, but Aedion and Lysandra were the worst of the bunch, so better to deal with that fallout first. Manon would probably just laugh at them.

The others would all be updated when Lys found out. Aelin called them all a few choice names for the need to know the situation. Even Lorcan. Why the hell Lorcan Salvaterre cared enough, Aelin didn’t know, but he lost all respect from her.

The night ended, and Ansel covered for Aelin by suggesting they go home as Rowan and Fenrys did. Aelin hopped in Rowan’s car as Ansel and Fenrys took her truck back to the women’s apartment. They were now officially dating.

Fenrys and Ansel kept making kissy-faces at the two. “Jackasses,” Rowan muttered as he flipped them off.

Aelin just said, “Look who’s talking. You two better not do it on the couch by the way. I sit on that.”

Ansel and Fenrys reddened at that, letting Aelin and Rowan drive off laughing. “Gods, I was serious though. And the table. I eat there.” Aelin started praying those two kept it in the bedroom.

Rowan chuckled. “Stop worrying. If they sully your furniture, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Not helpful,” Aelin said, scowling. “Ew. There are images in my find. Gods spare me.”

Rowan laughed at her. And off they drove.

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #my writing

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

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Put Me In a Move

Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary Prologue 1 2 3 4 5

Warnings- Angst, Smut/NSFW, light bondage, sensory deprivation, slight dom/sub whipped cream

Chapter 6- Come On, You Know You Like Little Girls.

When Y/n awoke the next morning, her back was stiff and her joints ached. She was curled up on the small sofa in her trailer, the checkered fleece blanket usually thrown over the back now draped over her form and the air-conditioning humming quietly. As she sat up, a soft groan escaped her lips, which felt uncomfortably dry, in dire need of hydration and she had to squint at the light filtering through the thin curtains guarding the two windows on either sides of the trailer.

Dazed and bewildered, Y/n let the blanket slip off her shoulders, she was still dressed in her cropped jeans and striped t-shirt from the evening before, though someone had taken off her shoes. That was when Y/n remembered; her talk with Keanu, the talk that had somehow turned into a kiss and then her falling asleep on his chest.

Vaguely, Y/n also remembered that she'd asked him if he wanted things to go on like that. 'That', in this instance being completely undefined. His answer wasn't one that she could readily recall and Y/n could only assume that he'd left some time during the night, which, arguably was enough of an answer in itself.

But he'd kissed her.

Didn't that mean something?

It did to her.

Using weary fingers, Y/n combed some sleep-disheveled hair out of her face. It was so stupid of her to think that kiss could mean something. Standing abruptly, Y/n barely spent a minute to hastily swipe the fallen blanket off the floor, dumping it to the leather cushions. Blinking quickly, she tried to dismiss her unshed tears and swallowed the bitterness stuck in her throat. Sure, it hurt, but if he was going to just leave without as much as a note, then she was going to act like it never happened.

Of course, immature pettiness got you nowhere, but Y/n thought that she had enough time left of her life to learn the hard lessons. For now, she'd stick to acting like a teenager.

Exhaling deeply, Y/n absently shook her head, hoping the troubling thoughts, the hurt and twinge of regret would just roll off her back. But the last thing stayed, clinging to her even as she headed for the small bathroom, brushing her teeth and then stripping herself for a shower.

How could she have trusted him that easily?

As Y/n stepped under the spray, the water just warming up as it hit her skin, a choked sob fell from her mouth and unable to restrain the emotion for any longer, Y/n finally let the tears fall. How could she have been so naive? Did she think a handful of moments spent together and a kiss would magically make everything okay between them? That he’d ever want more from her than sex? Maybe befriending him in the first place was a mistake, maybe it was time to set things right once and for all.

Spending the rest of the morning holed up in her trailer, wallowing in her misery seemed like the favorable option, but Y/n couldn’t deny that the comforts of a queen size bed and room service were ones that she’d probably appreciate. So instead, she’d pulled on a dress she’d left over as a spare outfit a while ago, finished getting ready and called her driver to come pick her up.

Back at the hotel, she’d kept her head down and her sunglasses on, not in the mood to interact with anyone and hoping to, for just once, successfully avoid Keanu, at least until she’d mustered up the courage to put him in his place. Her dullness slowed her pace though and even as Y/n dragged herself down the hall, eventually passing the door to Keanu’s suite, she couldn’t bring herself to put a little pep in her step to ensure that they didn’t cross paths.

Upon finally reaching the unassuming oak door, Y/n sullenly rummaged through her bag for the key card, sighing softly as she eventually slipped it into the slot, turning the knob and pushing the door open. Everything looked the way she remembered leaving it early the morning before, that was, until Y/n’s feet led her to the living room.

What was he doing there?

How’d he even get in?

The little table near the screen door that opened to the balcony was decked off with a cheerful breakfast spread. The summery colors of berries sparking her attention and the waft of fresh pastries almost had Y/n drooling. The rich aroma of coffee, some of it still in a dainty french press delighted her senses and delicate china was tucked neatly in its designated spot, awaiting use. It looked as if he’d ordered almost every breakfast food he could think of; savory baked goods, fluffy pancakes, golden toast, diced fruits, seasonal berries and even a can of whipped cream. “Ke….” She breathed, unable to manage much more. At least she now knew why he’d left.

“Surprise,” he mused, approaching to slide his hands to her waist, drawing her closer.

Clearly, he remembered something that she didn’t.

“What is all this?” Y/n giggled softly, looking around, cooing at the flowers he’d chosen for the centerpiece, a handful of pink roses, some of them still in bud. “And how’d you get in?”

“Well,” Keanu affectionately pecked the top of her head, easing the bag from Y/n’s shoulder, discarding it on the armchair a few feet away, “It may or may not have taken a bribe to the cleaning lady, her name’s Ester and once you give fifty bucks she’ll give you anyone’s key card, which is worrying, but not the point,” he added lightly before getting back to the story, “And all of this,” he gestured to the spread, “Is kind of my of saying that what I said last night, but better.”

Furrowing her brows, Y/n looked up at Keanu, “Well what did you say last night?”

His mood sobered but the air was still charged with possibility, “I said that, I think that we could try this. I mean, we’re obviously both no good at staying out of each other’s way,” he chuckled nervously, “And I do have feelings for you. I know I’m not good at talking about them, but maybe if we tried to…..”

“Date?” Y/n finished for him.

“Yeah,” Keanu breathed, “Maybe if we dated,” even then, Keanu sounded unsure of if he was saying the right word. It almost sounded dirty; the notion of them dating, what would people think of them? What would they think of themselves? “We could figure it out, see where things go.”

Nodding stiffly, Y/n tried to push down the swell of panic that arose upon his wording. Keanu wasn’t looking for something committed, clearly. And Y/n? She didn’t know what the hell she was looking for. Commitment was obviously hard for her, but something casual could ruin their friendship. But above it all, she did have feelings for Keanu.

What if it was too soon after Luke?

What if she ended up hurting him too?

There were so many ‘what if’s that Y/n probably didn’t have enough fingers to count them. But the feelings were there. That night in his room, the other one in the pool, their kiss; it all meant so much to her. He meant so much to her, maybe he always did.

Keanu looked down at her, his gentle hold on her waist slackening with the worry that she might tell him to go, that he’d misinterpreted the situation and tell him to leave. His intention wasn’t to spring a decision on her, and he didn’t want to force her to return his feelings. Had he overstepped? Were things ruined between them for good that time?

The surge of anxiety was one that Keanu wasn’t expecting and nearly served to knock the wind out of him. He didn’t think that Y/n meant that much to him. But his entire being screamed otherwise, despite his logical mind’s protests. It had only been three months, a few intimate moments, not enough to constitute anything but an awkward friendship, but still, he didn’t want Y/n to reject him.

But he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to get closer either.

One problem at a time.

Keanu didn’t know how to begin to sort that out, and he certainly couldn’t do it there, right when Y/n was looking at him like the prospect of them dating was more unsettling that pretending to have sex with him while she was dating someone else. It stung a little, especially knowing that he’d gone all that way to offer her something to make up for intruding on her time the night before.

He was ready to cut his losses, when finally, a ghost of a smile turned Y/n’s lips, her speechlessness having passed, “I think I would like that,” her smile widened at the sight of his, and Y/n tilted her head, sliding her palms to his biceps, closing the space between them, “Are you sure about this?” Y/n’s hands passed his neck, fingers barely grazing his skin before she had finally had her arms looped around his neck. He liked that, more than he was expecting to. For a minute more, he considered her question; was he sure?

No.

“Yes,” Keanu’s smile wavered, but he hoped Y/n didn’t see it. Drawing her in, he bent to catch her lips, and just like the night before, the world seemed to stop, letting Keanu bask in Y/n’s sweetness.

They moved together, one of his going over Y/n’s, her tongue barely grazing his lower lip, humming quietly at the after taste of a cigarette and black coffee that still clung to him. The tip of his nose brushed the side of Y/n’s face, but she barely felt it. Slowly, Keanu’s hands inched downwards, all the way to her hips, just before circling her body, jerking her closer.

Stumbling forward, Y/n’s breath hitched and Keanu swallowed up her little breathy yelp of surprise. Gradually, the sensuality of their kiss grew, a sweet, tender moment of shared affections quickly grew heady and hungry, mutual desire flowing between them. Keanu's hand slid lower to her ass and emboldened by lust, one of Y/n's petite hands traveled down to cup his growing bulge, the rough denim contrasting with her delicate touch.

"We supposed to be having breakfast," Keanu chuckled, not yet willing for them to break apart.

With a wicked glimmer in her eyes, Y/n broke their kiss, briefly glancing towards the table before leaning over to swipe up the brightly colored can of whipped cream, "We are," beaming, she offered her hand, and intrigued, he took it letting her lead them to the bedroom.

The can was hastily set on top of the nightstand before they took each other in arms again. Y/n's lithe fingers reached for the fastenings on Keanu's pants and just as quickly as they were undone, he pawed at the flimsy plastic buttons of her dress.

By the time they were down to their underwear, Y/n was taking the initiative to shove Keanu to the bed, straddling his waist when he was propped on the pillows, his calloused touch steady at her pelvis, admiring her unrestrained breasts. Her hand closed around the cool tin uncapping it, though just as she was spray some on him, Keanu grabbed her hand and made easy work of hastily flipping their bodies so he was on top, "I'm afraid I don't do that little one," he chortled, low and husky, swiping the whipped cream from her grasp.

Dragging her lower lips through her teeth, the teasing nickname already riling her up, Y/n rolled her eyes, giggling, "I think that's called toxic masculinity."

Raising his eyebrows, Keanu absently shook his head, "I think it means I'm the boss here," he corrected.

Scoffing, Y/n wasn't ready to give in without a little bit of a fight, "Oh yeah? Prove it," she taunted, feeling shivers run down up her spine at the shift in his gaze. The playfulness now gone, replaced with wicked mischief and a darkness that had Y/n licking her lips.

Keanu leaned down, his cotton clad erection brushing her inner thigh. His hot breath fanned her ear, "Oh, I wouldn't mind doing just that," he nipped her ear lobe, "But I'm not sure a little girl like you could handle it."

Y/n's breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened, "You'd be surprised," Y/n bucked her hips, the strip of arousal soaked lace barely touching his skin, "Try me," Keanu pondered on it for a minute, seemingly trying to decide for himself, "Please," Y/n whined seductively, pouting.

Huffing a chuckle, Keanu rose off her a bit, glancing around eventually settling on Y/n, the inkling of an idea urging a smirk to upturn his lips. Skimming her sides, he eventually stopped to tug on the sides of her white panties, peeling them off, “Do you like these?” He hummed, just as Keanu freed her ankles.

“I-” Y/n was going to say that she was actually fond of them, considering the perfectly matched the bra that now laid strewn on the rug a few feet away, when Keanu, looking her straight in her face, ripped the front. The tearing of lace was louder than her gasp and even as Keanu maintained the arrogant twinkle in his eyes, Y/n’s jaw hung slack, not sure if she was bewildered or aroused, “Those…..” were new; she’d gotten them when she went shopping on her afternoon off.

“Be good and we’ll get you new ones,” he winked. By then, with half the crotch now ripped down the front, what was left of Y/n’s underwear now resembled a hasty strip of fabric. Keanu leaned over Y/n, still stationed between her wildly spread legs, capturing her wrists and holding them together, “You okay with this?” He questioned teasingly, pinning them over her head, “Or is it too much yet?”

Huffing, Y/n met his gaze, longing for more, “Do it,” she challenged, “Go ahead.”

“If you say so,” without another word, Keanu tied Y/n’s wrists together, making sure that they were tied tight enough to stay put but not enough to cause any damage. Afterwards, Y/n made light work of testing their strength, a little surprised at how the delicate material held up, the feeling foreign yet strangely encouraging. She’d never been tied up, but so far, she quite liked it. “Hold them over your head and tell me if you want to stop,” thinking for a moment, he continued, “Do you have a scarf?”

“That bag,” she nodded to an open suitcase, “There should be one or a couple you can choose from.” At no haste, Keanu got off the bed, and Y/n admired the way he looked from behind, his back muscles flexing as he dug through her bag, eventually producing a black silk scarf, with pink flowers about it. He took his time, folding it down to the right size before, with her permission of course, tying it over her eyes.

Now deprived of two senses, Y/n’s breathing quickened on for a minute, but she tried to relax. It was okay, she trusted Keanu. After a minute or two, she exhaled quietly, though, his ears still caught it, “You good?”

“Yeah,” she half sang, a breathy smile and rosy cheeks prompting Keanu to continue. Sitting back on his heels, Keanu decided that he’d rather start slowly, to savor the moment, and enjoy the sight of Y/n squirming beneath him.

Angling the can, Keanu sprayed a bit on her lips, immediately going to kiss Y/n, the sugary condiment smearing slightly. Y/n moaned quietly at the taste, responding eagerly when his tongue swirled around hers and when she felt his free hand roaming her body, groping and squeezing where he liked. When Keanu finally pulled away, Y/n gasped, her surprise only growing when he covered her hardened, sensitive nipples with whipped cream.

Keanu took one of her full breasts in his mouth, sucking off the fluffy, white, sweetness which tasted even better now that it was mixed with the taste of her skin. As he teased the tip with his teeth, Keanu’s palm slittered between her thighs, the tips of his fingers grazing her folds, “You're so wet already,” he mused, only raising his head so he could transfer his ministrations to her other boob. Meanwhile, he firmly palmed her pussy, his thumb pressed into her mound, rubbing in circular motions, stirring a string of moans and pleas from Y/n.

The feel of his tongue and teeth teasing her breasts, paired with his touch on her arousal had Y/n longing for more. Part of her wanted to see, but another knew that being blindfolded was half the fun. Her remaining senses were springing to life; she was staring to easily make out the rustling of the sheets, feel the warmth of his mouth while the coolness of the cream and tingling left by his fingers was magnified twofold, “Keanu,” her breath shuddered, her whisper getting lost in the air around them.

“Do you like this babygirl?” A new coolness spread in a line, starting at the center of her cleavage, down her stomach and stopping at her public bone.

“I do,” Y/n’s breath hitched at the feeling of Keanu’s lips once again descending upon her skin, his fingers slipping between her folds, his thumb rubbing her cilt as two of his digits invaded her center, their roughness creating a pleasurable friction.

Slowly, his lips inched lower and lower, until Keanu had reached his destination. Altogether, he stopped for a moment, and Y/n whined in frustration, barely fighting the urge to move her hands and reach out for him. Not long after though, he propped one of her smooth legs on his shoulder and then Keanu ran his tongue up the length of her pussy, extracting a pleasured whine from Y/n. Just barely, she could hear Keanu’s hum of enjoyment as he sucked on her swollen nub, occasionally flicking his tongue over it, shocks dancing their way up her spine and spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her back arched and Y/n tried to buck her hips, the only thing hampering her was one of his hands slayed on her stomach, pinning Y/n to the bed.

“More,” Y/n pleaded frustratedly, her aching need driving her to impatience, “Please Keanu, more.” Keanu didn’t respond, instead, he carried on, frenching her cilt and reintroducing his fingers, curving them slightly to hit the right spots. “Ke…..” she moaned eventually, “I’m close.”

“Do it,” he urged against her cunt, feeling her walls already starting to clench around his fingers, “I want to taste you.” Just at the beginning of her climax, Keanu replaced his fingers with his tongue, letting it work her core and lapping up her release eagerly. Her legs felt boneless and Y/n’s body reverberated with waves of ecstasy, an incoherent version of his name falling off her lips, lost in translation.

She couldn’t see him, but Y/n felt Keanu crawling up her body, “I want you to taste yourself.” Without anything further, he captured Y/n’s lips, stealing her ragged breaths as his tongue slipped past the barrier of her teeth. It was foreign to her, having herself on her lips like that; salty, sweet and strangely erotic.

Shoving off his boxers, Keanu maintained their lip lock even as he lined himself up with Y/n’s entrance, pushing into Y/n until he was sheathed deep inside.

The feeling of having Y/n wet, warm tightness around his hardened cock was unmatched and light years better than Keanu recalled. He groaned loudly into her mouth, taking a minute to let the feeling consume him. Unlike their first night together, he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt; he’d waited too long for that moment, it was his, Y/n was his.

At least for now.

Until she left, like everyone else.

In an effort to push away the turmoil that had just plumed in his lust clouded mind like oil on water, Keanu started moving; slow and aggressive, Y/n’s initial yelps enough to fully shatter his troubling thoughts, encouraging him to look down at her.

Y/n’s bound hands clumsily pawed for fistfuls of the pillow, still eager to follow his instructions, her eyes still covered by the black and pink silk. With each drawn on thrust, the sound of his balls hitting her heated core joined his low, throaty grunts and Y/n’s audible breaths. It all bounced off the walls, maybe even loud enough for the guest in the next room to hear. The ordinarily sturdy bed rocked with them, the cushioned headboard slapping the cool grey wall with a loud thud, the subtle creaking of the frame drowned by everything else.

She looked so good, bound up like that, under his control. Keanu liked that, but still, he wanted, no, needed to see. To meet her gaze every time he stretched her wide, “I need to see you,” he managed through gritted teeth, pushing off her makeshift blind fold, the other still pressed into the mattress next to her head. Keanu watched as Y/n blinked slowly, eyes a little bleary and her pupils dilated, her lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks each time she closed them. Though still, even with their eyes locked, he craved more, “Louder,” he grunted, roughening his pace, using his other hand to steady her hip, “I want everyone to hear you.”

Out of instinct, Y/n continued holding back, even as the roll of his hips reached the point of nearly being assaulting. Only trashy girls screamed, right? It wasn’t in her nature for Y/n to let herself go like that. But it hurt so good. He stretched her so wide it burned and the throbbing veins running along his god-like cock were deliciously rough. Then there was his pace, fast and volatile, unforgiving and completely dominating. No one would have thought that Keanu could go from softie to a nearly violent control freak that quickly, and Y/n was living for it. “Louder,” he demanded, going faster.

Finally, it happened, though it was out of Y/n’s control when she moaned loudly, lolling her head to the side, arching her back. Her mind was a mess and the only thing that Y/n could recognize was that she was being literally fucked senseless. After the first one broke through, Y/n’s loud moans and garbled prayers came freely and already she could feel her second orgasm creeping up on her, “Fuck!” She screamed, absently wriggling her wrists in their bind, the lace bruising her tender skin.

“Who’s fucking you good?” Keanu cocked an arrogant grin, rousing a faint smile of Y/n’s sticky lips in return, “Let them know who’s fucking this little slut good.”

“You!” Was all she managed initially, her petite hands now slipping out of the loosened tie, her ruined panties still hanging from one hand as they both flew to Keanu’s lower back. Her long nails sunk into her skin, like feline claws, stinging pain awakening as Y/n dragged them up his back.

“Who?” He gritted, sounding almost angry, his eyes frenzied and wild, primal desire evident in the dark pools.

“You! You, Keanu!” Y/n screamed scandalously, and for sure, anyone passing by in the hall knew what was happening, “Holy fuck!” The knot in the pit of her belly snapped, the only warnings physical, a second warm gush rushing out between her thighs as her walls clenched around his member. Her legs tangled with Keanu’s thighs going limp and jelly like.

