#dazzling nova | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jennajaeger · 1 year

Text

So I don’t normally talk about my OCs on here very much, but I got inspired by @starleska to actually talk a little bit about the OCs I have to ship with some of my F/Os!! Yes they are all still essentially self-inserts and meant to be lived through vicariously, but they’re still my girls and I love them :3 Plus I think it would be fun to give you guys a little bit of a glimpse into the stories I have for my F/Os!!

Liesel Halle & Eren Jaeger, Attack On Titan

Liesel is often considered to be “the flower of the Survey Corps” because while she’s not a member of the squad (her older sister, Isolde, holds a high rank and she’s shipped with Levi, but that’s another story :P), she’s always helping out and is great for morale -- not to mention she’s the only person who can get Eren to SIMMER DOWN sometimes XD It’s cute to track the growth of their relationship as they go from teenagers to adults, and how devoted they ultimately become to each other. Not to mention how Liesel almost has a parallel arc of descending into darkness right alongside her paramour :P She’s ready to murder people for her mans if it comes down to it, AND IT OFTEN DOES.

Gianna “Gigi” Knightleigh & Jonathan Sims, The Magnus Archives

I have SUCH a soft spot for Jon and Gigi’s relationship, because it so closely mirrors my own feelings towards Jon as a character :P Gigi was hand-picked by Elias to work at the Institute as an intern, and at first she didn’t like Jon at all XD She thought he was a stuffy, pompous windbag and was endlessly frustrated by his skepticism. There was ENDLESS sarcastic banter between the two of them, and then y’know, season two happened :P And that’s where the shift in their dynamic happens. Gigi realizes firsthand that Jon isn’t ignorant, he’s TERRIFIED. She becomes the only person he allows himself to really turn to in all of this, and that’s when they really become close :P And she becomes FIERCELY protective of him when everyone else starts to turn on him, even when it becomes clear that Jon isn’t human. I’m also pretty sure Elias chose her specifically BECAUSE she would end up being so supportive of Jon, and despite her vulnerabilities he’s actively protecting her from ending up as a target of any of the other Entities :P

Jenna Campbell & Wanda Maximoff, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Shocking that my MCU themed OC is the most blatantly self-insert-y of the bunch :P Irony being that this SHIELD agent fell for Wanda’s twin brother Pietro first, and the two of them came together in their shared grief after he was killed during their mission. This led to the two of them becoming close friends, and then Jenna developing some more-than-friends feelings for Wanda that she largely kept to herself because of Wanda’s burgeoning courtship with Vision :P But she’s always been willing to do just about anything for Wanda, to the point where getting her back was largely Jenna’s motivation post-Infinity War. But after Endgame, the world was broken, and they all had their own traumas to cope with, and Jenna didn’t realize that Wanda was isolating herself to an unhealthy degree until it was too late for her to directly intervene. She never stopped fighting to find Wanda again though, especially in the direct aftermath of Westview. As it stands, the future of their story is uncertain, but hopefully their paths will ultimately cross again......

Nyx Hopper & Eddie Munson & Chrissy Cunningham, Stranger Things

Nyx has become one of my more prominent OCs!! She’s the adoptive older sister of Eleven, and the two of them were brought up in the Hawkins lab together -- though because she was older, Nyx was put into a caretaker role towards the younger kids. She ended up escaping from the lab and being forced to leave El behind, though they found their way back to each other. When she first started attending Hawkins High, Nyx was withdrawn and quiet, and she was inspired to come out of her shell more and be unapologetically herself (as well as embracing the goth subculture) by watching Eddie do the same thing :P And so she’s harbored a crush on him ever since. She also ended up becoming close to Chrissy after they met by pure circumstance; Chrissy is the only member of the “popular” crowd to give Nyx a chance, and Nyx has the empathy that encourages Chrissy to open up to her :3 And yes, she does have similar telekinetic abilities to El, and an even stronger connection to the Upside Down..... :P

Jacaera Velaryon & Aemond Targaryen, House of the Dragon

gonna put a content warning here for canon-typical incest

Jacaera is the only living daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen; with her father purported to be Laenor Velaryon, but her biological father is in fact Harwin Strong :P She’s the older sister of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, though she knows her brothers will always come first in the line of succession, and has to grapple with this as her mother once did before her. Like her brothers, she also grew up in close proximity to Alicent’s children; Rhaenyra’s half-siblings Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. Despite the fact that he’s technically her uncle, the two are so close in age they grew up seeing each other as peers, especially with Helaena being betrothed to her own elder brother Aegon at an early age. Jacaera was the only one of Rhaenyra’s children who was never cruel to Aemond, and this on top of their common interests fostered a closeness between the two of them. As they meet each other again in adulthood, the two of them face the prospect of being the future of their respective branches of the Targaryen family line.....and coming into their own in war rather than in love :P (the ~drama~ with these two is real)

“Valkyrie” & Johnny Silverhand, Cyberpunk 2077

Ah, Valkyrie, my V!! I’ve talked about her and her dynamic with Johnny a bit before, but I will take every opportunity to talk about them more :P She comes from a Corpo family, and she was always kind of the family disappointment. (Admittedly, being a Samurai fangirl and openly crushing on a dead rockstar who was also most definitely a domestic terrorist didn’t do her any favors either :P) At first, she worked hard to try and prove herself, but after unceremoniously losing her cushy job, she’s gone full “fuck it” and uses her Corpo knowledge as a force for chaos XD Admittedly, having your old celeb crush in your head and hearing them (at least at first) reaffirm everything your abusive mom ever told you is kind of a head trip :P Though Valkyrie ends up personally trusting Johnny a lot more off the bat than the game establishes, their banter is amazing and he’ll obviously never admit how much he actually likes her, or how important she becomes to him down the line. Eventually their relationship becomes borderline codependent in the most delicious way, and though V has her girl gang (Judy, Panam, Claire, and Lizzy), there’s really nothing she and Johnny won’t do for each other <3

Nova & Vash the Stampede & Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Trigun Stampede 2023