Riding out her high without slowing, his pace growing sloppy as Keanu approached his own climax. Y/n was barely settled when Keanu was pumping hot spurts of creamy cum into her, the bucking of his hips rigid as he grunted her name, accompanied by a string of obscenities.

"Fuck," he breathed, eventually rolling off her. Y/n winced, knowing, but certainly not regretting, that she'd be nursing the soreness for the next few days.

"That was…." A ghost of a bright, dreamy grin tickled her cheeks, "You're…..wow."

Keanu chuckled lowly, glancing at Y/n's sated form beside him, drinking in her disheveled hair and drooping eyes, "I told you." Easing and arm around her shoulders, he reeled Y/n in, letting her settle against the chest.

"You did," she giggled sleepily, too tried to roll her eyes at his confidence. "We have to get to set soon," though, if her tone was any indication, they really wouldn't be leaving that bed before noon.

Keanu yawned, her tire contagious, and it didn't help that sleeping with her on the cramped sofa the night before wasn't particularly refreshing. "We do," he could tell she was already mostly asleep and took the initiative to pull the duvet over them, "But it's not like they're going to start without us," those were the last words that either of them registered before succumbing to sleep, knowing that they were in for one a hell of a clean up before they could leave for work.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fanficsrusz @fickensteinn @ladyreapermc @babygirltaina @septimaseverina @snatchedbylele @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfiction #ff #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #fanfic #fanfiction #john wick #put me in a movie #lana del rey #john wick fanfic

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/08/09/eight-black-women-including-michelle-obama-toni-morrisons-life-legacy/

Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

By Michelle Obama, Esi Edugyan, Sherrilyn Ifill, Sarah Ladipo Manyika, Tayari Jones, Jacqueline Woodson, Michele L. Norris and Leah Wright Rigueur | Published August 09 at 1:30 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 11, 2019 11:47 PM ET |

MICHELLE OBAMA

“We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House.”

The summer after my senior year of high school was a slow one for me. I’d had a cyst removed from my wrist, and a heavy white cast cocooned my forearm up to my elbow. There wasn’t a lot I could do. Sidelined on my parents’ couch in the South Side heat, I picked up a paperback copy of “Song of Solomon.” I hadn’t heard of Toni Morrison yet, so I can’t say I did it because I was curious about her writing, or that I was being purposeful about supporting African American women authors. The truth was, I didn’t know anything about the book. It was simply there in the living room, just like me.

I like to think that this is the way that she would have liked it; that she’d have wanted the tidiness of her prose, the interiority of her characters, the complexity of the stories to stand on their own, away from her growing legend. Toni Morrison understood, you see, that people gravitate to what’s real. And in her writing, the truth was always right there on the dog-eared pages.

For me and for so many others, Toni Morrison was that first crack in the levee — the one who freed the truth about black lives, sending it rushing out into the world. She showed us the beauty in being our full selves, the necessity of embracing our complications and contradictions. And she didn’t just give us permission to share our own stories; she underlined our responsibility to do so. She showed how incomplete the world’s narrative was without ours in it.

It’s a thread running through “Beloved” and “Sula” and “The Bluest Eye” and all of her work — that black stories, particularly the stories of black women and black girls, are worthy of examination and celebration. Again and again, she was unapologetic about that fact, deliberate in proving that our stories are rich and deep and largely unexplored. We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House. And on their own, our stories are more than enough to inspire a Nobel laureate.

In the years since that slow, scorching summer on the couch, I’ve read “Song of Solomon” twice more, cover to cover — once as a young professional and once more as a young mother. Each reading has revealed new lessons that accompany my own changing perspective as I’ve grown and evolved. Each reading also serves as a reminder of the patience and rigor she demands. I often find myself reading and rereading passages multiple times in order to uncover her secrets. But that work is part of what makes the act of reading her so special; that at times, you have to earn her wisdom.

I’m sure that someday I’ll pick up “Song of Solomon” again and see what new lessons it has for me at this new stage in my life, now that my own girls are off writing their own songs. That’s perhaps the best thing about Toni Morrison. It will never really matter how many years have passed since her novels were first published. The words may have been new when she wrote them, but the truth behind them wasn’t. She was simply uncovering the beauty that was always there.

Michelle Obama is the former first lady of the United States and the author of “Becoming.”

ESI EDUGYAN

“In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth-teller.”

In 1998, when I was an undergraduate at the University of Victoria, my father sent me a parcel. I’d gone there to study writing, and I was still reeling at the impossibility of it — still feeling myself an imposter, astonished that someone like me could even begin to think of herself as a writer. A parcel was an unusual gesture on my father’s part — we weren’t particularly close, and the weight of the package suggested more than a short letter. I opened the slender manila envelope to discover a copy of Time magazine bearing Toni Morrison’s portrait, a sticky note hastily pasted over it. My father’s scrawl read, simply, “Thought you might enjoy this.”

I could not have expected how much this simple, thoughtful gesture would change my whole sense of myself.

I had, of course, heard of Toni Morrison; when she won the Nobel Prize in 1993, I remember attempting to read “Tar Baby,” but I was young and unpracticed, 15 years old, and it was not a book for my immature sensibility. My father’s parcel sent me back to her work as a young woman — and, more important, as a budding writer — and what I found there shook me.

It seems we all have these stories — when we first discovered her work, how profoundly it marked us. For a generation of black female writers in particular, she was crucial, the one without whom nothing would have been possible. Her work spoke of our lives and directly to us, and it was also universal. She gave us the permission of visibility; she said, as much with the fact of her body as with her stirring prose, that lives that had rarely been acknowledged in serious literature without ridicule or censure not only mattered but also were a central part of the Western story. She looked directly and sometimes mercilessly at the choices of the vulnerable and at the powerful who profited off that vulnerability, and she allowed the inevitability of their tragedies to play out in ways that sometimes left us outraged or wounded, but never indifferent.

She wrote of black life in all its complexity, quarreling with the notion that the “black experience” was a single monolithic thing. She spoke as honestly about the marginalization of black people within the larger fabric of American society as about the ways black communities can fracture and sometimes turn against themselves. No one, it seemed to me, had written as soberly about the pain of colorism, about how absent fathers can derail a life, about the ways that class and gender complicate race. She dragged into the light issues plaguing lives that until then had rarely been discussed in the mainstream.

But her concerns were universal, and Morrison spoke about how thwarted desires, both grand and small, can utterly destroy a life. She was never instructive, nor was she relentlessly dark — there was always lightness, both in her touch and in her insistence on an essential human goodness. She was deeply moral without being moralizing.

And all this was written in a prose as exacting and exquisite as anything that has ever been set to paper. To read Morrison aloud is to revel in the astonishing musicality of the English language (which in these days of Twitter and Facebook is easy to forget). Her phrases were touched by the cadences of black dialects, but also by Homer and the King James Bible. I remember hearing her described as a “black Faulkner.” And yes, she did share William Faulkner’s almost alien reach with language, but she was sui generis, entirely her own creation. In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth teller.

Esi Edugyan is the author of “Half-Blood Blues” and “Washington Black.”

SHERRILYN IFILL

“The ‘word’ she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity.”

I always marvel when I see people reading Toni Morrison on the subway or on planes. When I read her, I am conscious that at any moment, her writing can, without warning, bring me to my knees, and provoke an embarrassing, emotional response I’d rather not have witnessed by strangers. This happened to me while reading “Home,” Morrison’s 2012 novel about a young man who returns to his hometown to save his sister Cee Money and reconcile them both to long-held family secrets.

As Cee recovers from abuse she suffered at the hands of a sadistic doctor, she is forced to address the profound issues of abandonment that made her vulnerable to abuse. Cee explains to one of the older women taking care of her that she was unloved by her mother and raised instead by a disapproving grandmother. Cee’s belief that she is unworthy of love has left her unable to protect herself. She gets no platitudes or sympathy in response. Her caretaker tells Cee that her emotionally impoverished childhood reflects her mother’s deficiency, not her own. Cee realizes that her mother should have cherished her and told her, “You my child. I dote on you. ... You born into my arms. Come on over here and let me give you a hug.”

Reading those words I unexpectedly burst into tears and wept for 20 minutes. Not tears of grief for Cee, but tears of gratitude for my own mother who, it suddenly and earth-shatteringly occurred to me, had done precisely this for me in the five short years we had together. Dying of cancer, and with nine other children who needed her love and attention, she managed to give her youngest the experience of unconditional, doting love that gave me an unshakable sense of my own worth, which I carry to this day. This is essential armor, Morrison tells us, that women need to meet the inevitable challenges to our self-esteem that we will confront in our lives.

I am also a huge fan of Morrison’s nonfiction work. Her 1992 volume about the issues of race and gender in the Clarence Thomas Supreme Court confirmation hearings was literally a bible for those who were shattered by that weeklong televised drama. She understood that to process what was for so many of us a kind of traumatic national event, we needed, as she wrote in her introduction, “perspective, not attitudes; context not anecdotes; analyses not postures.” She was there to help, assembling a “who’s who” of African American scholars who could situate this dramatic and devastating event into the framework of our historical and contemporary race and gender struggles.

And we cannot forget that Morrison’s voice was its own body of work. She was a kind of a preacher. Her interviews and speeches are mesmerizing. And the “word” she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity. When you listened to her, you believed that these were unmovable, nonnegotiable truths to which each one of us is entitled, because she so effortlessly embodied them.

Toni Morrison — who, it seemed, was always there — is gone. In her tribute to James Baldwin, Morrison wrote, “You gave us ourselves to think about, to cherish.”

This was also the gift she gave to us. Rest in power.

Sherrilyn Ifill is the president and director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund.

SARAH LADIPO MANYIKA

“I remember how we laughed.”

When I heard that Toni Morrison had died, I walked to a church in Peckham, South London, and sat on an empty bench outside. I wanted quiet, but I also yearned for the church bells to ring out in celebration of a mighty writer whose voice rang clearly in my head.

I remember that Easter Saturday, in 2017, when I spent an afternoon in Toni’s home — and she said to call her Toni. She told us about the novel she was working on. She planned to call it “Justice.” I remember how she sat straight-backed and magnificent in black trousers, caftan and woolen cap, waiting for the interview to begin.

She said in “Justice,” there was a slave owner named Goodmaster who made his slaves call themselves Goodmaster. The slaves kept the detested surname to make it easier to find each other in later generations. Three of the descendants would be her characters. She’d named them Courage, Freedom and Justice. I remember thinking we have not yet emerged from this struggle and wondering whether she completed “Justice” and whether justice can ever be complete.

When, in the course of our interview, I mentioned James Baldwin, she sighed lovingly and called him “Jimmy.” I remember what she wrote of him in the wake of his death — of his gifts to her of tenderness, courage and language. She, too, gave us these gifts, especially the courage to write our stories without a care for anyone’s gaze.

I remember her Nobel Lecture and the lines I had committed to memory: “Language can never ‘pin down’ slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity, is in its reach toward the ineffable.” In that lecture, she told the parable of an old woman, and I remember the intensity of the questions the woman is asked. “Tell us what it is to be a woman so that we may know what it is to be a man. What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that cannot bear your company.” Toni wrote that in 1993 — it could have been written in 2019.

I visited her guest bathroom that Easter Saturday and found it filled with photographs of writers I had long admired — Wole Soyinka, Gabriel García Márquez, Baldwin — and a letter from the Nobel Committee announcing its decision to award Morrison its highest honor. There was also a “Publication Denial Notification” outlining why Morrison’s novel “Paradise” was banned from Texas correctional facilities for fear of “inmate disruption such as strikes or riots.”

I remember just how much she made us laugh that day. I asked her what President Barack Obama had whispered to her after presenting her with the Presidential Medal of Freedom and being surprised when she said she didn’t remember. I realized later that she, the master storyteller, was simply explaining that when one is in awe of someone, what stays in the memory is not what is said but how it is said. It was her son who later asked Obama what he had whispered into his mother’s ear. “I love you,” Obama answered.

I remember at the end, telling her that my son wanted to know her secret to writing so well. “Tell him I’m a genius,” she smiled. I remember how we laughed.

Sarah Ladipo Manyika is a British-Nigerian novelist and author of “Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to The Sun.”

TAYARI JONES

“She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path forward.”

People often ask me what Toni Morrison has meant to me as a writer. No novelist has influenced me more. I tip my hat to her in some way in each of my novels. In my latest, my hero is from the town of Eloe, the fictional hometown of Son, the troubled hero of “Tar Baby.” I make these gestures as an homage to the greatest writer of our time but also as a gesture of gratitude to the woman whose wisdom helped me understand my real life, the one I live in private, off the page.

Morrison wrote novels that gave us cautionary tales on life and love, but she also modeled the way forward. These stories nudge us away from respectability in favor of true respect for ourselves, and each other. She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path. Her moral compass was impeccable and her intellect peerless. Her ear for the poetry, beauty and brilliance of African American language lifted us, reminding us that we are marvelous — anytime we open our mouths to speak.

Tayari Jones is a professor of creative writing at Emory University and the author of four novels, including “Leaving Atlanta” and “An American Marriage.”

JACQUELINE WOODSON

“Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors.”

I’m in Morocco and the emails, texts and WhatApps come at me: Toni Morrison has moved on to the next place. Weeks before, I’d spoken to some friends who’d told me that she was close to this transition, but a part of me thought, Aren’t we all? Isn’t each one of us living in this moment with all its madness, beauty and despair, knowing that at the end of this is death? Death and whatever we believe of what comes after.

And still …

What I know now — and have known for some time — is how fortunate I am to be walking through the world at this particular moment in time.

When I first read “The Bluest Eye,” I was a fifth- or sixth-grader. It was one of very few books on the shelves of our Brooklyn apartment. We could not afford shelves lined with books and depended on the neighborhood library for our weekly dose of new narratives. But the cover of my mother’s book had caught my eye — a photograph of a black woman dressed as a child and holding a white doll.

I despised this cover. And I was fascinated by it. A slow reader, I read through “The Bluest Eye” with my finger moving beneath the words. I remember being captivated by the story — so many people walking through it were like people walking through my own life. When I picked up the book again in high school, I would remember it as having a happy ending. I remembered Pecola Breedlove’s wish for blue eyes had come true and everyone lived happily ever after.

And for many months after reading “The Bluest Eye” for the second, third, fourth time, I was certain that Morrison had written two versions of the novel — one for children and one for adults. The adult version was stunningly heartbreaking. The children’s version — what was that? Something I could grasp parts of. Hold on to.

“The Bluest Eye” was an awakening for me. Already, I wanted to write. Already, I wanted to show and see representations of the people I loved on the page. Decades later, as an adult when I heard Rudine Sims Bishop talk about the importance of books being mirrors and windows for the reader, I’d realize that Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors. And windows. In the lives of the people she brought to the page, I began to see parts of myself in the world — reflected, legitimized, loved.

And so here I am now. Here we all are. Toni Morrison as light, as way, as ancestor. And the many writers she has left in her wake, and the many writers coming after, and those after them, will hopefully always know this: that because of her, we are.

Jacqueline Woodson, the author of “Harbor Me” and “Brown Girl Dreaming,” lives in Brooklyn.

MICHELE L. NORRIS

“I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence.”

My heart went to her words, but my mind went straight to her voice.

Perhaps because I worked so long in radio, it was her voice that washed over me when the news flash rolled in announcing that Toni Morrison had joined the ancestors. Her voice was as measured and magisterial as the words she put on the page. It had the quality of music, in the way that an artist can take a single note from a single instrument and make it hang in the air like tendrils of cigar smoke, move it back and forth like an old porch swing or send it drifting toward the moon like an owl in flight.

I imagine that many people reached for her books in their moment of grief. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence — because she used silence as a kind of punctuation, pausing when she spoke to let her words sink in, long pauses to give you a moment to sop up her wisdom or perhaps in her own mind to say, “Mmm, that sounded good.”

Morrison’s speaking voice was low and feathery and playful, which is a bit of a conundrum because her writing voice cut like a knife — straight to the bone — examining the physical, spiritual and soul-crushing wounds of race and racial hatred.

I’ve interviewed Morrison several times and, though the books we discussed were always drenched in pain and heartbreak, the interviews felt like a visit to a juke joint. At a 2015 event, I asked her to begin our chat with a reading from a section of what was then her latest release, “God Help the Child.” She chose a passage that described her character Bride — a statuesque, dark-skinned woman dismissed as ugly by her parents and teachers and just about everyone else — as she discovers that she possesses a kind of magnetic power over men. A young Morrison had studied theater and you could hear the training as she danced through her prose. I looked out over the audience and several hundred people had their eyes closed in a trance. You could hear in Morrison’s voice how much she valued her own words. You could hear how much she valued black life.

I loved her voice, but I am most grateful for how she used it. She changed the publishing industry in the United States. That is not hyperbole. She was known as the “black editor” at Random House, and she wore the title like a badge of honor, using her perch to knock down doors previously closed to black writers. She edited Angela Davis, Chinua Achebe, Gayl Jones and Toni Cade Bambara.

She used that voice to encourage young writers and she challenged booksellers to stop placing even best-selling black authors in the black book section that was always — always — in some hard-to-find back corner of the store. And when she herself became a best-selling author, she used her voice to reject the notion that being a black writer was a subgenre of high literature. “Reject” is almost too soft a word. She was asked time and time again if she chafed at the term “black writer” or whether she would ever consider centering white characters in her work — and with a smile on her face, she flicked that off her shoulder, flung it to the floor and stomped on it with an elegant grace. “The inquiry comes from a position of being in the center and being used to being in the center and saying is it ever possible that you will enter the mainstream,” she once said.

She shot past the mainstream and elevated the highest levels of literature with her own language on her own terms. “I stood at the edge and claimed it as central,” she said. “Claimed it as central. And let the rest of the world move over to where I was.”

Michele L. Norris is a former host of NPR’s “All Things Considered” and the founding director of the Race Card Project.

LEAH WRIGHT RIGUEUR

“Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind.”

When I was 10 years old, I borrowed my mother’s copy of “The Bluest Eye.” I was a gluttonous reader, consuming every book I could get my hands on. But that’s not why I chose Toni Morrison’s book.

I had seen my mother, my aunts and their friends reading Morrison’s work. I listened silently, watching as they praised, argued and even gossiped over the layers and textures of Morrison’s words and stories. I wanted to be a part of that — not simply as a witness, but as part of their congregation, offering up my own testimony.

Reading Morrison’s words for the first time made my chest and my throat ache. It took me months to finish as I struggled to process the story. It was so different from anything I’d read. It was rawer, more precise and more cutting, but it was also so much freer. I couldn’t articulate it then (and even now, I struggle to do so), but I certainly could feel Morrison’s words. Her prose made me feel seen, visible. I could feel Morrison writing to me, about me, as she documented the rhythms of black girlhood and the fullness of black community in America, in all its joy and trauma. She loved black people so thickly that it pulsated through her prose.

Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind. The ideas and lessons linger — sometimes as a caress, other times as a slap. I have birthed two children in my life, and each time, Morrison’s words from “Beloved” emerged instinctively to haunt and comfort me: “Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t no love at all.”

When I was a graduate student at Princeton University in the early 2000s, one of my most potent memories is of sitting in on Cornel West and Eddie Glaude’s class on the black intellectual tradition; on this day, our guests were Morrison, the actress Phylicia Rashad and Jay-Z (Shawn Carter). Turning to Carter, West asked the rapper to comment on his musical catalogue, his lyrics and race in America. Jay-Z vigorously shook his head, laughed and responded: “Why should I talk when Toni Morrison is here? She’s the one who taught me. I need to learn from her.” The room broke out in laughter born from a shared understanding that Morrison was our translator, our teacher, our literary great, our canon.

Long before I became a professional historian, Morrison put me through a masterclass in doing history imaginatively, reassuring me that the careful excavation of stories that unapologetically center black life and community was, and still is, a revolutionary act, especially for a black woman in America. “I write what I have recently begun to call village literature,” she once noted. “Fiction that is really for the village, for the tribe. … I think long and carefully about what my novels ought to do. They should clarify the roles that have become obscured; they ought to identify those things in the past that are useful and those things that are not; and they ought to give nourishment.” Morrison told us to explore that which is foreign, and to wrestle with both the beautiful and the horrifying parts of blackness, and to do it with clarity, love and empathy. She constantly reminded us that writing us “whole,” in all our intricacies and silences, was a necessary part of freedom. She leaves a legacy of limitless possibility, for our community, our liberation and for us: “The vitality of language lies in its ability to limn the actual, imagined and possible lives of its speakers, readers, writers.”