Stampede is one of those shows that imo is just.....nigh on perfection so I tend to struggle to find holes in the narrative that I can put my OC into :P That being said, Nova is a darling :3 I may not be able to give her any special powers or any significant arc as of yet, however sometimes it’s just enough for her to be there for the boys in those little in between moments, to give them the love and affection they both so desperately need <3

Naomi “Nighthawk” Kanda & Touya “Dabi” Todoroki, My Hero Academia

Ah, Naomi, my baby girl <3 She has such a special place in my heart and so does this relationship :P Her Quirk is called Swerve, the ability to alter the trajectory of any projectile she throws or that is thrown toward her; including her own body. She once had aspirations of becoming a Pro Hero back in her UA days, when she was young and naive. But of course, she had the idealistic preconceptions of what being a hero is like completely shattered for her when she went on a mission that went very, very bad. She failed to save a child whom had been abducted, and in her blind fury and grief she murdered the man who was responsible. Now she’s considered a vigilante and delivers her own form of justice to the most heinous of criminals, and operates under the moniker “Nighthawk” :P (Her family also had ties to the Yakuza but THAT’S another story XD) She ended up getting on the radar of the League of Villains, and will even sometimes work with them on and off, but she has her own agenda by and large. She also has a chronic case of “I can fix him” disorder and by god it’s incurable XD

Melody Thyme & Wally Darling, Welcome Home ARG

Melody is a somewhat new addition to my roster of OCs, and since there’s still so little we know about the “canon” of Welcome Home, she’s kind of still in development, but I am attached to her regardless XD Her name is a pun off of the title of the little-known Disney animated musical anthology film, Melody Time, which was one of my childhood faves :P She’s a guest star puppet character in the world of the Welcome Home show, she runs a dress shop in town and has dreams of one day becoming a singer; and she often has song spots that she sometimes shares with Wally :P Her whole aesthetic is very Loretta Lynn and June Carter Cash. The darkness behind her character is in all likelihood tied to just how HARD it was to be a woman in the entertainment industry in the late 60s and early 70s. I also have this fun, cute, and somewhat sad headcanon that throughout her appearances on the show, she was continually working on what would ultimately turn out to be a wedding dress, and that the show was cancelled before she had a chance to wear it.

4 notes · View notes

rhymingtherapy · 24 days

Text

dazzling drops

of April sunlight

form constellations

among the mangroves

diamond chains

of exploding novas

sparked to life by an

ever-changing cosmos

RhymingTherapy—April 2024 (my gif)

#writerscreed #poeticstories #original photography #stars #light #nature #water #mangroves #trees #sunlight #twcpoetry #poetry #photographers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #April #writers on tumblr #constellations #cosmos

231 notes · View notes

taintandviolent · 9 months

Text

deflowering ; James March x virgin!Reader

{requested by anonymous} summary: 7k words! after a little dancing, more than a little champagne, you decide to take James March up on his offer of going up to one of the new rooms of the Hotel Cortez, to break them in, as it were. Little does he know, he's about to break you in, too. w a r n i n g s: virgin!reader (adult), mentions of alcohol, rough sex, explicit descriptions, canon divergence, rough sex, thigh riding, cunnilingus, blowjobs, aggression, use of 'daddy', dom themes.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny

It was the twenty-third of August, 1926, and you had just finished your second glass of champagne in the Hotel Cortez. Usually, you never drank this much, but it was a celebration after all. Some fellow named James Patrick March had finally completed the arduous construction of his new hotel and tonight was the opening night. Crowds had flocked to the entrance, dressed to the nines and all eagerly craning their necks for a peek at the glamorous inside. Those who weren’t explicitly invited were turned away by the doorman in his starched uniform.

You, of course — you’d been invited by your friend’s friend’s friend and when you showed up in a beaded, green dress and the mink stole your mother had given you four birthdays ago, you waltzed right through those doors without a single question. You looked like you belonged here as much as the group of actresses that walked in before you. The moment you entered, the hotel stole a gasp from your lips, dazzling you with its prestige and innovation.

It had been toted as “an overly ambitious project” and you could certainly attest to that. Mr. March, whomever he was, had written a particular aesthetic into the design of his hotel and from the hexagonal patterned carpets to the ornately panelled gold walls, everything fit the opulent theme. The Blue Parrot Lounge was a name you’d heard whispered several times, waiters coming down the curved staircases with trays full of delicate champagne flutes. You learned shortly after that the bar was on the second floor and overlooked the entire hotel lobby.

But downstairs in that lobby, a band was set up, their instruments exhaling the liveliest melody you’d heard in ages. Easily, they persuaded the masses to kick their heels up. The grand chandelier above your head twinkled like your own personal galaxy, shimmering every time you moved. In fact, everything twinkled. You felt ebullient, as light as a cloud, and didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been a brief pause where Mr. March welcomed everyone to his Hotel in his dangerously cordial way, making a show of popping champagne. Everyone applauded, congratulated and then quickly dispersed, eager to return to the complementary libations. You’d eagerly taken to the dance floor and quickly found a partner in a jazzy white suit. He had blonde hair, sharp, chiseled features and deep green eyes - handsome enough. You two paired alright, enjoying each other’s lively moves.

He’d clearly been drinking more than you, judging by the way he slurred his compliments to you, dabbing nervously at the sheen of sweat that decorated his forehead. After an hour or so of dancing, your feet were sore and your curious nature had wrapped its tendrils around your throat, ordering you to investigate the rest of the hotel.

A server held another glittering tray of champagne high above everyone’s heads, and you snatched one as he passed you, hurriedly bringing it to your mouth. The effervescent liquid tickled the bow of your lips, the tiny bubbles popping as you sucked in a delicate mouthful. You dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger, trying not to gulp too loud.

As the song changed, the band racing into another upbeat melody, you swung your shoulder around, prepared to sink deeper into the hallways. Instead, you nearly collided with a broad shoulder. “Oooh! ‘Pardon me!”

“Mm.”

You recognised him right away. In the wicked and honest parts of your brain, you were thrilled that, of all people, you’d bumped into him. During his speech, all the women were staring with illicit gazes and hungry tongues. You’d mapped the direction of their eyes as they scanned along his face, and down his body as they openly and dissolutely lusted after him. The audible whispers that scattered the room when he cracked open the champagne, allowing the fizzy stream to spray into his mouth would’ve been laughable if you hadn’t been one of the whisperers.

He seemed slightly less personable now, almost curt in nature. Something about the dismissive way he’d flashed his brows at you as if he was annoyed sparked a fire in your curiosity. He was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and surely, there must be a reason for his clipped response. You gulped down a mouthful and cleared your throat.

“Say, aren’t you Mr. March?” You asked coyly, knowing full well who he was.

He stopped then, like he’d been challenged to a duel, and with a slight bow, turned gracefully on his toes. To him, it was a challenge. You hadn’t run off with your tail between your legs, offended by his sternness, and that was a challenge for conversation, for flirtations and perhaps… indulging himself.

“Indeed I am. Enjoying yourself?” He eyed the half-empty glass in your tiny little hand, taking note that it clearly wasn’t your first.

“Oh, very much so. This is a ssswell party, Mr. March.”

“Splendid! And please,” He took your hand in his, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Call me James.”

You cooed in acknowledgment, watching him from the rim of your glass. He lingered for a little too long and you would’ve bet your last penny that you saw his nostrils flare slightly as he inhaled a deep breath of your scent. After a moment, James straightened up, keeping a firm grip on your hand.

He had indeed; you were sweet, like a delicate pastry with the slightest hint of fruitiness underneath. There were notes of a perfume, floral, something moderately expensive — surely, something you’d saved up all your pocket change for. The way your eyes glimmered awoke a deep hunger within his core. He’d play with this.

“Tell me, my dear. Can you dance?” He asked.

The moment you said you could, he’d wrapped your slender arm around his forearm, holding onto it tightly as he towed you back towards the dance floor. Thank god your mother had insisted you learn how to dance properly. And thank heavens your friend, whom Mother detested, taught you how to dance improperly. Mother had always said these new trend dances were for immoral and loose women, but when James March insisted you dance the Charleston with him, you’d never been gladder for immorality in your life.

Keeping a tight hold on your hand, he swung you out into the clearing. With his fee hand, he made a quick gesture to the band. They responded by starting up the familiar melody, and James stepped to your side, lifting his brows in a silent confirmation that you were as ready as you looked. You gave him a short nod, and you both took one step backwards, beginning the shuffling motions.

His feet moved quick to the rhythm; behind and in front of each other, his heels kicking out to the side. All things considered, you made a worthy partner, keeping up with his lively, bobbing movements. Your hands were at your waist, fingers splayed out, swishing from side to side. You both leaned forward in unison and sent your right heels up into the air. The moment you straightened up again was when you realised that a small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez and all of their eyes were on the two of you. Everyone was watching as you two masterfully stepped the Charleston and you felt like a celebrity, a performer with the most handsome partner.

There was one woman in particular, a gorgeous brunette gal, who looked on with narrowed eyes. James stepped in front of your line of sight, flashing a villainously personable smile, and spun you back to his side. Though he wouldn’t dare voice it, the beginning twitches of an erection had his cock stirring in his pants. You were delectable and lively, something he’d take great pleasure in snatching away from you. All the more arousing that she hasn’t the slightest clue….

As the song ended, you couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giddy laughter, falling backwards into his chest. You couldn’t be sure, but as his arms enclosed around you, you thought you heard a syrupy laugh deep in his throat. Both of you were tuckered out, chests heaving, a misting of sweat covering your décolleté and his forehead. After a moment in his strong arms — ooooh, his arms — he brought a handkerchief from a pocket, dabbing his forehead gently. Modest applause peppered the crowd, along with a few glad compliments.

“I don’t mean offence by this, but…” You swallowed, wetting your throat. “I didn’t think you could dance like that!”

“I’m full of surprises.” He answered.

James swooped around you, circling you predatorily. His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, sending a convulsive shiver down your spine.

You two locked eyes then, staring wordlessly. Both of you unable to ignore the need, the pulling draw, the hunger to touch each other. It was the sort of gaze that started rumours. His tongue scraped along the roof of his mouth, longing to taste the churning arousal between your legs. He knew it was there, told plainly by the way you fiddled with the hem of your neckline, nervously, trying to placate your own licentious thoughts.

“Beautiful hotel, really.” You finally whispered.

“Allow me to show you the best room in the house.” His eyes flashed to yours, sensing the apprehension. You rolled your shoulders inward, prepped to decline as politely as you could.

“Oh now, now… no need to be shy. I’m a gentleman first and foremost.”

“I don’t know if your lady friend will enjoy that…” You retorted.

“You are the only lady in my company.” He assured.

You gazed behind him one more time and met eyes with her — an action you’d immediately regretted. Her gaze was as comforting as a jail cell, and her full lips were pulled into a tight, frustrated line that held back a myriad of hatred. You opened your mouth to speak, but a forefinger was pressed hurriedly into your cupids bow, shushing you quickly. He looked down at you, brows furrowed in disapproval.

“Now, now. Shh. I’d hate to have to cut out your tongue, my dear. I had plans for it later.”

Your brows pulled together, eyes displaying nothing but sheer confusion. What on Earth did he mean by that? Either of those things? You were too afraid to broach the question, partly in fear that the answer would’ve frightened you, or worse, aroused you.

As though he read your mind, heard your innermost thoughts, he added quickly: “If you want to find out what… well, you’ll have to follow me first, my dear. Shall you?”

He extended his hand to you, palm up.

Against your better judgement and without thinking a second more about the repercussions, you took it and managed to squeak: “To the moon, James.”

When you glanced over his shoulder a final time, that woman watched you as he led you away, that tumultuous anger burning in her eyes. Something about her piercing gaze sent a shiver down your spine. She looked innocent enough, but underneath the done-up exterior, there was a cruelness, a hostility that you wanted nothing to do with. You hurried your steps, pinning yourself closer to James.

The journey took longer than you expected as every few moments, he was stopped by a hotel guest and congratulated. Everyone from stuffy elderly couples to actors you recognised from pictures all wanted to shake hands with the man that had created “the hotel of the century”. You hung on his arm, politely silent, offering agreeing nods and kind smiles when they’d look at you. They must’ve assumed, of course, that you two were an item, and for that brief, fleeting moment, you were thrilled by the idea.