Leah Wright Rigueur teaches 20th-century American history and politics at Harvard University.

Diana Ejaita is an illustrator and textile designer based in Berlin.

#politics #u.s. news #us: news #international news #must reads #world news #obama #obama legacy #michelle obama #entertainment #arts and entertainment #toni morrison #sunday reads #women authors #favorite authors #female authors #african american

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misssophiachase · 6 years

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Merman Trouble

(1) Caroline realized too late that the merman in her pool was more stubborn than she realized.

Thanks to the talented Julie aka @supremeuppityone for a few different (and crazily fun) drabble prompts, here’s the first (if I get inspiration that Midnight Train to Georgia one might get written too!) This is my first merman type drabble and I made up my own rules, so be kind! Also it’s soulmate week for #klarolinecountdown so get onto it everyone!

Once Caroline finally realised the loud banging on her door wasn’t part of her dream she woke up with a start.

“I know you’re in there, Caroline,” she growled, wishing she had a nice, normal neighbour and not the screaming eighty year-old banshee that liked to complain about the most miniscule of things. She wondered what her problem would be this morning, she just just hoped it wasn’t the way she packed her garbage can again.

“Mrs Mangle,” she groaned by way of a greeting before attempting a brief smile. Her neighbour looked at her appearance critically. Of course, she wan’t looking her best in a singlet and short combination with her hair sticking up in all different directions. She had to get to the front door before the old lady broke it down.

“Caroline,” she muttered, finally lifted her gaze to eye level. “I have to say I’m not really surprised about your appearance after your activities last night.”

“My activities?”

Caroline thought back to the sole glass of red wine she drank while devouring the latest Netflix romantic comedy before retiring to bed at the wholesome hour of 9pm. Katherine had texted begging her to meet her at the newest club in the city but work had kicked her ass and a night at home was just what she needed to recover.

“Your all night pool party, don’t play dumb with me,” she hissed, shaking her wrinkled hand in her direction for extra effect. “It was extremely loud and I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

“Pool party?” Caroline asked again, completely dumbfounded.

Yes, she had a pool, which was strange given she’d been afraid of the water since she was an infant and never swam. But even if she did, given it was mid winter, the last thing she’d feel like doing was taking a dip.

“I’ve been very patient with you,” she added and Caroline would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t thinking about this mysterious pool party. The old woman was no doubt losing it, but she figured poking the bear wasn’t what she needed. “The least you could do is respect the people who have to live near you.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Mangle,” she uttered, trying to sound the slightest bit genuine as she said it. “I have this crazy desire to jump into freezing water in the middle of winter, what can I say?” She didn’t even crack a smile. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She was gone before too long and Caroline leaned her head against the front door thinking Mrs Mangle truly had lost her marbles. If there was a pool party happening at her house she would have heard. Right? She was a deep sleeper, Bonnie liked to joke that she could sleep through a hurricane.

She made her way towards the back door thinking she must be losing her marbles to be checking up on such a preposterous story. What she found was completely unexpected. Water covered the entire deck and she could make out a splashing noise coming from the pool.

She searched madly for some kind of weapon, her mace was unfortunately in her purse and the nearest thing she could get her hands on was a broom. She made her way slowly towards the noise, wondering just what she was going to do with a broom.

“Took your time,” a perfect English accent murmured from the shallow end of the pool. She turned around, noticing a rather wet but also delectable guy sitting on the steps regarding her lazily. His crimson lips curved slightly activating a mystery dimple in the process. At least her pool party intruder was attractive. “You know, you didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“How did you get down there so fast?” She asked, self consciously running her hand through her knotted waves.

“Let’s say I’ve got this swimming thing down, love,” his bare chest was just screaming for attention from this vantage point.

“Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in my swimming pool?” She demanded, remembering he was an intruder and raising her broom, albeit shakily.

“Gotta say the whole broom thing isn’t having the desired effect,” he chuckled, easing himself further into the pool, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Says the weirdo who is swimming laps in my pool in the middle of winter?”

“I resent that assessment.”

“What? That’s it’s winter or that you’re swimming laps?”

“The weirdo part.”

“Funny, I thought that was the most correct assumption,” she drawled. “Would you just get out of my pool!”

“But I like it here,” he grinned, moving closer and resting his sexy stubbled chin on the edge.

“My crotchety neighbour thinks I was having an all night pool party,” she hissed, hoping she wasn’t eavesdropping. At least the trees provided some visual cover.

“Always a stickler for the rules aren’t you, sweetheart?” He laughed. “It’s funny how everything comes together when you finally meet your soulmate.”

“Excuse me?” She scoffed. Could this day get any weirder? “I think the cold water has gone to your head, or maybe it’s hypothermia?” For some reason, instead of feeling afraid she was actually concerned about this ass. She wasn’t quite sure what had come over her. “Maybe you should get out of the water.”

“Or what? You’ll attack me with that broom?”

“If you’re lucky,” she shot back.

“And that feisty wit,” he shared. “I knew you’d be beautiful and intelligent but all of these quirks just make me love you even more, Caroline.”

“Okay, buddy,” she warned, finally relinquishing the broom. “It’s time to get you out of this pool and to a hospital and I’m not talking about a regular one. And how do you even know my name?”

“I love how protective you are,” he smiled teasingly while evading the question and Caroline was trying to ignore the slight wobble in her legs. “But if you insist.”

Before she knew what was happening he’d jumped out of the pool, Caroline not completely upset if he happened to be naked. What she got she wasn’t prepared for as a long silvery tail emerged from the water behind him. “What the hell is that?”

“No need to be so hysterical, Caroline, I can explain.” As he looked up at her from the poolside, Caroline was playing through all plausible options in her mind.

“I know, it’s a costume, right?” Not only did this guy have a love for mid winter swimming but also a fetish for playing dress-up. “It’s a little late for Halloween but each to their own. You’re a mermaid, right?”

“Seriously,” he snorted. “Do I have red hair and answer to the name Ariel? The technical term is merman. And not that you cared to ask but my name is Klaus.”

Suddenly she felt dizzy, and not just from the whole merman concept. She knew that name almost as well as her own given it was etched on her left wrist. When she was old enough to understand what it said, Caroline had asked her mother. She’d fed her some silly excuse which for some reason she bought deciding to blame that on her immaturity at the time.

“You know me, don’t you?” He whispers. “Like I know you.” He held up his right wrist, her name written in neat cursive on it.

“What is happening?” She breathed, sitting beside him unable to support her own weight anymore.

“Maybe we should start again,” he smiled, obviously sensing just how overwhelmed she was. “Hi, I’m Klaus. I like swimming in girl’s pools and long walks on the beach at sunset.”

“How do you manage that whole walking thing?”

“I’m a merman, Caroline,” he explained. “But I’m half human, just like you....”

“Hang on,” she put up her hand to stop him from continuing. “Back it up, I’m what now?”

“A mermaid.”

“That’s impossible, I don’t even like the water,” she scoffed. Thinking this guy was on some kind of drugs.

“Because your mother made you think you were,” he insisted. “She wanted you to be human and only human so as to avoid any scandal.”

“But I shower...”

“As much as I love visualising that particular scenario,” he quipped, earning an annoyed eye roll for his trouble. “You need to trigger your mermaid side in the sea first.”

“This is crazy,” she growled. “I’m calling the police to have you committed.” She stood up, attempting to walk back inside when she felt his hand gaze hers. “What the hell?”

He was standing now in full human form, completely butt naked. She wasn’t quite sure where to look first. To say he was a moving feast was an understatement. “How much do you know about your father, Caroline?”

She shook her head knowing her mother had always been coy about his identity whenever she asked questions. “Nothing.”

“Well, how about I tell you a story then,” he implored, his blue eyes penetrating hers.

“How about we get you some clothes first, I don’t need any more distractions,” she murmured, noting his excited smirk. “And before you get any Splash fantasies that we’re going to fall in 80s love together like Darryl Hannah and Tom Hanks you’ve got another thing coming, mister.”

“Splash?”

“It’s a movie.”

“Maybe you can show me sometime,” he grinned, following her dutifully inside knowing that resistance was futile, they were soulmates after all.

#merman trouble #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #thanks julie #supremeuppityone #this was so much fun #klarolinecountdown #soulmates

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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 6 years

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Killer Queen

Summary: There’s a new recruit at the Barn, not something very interesting for Mitch. But this time, it’s different. What makes an insolent, impolite and inattentive girl so special? That’s what everyone is wondering. And especially. Why is she always listening to music?

Word Count: 6677

Fandom: American Assassin

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

A/N: This is it! The first part of my entry for @inkstiles writing contest with the prompt Teach Me! Yeah, you heard me right, first part! Second part is already in the process of being written! This is also my first story written in the third pov. And I tried changing my writing style a little, maybe you’ll notice it?

A HUGE THANKS to @honeymoonmuke . If this fic is awesome, it’s thanks to Hannah who helped me with it. She kindly took more than 3 days to check it all, help me with my mistakes, made suggestions of better sentences’ formulations because everyone knows English isn’t my first language so sometimes it’s really hard. I hope y’all like this chapter, I sure do!

All the songs mentioned are from Queen and the names of the songs are in the fic. I strongly recommend listening to this group. Ah, and this is partially based on the movie Baby Driver. If you saw it, you’ll understand! If no, it’s a movie I recommend!

psa: I don’t think y’all are familiar with Queen. But there’s a song called Killer Queen and the meaning of the title will be revealed in a further chapter!

Nobody knew why the bosses had decided to accept it. Why a person like her could have been sent here. What the CIA could see in her, this girl no higher than three apples and no heavier than a few wet pounds. What a totally immature and disrespectful child who paid no attention to what was happening around her could do well at Orion’s training camp. There must have been something, a very important hidden talent behind her imperturbable and fixed in a mask of mute neutrality face. She must have something special. But the worst thing was that no one seemed to notice a certain detail, because everyone was too absorbed and excited by the new female presence at the camp.

Almost all the recruits had their noses planted against the glass to watch the new girl that had just arrived, Irene Kennedy by her side speaking with Stan, the latter having his back turned to the house. She had her hands in her pockets and swayed from one foot to the other, staring at the veteran who was talking to her without really seeing him, white threads connecting her ears to an electronic device emitting music only she could hear. The new rookie always and constantly listened to music.

Mitch noticed it. While everyone was salivating through the window, he was watching silently from afar.

Everybody was wondering why she was here, why now, who was she and they whispered like unruly kids as soon as they could about the new recruit. A girl, besides, it was a first time at the Barn. The men were starting to get out of control, and even a man like Mitch Rapp could notice it. In the dormitory where all the recruits slept, a smell of testosterone hovered, the obvious and displaced desire of these stupid guys who supposedly also had talent.

Luckily, the new girl didn’t sleep in the men’s room. Irene or Stan must have planned everything. This was what a certain young man was thinking about, lying in the uncomfortable bed that furnished most of the large room. Mitch had an arm behind his head and stared blankly at the ceiling - not seeing it due to the dark that riddled the room. His thoughts always returned to the girl. In spite of himself and even if he promised himself to never be interested in anything other than his revenge, he couldn’t help wondering what had brought her here. Like him and the others, she had to have good reasons - and good skills to have been chosen by the CIA to integrate the secret program of recruiting.

Mitch got into his bed and turned over with a sigh. He was surprised when the usual image of Katrina dying in front of him didn’t materialise as he closed his eyes to sleep. It had become routine for him - every night since her death, he’d pictured her, her dying screams rattling through her ears. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing her last moment that it shocked him when he didn’t see her and instead saw the new recruit.

Mitch made a choice then, with the unfamiliar features of the new recruit floating through his mind. He decided to pay close attention to the girl. She was hiding something - she had to be.

Running several kilometers in the forest very early in the morning wasn’t something new for anyone. Arriving on time at the starting line was an order, a rule that no one could ever break. If a recruit couldn’t get up one morning for any reason, he was fired. No pay, no goodbye, he had to pack up and leave. No one was an exception and Mitch was always the first to be on the line. So obviously today was no exception; he was the first to arrive.

Mitch waited for all the other recruits to join him, like every other morning. However, this morning was different, and everyone felt it. There was a tension hanging in the air, and it was surely leftover from the arrival of the girl. His body was tense and he glanced to each side quite frequently, waiting for her to arrive, but there was no sign of the girl in sight. The commanders made their usual inspection and gave orders to do the usual 50 push-ups before the start of the race.

“You’re late!”

Mitch’s arms contracted and froze in the position he was in, his face so close to the ground that his breath caused some grains of earth that weren’t frozen on that cool morning to scatter, the mist coming out of his mouth with each breath confirming the low temperature. He turned his head slightly to see a new person who arrived and recognized her immediately. She was at the other end of the line but his dark eyes didn’t miss her arrival, nor the shouting she received for her tardiness. Mitch shuddered. He could practically feel all of the recruits’ desperation as they yearned to know if the girl who had just arrived was going to be fired already.

“Oh, that’s right. We didn’t introduce you,” the supervisor said loudly enough and in a tone so dry that everyone could hear his words. “Get up! ”

Under the sudden order, all the recruits stopped their push ups and got up, ready to hear the rest since everyone was curious to see what was going to happen. Now standing, Mitch could have a better view of the girl.

She was wearing large gray joggings that were too big for her, her hands hiding in the pockets. Despite the chilly weather, she wore only a black t-shirt. Her hair was tied in a ponytail that had obviously been made quickly; rebellious locks were falling on her shoulders. And, of course, her headphones were buried in her ears.

“It’s not my job to criticize Hurley’s choice to accept a girl in our ranks,” the supervisor continued, walking in front of everyone with a stiff gait, his burning gaze grazing everyone. “But whatever. It’s like that, so we deal with it.” He spat on the ground in front of Mitch’s feet who didn’t flinch, his eyes continuing to fix the void in front of him until the supervisor passed so he could watch the girl again. “There is no exception for girls. However.”

The supervisor stopped in front of the girl who was staring at him from the beginning, her eyes placed directly in his. And she never looked down.

“The new ones can have a second chance.” He detailed the girl from top to bottom and raised an eyebrow. “You can all thank Y/n…” he insisted on her name echoing in the forest, a name Mitch repeated mentally, “for what will follow. Everyone, 100 push ups more. And the nice lady too.” His attention turned to the girl again, his brows furrowed. “And you didn’t even hear a fucking thing I said huh, with your earphones …” He lazily pointed at the white threads attached to her ears. “I don’t know why they let you wear that and I don’t care. ON THE GROUND!”

All of them went to the ground, some grumbling their discontent towards Y/n, while others, like Mitch, fell silent and began to work. A last glance away from the ground allowed him to see the girl placed in position, going up and down with her little arms that were strong and steady.

Everyone, including Mitch, wondered if there was music in her ears since she could understand the superior’s orders. Perhaps it was the loud and aggressive voice of the man shouting at her that had allowed her to understand, or simply that her music wasn’t playing loudly.

But the truth was different. And no one could know.

Almost all of the recruits had begun running, already done with their push ups. Everyone? No. A rookie was staying behind, running around on the same spot, a white, old-fashioned electronic device in her hand as she looked in her playlist for a song… No, the song that would allow her to run and surpassed everyone who had taken the lead. Her y/e/c eyes scanned the screen quickly as her finger scrolled through the songs, not hearing the screams of her superior shouting about her lack of participation. But she didn’t care more than that because her thumb had stopped moving, having found the perfect song. If she could have had any facial expression, Y/n would have smiled while reading the name of the song when she pressed play, the much loved and expected melody pouring into her ears. As soon as her head was invaded, her closed eyes reopened and she started to mouth the words.

Empty spaces - what are we living for

Abandoned places - I guess we know the score

On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for…

Her arms went up in the air, ignoring the glances of judgment thrown her way. The lyrics lived in her and running just didn’t matter when Freddy Mercury’s voice sounded so sweetly in her ears.

Another hero, another mindless crime

Behind the curtain, in the pantomime

Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore

Y/n still hadn’t started running and the supervisors had gathered around her, continuing to threaten that the consequences would be worse than an expulsion on the first day. Disturbed in her song by the shouting, the rookie suddenly turned her head towards the supervisor and stared at him without saying anything, the music continuing to make his words unintelligible. Feeling that the chorus was coming, Y/n raised her hand to the supervisor, her face usually expressionless showed a little mocking smile when she finally raised her middle finger, taking her action as a cue.

The show must go on,

The show must go on

Inside my heart is breaking

My make-up may be flaking

But my smile still stays on.

Transported by the music, her heels planted in the frozen ground and left visible traces of her passage. Her legs went into action, one step after another separated from a great distance, making her catch up. Nothing could stop her when music made her body feel alive, the sound in her head giving her heart a new motivation. Soon, the surroundings became a mere unimportant color around her, her breathing beginning to burn her chest. Heel, foot, bend the knee. Her way of running exceeded the perfection and the aerodynamics of her little body made her catch up in only a few minutes, the song fading out while she passed another rookie with a face just as insignificant. A new song began, not so fast and catchy, but just enough to give her the energy to continue.

Ooh you make me live

Whatever this world can give to me

It’s you you’re all I see

Ooh you make me live now honey

Ooh you make me live

Y/n had almost arrived at the beginning of the race squad when a sudden sadness took her. Her legs that were transported by so much energy suddenly slowed down as a buried memory resurfaced despite the heavy weight she had put on top of it to never remember. Her run slowed down - only a little at first, but then drastically. And then all the recruits impressed by her speed were disappointed to see that it was only fire, impressive but in reality nothing more than a show.

Mitch had the habit of never giving everything he had during the race, keeping his energy to not catch hateful looks at his very strong cardio. This wasn’t obviously the case for everyone and the young man noticed when the girl overtook everyone at a surprising speed, only to catch up to her a few meters away. He took a last look back before returning to his path, only to see Y/n’s gaze sink into the void as a cinematic memory looped through her brain. That’s when Mitch hesitated. Something told him to go his way, that she just had to be exhausted from having run that far in a short time, but something else told him it was more than that.

So he decided in a groan and slowed down to reach her height. Y/n was hardly running, her usually imperturbable face seemed broken by something going on in her head. There was even a moment when she stopped moving completely, stopped in the middle of the race path, the other recruits passing by, some ignoring her and others sending insults. Her chest went up and down quickly with the lack of breath, but it was indeed much more. Y/n should learn to make better playlists because the lyrics of the song - usually beautiful, joyful and full of life - were synonymous of sadness for the girl.

You’re the first one

When things turn out bad

You know I’ll never be lonely

You’re my only one

And I love the things

I really love the things that you do

Ooh you’re my best friend

“I know what you think. But that’s not what you think,” a young girl with a radiant smile and a joyful face laughed softly, holding in her hands a small box that might seem innocuous to many people. But not for the man in front of her. “For you,” she murmured, holding back a small laugh, stretching out the gift with her little arms. The man took it gently as if it was the most beautiful and precious thing in the world, as if what the box contained was worth thousands of dollars. The man opened the box, took out the papers that were there to take in his hands a rectangular object.

“Y/n … you didn’t have to …” His hands found the colorful paper that came with the object, reading the clumsy, misspelled handwriting of the little girl.

“Happy birthday! You are more than my dad, you’re my best friend,” she laughed softly, taking the man in her arms as best as she could.

“And you are my sunshine.”

That day, happiness reigned in the house echoing with a certain song full of joy that played in a loop for hours. Their song. You’re My Best Friend by Queen.

“Hey, you alright? ”

A figure that wasn’t part of her memory was near her, standing at a respectful distance and snapping his fingers in front of her face. Y/n came out of her thoughts; her eyes temporarily inhabited by emotions resumed their dull and uninteresting hue as they landed on her interlocutor. He was taller than her- well, it wasn’t too hard to overtake her anyway, his hair was rather long and in dire need of a cut and he wore an early maltreated beard. His brown eyes were dark and Y/n knew immediately they were once shining with a bright golden hue.

“Leave me alone.”

That was all she said before starting to run, not turning around, the next song of her playlist pounding through her ears. Mitch just couldn’t believe it: he had bothered to stop, turn around to make sure everything was okay and that’s what he got? The young man vowed to stop paying attention to the new recruit, to never do anything to help her again.