Once he’d pushed open the door, allowing room for you to walk in, you realised that the room he’d led you into was the room he’d cracked the champagne in — except it had been expertly cleaned within a few hours. There were no crowds, no remnants, no sounds aside from a pair of breaths; yours and his. Although, if you listened hard enough, you thought you heard the dull, muted music from below. It sounded hazy and slower up here in this room.

The lock clicked into place and James had you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, his pencil-thin moustache tickling the sensitive flesh under your jaw. He whispered seductive words of veneration into the nape of your neck, praising your appearance between breaths and tastes of your salty flesh.

“Forgive my eagerness,” he whispered into your ear, before nipping at your skin. “I find you… irresistible.”

Delighted by the sensations, your lids fluttered. You extended your neck to him, allowing more. He kissed your neck over and over again and began sucking too hard in certain spots. You let out the tiniest little hums of discomfort, trying to stretch away from him then. However, somewhere deep in your core, you craved that pain, the burn of his suckling kisses.

“I want you to kiss me.” He declared, finally pulling away to gaze upon your face, like he was studying it. “Kiss me, but don’t hold back. I want to feel your passion.”

You nodded quickly, feigning all the courage in the world. Nervous? Who, me? Never! Your lips clashed together as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could. His mouth parted, allowing his tongue out to swirl around yours, and you could taste the champagne that lingered on it like a fading memory. He deepened the kiss, moving further into your mouth and all you could do was moan into his. Silly girl, he must’ve thought.

His hand left your side, trailing further down. With a cruel tug, James yanked your stocking from its front clip, tearing a generous hole in the nylon, then repeated the process with the other. You broke the kiss to watch this fiery display of arousal in awe, feeling a new, unfamiliar fire in your stomach. You’d been aroused before — hell, even pleasured yourself shyly under the sheets… but the hunger. The hunger that clawed at your insides with reckless abandon was speaking in a foreign tongue… but it was one that you wanted to translate into physicality.

“Oooh, easy tiger…”

His fingers splayed out over your now bare thighs, exploring the smooth skin ravenously. As he neared your centre slit, he snarled in response — whether intentionally responding to the animalistic nickname you’d given him, or because he’d felt the slippery nectar dripping from between your legs, you couldn’t know. You thought it might be the latter. You hoped it was.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you to wobble forward with want. He made a beeline to the nearby alcohol cart that had been arranged near the door and poured amber liquid into one of the glasses and golden champagne into another. He brought the darker coloured one to his lips.

“Mmm…” He growled as he swallowed, locking eyes with you, walking confidently towards the nearby chair. Though his head was turned away from his destination, he didn’t stumble, just gracefully sunk down into the chaise lounge without spilling a drop of his precious liquor.

You were in awe of this man’s finesse, of his charm, and the adoration for him displayed all over your cheeks. You didn’t need to bring out your compact to know that the flush had travelled down your neck, and your pretty little doe-eyes were as wide as saucers. He set the glass of champagne down on a nearby end table, presumably where it would stay until you reached for it.

“What’s underneath that ravishing dress, hm?” He asked. You gathered your lips to one side in a coy expression.

“Let’s see,” you tittered. "My bra and my knickers. And…. A pair of torn stockings and shoes, if you’re a specifics kinda’ guy…” You knew he was.

He waited.

You raised your brows, cocking your head to the side in affirmation — that was all. You were a woman of style after all. In this outfit? You wouldn’t be caught dead in a corset or a slip. Besides, corsets were for stuffy old broads nowadays. Everyone was wearing bras.

“Take it all off. Everything but the dress.”

Surely, the dress would be the first thing to go? It was an odd request, even for your virgin experience. You’d heard stories of men and their covetous desires. The idea of keeping the biggest article of clothing on seemed unorthodox, but you weren’t about to question his demands.

Obediently, you bent down and undid the buckles of your shoes, stepping out of them carefully. With a shy bat of your lashes, you turned away from him, shimmying and shrugging out of the straps of your dress until they fell into the crooks of your arms. Reaching around behind your back, you unlatched the satin bra, letting your supple breasts spring free of the compression.

Your heart pounded as you bent down again to slide the satin underwear over the curve of your ass and down your equally satiny thighs, giving the man behind you the tiniest previews of what was to come. Facing him again, you held your dress at your chest, carefully sliding the straps back up your arms one by one.

With a drink in one hand, the other stretched over the back of the loveseat and a delightedly smug expression, James watched your undergarments fall to the floor piece by piece. His cock throbbed in his pants, the thick fabric doing a damned good job at keeping the beast at bay. Free of everything, your dress hung a little different now, and his black eyes were aflame with the realisation. You swayed back and forth, the strands of sequins brushing lightly against your thighs.

As you bent down one final time, reaching for the nylons, came his voice. “Leave those.”

After a small sip, he pat his thigh twice with his free hand; the sound of his palm snapping against the taut fabric atop his thigh echoed in the room. For a brief, insecure second, you were frozen. A deer in the headlights. Except the headlights weren’t headlights, they were the eyes of the hungriest tiger you’d ever seen and you’d already succumbed to your fate the moment he locked the door.

“Come to daddy.”

You shuddered in response, your tummy doing backflips like an acrobat in a circus act. His words held such command and purpose, you had no choice but to saunter over to him, swaying your hips a little more than you usually did. He seemed to enjoy that; a tiny smirk played out over his mouth.You pressed your knees against his, struggling to not come undone at the contact. With a deep breath, you manoeuvred yourself in between his parted legs.

“Good…” He replied. “Atop my thigh, my pet.”

With your flesh turning a deep shade of red, you walked over his thigh, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion. You felt the air on your cunt, the chill of the room touching the wetness and making it tingle. You looked down at his groin. The fabric was pulled taut. You could make out the faintest outline of a swelling cock underneath —

You snapped your attention back to him, embarrassed. He downed the rest of his drink, set it carelessly on the table next to your still-full champagne and lifted his hand to your legs. The pad of his middle finger caressed the back of your knee, sending a shockwave through your entire body. No man had ever touched you like that, the sensation was erotic and overwhelming to your core. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed higher.