Mitch resumed his run, remembering that the last two to arrive would be deprived of dinner and supper. He really didn’t want to get that punishment for trying to help someone, but the rule was clear: never go back for anyone. And he had just done exactly the opposite for a stranger he only knew the name of.

He knew he wouldn’t make it, well, he could start running the faster but it would surely attract too much attention to him, and he didn’t want that. So, Mitch accepted his defeat and resumed his run at the same speed as before.

And indeed, he arrived last, just after Y/n.

The instructors and all the other recruits were waiting for them at the end of the course. Their vulture eyes stared at both of them, satisfied smiles stamped with pettiness on their faces, all glad that they weren’t the last. Mitch didn’t respond to the provocations, didn’t look at anyone in the eye, and simply walked to the Barn wordlessly as he passed by Y/n. Unlike him, she stared at Mitch the entire time, still wondering why the young man had risked a day of meals to help her. But no matter the reason, an emotion she tried to swallow discreetly got caught in her throat.

Guilt.

After sighing silently, the only woman in the group followed the last of the inward race where the training was about to resume. Training, that’s what everyone thought they were doing. Some quick-witted people had understood, however. It was a recruitment camp. And Mitch seemed to be, for the moment, the rookie most likely to be chosen.

Lunch arrived and only two people stared at their empty plates, several meters away from each other on the big table. Y/n distanced herself from everyone because, as Mitch had noticed, half of the recruits were a little too much interested in her. The men circled around Y/n like hungry vultures around their prey, standing around her all the time, asking questions that were all passing in the void. Her head went from left to right, following the music in her ears as she ignored the assaults of the men. Y/n’s fingers drummed on the table like on a piano, following the melody as her foot began to beat to the rhythm of the song I want to break free. In other circumstances, the lyrics would have made the girl laugh because, in the situation she was in, she really would have liked to get free from everyone and have some quiet time alone.

The moment came, something she knew that would eventually happen. Y/n was mentally prepared for the eventuality because man’s impatience is sometimes followed by acts that may be violent. Frustrated at being ignored, one of the rookies tore the earphones from the girl’s ears, pulling brutally on the white wire hanging in front of her and causing the music to disappear immediately. Y/n remained frozen in shock, the shrill sound returned with even more force in her right ear. Her hands grabbed without seeing the empty and untouched plate on the table, and stood up like a robot. The man who had taken off the earphones by force laughed, his disgusting mouth wide open made her feel nauseous. Y/n had no expression when she slammed the plate on the recruit’s head, plate breaking into several pieces under the impact. The blow made a sound of broken crockery that mixed with the cries of pain of the man. The sound of the other recruits’ gasps of surprise was quickly followed by a long and heavy silence. Y/n stared at everyone, her usually expressionless eyes displaying a burning rage challenging anyone to try her. Then, still without saying anything, she leaned over, picked up her earphones that still emitted sound and put them back in her ears. Y/n then left the cafeteria without hearing the insults of the man who was now very angry too.

The scene that had just happened hadn’t failed to attract attention. Almost everyone had witnessed it, and Mitch hadn’t lost a single moment and mentally remembered to never try touching the earphones of the new recruit. The young man got up from his seat and headed for the training section, passing in front of the rookie who had the audacity to try making fun of Y/n. The rookie, whose name Mitch couldn’t remember, had an open cut on his forehead, a little blood dripping from it to the floor. No matter where she was or how many years of training she had, Y/n wasn’t going to be able to escape the revenge of her victim. At least he knew she could run fast.

The next part of the day’s training was languages, nothing very exhausting. The class consisted of sitting in what looked like a classroom in front of a man who taught various languages. Today’s class, like yesterday’s and all the others of the week, was French, a child’s game for Y/n who spoke fluently the language. So instead of listening to the monotonous words of the instructor who also had a strong accent, the young woman searched in her playlist of the day to put on a song that would pass the time faster. After a few seconds she decided and let herself be lulled by the melody of Bohemian Rhaspody.

The next part promised to be more arduous, because it was the moment to show abilities in hand-to-hand combat.

The recruits were out in the forest and formed a line in front of what everyone called the circle. You had to go in there, fight against someone else and get him out of the circle… or knock him out.

During the entire ordeal, Hurley circled around. He made a point of stopping everyone occasionally, helpfully reminding them that none of them were good enough. Yet.

Most of the recruits had already passed. Half were severely injured and very angry at having lost, the others proudly displaying their victory on their faces. Despite looking everywhere around her, Y/n couldn’t see the man she had almost knocked out with her plate that very morning.

She found her attention shifting from that detail, though, when her attention was recaptured by the fighting. Her eyes never looked away from what was happening, quickly memorizing techniques that made moves more powerful. Y/n had many talents, but also too many flaws. And fighting was not her strong suit.

She could hit as hard as she could, dodge as best as possible the blows of her opponent, remove the knife they had in their hand, but she could never succeed and win. The young woman could already feel Hurley’s imposing gaze burn her neck and the words horrible, useless and pathetic bend his lips with disappointment. Nervousness made her hands sweaty as she watched the other recruits fight.

So caught in her anxiousness, time seemed to slip away, and all too soon it was her turn.

“Y/n, Mitch. ”

Y/n didn’t need to hear her name to know it was her turn. Legs still a little stiff from the inevitable stress of being beaten up and receiving a sermon on her incompetence in combat, she went to the middle of the circle and waited to see her opponent. When her gaze fell on him, a spark of recognition spread through her normally expressionless eyes. She had to fight him?

“With all due respect, I don’t fight girls. ”

His lips didn’t move fast when he was speaking so Y/n had no difficulty understanding his words, although he said them very low as if he didn’t want her to hear. Her hands formed fists and she clenched her jaw. There was still music playing in her earphones, which she had run over her back so she wouldn’t get caught in them, but she could barely hear the song. Suddenly, her fear of being beaten up disappeared under the rage of being again pushed aside because she wasn’t born with the right sex between her legs.

“Is it a refusal to fight?” Hurley walked the distance to Mitch to say his words in front of his face, their noses mere inches from each other.

“No, it’s a refusal to fight a girl,” he corrected. His level of sarcasm was hidden under a layer of polished satin to mask his lack of respect.

“Well, I would’ve made you skip your meals for that answer, but it’s already the case.” Hurley stepped back with a grin before looking at the girl who was still waiting, quietly following the conversation of the two men. “Get out of my sight. Tomorrow you will fight, trust me. Until then have good dreams.”

Y/n found herself breathing out a sigh of relief; this time, she managed to get through it. If the putting looks she’d got from Stan were any indication, she’d bet he had her file and knew hand-to-hand combat was her weakness. And even if he didn’t, she was sure the terrified expression she’d worn for the duration of the activity would have given her away. The nervousness could be easily read on her face because even Mitch noticed it immediately. Usually, Y/n never let any emotion betray her face, but she would have to review her techniques because her mask had cracked. And Rapp had seen beneath it more than once.

If it couldn’t be worse, her belly emitted a painful gurgling reminding her of how hungry she was. And she wasn’t the only one suffering from an empty stomach.

After training, it was the evening meal. Similarly to the morning, Mitch and Y/n weren’t eating anything. Y/n found that being in a room full of food, the appetising scent all around her, was very unpleasant. She didn’t last long before she decided to escape the loud, crowded place for the quiet sanctuary of her room. Mitch was quick to do the same and thus enjoy the hot water before all the other recruits decided to use it.

It was the end of the day, finally, and everyone had been sleeping for a few hours already in the big room where all the beds were. Everyone was a general term because among the strong breaths and snores, gurgles of a stomach also resonated. Skipping a day of meals and keeping the same pace of training were two things that didn’t mix.

Mitch turned to the side, back turned to the door, and hoped that he wouldn’t feel the hunger bite him. As he was trying to ignore the sounds his stomach made, he heard something that alerted him. The young man tensed, ready to react to the slightest sudden movement.

A hand squirmed on his mouth suddenly and his eyes fluttered opened, one of his hands gripping his assailant from behind while his other gripped their wrist. It must have been the very unusual circumference of the wrist or the strange sweetness of the skin that caught his attention. Something was wrong, because Mitch stopped struggling to turn his head and see who was there. His eyes, acclimatized to the darkness, recognized Y/n, who, with her free hand, had placed her index finger at the corner of her mouth. More intrigued than surprised, Mitch nodded and the girl pulled her hand off his mouth before taking a few backwards steps. She then pointed the door with her thumb and tiptoed towards the exit without making any noise, not waiting for him, assuming he was going to follow. And that’s what he did.

It didn’t take long for Mitch to understand where the girl was taking him, but the reason why was still a mystery. Usually, Mitch was a person with an ability to understand things out of the ordinary. But since the arrival of Y/n, a single day in her presence had seemed to unbalance his entire emotional stability.

Y/n was really making no sound while walking and it surprised the young man even more. How could she know whether or not she was making noise if she was constantly listening to music? And above all, why did she always listen to music?

The questions had been turning in his head without stopping since she’d arrived, questions that he had forced himself to keep to himself. Despite having heard her speak once, Mitch still suspected that Y/n was unable to talk.

Finally, after a few corridors, they arrived at a closed door that the girl opened. She entered and waited for Mitch to do the same before closing the door behind them, plunging them both into total darkness, which alerted the nervous young man. The latter was ready to defend himself, wondering if he had done well to follow her so far. But the sudden blinding light confirmed that, aside from a plate on his head, Y/n wouldn’t hurt him.

His eyes took several seconds to acclimatize to the sudden light and he winced at the pain that made his retinas hurt. However, when finally he could see where he was, Mitch didn’t regret having followed Y/n.

The two recruits were in a large room. In the middle, against the wall was a double bed that seemed inviting, and comfortable. On the left, a window hidden behind closed shutters. On the right, a closet. And against the wall near him was an office. On the desk were tens of MP3s of different colors and shapes, perfectly aligned next to each other.

Mitch realized that the room he was in was Y/n’s private room, and a twinge of jealousy was smothered as best he could at the thought of her being treated favorably. Then he remembered that it was probably to protect her from recruits who had big arms and their brains between their legs.

The best part, however, was in front of him. Y/n was standing and waiting patiently, her hair licking her shoulders, the traditional white wire of her headphones linking her ears to a device in her hands. As sleep clothes she was wearing a t-shirt too big for her.

She wore nothing as pants. Her long legs were thin but muscular, allowing her to run for many hours without problems. The skin was smooth and he suspected it had to be incredibly soft to caress.

Mitch’s honey-brown eyes went elsewhere when he felt a desire that all men have when seeing a beautiful woman because he couldn’t afford to feel such things. Planted in the middle of her room, he still wondered what he was doing there and why he had agreed to follow her. But he knew it quickly when he saw what she was holding in her hands.

“Here.”

Only one word was spoken and Mitch had trouble pairing the young woman’s voice with her appearance. Broken, hoarse and low, her word was barely audible, but he understood all the same. In her hands, Y/n was holding two packets wrapped in cellophane which he recognized as peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He hesitated between apple and strawberry jam as he could only see the red color soaked the transparent paper. Distrustful, Mitch reached out and took one of the small packets, only to rest his eyes on Y/n, raising an eyebrow.

“Why?”

The new recruit sighed back and sat with her foot under her thighs on her bed, not caring that her gesture revealied more of her legs and… Panties. “It was my fault that you didn’t eat. So here’s some food.” She dropped her powder-blue MP3 on the mattress next to her and began undoing the cellophane of her sandwich.

Mitch had turned his head away when he had seen too much of her anatomy, red tinting his cheeks too quickly for his liking. He would have liked to be able to hide behind his years of training to not show his obvious embarrassment so openly.

His hand squeezed the meager meal and he swallowed before looking back at the girl who was slowly eating her meal in silence. “That’s it?” Mitch asked in a hoarse, low voice, almost a whisper, still not touching his meal.

“I stole it, if that’s what you’re asking yourself,” Y/n answered without looking at him, and Mitch tilted his head to the side, again surprised that she’d heard what he had said despite her earphones.

Intrigued by her unusual personality, Mitch made a decision he wouldn’t usually make. Instead of just taking what she gave him and leaving, he approached Y/n and sat on the bed near her but at a safe distance, and what’s more, on the edge of the mattress. The discomfort was written in capital letters all over him. After a moment in silence, Mitch undid the cellophane and ate too. And it was only when his tongue tasted peanut butter that he remembered how hungry he was. Oh, it was apple jam.

Feeling that he had to say something, Mitch turned to the girl to look at her again and found Y/n very beautiful. She was a mysterious exotic beauty that probably hid many things behind the imperturbable mask. Rapp swallowed another mouthful before opening his mouth to speak.

“Why?”

He had already asked this question, but this time it was rather rhetorical. Just because he had finished last at the race didn’t mean she had to steal food in the cafeteria and risk getting fired only for a lean but delicious meal. And again, Mitch guessed right because Y/n turned her head towards him to answer. Her eyes plunged into his as she got lost in his beautiful eyes for a moment. Y/n felt so deeply absorbed in his eyes that she lost her breath for a moment, drowning in the torment she found there. It was hard to, but she managed to get out of his grip and decided to fix on another part of his face. Her gaze fell to his lips. Uh oh, bad idea. Immediately, a perverse thought invaded her mind as she imagined all the things his mouth could do. Her tongue slipped out and went to lick her lips before she realized what she was doing and shook her head. After sighing, this time loudly, Y/n honestly answered his question. She didn’t know it yet, but at that moment her heart was beating faster than it had been in years. It was beating, alive, intimidated and somehow inhabited an attraction hidden under a heavy layer of denial.

“I hate to feel those emotions… It’s…disgusting. So I fixed the problem.” Y/n punctuated her answer by crumpling the cellophane and tossing it in her trash like a basketball player. The object flew for a few moments in the air before touching its target.

It was an answer once again unsatisfactory, but Mitch understood and read between the lines. Y/n felt bad, hated the feeling so made sure to not feel it anymore. The young man could understand because he often felt the need to remove the uncomfortable emotions that dwelt in his mind. However, for him, it wasn’t guilt he wanted to silence.

“Okay. Excuse accepted, I guess.” Rapp got up and threw the remains of his meal into the trash, ready to leave without adding anything. However, he heard a faint ‘wait’ and didn’t immediately know if it was Y/n or his imagination. So the young man turned around, a hand on the doorknob and a raised eyebrow in anticipation of a sequel.

“I …” Y/n stood up and, like a cat, silently and skillfully walked towards him, her long legs carrying her on tiptoes near him. His body tensed as she approached and he lost again all his ability. “Tomorrow, I’ll have to do it. I can’t avoid fighting all my life.” Once again, Mitch could see an emotion in Y/n’s face, discomfort? Despair? No - ego. "I fucking suck,” she finally admitted, now very close to Mitch. Too close. He could smell her lavender soap and coconut shampoo. “Teach me. ”

“What?” Mitch couldn’t believe it. Had he heard correctly? The new recruit who seemed flawless, who probably had some kind of favoritism from Irene Kennedy to have her own room and bed and who never seemed to show her emotions asked him for help? To teach her how to fight?

"Teach me,” she repeated as if it was what she said that he had misunderstood, not that he was surprised.

“I understood the first time you said it,” Mitch continued, keeping all his control to not back down and look weak. Without his years of training he would probably have just left. “Why me?”

“You are not like the others.” Y/n tilted her head to the side, her hair slipping over her shoulders even more as her big sad eyes watched him with curiosity. "I hate everyone here. Everyone. They are stupid, don’t see with their eyes and all have misplaced brains. I don’t hate you. You are intelligent, you observe, you see. You listen. ”

Mitch didn’t know if he should take her words as a compliment or just a way to get him accepted. Y/n was smart and handling wasn’t a problem for her. However, the more he thought about it and the more he turned the words in his head the less he thought it was the case. He didn’t think she was manipulating him. She wanted to learn, her eyes shone with the desire to know, to fight, to get better.

“What do I get in exchange? ”

It wasn’t a yes, nor a no. Mitch weighed the pros and cons again. He was a lone wolf. He worked best alone and the only reason for his presence here was the obligation of the CIA and the help he could get that would allow him to achieve his goal faster. Helping a rookie he knew for a day was clearly not in his priorities and would deflect him from his original plan.

“I can help you with languages,” she offered, but when she saw Mitch shake his head, she realized that her knowledge of languages didn’t exceed his.

“Je n’ai aucun problème en langue,” he told her, a tiny smile stretching his lips as he pronounced the words in French without any problem.

Y/n put her index to the corner of her mouth, looking for another offer to propose, a gesture Mitch didn’t missed as he stared at her finger without realizing it. “Aiming? ”

“I’m good. ”

A silence fell again between the two recruits, then Y/n found the ideal compromise.

“A question.”

“What?”

Mitch folded his arms, quickly understanding what she meant.

“I know you’re asking yourself a lot of questions about me. So every time you train me, you’ll have the right to ask me one question. Anything.”

It was a very interesting proposition to the young man who was more and more curious. “Who tells me you’ll answer honestly?” He grinned, a little amused.

"I don’t see the purpose of lying.” Y/n was surprised by how much she was speaking. It must have been years since she had had a conversation with another human being who took the time to talk to her as if she were a normal person. And that warmed her heart in a very special way.

"Okay,” Mitch concluded and crossed his arms over his chest as he pondered a question, licking his lips as he used to when he thought. “How do you understand what people say while you’re listening to music? ”

His question wasn’t too personal, or too vague, and he had been wondering since the morning when she arrived late at the race.

Y/n shrugged a shoulder as she walked to her closet, pulled out a pair of training shorts and slipped on it quickly before tying her hair coarsely. Then she passed by Mitch, closed the light and answered in the dark.

“I read lips.”

Without waiting for him, the girl came out of her room and went to the training room. It was clear to understand, she had answered the question and now it was time for training. And Mitch knew she had told the truth.

But why she read lips was another question. And why did she learn to?

But his questions would have to wait because, for the moment, he had to train a rookie without experience before the sunrise.

Mitch allowed a smile to stretch across his dry lips as he followed Y/N, something he hadn’t let himself do in a very long time. He comforted himself with the knowledge that no one could see him in the dark, anyway.

Forever Tag list: @multilovee @5sospoplikerock @rosecoloredshawn @mieczzyslaw @honeymoonmuke @fox-lau @sarcxstic-stilinski @little-nya

If you liked it, please leave a feedback! I put a lot of time into this one! Also tell me if you’d like to be tagged in further parts or be added in my forever tag list! Thanks for reading :)

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stillrecruitingrp · 6 years

Photo

The D.A. has recruited Pat to the character of Lavender Brown with a faceclaim of Alex Steele. Take a look in your teacups, girl. Do you really see yourself ever making up for your mother’s failure?

OOC Details

Name: Pat

Pronouns: she/her

Activity Level: Right now I’m studying for my licensing exam and looking for work. I feel like I can be pretty active between that, family obligations, and other writing groups. At the very least, I can check in a few times a week!

Acknowledgement: I acknowledge that the themes of this game may include triggering elements. I also acknowledge that my character may be harmed or even killed during paras/events or may cause harm to or kill others during paras/events through the violence roulette.

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General IC Details

Name: Lavender Brown

Age: 18; seventh year

Ships: Lavender/chemistry is the most important! I imagine that she’s bicurious though, but it’s not something she’s actually thought about for a while.

Gender/Pronouns: she/her

Face Claim: 1. Alex Steele, 2. Liza Soberano, 3. Kelsey Chow

Desired Changes: Lavender has a squib parent now

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Bio Questions

Biography:

Violet Brown amicably said goodbye to the wizarding world once she was old enough to figure her life out without her parents’ care. Squibs were not only an anomaly but a disgrace in many circles, so it was difficult to leave quietly when her family was already scrutinized. Several years in hiding within the muggle community, she was able to live with her partner and eventually carried a daughter through a surrogate donor.

Lavender raised by two mothers, so already she understood that she was a bit different from a young age and was proud of it. It felt like the world had a problem with her family and her parents instilled the idea of killing them with kindness; despite all of the awful things people say, it was never a good look to retaliate. The only metaphor that resonated with Lavender was she had to carry herself like a princess – and her parents were more than willing to spend a little more money to help her dress like one.

Her favorite movie, however, was the Aristocats, if only because it inspired her mantra: ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them. While Lavender herself never tried to take part in any physical fighting, she could hold a grudge like no other. She tended to bide her time until she became a bit of a saboteur when the opportunity presented herself.