You reached for the champagne, and despite the sting in your nose, you downed the entire glass, setting it back on the small table.

“Lower.” He commanded, amused.

You obeyed, bending your knees.

“Lower.” He repeated.

He’d lined it up perfectly; James pressed that same finger into your slit as you lowered, wiggling it further in, then flicking it up to your clit. You let out a shrill mewl. Your knees nearly buckled as he circled the bundle of nerves, bringing the sensitivity higher. You squeezed your eyes shut as hot, salty tears bit at the corners. Your muscles had begun to quiver, overwhelmed by the strain of hovering over his thigh. His skilful fingers manipulated your cunt, simply playing with your wetness.

James abruptly yanked you all the way down, forcing you into a straddle. Your cunt was spread, pressed tight against his thigh and you needed no instruction on what to do next.

“Ooooh,” he growled, watching your hips as they ground your weeping cunt against the expensive fabric of his suit pants. “Good girl. Your desire is intoxicating… show me how much you want me…. yes.”

James chuckled, knowingly. Despite your best effort in trying to suppress your moans, he saw through the act. The skin of your neck had flushed red. Your soft jaw hung slack, tiny little moans floating out every time he touched you. Your sweet little eyes rolled back into your head every time he so much as flexed his thigh muscle. He knew the effect he had on you. Every slight movement from him ground against your cunt, sending shuddering waves of heat into your core.

“I said,” he started, gripping your jaw hard between his thumb and pointer finger. “Show me how much you want it, my dear.”

You winced, but allowed instinct to kick in. You began bobbing up and down on his thigh, whimpering as the wet spot on the fabric spread. The slick glistened on the fibres as you ground back and forth. Eventually, the friction of dry against wet lessened, and you found a rhythm, bouncing. His leg bumped into your sensitive, aching clit over and over again.

As you rode his thigh, James gripped your dress at the shoulders, kissing up along the curves of your arm. There was a warmth on your skin, a tugging, though you were too deep in the sensations to pull away. A cacophony of ticking began; tiny beads scattered across the floor, bouncing and dancing into crevices where they’d never be found again.

When you finally glanced down, a look of shock painted across your features. Your dress had been ripped at the seams, the delicately beaded fabric now hanging limply at your hips in a mass. James looked on, adoringly, his hungry, inky eyes dancing over your exposed breasts, and the way your nipples had hardened in the slightly colder air.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Are you frightened?” He asked. The lilt in his question was too revealing, but alas, who was he to deny the delicious aroma of fear?

“Who me?” You laughed breathily, like a fool. Sweat pooled in the hollows of your collarbone. No time like the present, you thought. You’d reached the point of no return, and surely if you didn’t say something now, he’d find out when he took you. “Oh, no, it’s just that… I’ve never been with a man is all.”

The realisation swept across his face, the expression telling all the tales of how he felt about being the first man to have a woman. “Aaahhh…. And do you…. wish to be…?”

“With you?” You swatted the air dismissively. “More than anything.”

“Brave. Brave girl.” With that, he scooped you up in his strong arms, and got up from the chair. You wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you effortlessly to the table. The journey was short, and before you knew it, your bare back was laid on cool wood. Your legs hung off the edge, and with one strong yank, James pulled the tattered dress from your hips, tossing it heedlessly behind him.

“Knees up — heels on the table.” He then ordered, sternly. Pulling your knees towards your chest, you adjusted yourself on the table and swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. Short of hearing the snap of latex gloves, you were left feeling like you were about to be examined by a doctor.

James disappeared from your view then, sinking down below the edge of the table. With nothing to look at, you gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes, anticipating the next move. When it came, you let out a yelp, your legs closing on either side of his head. James had pressed his lips against her, peppering little kisses against your centre, and after a moment or two of that, opened his mouth to slip his tongue deliberately along the folds. The sensation of his tongue darting out to taste you was enough to send you to the moon, but he continued, delving further into you. Your legs opened again, exposing more of your aching cunt to him.

You felt his nose press into the mound of flesh as he flattened his tongue on your clit, lapping at it hungrily. Your body responded by squirming, a desperate whimper pouring from your throat. His hands were suddenly on your pillowy thighs, holding you tight where you were. With a vibrating groan, his tongue abruptly changed techniques; he began flicking the tip of his tongue into the underside of your clit. Your moans - though they were teetering on the edge of screams — bounced off the walls of the empty room.

In a delirium of ecstasy, you’d gripped the hair at the crown of his head, pulling it hard. He grunted into your pussy, sending vibrations deep into your core. His hand came down on the side of your ass with a resounding slap. You shuddered violently, your sopping cunt clenching tight against his chin, wetting it as your first orgasm came in sudden waves. James slipped his tongue deep inside of your entrance, feeling the pulses as they gradually subsided. Before pulling away to look at the flower in front of him, and what he’d done to it, he let out a throaty, pleased growl. A small puddle had formed on the table, your slick arousal leaking from the hole like sweet nectar dripped from the centre of a fruit.

“Ahhh…” he exhaled. “Divine.”

His eyes darting to the side, James made a mental note to have Miss Evers re-polish the table. After this, it would certainly need it.

The way he gazed upon you, seemingly satisfied with just how wet you were drove your head into the table with a thunk. You arched your back with a whimper, somehow still unsatisfied. From the side, came his voice. “Use your words, my darling.”

Your eyes snapped open, startled that you hadn’t heard him move around. You swallowed, looking up at him piteously. For a moment you dug deep into your own mind, battling with coherency to find the correct words. And, disappointingly, all you could muster was: “I… want more.”

“Yes….. yes, you do.”

Gently, with two fingers, James pulled your jaw towards him, moving your head so that your cheek laid against the table. There was a certain predatory nature in his gaze as he looked at you. “Open up,” he demanded, his thumb prodding your lips. “That’s my girl…”

He smeared his thumb along your warm, strong tongue, depressing it and feeling around the rest of your mouth. He glided over your smooth teeth, digging the fleshy pad into the decently sharp points of your incisors.

“Don’t bite me… too hard.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers with one hand, sliding the belt from its loop. You watched intently as this handsome, charming stranger handled himself; taking himself out his undergarments and his trousers, roughly adjusting his cock so that it was free for your devouring. He closed his hand along the length, pumping it several times. A generous droplet of precum leaked from the red, sweating tip and before it had time to string away, he guided his cock to your mouth.

He smeared your lips over the head, coating it in his own dripping seed. His hips then bucked the length into your mouth, bringing a whimpering gag from deep within your throat. Gentle, he thought. With the way your mouth eagerly worked him, doing your best to suck and lap at his aching cock, that thought was whisked away seconds later.

Wet sounds filled the room as James fucked your pretty little mouth, your lipstick smearing waxy, blood-coloured streaks on the shaft of his cock. In your peripheral, it was quite a gruesome sight, but he seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to watch.

You closed your lips around the tip as it slid out, letting your tongue flatten on the underside of it. You felt every throbbing vein, but every time your tongue or lips grazed that one, the protruding one, James making sounds that you’d only ever dreamed of hearing a man make. It was a breathy, higher pitched moan, or a choking gasp, and each time he did, the corners of your lips curled up into a smile, delighted with eroticism. You pressed your tongue hard into it, sliding it up and down. From this angle, you realised, you couldn’t do much else… but perhaps that’s how he’d wanted it.

You remembered his previous mention of biting, so thinking that it was something he favoured, you began toying with his sensitivity by grading your teeth along his shaft. He hissed, ceasing his thrusts to crane his neck back, revelling in the amalgam of pain and pleasure.

“Harder,” he demanded.

You furrowed your brows in concern, daunted by the new territory that lay ahead. You closed your mouth a little more, the ridges of your teeth gently clamping down on his swollen cock. Suddenly, James gripped your face hard, squeezing your cheeks together like a fish. You winced as he leaned forward to hiss in your open mouth, his demeanour suddenly callous and dreadful. “I said not too hard.”

He released it sharply as you did, and punishingly bucked his hips into your wanting mouth. His thrusts were quick, and marvelled at the tiny, pathetic gags that broke from your throat every time he hit the back of it. You were so delicate, but so… willing.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your lips with a sick, filthy slurping sound, and holding it in his right hand, moved back to the head of the table. His breaths were ragged, hungry. You blinked away the tears that had accumulated.

“You nearly ruined my makeup…” You whispered, wiping the slimy collection of drool and precum from your chin.

“I’ll do more than that.” Gripping you at the knees, James yanked you down the table’s length, your ass slipping easily against the polished wood.

Briefly, you felt the velvety hot tip of his cock teasing your cunt. He slid it between your wet folds, exhaling loudly at the slickness that greeted him. He teased you with a thrust of his hips, the tip of his head slipping slightly. You whined as he pulled away.

“What did I say about words?”

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you moaned shakily, gritting your teeth. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?”

“Tease me…”

“Oh, but it’s fun. I’ll do so until you beg for it.”

“PLEASE!” You howled a moment later, taking fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him closer. You wiggled your hips at his groin, your cunt trying to find his cock desperately. You writhed around like a cat in heat, whimpering and leaking more cum onto his expensive mahogany table. In one of your hip sways, the hot tip brushed past your entrance, leaving a springy line of pre-cum in its path. In response, you rocked your hips against his, trying to pull him in further. The sensation had you gasping, rolling your head from side to side. “Please, please, please, I simply mu—

Your screams faded away into the back of his mind, dull and muted like they came from behind a brick wall. James watched your lewd, begging performance with a bemused smirk, chuckling through closed lips. Every anguished whimper, every desperate plea that his lack of action brought forward from your lips seemed to send you closer to the edge of madness. He enjoyed that. Too much, perhaps.

He reached up, running a single finger down the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse throbbing away beneath the skin. Such liveliness, such… James swallowed, suppressing the dark sludgy desire that clawed at his insides. His urges had been worse and worse lately, and now with the hotel open… Not now… not with her.

“What do I need to say?”

“Nothing more.” James took hold of his cock, stroking his fingers over the tip, dragging the slickness along his shaft. He exhaled, lining himself up. At first, James popped only the tip in and out, playing with his food. Each thrust, he slipped a little farther in. Out of the kindness of his heart, James was gradually getting you used to the feeling of fullness, but once he felt your slick walls, he grit his teeth. He had told you that he was a gentleman first and foremost, but… such is life. He swiftly sank his hard length into you with little friction. You were soaked and all it took was one determined thrust.

For a moment, you felt nothing but a searing pain as the thickness of his cock stretched your cunt wide open. Tears welled in your eyes, a cry bouncing against your rolled lips. The stinging was replaced with a dull ache, and finally, a warmth.

“My, my…” He admired. “Taking it so well already.”

You nodded feebly, doing your best to muster a smile amidst your punishing euphoria. Had you not been as wet as you were, it would’ve been excruciating. And when he started pounding, it almost was.

James must’ve sensed your discomfort because he brought his hand to your pussy, his thumb circling your clit. Mercilessly. You cried out like a wounded animal and that seemed to only drive him to continue, stroking his finger down length of your pussy before returning his attention back to the bundle of nerves. Your hips swayed back and forth on the table, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that was blossoming deep within your cunt, just above your bladder. It felt like a tangled mess of fire, and your whole centre was aflame.

You shakily lifted your head, watching as his pelvis smashed into yours, over and over again, his cock slipping easily from your aching, drenched cunt. Your hands climbed his torso. You fiddled with the buttons until his shirt hung open lifelessly, like two ghosts on either side of his body. He moaned as your fingertips explored his stomach, his ribcage, and then curled around the small of his back, forcing their way up underneath the restraint of his clothes. You felt uneven skin, the way that flesh raised once it had healed over deep lacerations.

James suddenly picked up speed, drilling into you harder and that released something in you. You felt devious, immoral, and wanted to howl like a banshee. In fact, you did. You let out a shrill, dirty moan, the kind you heard coming from those brothels as you passed them by. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes before streaming down your temples, disappearing into the hair that laid on the table. Your fingers flexed, nails digging into his back and leaving crescent-moon shaped indentations amongst his scars. Feeling your clenching, he growled and lolled his head back in ecstasy.