Violet raised her daughter on stories about the wizarding world, reading her stories from books that seemed to be impossible to find elsewhere. Lavender was never aware there was a second world – because Violet assumed that her daughter wouldn’t be magical as well – but was mostly convinced that these stories were created just for her.

Her Hogwarts letter only confirmed further that most of Violet had told her was true, and it was difficult for Lavender not to be in awe – especially since she felt like an expert in all things magical just based on what she had been told as a child. It was also the first time she had met her grandparents through Violet, who needed help raising a magical daughter. Lavender’s magical abilities set new hope aflame for the Brown family; while she may not be a pureblood, the magical lineage did not end after Violet.

Once sorted, she had never felt more welcome in Gryffindor house. She became fast friends with Parvati Patil, who had grown up to be magical herself, so most of Lavender’s introduction to the prejudices of the wizarding world was because of how Parvati told about her past experiences; Lavender only then realized how strange of a predicament her mother had been in her entire life, and put that as just another fact about herself that made her separate from everyone else.

Lavender was probably average academically when she started her coursework, but often asked her fellow Gryffindors for help regardless of whether or not she understood the material. After all, what better way to make friends? Lavender gets along with everyone, or so she believes; she’s driven by this need to be liked, to be accepted, especially considering that her childhood was marked by the fact that she hasn’t been. It’s difficult to balance both trying to fit in and trying to stand out, especially with the end result being that she often comes off as shallow and selfish.

Her priorities seemed to focus more on gossiping with Parvati and keeping up with the latest from Witch Weekly. Lavender herself comes off as thoughtless and often stuck in her fantasies, it didn’t mean that she was cruel. In the rare instance that she had come across someone who was upset, her bubbly demeanor may be unwelcome but her intentions were always good, insisting that the sun will come out tomorrow, referencing a muggle movie that only those raised around muggle culture would understand.

It was during the fifth year that she realized that she had to pick sides – though she was rather unaware at the time that there were larger issues at hand than whether or not the Boy Who Lived was actually the Boy Who Lied. But Seamus Finnigan didn’t believe him at first, and Lavender only thought of Harry Potter as the talk of the town, and that somehow he was much more of an attention seeker than Lavender was. Her participation in Dumbledore’s Army was more out of curiosity than belief, and it was only until Professor Trelawney had been sacked that she had become more dedicated to the cause.

Her first serious relationship with Ron Weasley was immature at best; for all of the moments Ron didn’t seem as interested in her as she was with him, she felt as if she had to make up for them. In a way she lived in her delusion of grandeur as someone who could have it all – the perfect boyfriend, the thriving social life, and an eventual career as a journalist as she had decided in her fifth year. She still holds a grudge against Hermione Granger for their fallout; after all, Lavender sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone’s second choice.

School Year So Far

Dumbledore’s death never changed Lavender’s mind that Hogwarts was the safest place to be, until half of her classmates had gone missing. Lavender was occasionally chosen to participate in demonstrations done by the Carrows – but she was always on the receiving end of some curse, where she was reminded that her only saving grace was the fact that her grandparents were considered pure and that it was no fault of hers that she was tainted by a squib.

That didn’t stop them from making an example of her though for those who willingly break their rules, especially because of the one and only time she had stood up for her mother. It wasn’t until Neville Longbottom had come back visibly shaken from his detentions because of her transgressions that she was aware that it was just better to keep her mouth closed and pretend that she didn’t have a wand.

Despite her once thriving social life, Lavender sought no comfort from Neville, Parvati, or Seamus during the few times she was selected to be a practice dummy. Being poised and graceful was the only thing she could hold on to that let her keep some of her dignity. She felt herself becoming more and more detached from her friends, keeping her fear to herself; what was there to say anyway? She walked the halls with her stomach clenched tight for any sign of the Carrows – or students for that matter, who pursued her as a target for extra credit. Lavender was an experiment in which the Carrows only wanted one answer: her blood was tainted somehow because of her squib mother even if her magic had just skipped a generation, and that Lavender was weaker and lesser because of it.

It didn’t help either that Parvati was a true pureblood – a difference now that had never bothered her until now – because Parvati was never punished as harshly as Lavender was for greater transgressions against the Carrows. Lavender knew that Parvati’s blood status (as well as her own) was something they couldn’t choose, but she couldn’t help but feel bitter and jealous as their evenings in the Gryffindor Common Room were now silent. Dumbledore’s Army met, of course, but Lavender preferred not to be present; it was difficult to save someone else when you had trouble saving yourself to begin with.

If Hermione Granger loved the library, then Lavender Brown loved the Divination Tower in equal amount. Most of her free time was spent there and it essentially became her new hiding place as she tried to read tea leaves, tarot cards, and crystal balls for some shred of hope, only to find none. Every prediction always seemed to turn sour, and for the first time she felt frustrated with the art; it was her only way to feel useful and the only way to feel like she still belonged in this world.

Her winter vacation was spent at the school; she didn’t want her parents to find out what had been happening, with her skin marred by curses and her body always pained, and it wouldn’t be hard for the Ministry to follow her home. All she could do now was pray that her parents wouldn’t be found, with her hope in the fact that the muggle world was much harder to navigate than the wizarding one. Besides, she had so much more work to do; after all, ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them.

჻ ჻ ჻ ჻

Open Themes: Experimentation - Reconnaissance

Inception

While Lavender still considered herself a member of the DA, it was difficult to become involved since she was a daughter of a squib. Fear held her back, and she thought it foolish of her pureblood friends to purposely endanger themselves to do what was right.

But Lavender had to do something. Her winter break was spent avoiding the Carrows, of course, but reading into a new kind of Divination that she hadn’t yet explored. Perhaps Professor Trelawney had been out of her tower just the right moment, leaving Lavender to peruse her shelves.

The way her wand felt when she cast the spell the first time felt right, at least moreso than it ever had since she held her wand over the last seven years – as if she were destined to do this. She was very easily convinced that she had found her way to help the DA, but little was she aware of the consequences that might come of it.

Specification:

Lavender was working on her ability of astral projection. It was seeing, but during the present, especially considering that Lavender found that she could now walk around the halls unseen for a few minutes. She found herself more exhausted coming back to herself, and often unable to focus.

But she was obsessed with this new ability because it allowed her to escape and tried to practice every chance she got, despite the fact that it drained her significantly. It would affect her schoolwork coming into the second term, but she would consider it worthwhile if she could train herself to project for longer and longer periods of time.

Utilization:

Her friends were busy leading the fight against the Carrows, but she had tried to keep herself off the battlefield because she was daughter of a squib. At least now she had something useful for the DA – she could be a spy. The Carrows were unpredictable, but it wasn’t a secret that they were following orders from someone else – if only the DA could be one step ahead of them. She has yet to tell her friends about this ability, but doing so would be difficult: she’s not very good at it yet and many of her friends had long disbelieved in Divination.

Even if the DA didn’t want her, then who cares? Projecting was the only way Lavender felt like herself again, anyway. It made her special, even if it did have its negative effects: she was tired, depressed, forgetful, careless… but it wasn’t like she had been seen as any different before.

What Lavender would fail to realize, is that the more she projected, the less aware she would be of her surroundings coming back. The longer she thought she was escaping death at the hands of the Carrows, the more she pushed herself into closer. And little was she aware of what would happen if something gone wrong – which it could, she was only eighteen.

How difficult would would it be to keep a projection and a body together, especially after forcing herself to undergo the process so often? She doesn’t understand that there’s control she has to exercise now in her waking hours. And what would she do if somehow her body was found and taken away before she could go back? Eventually she’d have to answer the question of whether this ability would be worth dying for, essentially rendering her as useless as she thought she was from the beginning.

OOC Questions

Writing Sample

Even when she kept quiet, she was punished. Professor Carrow dug her claws deep into Lavender’s arm, pulling her out of her desk. Lavender clung to the desk, her free hand sliding across the flat table stop before reaching for a leg. Her balance was thrown completely and she felt her foot loss its traction across the marble floor as Professor Carrow continued dragging her to the front of the class.

“Useless girl!” The woman shrieked. It wasn’t the worst that Lavender had been called but the Carrows were predictable enough that anytime Alecto opened her mouth to screech, Lavender knew to fight her own instincts to cry out. Any whimper of noise only earned her more infractions as she was forced to demonstrate what the punishment was for dirtied blood. Her hand rubbed her eyes on her sleeve and she glanced back at Parvati.

She shook her head, but not in disdain. The panic in her eyes as she tried to tear her arm away from the Carrow’s grip communicated something else entirely: what have I done to deserve this? There was a swelling in her chest that she could only liken to hope — perhaps Parvati would stand and save her now —

Alecto had grown tired of dragging her across the classroom, letting her tumble to the floor. Lavender gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, feeling the tears dampen her cheeks as they overflowed. She felt like she was drowning; breathing quietly was hardly an option now as she pulled herself up on shaky hands, dragging herself to her feet using Seamus’s desk.

She inhaled as deep as she could, staring blankly back at the woman who had expected her to stay on the ground. After all, everyone else had, haven’t they? Lavender intended to be the last mudblood standing. Her knees almost buckled underneath her when the woman raised her wand, a reminder of the last time that Lavender hoped would be the last time.

Finally, she lifted her head in time for Alecto to wield her wand like a sabre; Lavender was knocked off her feet, tossed to the back of the classroom like a discarded toy. Her body collided with the wooden door and her limbs folded underneath her in painful angles as she slid to the ground. She coughed, the metallic taste layering over her tongue as she gasped. Her fingers pried the buttons of her collar open, unsure if the shivering was out of fear or out of weakness, as she gingerly pressed at the new wounds above her breast. The blood spread easily onto her clothes. Her robes hid most of the bleeding but she still cursed herself for leaving evidence of her suffering.

Lucky for Lavender, the floor had already been stained scarlet.

Exploration

Her relationship with her fellow Gryffindors and other classmates. As a minor character, Lavender doesn’t get much spotlight. I want her to think she’s the “voice of reason” especially since she might be the one trying to talk her classmates out of hurting themselves for supposedly no reason. It would be easy for her to be seen as selfish, especially since everyone else is rising up to defend those who are defenseless. She’s currently on the sidelines and she wants to help, but she wants to stay out of the game – I’d like to see her convinced to be in the thick of the fighting. Lavender also holds grudges against Hermione and Ron; would that affect which leader she follows, especially if they come back? We also don’t see much of the Gryffindors talking with other houses, and we see these interhouse relationships as more of a rivalry; would the crisis with the Carrows actually promote unity amongst the houses?

Her mental and physical health. The Carrows have done a number on her since she’s considered a target, but she never really talks about it with her friends – instead resorting to hide in the Divination Tower. Perhaps she’ll get the opportunity to open up, especially if she has someone who suffers equally if not more than she has. In addition, she’s probably going to get some flack for hiding when she should be fighting; I’m curious to see what kind of arguments happen when she’s thinks she’s given everything and others think she hasn’t given enough.

Her use of Dark Magic. Perhaps this astral projection would be considered Dark Magic, especially since the aftermath of it is so negative and the intention might be considered sinister. Once realizing this, she’d probably continue to do it, regardless; she’s a Gryffindor, after all, and it doesn’t help that she’s the kind to think little of the consequences. But would there be someone to talk her out of it? How would it change people’s perception of her, and would the DA be okay with her doing this? (Does the end justify the means?) Are the effects of projecting going to cause permanent damage?

Her empathy for others. The moments where Lavender has to comfort someone else have been rare, and it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that she had been focused on herself for a long time. Especially with the pain she’s dealing with now, perhaps she can better understand how others suffer similarly, and offer more help to them in the form of emotional support. That being said, would this empathy be limited to those on her side? There are characters who also struggle on the Dark Side or on no side at all, and it’d be interesting to see if Lavender would allow herself to feel sorry for them too.

#recruitaccept #lavender brown

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mnyg1800com · 7 years

Text

Only Temporary (Maximoff Twins X Reader)

Imagine having the same powers as the Maximoff twins and meeting for the first time and fighting together

A/N: I’m not sure about the Maximoff’s certain ages during AoU so I’m going to make them 18 (I also made some parts shorter because don’t think you wanna read the whole movie) I might make this into a series I don’t know just yet, but maybe. (sorry for any mistakes or typos) i changed the story bit o add in the reader in more fitting situations, ok bye

》》THE BEGINNING《《 You were at the prime age of 18 when you volunteered for the experimental projects that HYDRA had offered. At the time Sokovia was in dire need of a hero or a protector. You wanted to be that protector, so of course you enlisted in the program. They laid down the rules that the experiments would take as much as two years which you agreed to. They told you all the abilities you would be able to have after the experiments. Super speed, telekinesis, mental manipulation, controlling energy, and all the good stuff.

The reason it took such a long time was because they needed time to create these serums and your time to adapt to the powers had to be considered as well. The wanted to make sure you knew the ropes of your powers before sending you out to any real conflict. In the end you agreed to the two year program and they said they would start right away. You were suddenly cuffed down to the rolling chair and they injected something into your neck, and before you knew it you blacked out.

2 Years Later

You lay in the messed up mattress reading a levitating book above your head. You suddenly hear the banging on the door and open it. Strucker walked into the room and grabbed your hand. “It is time for you meet your new brother and sister,” he dragged you out of the room and went to the main room. There sat two people, one girl and one boy. They looked fairly younger than you. The girl’s eyes started glowing red and you could tell she was trying to get into your mind so you blocked her off by sending a pulse of energy her way. She flinched slightly and you smirked.

“Y/N, meet your new brother and sister, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. They have the same powers as you, we did experiments on them as well. We ask that you all befriend each other and become comfortable acquaintances please.” Strucker left the room, but first handed each of you files with your names printed on the front. “You, Y/N, we don’t need your help so kindly leave us alone as we work. We don’t intend on being acquaintances with you.” The younger of the siblings said. “Isn’t that a little immature of you to say? Not knowing anything about expect for my name, birthday, and powers make you want to shun me away. Besides, I think it would be better if we did work together.”

“After all we have the same intentions, right?” You said glancing at two.

“How do you know our intentions?”

“I read your mind, duh.”

Wanda glared at you for meddling into her head. “Anyway, I want to bring the Avengers down and so do you. Why can’t we work together, at least until our deed is done.” You sip on some water and the twins shared a look. “Fine, we accept you as an acquaintance until the Avengers are taken down,” Pietro said speaking for the twins.

“Only temporary though.”

“Of course, only temporary.” You said grinning.

His brown rooted hair was slowing fading out and being replaced with white hairs, just like yours. You chuckled and nodded your head. “Very well, great talking with you two. I assume I will see you during training, yes?” The twins nodded their heads and you took your leave. “Shall we trust her?” Pietro asked her sister. “I don’t know she wouldn’t let me see into her mind, her desires are unknown. For now.” The younger said. For the next few days you three trained together and you taught each of them how to make their powers stronger. You were the strongest out of the whole “team.“

Strucker never let any of you guys out into real battle though, he didn’t want to risk the chance of any of you dying or getting hurt. He didn’t want to risk all of the work he put into you, until the real task comes. By time, you and the Maximoff’s became closer and closer. They trusted you and you trusted them no strings attached. Pietro and you were obviously the more lighthearted ones of the team as Wanda would joke around sometimes, but keep her serious exterior on.

One day you were all gathered together by Strucker and told that the Avengers were here. You shared a look with twins, but you were told to stay away from them. “We are going to attack them right?” “Of course,” You said your eyes glowing purple. You were getting excited. You felt someone hold your hand and you saw Pietro. “Wait a few minutes Princessa it is still dangerous outside, until they are done taking down the guards.” You rolled your eyes, but nodded. You waited a few minutes and you made a plan.

“Pietro and Y/N, you guys go outside take care of the weakest ones. I’ll take care of anyone that comes inside, please keep each other safe.” Wanda said. “Of course, sis. I’ll make sure Pietro doesn’t trip.” You said chuckling. You were going run alongside Pietro, but he insisted in carrying you out.

“You can take redhead, I’ll get Robin Hood.” You said to Pietro. “Don’t die! Wanda will kill me,” you said to Pietro. He kissed your forehead. “Same for you Princessa, don’t die.” And with that both of you dashed off to find your targets. Lucky for you they were fairly close to each other and it was easy to work together. You speed up behind the Robin Hood and knocked him off his feet. He groaned in pain, but quickly whipped his small gun out. He immediately pointed his gun at you and shot, but you created a force field around you. You quickly ran behind him again and made him slightly confused by messing with his thoughts.

“Watch your back next time, Hawkeye,“ You whispered in Russian. You ran away taking his gun and weapon with with you. You aimed for Captain next hitting him with one of the arrows you stole from the Robin Hood in the leg. Pietro zoomed past you and punched him in his shoulder. You saw him being flipped over and speak into his earpiece. “There are two enhancements on the field, be on the lookout.“

“Yeah, too late for that. I need some medical attention.” Clint replied. “The girl did something to my hip,” “I’ll get him to the jet,” you and Pietro fist-bumped each other and went back to Wanda. You saw her down in the basement where Tony Stark was. You were about to run to him, but Wanda stopped you.

“You’re just going to let him take it?” Pietro asked with anger in his voice. You had promised to never look into her head and meddle into her thoughts and she promised she would stay out of your mind too. So right now, you didn’t know her plans for Stark. After Strucker was taken by NATO, you guys were basically on your own.

You left HYDRA and decided to help Sokovians yourselves. Which is what you plan to be doing until the Avengers come back. “Hey, Princessa. Wanna help me get expensive things? Some stealing?” He said with a mischievous smirk. “Of course, when have ever I turned down a chance to steal. Practically the beat thing I can do, besides run and ruin people’s heads.” You said walking alongside Pietro.

“So Piet, what are you gonna get today? Something for your sister? Or perhaps me?” You said while looking at the windows of expensive clothes.

“You want more clothes? Even after the whole ten pounds I got you last weekend?” He said chuckling. “That’s an exaggeration, ten pounds. More like 3.” You said before stepping into a fancy looking clothing shop. You were greeted by a woman dressed in fancy clothing that quickly attended to Pietro. You ignored the flaunting she did towards him and tried looking for any suitable gifts or giveaways. “Ma'am, may I help you?” You looked up and you were greeted with perfect crystal blue eyes. Well, if Pietro got a hot chick than you could have your fair share as well. “Yes sir, I actually do. Give me something expensive looking. Something that could fit my brother over there,” the man glanced at Pietro and tried to hide his smirk. “Of course. Now active wear or fancy suits? We have both available at the moment.” You shrugged not really caring. “Well both is good,” your eyes grazed the turning to the she rack of expensive watches.

"Hey, darling. Got anything for me possibly? Sometimes a girls got to spoil herself." You said winking. His eyes widened in realization. "Of course, madam. Right this way," the man, whose name tag read Abraham, lead you to a different room. Pietro noticed that you were gone and tried searching for you, but the lady clinging to his damn arm.

"Hey, got a bathroom around here?" He asked still searching the room. "Of course, in the back right past the lingerie section." He nodded in thanks to the girl store going to the bathroom. He saw you chatting with someone around your age and he rolled his eyes.

He slowly walked to you guys. ‘Y/N, I think we should go,” he said looking you in the eye. “We have a mission, remember?” you eyes flashed with realization and nodded. “Nice talking with you, but I gotta head off. Bye!”

“Will I see you again?” he asked watching you leave the door. “Well, no.” you said smirking.

You returned to the middle of the city giving civilians free(stolen)items to help them and their families. You gave a handsome man a very, very expensive watch and some extra clothes. “These are quite expensive don’t you think? Where did you get them?” He asked raising a brow.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out sweetie,” you said with a wink. “Now run along dear, the old man behind you seems to need some clothes as well. Bye Bye, handsome.” You gave a grin to the man when you suddenly felt a hand on the small of your back. “Hey Princessa, do you need help here? I finished off my corner,” You heard Pietro whisper near your ear. He glared at the young stud before reverting his attention to you. “Yeah some help would be nice, thanks Piet.” You said. “Anytime,” he said giving you a soft kiss on your forehead. The once confident young man in front of you began to fidget.

“Well darling do you need anything else from me?” Pietro glared at the man and the feeble boy stood down and shook his head. “Okay so you can go now bye,” you waved at him helping the old man next in line.