You pulled your leg up, pressing your nylon-covered toe against his jawline and gave it a little push.

You heard his breath hitch.

You pushed harder, craning his neck off to the side. His moan said more than any words could’ve. With a devious smirk, you drug your toe down the length of his throat, pressing hard into his windpipe.

James jerked his hips harder and harder until you felt his cock twitch inside you, hot and angry, the first spurt of his orgasm planted deep inside you. He then backed his hips out slightly, just enough for the thick ropes of cum to cover your cunt. His cock bumped into your clit with tiny thrusts, forcing every last milky drop onto you. James straightened up, clenching his fists tightly.

“Ravished. Deflowered. Desecrated!” His words echoed loudly off the walls.

His arms came down with a loud thud on either side of your head, his shirt acting as blinders. There was nothing else in that moment; just you and him and the way he’d claimed you, taken every ounce of innocence you had left.

His hands traced along your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. The black thoughts wormed into his brain, screaming for sating attention. Which weapon would he use? Where he'd cut first - an artery? Arterial blood was always so… satisfying. Would her screams be as such? The final moment, the look in her eye? Perhaps, he could hear those desperate, soprano shrieks if he just…

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Your lids peeled open, one by one. The blazing light that filtered in through the crack in the deep red curtains burned. You hardly remembered being in a hotel room… alone, and the hotel room you remembered wasn’t the one you were in now. This one looked more or less like any new hotel room that you could’t afford. Moving yourself into an upright position, you let out a depressed bleat… the headache. How much champagne did you have last night? You couldn’t remember.

Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you stumbled towards the door. “Just a minute!”

You were completely nude. That wouldn’t do to answer the door in. Panicked, you looked around the empty hotel room, considering the bed sheets for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Praising the gods for the robe that had been hung on a hook by the door as you slipped your arms into it and hurriedly tied it round your waist. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the framed photo near the door; your hair was a wreck, makeup smeared, and there were the faintest whispers of new bruises along your collarbone and neck.

The doorway was empty, as was the hallway.

Except for the box at the floor.

Despite giving a complete stranger your virginity last night, you had more sense than to bend down and open a foreign box. Clutching the robe at your chest, you began gingerly prying open the edge of it with your foot, wiggling your big toe underneath the fine cardboard until the lid popped off.

Inside, carefully arranged and wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, laid a dress; a dress that was terribly similar to your own, but considerably more expensive. Atop it, a package of fine silk nylons. And atop those, in exquisitely elegant penmanship, a handwritten note lay. It read:

Thank you for a splendid evening, my dear. My deepest apologies about your dress — please accept this as a replacement. As for the flowers, it only seemed fair, considering the circumstances.

xoxo James P. March

You picked the box up, again checking the hallway to see if the deliverer was there. Still, empty. With a sigh, you shut the door, leaning against it. As you leaned there, holding the box in your arms, the corner of it digging into the middle of your neck, you winced at a sudden pang of soreness.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly noon!? Oh, RATS!”

You pushed yourself off the door and changed hurriedly, throwing the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor. Mother! Mother would be furious and nothing was more terrifying than her rage. You’d rather be chopped up and filleted than have to deal with Mother’s anger, even as an adult. You pulled the nylons up as far as they could go without clips, and snatched the mink stole off the bed.

You threw open the heavy door and turned to your left, hoping for the best. You began running as quickly as you could down the lengthy hallway, barefoot. The straps of your shoes were hooked around your middle finger. With no markers, and no indication of where you were going, anxiety climbed your throat. Somehow though, after winding back and forth and up and down for what felt like hours, you managed to find the lobby.

As you emerged from the hallway, it was considerably less busy than last night. Where the band had been, waiting chairs and tables had been placed, a courtesy for guests waiting to check in. The cleaning team of the Hotel Cortez was marvellous, you had to admit. As you ducked your hips away from the edge of a chair, you spotted him. James March was leaned against the bar, chatting gayly with the bartender. The bartender nodded, swiping a rag over the spot directly in front of him. A glass of bourbon sat in front of James, perspiring. Much like you were. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He looked the same as he had last night, no hint of a hangover or fatigue. Just… charming. You inhaled and headed for the door.

“A perfect fit!” He called out from the balcony, his glass raised in a cheers. A few guests turned, searching for the voice. You jumped. The man had a talent for startling you — you’d give him that. You turned, your brows upturned in the middle, asking silently for clarification.

“The dress!”

“Oh! Yes! It does…. Thank you! It’s beautiful, Mr. March!”

“How’s your neck!?” He asked, lowering his head slightly.

The question threw you off. “….fine, but I really must be going, Mr. March! Bye!”

“Come back to the Hotel Cortez any time, my darling! As my guest.”

James watched you hurry out the door, knowing that if you did come back for a second time… it would be the last time.

#James Patrick March #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #AHS Hotel #james march x reader #myfics

613 notes · View notes

duelbraids · 7 months

Text

Death Rattle Dazzle Plot EXPLAINED (not clickbait)

Other title ideas: So None of the Picwick Triplets Did It?, Theatre Professional Unravels the Plot of In-Universe Musical for No Reason.

This is a list of my thoughts about the plot of the in universe musical Death Rattle Dazzle from Hulu's Only Murders in the Building. This will contain no spoilers for the plot of the show proper, or the mystery, but will spoil all the songs written and theorize about their placement in an actual, two act musical. It'll also reference a few of the gags from the final episode, and this metafiction article by Playbill, which was done in collaboration with OMITB. Maxine's in universe review is bloody funny, and it contains a Playbill, which reveals some plot details about the original play. This practically is fan fiction, I will admit, but its fun, damn it, and I did my research!

Death Rattle Dazzle has the distinction of being the adaption of what is called a "classic play" by Oliver (who, despite his kookiness, is clearly well versed in theatre.) Maxine's review says that "Anyone with more culture than a vanilla yogurt has probably encountered the play in some form—if not by starring in it at the local elementary school, then in the form of a spoof on television, in film, or by Cate Blanchett opening the Tonys in 2012." This is hilarious, basically making the play a straight play version of Little Shop of Horrors. Everyone's done it, especially regional or amateur companies.*

*By amateur, I do not mean bad or unpolished. Many local, amateur companies put on fantastic plays. I simply mean the definition of amateur used in theatre: unpaid.