Wanda laughed at her brother from a distance. She didn’t even have to read his mind to know about his feelings. She decided to wait until you could see them though, after all it would be funnier to see her brother chasing after you. She approached you two about to lecture you about stealing. “You guys need to arn how to stop stealing, you’ll get caught one day.”

“Whatever, we’re fast enough.” You said handing the clothes to the old man, smiling. “Yeah, we have the best reflexes it doesn’t matter.” Her brother took your side and she just signed in annoyance. You were just about done when a little boy came up to you three.

“Pietro, Wanda, and Y/N there’s someone in the church waiting for you!” You looked at the twins in confusion. “Which man?” The boy paused, “The iron man.”

Now the three of you were really confused. “We better head off then, thanks for telling us little guy.” You ruffled his hair and said your goodbyes. You three left the two and went to the church.

You didn’t know who is was and you couldn’t see into his mind. You and Wanda tried but there was only emptiness you saw. “You’re wondering why you can’t see into my head,” the robotic voice said. “It is hard, but sooner or later every man shows himself,” Wanda said her eyes still glowing red. “Oh I’m sure they do,” the figure finally was revealed and there stood, at least, a nine foot tall robot.

“Oh look there’s two little mind readers, hello. What is your name? Never heard of you before.” He said pointing at you. “None of your business.” You snarled. “Oh feisty, perfect addition to my team,” you glared at the robot. “What team?”

“The team that’s going to take down the Avengers. Why else would I have you gathered here today? Anyway, I’m here to make the world a better place and you’re here to take down the Avengers. It, honestly, sounds like a win-win situation my friends. Follow me, please.” You were lead to some place underground Sokovia.

As soon as you walked in you heard, saw, and breathed in all the metal. You saw more robots working and moving about. “And these are all?” “Me. It’s all me in here. I have something the Avengers don’t, harmony. They’re already at each other’s throats. And when you two get inside the rest of their hea-” “Everyone’s plan is not to kill them,” Pietro said about to scoff. “And make them marauders? You need patients, look at the big picture.”

“I don’t looks at the big picture, we look at a little picture. I look at my little picture everyday.”

“You’re parents were killed by Stark, I’ve seen the records.”

“But the records aren’t the picture,”

“Pietro,” You and Wanda cut in. But Ultron tells him to continue.

“We were ten, when the shell hit. It hits the second floor below us and makes a big hole in the middle of the floor. Our parents go in, the whole building starts to fall apart. We hide under a bed and then the second shell hits. But it doesn’t go off.”

“We wait two days for Tony Stark to kill us,” Wanda says with a hoarse voice. “I wonder why only you two survived Strucker’s now I know. But what about you, why did you survive ,” his gaze switches over to you who was leaning against the wall listening to the twins talk. “But you, your story?”

“Y/N, you don’t have to.” Wanda says comforting you. “No, he wants to hear a story I can give him one.”

“My story is similar to theirs as well. I was eating dinner with my only brother and sister, my parents were already dead. They were killed in New York when they were studying for medical school. Us three we were eating baked potatoes on the dinner table when we suddenly hear an explosion. Both above and below us, before we knew it the rubble starts to fall. All you could hear were the screams of small children, at least that’s what I heard. My own brother and sister screaming for help, but I wasn’t able to. The smoke was too much and I couldn’t see.”

You didn’t know but your fingers started twisting and purple energy was dancing on your fingertips. “I try to avoid the impact of the building collapsing, but of course it doesn’t work. I passed out for a day and no one had found me. When I woke up I tried finding my brother and sister. I did, eventually. But the only remaining things I had of them was their torso and feet, everything else crushed and broken. And before I could react another bomb goes off,” the purple bubble dissipated and mimicked an explosion.

“I didn’t know it was Stark at the time, but when I searched the rubble I saw another bomb. Smoke covered it so it wasn’t the perfect white, but it saw the first two letters and I knew it was him. My only family died at the hands of Tony Stark and the Avengers, again.” By the end of it your eyes still glowed purple. “I see, all of you are strong enough to take them out, extinguish them. Me and you,” he said motioning to Pietro. “We can hurt them. But you two, you two can break them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ Over the few days, Ultron had told you the plan. And the first stop was Wakanda. Ultron pulled the plug on all of the electricity and nodded to all of you that the plan was a go. You separated from the twins and took care of the people on the bottom level. You took out as many as you could before receiving a mental message from Wanda. She said that they have arrived. You grinned and sped up the stairs.

You saw three of Earth’s mightiest heroes standing before you. “You don’t need to break anything,” hammer guy said. “Clearly you’ve never made an omelette,”

“He beat me by one second,” you heard Stark say to his comrade. “This is funny Mr. Stark,” Pietro started. “Just like old times, right?” You finished.

“Do you two usually do that? Is that like a telepathic thing you do? Oh right, you technicall-” You snapped your fingers and a purple streak stormed towards him, “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much Mr. Stark?”

“All the time sweetie.” He sent a beam of light towards you, but you blocked it with your shield. “You can still walk away from this, I know you have suffered.” Spangles said, but was cut off with the Ultron laughing. “Captain America, do you really think you can live a life without any war?” “You believe in peace, why don’t you let us keep it.” Hammer boy said before Captain could reply.

“You are confusing peace with quiet. Now that we’ve talked enough, it’s time for me to explain my brilliant mastermind evil plan,” And with that the fighting started. You took care of the incoming soldiers and made sure to cover Wanda and Pietro of any incoming hits that couldn’t catch themselves.

“Why don’t you start watching after yourself,” you heard a voice behind you say. Before you could react you felt a sting on the back of your neck. “You worry about your friends too much.” She said going in for another strike, but you stopped her with your wrist. “Oh the little redhead is ready for a fight,” You said sending her back with a stream of force. “Yeah, but are you?” She said and pulled out two electric poles from her back. You ran behind her and kicked the back of her knee making her fall. You were about to chuckle, but she kicked your stomach and electrocuted your temples. You fell down onto the floor making the redhead leave you there.

Pietro noticed your inactivity during the fight and saw you lying in the ground motionless. “Y/N, get up. Wake up!” You slowly began to regain your vision and shook your head. “You good?” You nodded. “Just a bit shaken up I guess you could say,”

“Who was it? I’ll take care of them,” he said worried about you. “No I’ll take care of it, thanks Piet. Make sure Wanda is safe.” You ran off and continued sending punches to the Avengers. “It’s time for some mind games,” You heard Ultron say from a robot.

You and Wanda shared a look before finding the Avengers. You took care of Black Widow and Thor. You snuck up behind them, putting the worse fears inside their heads. You and Wanda only had one more target left, it was Robin Hood. You snuck up behind him and tried to manipulate him, but he struck your head with an arrow. Waves of electricity went through your head and you tried not to pass out. ‘Why electricity? It hurts too much,’ you thought before you collapsed.

Fortunately for Wanda she wasn’t hit my the arrow and she hit Clint with a hex bolt. “Pietro,” She yelled for him and tried waking you up. “Ye-shit.” He saw your weak figure and picked you up along with his sister to outside and vicinity. “Wait here, I’m going to kill him. I’ll be right back,” he was about to speed off again, but his sister stopped him. “We have to finish the plan first. I want to get the big one.”

You woke up in a jet with the twins and Ultron inside. And a bunch of vibranium. “The mission is done?”

“Not yet, we need to create another me. A stronger me, one that can beat the Avengers even when we are done. An immortal figure. We’re heading to Seoul right now. We’re landing in a few be prepared.” Ultron said steering the ship to Seoul. Pietro appeared back in front of you with a glass of water. “How are you feeling Princessa?”

“Much better, my head stings only a little though. I am fine.” You said and thanked him for the water. “Hey Piet,” you said holding his hand. “You really want to kill the Avengers, right?” He nodded and gave you a confused look. “Don’t you?” You stayed silent and continued to sip you water. “Course, buddy.”

You soon arrived to Korea and was enabled across to the high class facility. “Dr. Helen lovely seeing you here,” Ultron said with a happy tone. “Touch the button and all your staff members die.” His tone switched and he grabbed the scepter. “I need your help with something, would you mind?” He said slowing closing the distance with the tip of it to her chest.

You and the twins arrived to the room where the cradle was and you studied the making body inside. “We can read him, he’s dreaming.” Wanda said intrigued with the non-existent figure inside the cradle. You slowly walked up to the cradle placing your hands on the glass and reading the man. You saw destruction, rule over people, and metal. You yelped at the sudden pain. You looked up in horror at Ultron who was now standing.

“You don’t want to just destroy the Avengers, you want to kill everything off.” You said terrified. “You’re just like Stark if you do that.” “I am not Stark!” He grabbed a stray object and threw it at you. Luckily Wanda was quick enough to stop it. “Now, now once we destroy the Avengers the world will be able to restore itself, the people will be able to regrow back to their old ways. They’ll have time to improve.” Ultron said trying to persuade you. “ And if they don’t?” Pietro said standing in front of you two. Wands tried comforting you, but this time the pain wouldn’t subside. She made the doctor snap out of her trance.

“The quinjet is coming,” Ultron looked at the doctor. “Not a problem,” she said stopping all transactions for the body. While he was distracted, Pietro took his sister and ran off while you followed after trying to not to bump into any things or people. You all caught your breath at a train stop.

“Let’s rest a minute, I’m too tired for this.” You said throwing yourself onto the seats. “Just to clarify we aren’t working for Ultron anymore right?”

“Are you that stupid?!”

“Of course not Pietro!”

“Ahhh, stop yelling okay I get it,” Pietro said raising his hands in defeat. “So loud.” You heard his words and sent a pulse of energy his way. “Ow, that stung,” he said holding his lower abdomen.

“Wanna go to the market? I heard Asian food is great!” You asked, the twins nodded and you sped off to the market. “Oh look they’re on the news,” you said pointing at the TV, while biting into an unknown fruit. “Hey what is this?” You tried asking the lady, but she just hit you and made you throw out the rest of the fruit. You saw the twin staring at each other while also looking at the TV screen. “Are we really going to help them? I am too tired for this pals,” the have you an annoyed look before dragging you off to the location of the train.

“I call Ultron then,” You said running ahead. “Wait! You can get hurt!” You heard Wanda scream, but you were already on the train. You saw Ultron beating the crap out of Captain America and you were quick go act. You hit him with the side of your shoulder, making sure to pack enough energy to at least knock him back. He was about to attack you, but the bars Wanda moved interrupted his movements. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded desperately. “What choice do we have,” Wanda said glaring at the bot. Ultron sends a strip of beaming red heat, but you move quick enough to dodge it. You caught him trying to leave, but you went after him.

“Y/N! Stop!” You heard Wanda yell again, but ignored her. You saw the cradle being taken from one of the Avengers and you focused all got our energy on your hands. You slowly rose up and followed after Ultron with enough speed. A purple trail was left when you caught up to him. He turned around and kicked you with his metal foot, you lost balanced and he used that to his advantage. He grabbed your wrist as well and carried you off with the Russian Avenger. You woke up next to the Russian Avenger.

“Where are we?” You ask. “Sokovia, deep under Sokovia.” A lady replied. “Hey, redhead. I knew we would meet again. Say wanna take this off.” You said gesturing to the headband around your head. “I would but considering me hating you, I’m not going to.” “Fine then,” You muttered in Sokovian. “I heard that,” she said back. You rolled your eyes and continued watching Ultron build his weapon. You felt ashamed to be apart of making that.

~~~~~~~~~ The twins stood by Captain America and Wanda tried getting a hold of you. “Anything?” The younger one shook her, and the brother sighed in frustration. “You can’t let Stark get that cradle, he’s going to try and finish what Ultron created. He’s going to create another monster, you must stop him.” Wanda warned the American soldier and he just nodded understanding the situation. “Come with me, we’re going to stop them.” The three arrived at the tower and as expected they were creating another man. The Avengers continued to banter with each other until Pietro finally pulled the plug. “No, no keep going.” He said in a mocking tone. He heard a bang and saw a bullet coming up. Wanda screamed for her brother, but was held back by Bruce.

One thing lead to another and Thor came crashing down, feeding the cradle with lighting energy. And there Ultron’s vision was born. He had explained he wasn’t a child of God and that the thoughts you have seen weren’t him, but Ultron. “I suggest we start moving, that is if you want Miss Y/N alive,” Vision said handing Thor his mighty hammer. The twins glanced at each other before deciding to fight with them for the sake of you. “Wait here little humans, your friends are here.“ Ultron flew up and left you two there.

“Prepare yourself,” you heard her mutter and she gave a strong kick to your head. You rubbed the sore spot before opening the door. You were greeted by a man with curly hair, holding some sort of weapon. You were confused before the redhead went up to hug him. They shared a few words and you watched as she pushed him off into the abyss. You were utterly surprised when suddenly a big, green man came out. You watched as she climbed onto his back.

“Are you coming?” You shook your head, “I got my own ride, thanks though.” You climbed the stairs and went outside. “Let’s try this again,” you said slowing focusing your energy on your hands and feet. Your felt your feet being lifted off the ground and you smiled. You continued to make sure the energy kept coming off and you flew to the edge of the city. You saw everyone evacuating and decided to help before finding the twins. You helped people pack their things with your super speed and implanted the idea of leaving into their heads. You continued doing this and soon you cleared about two blocks of people. You were resting and catching your breath, but you felt the ground begin to shake. You were knocked off your feet when the ground began shaking even more.

You ran to the closest edge and saw that the city was……flying? Yeah, the city was flying. “What in the world?�� You said confused. Your thoughts were cut off with a few cars falling off the ledge that used to be the bridge. You ran over the fastest you could and tried to catch as many people and children as possible. You missed a lady’s hand by a centimeter, but lucky for you Captain caught her. “Thanks Cap,” You said before shooting a hex ball at one of the robots. “I had a feeling you’d show, here take this.” He said handing you a small button thing with wires on one end. “In your ear, soldier. You can communicate with the team with it.” He explained chuckling a bit. “Duck,” You ducked and put the ear piece in.

“Thanks again, see you on the field.” You said dashing off. “Hello?” You said sorta feeling stupid for talking at nothing. “

Y/N, are you alright?” You heard Pietro ask. “Did he hurt you at all?” Wanda asked right after. “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” You said punching a bot in the face. “Stay close to one of us don’t stray too far,“ you scoffed at Wanda protectiveness.

“Yeah mom,”

“I’m serious. This is an army of robo-”

“Let me put you on hold,” you said before taking out at least more than a dozen of the robots. “You were saying, sister?” You said and the smug smirk couldn’t be wiped off your face. “Holy shit, remind me do not mess with her, these robots are shredded,” you heard Stark say. “That’s right Mr. Stark, but right now you aren’t on the list of my favorite people right now.” You said punching a bot.

“Right now Y/L/N, the only thing to be focused on is the mission. I give you permission to rip him to shreds after the fight,” you heard Captain say after a few grunts. “You children, you humans are so foolish. You think that because you have stopped some of me, you can stop Sokovia from falling,“ You crumbled the metal head, but another one came up and began talking. “In the end, nothing else in the world will be existing except for metal.” You had enough of the annoying words and shredded the body. This time not another one followed.

“Y/N I need some help on the bridge, there’s too many bots.” You heard Captain say over the comms. “No! She needs to be closed to me, it’s unsafe for her to be out there alone. She’s pretty clumsy,” Wanda said. “Shut up! Y/N’s obviously gonna come to me, she doesn’t want to waste time on slowpokes like you, isn’t that right Princessa?” You laugh before telling them you’re going to help Captain.

“I think old man needs more help than any of you,” you say before rushing off. Once in a while you hear Pietro running past you and you hold in your chuckle because you knew he was only around to make sure you didn’t trip or some shit. You and Captain became super close when fighting even though you were literally a purple blur to him. You share a few thanks because you saved each other’s lives more than once. You were actually saving a lot of people with your powers.

“Hey why are you screaming? I’m not going to kill you or am I?” You joked a lot with the terrified civilians(you pretended to drop them once and a while*Steve doesn’t approve) You were pretty sure you scarred all of them for life. “Uhh Y/N mind helping me,” You saved the girl in the red car also helped Steve get back on his feet. You use your super speed a lot making you tired pretty quickly, but you didn’t stop. The main priority was making sure Cap didn’t die and no civilians weren’t injured. “Okay, were clear here,” Cap said to the team. “We’re coming to you,” you heard Clint say, in the background you heard Pietro telling the “old man to keep up.”

“I got ya Barton don’t worry,” You said rushing over and picking him up bridal style. You almost tripped because he was pretty damn heavy. “Mr. Barton I suggest a diet plan sooner or later,” You joked before he flicked your forehead. You stood by the edge admiring the view before a giant ship cane towards you. “What the fuck?” You heard everyone laugh in the comms at your surprise.

“Everyone get the civilians on the boats, your know the drill.” You and Pietro used your super speed and got as many people on the boat before Stark called everyone to the center. The three of you made sure all of you were fine and not hurt. You gave both of them a hug before Ultron’s voice ruined your moment. “Is that the best you could do!” The demi god challenged.

“Idiot,” You said face palming. About a hundred more robots came out of no where and joined his side. “You just had to ask.” You started kept your feet moving waiting for the signal. “Everyone take care of the core, protect it.” You sped through the bots and even helped Wanda with demolishing the remaining bots. You obviously favored the whole speed thing because it didn’t take that much energy to run for you. The whole brain manipulation thing was too much for you sometimes.

“Okay everyone get on the boats, for now Ultron has been defeated get on the boats before it’s too late!” Captain said. “And the core?” “I can protect it,” Wanda said. “It’s my job.” She glanced at Clint and he gave a proud smile.

All the Avengers eventually dispersed and went to find themselves a boat. “I’m not going to leave you here,” Pietro argued. “I can handle myself. You and Y/N both need to focus on getting everyone on a boat come for me after that is done and not before. You understand?” Pietro turned around with a smirk.

“You know, I’m 12 minutes older than you?”

“Yeah, and I’m 2 years older. Stay safe sister, Pietro let’s go.” You said your goodbyes and turned to Pietro. “You wanna carry me or shall I run myself?” He turned to look at you. “I’m gonna carry you of course,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and he ran to the boats. You trusted Wanda enough to protect the core, until everyone was safe that is. You were softly let down and you continued running to civilians getting them on boats. You and Clint hear a lady going about her son being in the market. “You can get it old man, I’m too tired.” He silently cursed at you, but went ahead anyway.

You watched as he helped the injured boy out of the rubble. Your head snapped up when you heard the sound of the quinjet firing off round after round. Everything was slow motion almost, like time was on your side. You saw everything, you saw Clint protect the child, you saw Pietro about to move in front of him, and you felt your fingers move to protect them. You protected them, you created a force field, and stopped the shots from hitting them. You saw Pietro’s head snap to your direction and he was about to smile, but you suddenly fell.

This pain is new. it’s too strong for you to handle, it felt like someone decided to slash your head in half slowly. You fell face first onto the metal floor with blood tripping out of your eyes, mouth, and nose. You pushed past your power’s limits. You don’t know why you were suddenly weak. Maybe on how many shots the force field took, or maybe how mentally tired you already were from stressing about the fight. You couldn’t remember much, except for Pietro rushing to you while screaming your name.

But Wanda could feel it. She felt the pain that you experienced. She screamed out in pain and agony. The power she held in was all released destroying all nearby robots. The pain didn’t stop, it kept going like a scratched record being played over and over. She turned around and saw the tin man lying in the train rubble. Her eyes glowed blood red and she walked over to him, abandoning her post.

“If you stay here Wanda, you’ll die.” He said breathless. “I already did, you killed my only sister. Do you know what it felt like?“ She controlled her angry and made it into her energy. She ripped out his heart and held it in her hands. “It felt like that,” she said before dropping it.

Pietro lied next to your body, your head in his lap. He heard footsteps approach him and saw it was his sister. The two let the sadness consume them. Your body wasn’t all that physically hurt, but the mental mayhem you went through was enough. The twins cried in each other’s arms feeling a piece of their heart break off. They held your hand and tried not to look at you.

“What do we do now?” Pietro asked his voice hoarse and tired. “Now? We fight. We become Avengers and stop anyone that wants to hurt people, we fight to protect now. It’s what she would’ve done.” Wanda said patting your head, her tear drops falling onto your pale face.. “You’re right, she would’ve wanted that.” Pietro said staring at your still figure. Clint watched the two have their exchanges.

“Can you save her Tony?” he said to the many seated next to him.

“I mean reviving a body that already brain dead? I don’t think it can be possible.“ Tony said feeling bad for the twins. “Oh well, you at least need to try, those two are hopeless without her. Just give it a shot, alright?”

Tony nodded his head. He will at least try. After all you were only just kid.

#avengers imagines #age of ultron imagines #maximoff twins #pietro maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff imagines #avengers #avengers age of ultron imagines #captain america #tony stark #iron man #black widow #hawkeye #the hulk #mcu #avengers mcu

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rei-reviews · 7 years

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Rei Reviews: Konosuba Season One

(aaand here is my review of the first season of Konosuba! I had a lot of fun writing this review and watching this anime! I’m hoping on posting more reviews on this account in parallel to my art because I’ve always wanted to write more of these I would also love to hear some feedback from you guys! what did you think of Konosuba if you watched it? did my review convince you to watch the anime? any tips that I can write better reviews? do comment them bellow~as for the next show I’m planning to review, it’ll either be Voltron: Legendary Defender or Michiko to Hatchin)

I don’t think it should surprise anyone when I say that one of, if not the most influential anime to come out this decade, is Sword Art Online. Whether you like it or hate it, there’s no denying that this show gathered a lot of attention and popularity. After all, its initial premise tells of a seemingly, average teenager who gets trapped in a videogame only to become the one of the strongest players and get all the ladies. The premise had a lot of appeal to its demographic and the anime industry realized this, which led to a significant increase of anime that shared a lot of elements that made SAO appealing both good and mostly bad.

And when a certain subgenre of a show starts becoming a trend, parodies of the subgenres will start appearing. And Konosuba just happens to be one of them. Konosuba: God’s Blessing on This Wonderful World, was produced by Studio DEEN and aired in the winter season of 2016. It was adapted from a light novel of same name which was written by Natsume Akatsuki.

The Substance Konosuba’s main character is Kazuma Satou, a video-game loving hikikomori (the Japanese term for a shut in), who rarely leaves the house unless he’s buying a new game. In one of said shopping trips he ends up losing his life when he tried to save a girl from getting run over by a truck. In the after-life, he meets aqua, a powerful goddess and she gives him the chance to be reincarnated in an RPG -esque fantasy world and become its savior from the powerful demon king with an overpowered weapon she will bestow him.

Now, I bet that so far, The show’s premise sounds completely cliché BUT there are two aspects of this scene make it completely subvert from the norm:

1) It turns out that Kazuma didn’t die from getting run over. The “truck” he thought had seen, was in fact a tractor. His true cause of death was from shock over a situation that didn’t even happen in the first place.

2) The ‘overpowered weapon’ that he chooses to take from the goddess is the goddess herself because he was irritated with arrogant behavior. and Aqua is CERTAINLY not pleased with it

And both of these subversions are executed with such great timing and exaggeration, it’s hilarious.

And so, this unlikely team is sent into the fantasy world with Kazuma hoping to get the video game adventure he has always dreamed of and Aqua desiring to defeat the demon king so she could return to her realm. Their party soon expands to include an explosion obsessed wizard named Megumin and masochistic knight named darkness. And many, many hijinks ensue. Like I mentioned before, Konosuba is a parody of anime like SAO as well as JRPGs in general. it mercilessly pokes fun of the genre’s tropes and contrivances with an upbeat nature that keeps it from becoming too mean spirited.

But what I really like about the gags in Konosuba is that they’re not just there for the sake of making fun of videogames. They help to flesh out the RPG inspired setting by the excessive attention of detail to its ridiculous lore and each gag or a character’s action has an impact on the plot’s direction. Even the raunchier jokes (and trust me when I say there’s a fair amount of rauch in this show) aren’t just there for fanservice and they help to contribute to the narrative. this doesn’t just make the writing in konosuba hilarious, but also genuinely clever. The main cast of konosuba is also what makes this show work. At first glance they seem to be completely characterized in an archetypical manner but this far from the case with each and every one of them.

Aqua appears to be a high and mighty tsundere and while she is very prideful, she is also a complete idiot and making fun of her never gets old. Megumin could’ve easily been the stoic yet powerful loli but in truth she’s completely childish and immature. This is best shown in the fact that the only magic she knows is explosion magic, which is so powerful she can use it once per day. But it doesn’t matter to her because it’s the coolest. Darkness may seem as a loyal and selfless knight who wants to defend her people, but in truth she’s a masochist who dreams of being tortured by ferocious monsters and gets very turned on whenever she’s insulted. And finally, there’s kazuma who could’ve easily been yet another bland, self-insert protagonist who happens to be very powerful. Except he isn’t. Yes, he shares a lot of common traits of the hikikomori trope like his obsession with videogames and waifus, and his occasional perversion, but he’s not glorified for any of it and he constantly complains about how the life he desired as an adventurer completely suck.

All of these characters end up comedically suffering because of their decisions and none of them are glorified. They’re not good natured people at the slightest but what that makes them likable is how despite their flaws, they still try achieve their goals despite failing. The characters don’t really change when it comes to their behavior but throught the episodes, they do get closer to each other and some sort of bond is formed between them.

and I’m just going to praise this show for NOT going the easy route and making all the girls fall in love with kazuma and become his harem. It’s a SHAME this is such a rare occurance.

The Presentation Studio DEEN has never been when It comes to animating and thus, konosuba isn’t the mostpolished. The colors of the fantasy world are vibrant and managed to make the setting pleasant, but the locations that the characters lived in weren’t that memorable. The animation itself isn’t very consistent and for the most part tends to look rather wonky But the aspects of the animation that are strong manage to shine through its flaws.

Takaomi Kanasaki, the anime’s director brilliantly managed to direct the show so that every joke hits. The pacing and timing is always tight and the wonkiness of the character animation actually helps to bring out the humor of the scenes to some extent. The action scenes that occur in the show are also well paced and have some brilliant sakuga moments sprinkled in.

The music in the show is also well made, not necessarily because of how memorable or epic it is, but because how its utilized in terms of comedy. sometimes the songs are used as a queue of a specific gag such as megumin’s casting an explosion, and sometimes they abrupltly end to highten the effect of a certain punchline. In addition, the OP to the show is a lot of fun to listen to. The song that accompanies is “fantastic dreamer” is relatively standard, but it’s filled with a lot of inside jokes and small gags that help to convey the chemistry between the main characters.

By far the strongest point of the overall presentation is the voice acting. Each and every actor from the main cast fit their characters to a T and the lines are delivered with a lot of energy and charisma. The best performance in the cast belongs to aqua’s voice actress, Sora Amamiya because she really gave that character her identity.

Final Verdict The first season of Konosuba is probably one of the best comedies I have seen in a while and not just in anime. Despite its short length, It’s an excellent parody of shows in the “trapped in the video game” subgenre but it manages to construct a fleshed out yet ridiculous fantasy world with very entertaining comedic leads. I recommend it for people who are tired of the oversaturation of anime like SAO as well as to people who just want to enjoy a good comedy. I can’t necessarily say that those who can’t stomach raunchiness will enjoy, but for the most part the tasteless fanservice is well… in good taste. And with that. That’s all I have to say about konosuba. Check it out if you’re interested because like its title says: it’s a blessing on this wonderful world

#konosuba #anime review #anime #konosuba anime

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marianneforbes · 7 years

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A response to “36 things wrong with American women”.

Up until now I have spent most of my time bashing feminists and SJW, so I figured I would balance it out a little bit with some bashing of stupid men. For those of you who don’t know who Roosh V is, he is a YouTube creator and pick-up artist who, despite trying his best, can’t seem to grab the attention of beautiful women. This has led him to become quite bitter. He is the creator of the site ‘Return of Kings’, where he has gained quite a following from other likeminded men. He also has had to deal with his fare shae of problems, tlike being denied big muscled white men in movies, and instead female leads (Mad Max Fury Road and Star Wars Episode VII).

Original video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCm8C21pXdQ

Number 1: They’re fat. Fat girls are simply unattractive, so why should you waste time dating a fat chick?

Some men do find chubby girls attractive. It’s true that fat people are generally not considered that attractive, and for good reasons too. However, women are not the only fat ones. Last time I checked, men can be obese too.

Number 2: They’re constantly glued to their smart phones. These girls are addicted to an electronic device and are less capable of human interaction.

Well, surfing on the internet on your phone while you’re sitting on a bus or train is a way to kill the time, especially if you’re alone. Are you telling me that American men are not?

Number 3: They cut their hair short. They are so lazy to maintain long hair that they make themselves ugly on purpose.

Long hair can be quite difficult to maintain, and cost a lot of money. Also, some women simply do look better in short hair. If your head size is on the thin side, a short haircut will give your face a lift and make it look rounder. Also, what is a short haircut to you? Does shoulder’s length long hair count as short or does it qualify as long?

Number 4: They are more impressed with the crappy DJ or instagram celebrity than a doctor who saves lives.

Actually, most women want financial security, so the doctor has a bigger chance of scoring when it comes to long lasting relationships. Maybe the DJ has better chances of scoring a one-night stand.

Number 5: They think being overly sarcastic is a quality that men love. Wrong. Sarcasm is rude and doesn’t show that you have a good sense of humor.

I agree that being overly sarcastic is not a good trait, though the same goes for men! However, sometimes it can be a good coping mechanism for when you’re really down, and that is fine.

Number 6: They listen to stupid websites when it comes to pleasing men.

Yes, but it’s more for fun. We look at them and then have a good laugh with our friends over how stupid those sites are. Mostly we listen to friends and family members when we want to be serious.

Number 7: They don’t know how to cook. Their idea of cooking is using the microwave or preparing macaroni & cheese, and some women don’t even know how to do that.

Cooking takes time, and the majority of people don’t have the time to spend all day long preparing a delicious gourmet dinner.

Number 8: They wear flip flops when they’re not on the beach, or not at the pool, or not in their house. Flip flops are the laziest footwear that you could put on, and it screams to the world that you simply don’t care.

And what obligation do women have to care what other people think about them? No, I would never wear flip flops outside of the beach/pool, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell others what they shouldn’t wear. To each his own.

Number 9: They have condoms in their dresser, because they are fully prepared to sleep with random men. A man only wants a girl to be a slut for himself not the entire town.

Let me tell you something you probably didn’t know: Women can get pregnant from sex.

Number 10: They idolize drug addicted celebrities aiming to mimic their braindead behavior. The role models for today’s girl is Kim Kardashian, not a woman who have achieved things in life.

What women would you like them to worship? Kim Kardashian, for all the shit she gets, has achieved things in life. She is the owner of her own company and has designed her own brand.

Number 11: They acquire pets instead of putting in to work to woo a quality man. When a woman gives up in life she buys a dog. This is sad.

Not all women get a dog when they give up on life. Some women get a cat.

But in all seriousness, pets have proven to reduce stress and are great therapy. Why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to have a pet? If all men were like you (thankfully they aren’t), can you really blame them for preferring a pet to a man?

Number 12: They don’t know how to be sexy and feminine, only trashy and slutty. Modern day women have no idea how to be a lady on the streets.

What on earth are you talking about? Not all women wants to be feminine. Some of them want to be more masculine. And how are they acting trashy and slutty?

Number 13: They have standards that are way beyond their attractiveness. Even an average girl thinks that she should land her prince charming.

As much as I hate to say this, I do agree with this. However, it should be noted that men do this as well, so it’s a two way street (you seem to be one of those men).

Number 14: They think that having a good job means that they are a quality girl and a good catch. News flash, guys don’t care about your stupid office job.

So let me get this straight: Women should care about your fancy doctor-education, but men don’t have to care about ours’?

Number 15: They wear pajamas in public. This is retarded.

Do they, or are you just talking about them wearing jump suits when they go for a quick errand to the store?

Number 16: They enjoy books like Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey and The Secret. They are addicted to braindead entertainment that makes them dumber.

Those books are easy to read and doesn’t require much thinking. They serve one purpose and one purpose only: fulfilling the desire and sexual fantasies of women.

Are you telling me men don’t enjoy “braindead” entertainment just for the sake of entertainment?

Number 17: Their idea of traveling is going to a beach or France. They have no idea how to use travel to learn about other cultures.

You’re only half right. Women do enjoy culture, and mostly when they travel they do both.

Also, what is wrong with France? France has a rich history, beautiful culture and good food. Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I make a trip there every second year.

Number 18: They have too many trashy tattoos. Too many American women these days look like prison convicts.

Believe it or not, they are allowed to have those tattoos. Some men find it attractive, while others don’t. I doubt most men care, though.

Number 19: They are proud to be dating many men at the same time, as if they were men themselves. These days women have no shame in hiding the facts that they are sluts.

If both parties are comfortable with it, who are you or I to judge?

Number 20: They do and say things in bed even the first time that you have sex with them, as if they were an immature porn actress. You know that they are doing that to every other guy as well?

Then stop being a pussy and tell them that it doesn’t turn you on!

Number 21: They cock block their own girlfriends when they are jealous. They can’t have it that their friends meet someone while they don’t.

Yes, there are some women who do this, and it’s shitty and annoying as fuck. I can give you this one. Luckily none of the women I know are like this.

Number 22: They make lame excuses for not putting effort into their appearances. It’s seems like a raise to the bottom for every girl to look as homely as possible.

Women have no obligation to anyone to put effort into appearance, especially not for you.

Number 24: They always lie the first time you get them in bed by saying “I’ve never done this before”. You know that’s a lie, but they continue saying that for every guy they sleep with.

Considering how you only a few posts ago said that you only want them to be a slut for you, are you really that surprised?

By the way, where is point number 23?

Number 25: They confuse being a challenge by being whiny and annoying. They have no idea how stupid they look when they give men a hard time for spending time with them.

I’m guessing you are talking about all those women rejecting you when you walk up to them and expect them to just fall into your arms. They are not obligated to spend time with you, and the one looking like a fool is you, not them!

Number 26: They watch way too much TV, letting it influence their personalities. When you go on a date with an American girl, you are really dating a combination of characters she has seen on television.

Huh? This doesn’t make any sense at all.

Number 27: On their way home from their comfortable office job, they take off their work shoes and put on dirty sneakers. They have no idea how much of a slob the look when they do this.

WHAT? Maybe they change their shoes because they don’t want to ruin their good shoes, and because it’s more comfortable walking home in sneakers as well as easier to run in in case someone jumped on them.

Number 28: They age their skin prematurely to fake tans. Maybe they’ll look like this week or next month, but in a few years’ time they are going to look like a razor.

Considering how you have in many of your points been calling them “girls” instead of “women”, indicating that you don’t view them as adults, can you blame them?

Number 29: They insist on eating pizza or other fattening food after a night of binge drinking. And then they wonder why they are so fat.

Because greasy food clears up the head, and balances out the amount of alcohol. Greasy food is a great and tasty cure for hangover.

Number 30: They are obsessed with cupcakes. An American woman gets satisfaction from eating tiny baked goods.

Cupcakes are delicious. Enough said.

Number 31: They care more about maintaining a career than a good home or family. She has made money the most important part of her life, more than having kids or a good husband.

Unless the husband is the CEO of a large company, it is almost a requirment for the woman to work so the family can survive and for the kids to have a bright future. Besides, raising a family takes time and dedication, and if you don’t feel up to the task then you are doing the responsible thing to not start a family. The world is over-populated anyway, we don’t need more brats to ruin it. One final thing before we move on, you are not a good man so I doubt you’d be a good husband. If a woman wants kids and a good husband, you’re not the man she would go for.

Number 32: They rarely wear high heels, one of the most feminine behaviors that a woman can do.

Have you ever worn high heels? Because if you did, you would know that they are extremely uncomfortable, and bad for your back and posture. Why should a woman put your pleasure above her health? Neither is it a requirement for a woman to be feminine.

Now, I wear high heels on a regular basis because I am quite short, but I don’t blame women who don’t want to wear it. It takes time getting used to.

Number 33: They think dining out and eating food slathered with butter and salt makes them cultured, and they call themselves a foodie while they do it. It just makes them fat instead.

Ditch the woman if she’s so stupid, or just tell her that it doesn’ make her cultural.

Number 34: They don’t speak any foreign languages. They think that America is at the center of the universe.

Olen huomannut että suuri osa Amerikkalaisista uskovat näin, ei vain naisia. Ovat varmasti Amerikkalaiset, jotka tietävät että maailmassa on muita maita, mutta se on stereotyyppi, että eniten heistä eivät tiedä tavallisesta geografiasta.

Eller hur? I Hetalia så bestod ju Amerikas världskarta av bara Amerika.

If a woman speaks more than two languages, English is most likely the foreign language she speaks, while the language that’s foreign to you is her mother tongue.

Number 35: Their intellectual curiosity doesn’t go beyond the pages of Gocker or Buzzfeed. To get them to actually learn about the truths of the world is impossible:

I think most women understand that those sites are garbage. It’s just fun to look at them and poke fun of them.

Number 36: They go on and on about the stupidest personal drama and nonsense, thinking that the day to day things that they come across are critically important to anyone else.

What are they supposed to talk about? The presidential election? I don’t know if you are aware of that, but that subject is a downer? As is the situation in the Middle East. Important stuff as both of those subjects are, you can’t expect a person to only focus on it.

#misogyny #sexism #roosh v

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colmenerodwyane96 · 4 years

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Premature Ejaculation Pills At Takealot Sublime Tips

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callmemoprah · 5 years

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Most readily useful Intercourse Roles going to the G-spot

Boffins have already been trying to find brand brand new methods of reaching an orgasm for all years. Particularly the female is concerned by it one. Everybody imagined discovering a “spot” regarding the feminine human anatomy which will be in charge of the numerous sexual climaxes, switching the woman’s awareness into multi-colored confetti. This kind of finding were held into the 40s regarding the final century. Nevertheless, folks are nevertheless arguing about its veracity a minimum of about a Snow guy, a UFO or life on Mars. Many frequent question sounds like, “Is the G-spot real?”

Numerous girls are erroneously convinced that they can’t have a climax. “Frigidity” is amongst the fables that “pull” on by on their own those individuals who have maybe perhaps not yet discovered their G-spot. Needless to say, in perfect circumstances, a female should learn her human body by by by herself to discover each of its abilities because even probably the most lover that is skillful perhaps maybe not really a psychic. Nevertheless, if she’sn’t done that for a few reasons yet, discover all of the desires that are secret available brand brand brand new erogenous areas together, efficiently approaching the mystical female’s G-spot.

where could be the g spot positioned

What’s a G-spot?

The very first zone that is erogenous the vagina ended up being described because of the German gynecologist Ernst Grafenberg in the center of the century that is last. Within theearly 80’s, this area had been formally known as the G-spot following the “discoverer.” This term became thanks that are popular Beverly Whipple, Alice Ladas, John Perry, the authors of “The G-Spot as well as Other current Discoveries About Human Sexuality,” which became the reference that is main in the reputation for the G-spot.

Thanks to television advertising, also first-graders find out about the known proven fact that males have prostate. It’s harder to think that a lot of ladies own it also. More properly, the prostate gland in a immature, embryonic state is often called the G-spot. vietnamese dating in usa Nonetheless, just how can females have the organ that is male? It Turns out that all social individuals in the 1st 45 times of their pre-natal youth are girls. Just following this duration, the chromosomes develop the last mosaic intoxicated by a hormone that is special endowing a youngster with male or feminine intercourse. To put it simply, the cells from where the female and genital that is male organs are created are very nearly identical.

Considering the undeniable fact that both sexes are created from the exact exact exact same cells, researchers genuinely believe that the G-spot is nothing but unused muscle that types the prostate. You may already know, a prostate is an exceptionally sensitive and painful organ, and for that reason, the G-spot is endowed having the ability to acutely perceive sensations and react earnestly for them. Furthermore, some experts genuinely believe that the G-spot is enclosed by erectile muscle, therefore whenever a female is excited, it guarantees her a miniature erection.

How to locate the G-spot?

The thing that is main it is possible to face on the road to the woman’s orgasm is, in reality, the look for the G-spot. Many people just cannot believe it is! Consequently, they do say so it will not occur, and it is all a misconception rather than the development of experts. Besides, relating to studies, regrettably, perhaps maybe not all females contain it. Nonetheless, when it comes to a good outcome, where is the G-spot situated? It could be located on the anterior rough wall surface associated with vagina. There clearly was a tiny eminence 3-5 cm through the entry to your vagina, similar to the peel that is soft of and it is really responsive to pushing.

g spot massageOne of the very essential things you should know is so it’s impossible to discover the G-spot if a female just isn’t excited. Initially, this has the dimensions of a pea, plus in a state that is excited it reaches how big a button that is quite big. Consequently, if you’re going to consider it, ensure you have inked your absolute best to excite the girl. Keep in mind that a girl requires at least 15-20 moments of initial caresses to make in well. Just then your G-spot will triple in proportions, and you also shall have the ability to think it is without difficulty.

The G-spot orgasm is known as to end up being the achievement that is simultaneous of clitoral and genital sexual climaxes. This is certainly, an activation for the G-spot permits females to simultaneously experience two kinds of orgasm, that is usually maybe maybe maybe maybe not available. The main issue is that the genital area where the pleasure center is situated is insensitive, and it’s also needed some efforts to “turn it on.”

Just how to stimulate the G-spot?

To get the G-spot is half the battle, plus it’s perhaps maybe perhaps not enough to attain an orgasm. Because of the fact it is quite deep inside, it must be familiar with caresses to awaken it. Anyhow, a lady should pay attention to her own emotions, know very well what and just how she likes.

The G-spot massage could be the step that is first the best way to success. The most wonderful pose because of it is whenever a lady lies on her behalf straight back, and a guy lies on their part, dealing with the lady. He should enter his center and band hands to the vagina and place their thumb in the clitoris. It’s important to caress both areas during the exact same time, doing somewhat pushing motions. You can easily imagine which you spell away a note in Morse rule, for instance, the SOS sign. Preferably, make an attempt to create her cum. When her brain will Understand that this type or sort of pleasure hinges on the G-spot stimulation, her body will subconsciously conform to it. The location will “switch on” during the phase for the typical foreplay. Nonetheless, don’t forget to make use of a lubricant.

The G-spot sex jobs

It is possible to awaken the G-spot during sexual activity. Some happy girls satisfy this challenge. Quite a few get it done intuitively, just after their very very very own emotions. The thing that is main to get the right angle of penetration. You have to produce strain on the front wall surface associated with the vagina. Motions should really be intermittent and short, this is certainly, in reality, similar to utilizing the therapeutic therapeutic massage or one of many modes associated with the G-spot dildo. You need to press the G-spot with your penis. In the one hand, it really is more challenging, having said that, if you do every thing appropriate, your penis will far better stimulate the specified area. The time that is next will answer your caresses more clearly, as well as in per week or two of regular training, your gf should be able to achieve a good genital orgasm in most of the G-spot roles.

Man-on-top place. It really is rather easy to cum making use of this intercourse place because you take over during frictions, and there’s an active stimulation for the G-spot. Besides, your ex’s raised up and bent knees will offer a deep penetration. For extra acuity of feelings, you are able to caress her ankles and sides in the beginning, so when the thing is that the lady is certainly going to cum, place your palm on the clitoris. Extra stimulation for the clitoris will provide her an extremely unique feeling, this is basically the form of orgasm described into the finale associated with the novel “Eleven Minutes” by Paulo Coelho. Therefore, if you’re in search of roles going to the G-spot, give consideration to those where a person is at the top.

Tilting sleep place. Whenever a lady is lying on the straight straight back, inform her to pull up her knees cross and bent them. She should when you penetrate her vagina gently hit her feet against your upper body. Supporting her sides, you may make tight frictions. How could you precisely stimulate the G-spot? The primary thing in this intercourse place will be keep her feet crossed, thanks for this her vagina will encircle a very “dense ring to your penis.” In addition, in our place, regardless of the minute you are over the top, it’s very convenient for your ex to make use of the muscle tissue of this vagina, strengthening your penis stress on all areas that are sensitive.

Rock ‘n’ move position. It varies through the position that is above-mentioned In the known undeniable fact that her foot are on your own arms. This place is the better choice for “the delighted end” if you’ve got started sex in a typical man-on-top place. The partners whom want to explore one another’s eyes during intercourse and combine frictions with sensual kisses will such as this place. It really is among the best feasible alternatives for striking the G-spot.

g spot vibratorsGorgeous eight place. Kama Sutra has somewhat refined the classic position that is missionary a therapeutic therapeutic massage of this G-spot. You’re on top, and she sets moobs of pillows underneath the ass to really make the penetration of one’s penis also deeper. In this intercourse place, the G-spot is quite earnestly stimulated and, in addition, your rubs that are pubic her clitoris, bringing more pleasure. As the saying goes, “You could have all of the pleasure you desire.” Besides, if you’d like to surprise her also more, you possibly can make circular frictions while the movements that are figure-eight. There is a chance that is good you certainly will achieve orgasm in the time that is same. That is simply the most readily useful intercourse place hitting the G-spot.

The G-spot toys

In contemporary intercourse shops, there is certainly an extremely assortment that is large of vibrators. All of them has speeds that are several however they are maybe maybe perhaps perhaps not built to get various types of pleasure, but to find the many comfortable rate for the girl. Anyhow, she’s going to pick the g-spot vibrator that is best on her behalf by test and mistake. However, you have the variety of the key possible options that may help the lady understand her body better and achieve the required orgasm.

Flexible embossed dildo (as an example, RestArt Sparta.) The doll’s engine is certainly not when you look at the handle regarding the unit, however it is included in its top. This Means that the maximum applied force shall be during the tip, that is, precisely for active stimulation of her G-spot. The doll is quite versatile and bends equally well in either way. Nine modes of vibration are switched by way of one key, generally there is absolutely absolutely absolutely nothing superfluous.

Waterproof dildo (as an example, Adrien Lastic Billy the young Kid 2.) This dildo has got the diameter that is basic of 4 cm, additionally the trunk is bent by waves. In addition, its delineated by little reliefs, that are designed for stimulation associated with the vagina’s walls. You can find ten modes of stimulation, you start with constant strong vibration to complex pulsations. Consequently, the G-spot will maybe not remain without attention.

Simply vibrator that is perfectfor instance, Baile Pretty like Upton.) This vibrator has a tremendously design that is interesting makes it possible for for stimulating the absolute most painful and sensitive area. This has a soft atmosphere pillow in the handle, which adjusts the strength of vibration once you hit and transmits vibrations more highly compared to the remaining portion of the trunk. To produce optimum results, you want to fit the pillow, or, quite the opposite, you’ll gently press about it if you intend to attain delicate vibration. In addition, the dildo features a traditional control system. It is possible to select some of the 12 favorite modes.

Anatomical twisted vibrator (for instance, Fun Toys Gjack 2.) This doll is a must-have for women whom like strong stimulation. It’s very very long and quite wide, posseses a top that is anatomical and it’s also simple and easy convenient to manage. It offers 6 modes of vibration, you start with the gentlest and also to ab muscles rough and razor- razor- sharp. Therefore, be mindful, this doll just isn’t for all.

Vibrator with two engines for clitoral while the G-spot stimulation (For instance, Fun Factory Lady Bi.) this product is created specifically when it comes to G-spot orgasm due to the length that is perfect of trunk and a slightly bent tip, that really help concentrate on the desired area. Besides, soft bulges in the trunk enable stimulating the walls. The dildo has two engines, and that means you will certainly just like the process.

Source: http://mobimatic.io/2019/01/08/most-readily-useful-intercourse-roles-going-to-the-6/

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jillmckenzie1 · 6 years

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How I Got Out of My Toxic Relationship

It’s 2:01am. And, I want to go to sleep. Truly, I do. But, my mind is mulling over the current state of affairs in the Supreme Court nominations. I spent the better part of this afternoon really listening to the testimonies of both Christine Blasey Ford and Brett Kavanaugh.

But, let me be clear, this post has nothing to do with politics.

No, this story is about a 34-year-old female who is finding herself inside a conversation that is questioning whether or not women are truthful when it comes to explicating their experiences. And, be it good or bad, I am now finding a way to attach conscious thoughts to emotions that I felt two, five, ten years ago. Because, what is resonating with me so clearly right now is the word “embarrassed.” Women have chosen silence for fear of not being taken seriously, for fear of being wrong, for fear of saying something that the world may perceive as being different than what is actually true.

So, at 2:01am (make it 2:04am), I’m being smacked in the face by two distinct realizations.

One. We, as humans, love to create stories around how, we think, other people are receiving our humanness. These metaperceptions are generally tainted by our own view of ourselves and our inept ability to reason that no two people in this world think exactly the same way; therefore, our claim that “most people” will feel a certain way about our actions is not founded in any truth. And, worst of all, it silences us from sharing the most authentic version of ourselves and chasing our happiest state of existence because we decide the outcome of a choice before giving ourselves an

opportunity to actually experience it.

Two. There is a deep running understanding in our society that men’s overall treatment of women is poor, but silently accepted. My evidence for this statement is visible in the language that most, if not all, of my male friends use when they speak of having children: “If I ever have a daughter, I’m never letting her leave the house” or “I hope I have a son so that I only have to worry about one male; if I have a daughter, then I have to worry about all males.” Yes, there is a reason for the adage of “daddy’s girl,” but I want to suggest that there is something much deeper happening here, and that depth exists because I spent 99.9% of my current life being completely unphased by such irrational statements. I smiled and I nodded because I, too, would deductively reason the same ideology. Because, gawd, yes, being a woman is really fucking hard sometimes. But, for adults to be able to verbalize that they don’t want to raise girls because they don’t want to carry those girls’ burdens, which are completely centered on how males treat them, is worthy of our analysis and attention. Most importantly, it is worthy of us doing something to change that stigma.

Side note. I have never been a man, so yes, the above comments are jaded by my own bias. And, this is not all to say that women don’t do shitty things. Because, wow, we do some crappy stuff, people. What I’m attempting to do is articulate my experience. I am trying to give a voice to my testimony. Because, for a long time, I willingly bit my tongue. Out of insecurity. Out of fear. I was in constant pursuit of affirmation that what I was experiencing was real. That I was really hurting. That my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. And, if it were true that I was really hurting, then I wanted affirmation that I had a viable reason to hurt. That I wasn’t being soft. Or irrational. Or stupid.

So, I want to unpack a relationship from my life that, for many years, brought me a lot of shame. I want to stand here without reservation to exist only inside of this story long enough to tell it and then also to acknowledge that I was able to walk away from it a far better person for having been there.

Observation Point (Zion National Park)

Let’s begin. If one could earn points in dating, I’m quite convinced I would be in the negatives. I just do not have the genetic makeup or the desire to play the games that, it seems, are characteristic to successful courtship. I operate in two speeds in every facet of my life, and the same is true for people. If I like you, I will love you. If I love you, I will ride or die with you. This ladder is not exclusive to romantic relationships, and I must clarify that I am inclined to have three deep relationships in my life than to have 30 acquaintances. If given a choice, I’ll take depth over breadth. On the flipside, if I don’t like you, I will waste no time with you. Literally. Zero time. So, I repeat, I suck at dating. I fall hard. Or, I peace out quickly. And, a year ago, I would have felt a need to apologize for that. But, I have learned that an apology is altogether unnecessary. I am allowed to be this way because this way is not wrong. The other way is not right. I must simply be conscious of this quality and recognize where I am open to get hurt myself and to hurt other people.

I wish I had gleaned this awareness much earlier on in life, but I suppose this is the joy of aging. If you follow me on Instagram, then you know that I talk a lot about having been in a toxic marriage. I also talk a lot about being out of a toxic marriage. While the vulnerability piece does not intimidate me, I often find it hard to shed light on the actions. For a long time, I struggled to use words like “domestic violence” because I had convinced myself that I needed two black eyes in order to bear this cross.

I am here to tell you that you do not, in fact, have to suffer from any type of physical abuse to be a victim in your relationship. In fact, I recall many nights where I begged for a swift right hook to the face if only to make the verbal abuse end.

And, at this point, we should probably go back to the beginning. When he and I played on the same co-ed indoor soccer team, and we’d all go drink beers after our games, and he’d always offer to be my chauffer. I wasn’t in a place in my life to have a serious relationship. Without turning this into a 5000-word diatribe, I will admit that I had recently been divorced. Yes, I got married when I was freshly 21-years-old to a guy in the military who convinced me that it would be a financially smart decision (don’t do this, ladies). Our hot mess college relationship translated into a hot mess marriage, and we were divorced within the year. In all sincerity, it feels like so many lives ago that I barely even recognize it as being a part of my story, but I also know that we were incredibly immature and lacked nearly every possible tool to “make it” (as they say).

For clarification, this guy will not be referenced further, and any mention of my ex-husband will be directly related to soccer guy from the beginning of the previous paragraph.

Said soccer player was also not in a position for a relationship. He was living in Colorado for work with every intention of one day moving back to Ohio to be near his family. So, I moved to Portland for a job, and six months later he moved back to Louisville for work. I didn’t think we’d speak again (for the record, these are always the famous last words).

We didn’t speak. For about six months. But, he slowly crept back into my inbox (I’m going to age myself and point out that “sliding into the DMs” was not yet a thing). At the end of the school year (hashtag, teacher life) I moved to Kentucky. He immediately prefaced my move with the statement, “I can’t call you my girlfriend.” Perfect. Great. We’ve just been talking every day for the last six months. That makes sense. His inability to commit all along should have been the only red flag that I ever needed, but my damn diehard personality (coupled with my 20-something naiveté) would not let it go.

So, this dance continued for over two years in the Bluegrass State. I became super close with his family, and we honored the fact that they were very religious and did not believe that living together was socially acceptable. We hung out every night, but there were times when I wouldn’t stay with him, and while I believed at that point that he partied a little too hard for his own good, I wrote it off to the fact that he grew up in a strict household and never drank until he was 21-years-old.

It’s a phase, I said. It will pass, I said.

When we got married, I was really exposed to another side of him that I had only glimpsed in our dating life. And, before I even fast forward to this whole marriage status, I want to point out that I clearly felt in my heart that I was making the wrong choice the day that I walked down the aisle. Yes. Nothing sat well with me in the months leading up to this spectacle. But, I had already said yes, and the invitations were sent, and people had RSVP’d, and then, fuck, they were all sitting right there waiting for some grandiose entrance from yours truly. I didn’t want to let anyone down.

Hear that. At the cost of my own life, I created a story of what people would think about me if I backed out on such a commitment, so I followed through because I assumed that the story that they created would paint me in a negative light.

As imagined, it was never what I wanted or needed it to be. We immediately started going to counseling. Our therapist fired him because she said he had a drinking problem that she was not expertly trained to handle. He chastised me for continuing to go see someone who was dumber than him. I went to Al-Anon. I worked the twelve steps. I found a mentor. I begged him to get help.

And, again, I struggled with defining a word that carried so much weight: alcoholism. He was successful. He was well-liked. He didn’t wake up slinging booze from the side of his bedstand.

No. It was a silent fall. It was the seventh shot of Fireball at 1:37am, already eight beers deep, where his eyes would glaze over, and I would quietly hug myself on the walk home in fear of saying just one wrong thing. Because, I had learned that to fight this beast in its natural element was nothing short of a recipe for pure terror. I stopped feeling. I stopped going out altogether. I stopped drinking. Because, how can you beg someone to stop doing something that you are, in fact, doing yourself? Most importantly, I needed control of my every breathe. There was not a single moment that I could lapse on my judgment.

Because, when I lapsed, when I lost my patience or wisdom or sanity, I would unfurl every ounce of pain that was hiding under my skin. I would scream and cry out for every city street that I had ever walked home alone: Nashville, Louisville, San Diego, Cabo San Lucas, Chicago, Nasau, Denver. I can’t recall a single city we visited together that doesn’t also have a story about my 3:00am lost and lonely trek back to a hotel that I managed to find through only a decent sense of direction. And, the screaming and the crying that would seep from my pores would be met with the hatred as deep as the Devil.

Like that one night in December. After the Justin Timberlake concert. When he, at first, wouldn’t let me up the stairs to go to bed. I was actually so scared that I ran into the guest room on the first floor and hid under the flimsy covers of the bed, hugging the dog for dear life as if she could transport me anywhere but there. Unfortunately, despite childhood dreams, covers do not make one invisible. So, he came in screaming, violently pointing his finger over top of me in between my beady eyes. And, I knew I couldn’t cry. Because, I needed every ounce of my own strength to prevent a complete downward spiral into my own oblivion. And, I ran up the stairs, hoping to lock myself in our room (a tactic that I knew would fail) as he forced me into the laundry room. He stared at me with his hollow soul and silently begged for me to cower in the corner. I did not. I pleaded for him to hit me, to give physical pain to the words that were cutting into any ounce of dignity that still existed inside of me. Instead, he slid his hands around my throat. He locked my neck inside of his fingers and pressed me firmly against the wall. He reminded me of all the money that he had made, money that didn’t belong to me, while I pathetically lived in the house that only he could afford. Yes, he reminded me. And, I flung my fists with every attempt to kill until he finally let me go. The next morning, he’d apologize. Like he always did. And, I’d remember that I’m poor. And, I’d be embarrassed that I was weak. And, I’d teach myself not to feel. I’d teach myself to be invisible.

I finally stopped going out altogether. I became a recluse. I lived out the daily façade of having my life put together in my perfect neighborhood. Meanwhile, I was dead. And, for six months (that I know of), he was having an affair with a woman who worked under him. Ironically, I learned about this relationship after leaving him, which oddly brings me a small sense of joy.

I left him because of me, not him.

I looked back on my life in a single moment with him and realized that we had done nothing to grow for 365 days. We weren’t becoming better together, which translated into us not becoming better individuals. I couldn’t sit with that. I finally stopped listening to the voice that told me everyone would judge me so critically for being divorced. I knew that my fear of turning 50 and waking up to someone who caused me so much internal pain, coupled with the fact that I refused to procreate with such an individual and yet I wanted kids, meant making the harder choice between two hard choices.

In all sincerity, I often ask myself, how the hell did I get out of that mess? I’ve come to see this moment of my life a lot like a car accident. It is paradoxically fast and slow. And, I am overwhelmed by people who seek me out for guidance in this stage of life, married or not. I’ve come to believe that getting out of a toxic relationship is as gradual of a process as getting into one. And, I’m awake at what is now 2:58am, because my story matters. Christine Blasey Ford’s story matters. Your story matters. Because, it’s not okay. It was never okay.

I’ve spent over two years reintroducing myself to myself. Yes, reintroducing myself to myself. Because I wanted to be alive. I tried new things, things that I had expressed interest in but didn’t ring true when I was in the relationship, things that I ignored because he made me think that I wasn’t “that kind of person.”

I leaned on my friends and family. I learned to not make up people’s stories for them. Often times, when we are in toxic relationships, the closest people to us are fully aware of our circumstance. And, we will frequently verbalize that we need to leave or that we’re going to leave. But, we do not. Because, staying is easy. Even when it’s hard. Leaving is fucking hard. Even when it seems easy. So, if you’ve tried to leave this person before and you’ve gone back, the trust with your support system may be weak. I have learned to never underestimate your vulnerability. If you show people you want help (even if it is again), you might be surprised.

As expected, I took trips alone. Even when it was scary. Because I really knew that the only way I would be ready for another relationship would be if I were comfortable with myself first. And I had allowed that relationship to make me a version of myself that I never wanted to become again: insecure, fragile, angry.

Humphreys Peak (Flagstaff, Arizona)

Finally, I had to completely remove him from my life to move forward. Alcoholism is deadly. The person has to want to help him or herself. If not, there is no hope for better. It took me going through hell to really resonate with the fact that I was not responsible for him. If you are here, please hear me, I promise there is a great life waiting for you on the other side.

People sometimes ask me how I do it again. How I put myself out there. I want to get defensive about this statement

because I am extremely hypercritical of myself for being a divorcee, but I am open to the idea that they are actually softening their hearts to the fact that they think I am brave for trying again. Usually, they have also been hurt, and they have not been able to open their hearts in such a way that I feel is right for me in order to have the life that I want to have. I don’t think I’m brave. I think I just opened my eyes. I think I just committed to a life of never settling. And, I will always stay opportunistic to the idea that my match exists somewhere inside this crazy planet called Earth. If that means exposing myself to heartbreak, I’ll take feeling everything over and over again than a life of feeling nothing at all.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/how-i-got-out-of-my-toxic-relationship/

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