To me, that means Death Rattle must be old enough to be in the public domain, or was willed to be public domain after the playwright's death, et cetera. We also meet the original director of the play in 3.10, though all we know is that his version was "Weirder." This adaptation element mostly comes up in the aesthetic changes from straight play to musical, because we do not see much of the original play. However it's clear to me that Oliver knows his chops, and knows how to reference original material (keeping 'Creature of the Night' as Act One's opener to replace the opening monologue, for instance.)

Now, I want to write a mock up of the plot, and then justify my decisions. I also had the idea to name random songs to fill out a 12 song tracklist - pretty short for a 2 Act Play, but I'm just doing this part for fun. Maybe they're the songs on the cast album. Made up songs are going to marked in Red.

Players The Detective The Nanny The Constable The Godmother The Father The Boatman The Pickwick Triplets Chorus

Act One

The Detective introduces the audience to the situation at hand - a murder that is driving him to madness. (Creature of the Night) The plot follows the Detective as he and the Constable begin to try and unravel the crime. The Constable admits he has had trouble keeping law and order, thus calling in the Detective. (Private Dick) The Chorus has a song about their own suspicions, including wondering about the parentage of the children (Is It You?) The investigative duo, along with the Chorus, lay out the details of the crime, woman murdered, only her triplets in the room, found tossed from the cliff with a rattle down her throat. (Death Rattle, DAZZLE!) We see more into the mental state of the Detective, who clearly is manic about this case. They go to interview The Godmother, who tells them about her final day with her best friend, casting blame on the "Children's Father," then the Nanny (Last Light / Only Duty) This leads into the Nanny at the top of the lighthouse, closing out the act as she expresses her devotion to the triplets. (Look for the Light)

Act Two

The Chorus brings us back in, summarizing the events of Act One using crab mating as a metaphor (Entr'acte / Nova Scotia Nightfall) The Father is questioned by the Detective, who reveals he knows the children are not his own, because he had been sleeping with the Godmother, not his own wife. However, he could not have killed her, as he was at his post all night, and his wife was inside. (Private Dick Reprise) The Boatman, who had been lurking since the beginning, is finally cornered by the Constable, and reveals that he not only ferried someone over the night of the murder, but couldn't see their face. (Deadest Night) Then, the Boatman tells the Constable that he saw no one enter or leave the lighthouse, which is where the Mother was killed. This leads to the Constable realizing he may have to charge one of the Pickwick Triplets to restore order to his island. He locks himself in the lighthouse, and tries to solve the crime. (Which of the Pickwick Triplets Did It?) As the Detective enters with a copied key, the Constable realizes it must be he who murdered the Mother. The Detective admits this, though doesn't reveal why. (Confrontation, Dear Constable) The Nanny finds the Constable dead against the rocks, and challenges the Detective. He reveals that he is the father of the children, as well as confessing his guilt. The Nanny pushes him to his death, in order to protect herself. (For The Sake of a Child)

Okay, Justification Time.

The original play is described as "Agatha Christie" like, so casting suspicion on every character is basically a must. The actual placement of songs is based on how they were shown in the show, along with my own knowledge of theatre. Creature of the Night is a quintessential opening number: we start with our main character, before introducing every major character as they enter the stage. Look for the Light is a clear reference to Memory. A lullaby-like song to end the first act, the emotional core of the musical. Thus, similar to Cats, I structured the show to be mostly ensemble, framed by the two investigators. Which of the Pickwick Triplets Did It? made me immediately think of plot twist patter songs ( ala Your Fault ) that come in at the 11th hour. And, of course, ending on that spoken For the Sake of a Child is the right level of dramatic.

While some of the plot in between the lines is inferred from the show, a lot of it comes from that metafiction article I mentioned - there's a Playbill with descriptions of the characters, and dear god, did it give me a goldmine of ideas. Seriously, I highly recommend that article. Marketing that's actually fun and engages the viewer in the show? Wow, who could've thunk it.

My original mock up included more people dying, but decided to cut that, since we have no evidence for that aside from the Nanny referring to the Detective "Serial Killing" which could have been about him killing the Constable, since we know he dies. If you want to know, they would've been: The Godmother murdered at the end of Act One, then the Father murdered in Private Dick Reprise, though not revealed until Confrontation, Dear Constable. BTW, that song is basically the only one with any basis in the show's script, as we hear a confrontation between the Detective and the Constable as cross talk near the end of 3.10.

Some scattered thoughts:

Both Private Dick and Only Duty are songs that I expect would have Ironic Echoes later in the show. Private Dick originally introducing the charming Detective in a mostly positive light, and then in the second act, used to insinuate that the Father knows the Detective used his, uh, private dick elsewhere. Only Duty, meanwhile, would be used by the Godmother to say that a Nanny's love is only because it's her paid duty, as opposed to the Mother or Godmother, and of course, later we have A nanny's only duty is to the children.

Finally, I had to include a reference that crab people breeding bit they couldn't drop in the show, lol. In my head it's a dream ballet during the entr'acte, each of the crabs wearing the character's they represent headpiece, and of course, three eggs.

EDIT: I can't believe I didn't mention this, but I believe the motive of the Detective to be a simple matter of custody; he wants the triplets, and got into a fight with the Mother when he tried to take them, leading to him murdering her. Then, he returns to the island when called by the Constable, and plans to either kill everyone in his way of getting the triplets, or to accuse someone other than him, to get out of trouble.

#only murders in the building #omitb #omitb s3 #death rattle #death rattle dazzle #meta analysis #fanfic #IT BASICALLY IS

96 notes · View notes

candiedspit · 7 months

Text

Banana Daiquiri

It was summertime; hot tango and swedish malt.

I was twenty five, a lonely space cadet with no return mission. I floated through the mist of pristine, magic light. I wore a cocktail dress to the corner store because I could. Artificial diamonds shuddered on my wrist while a thousand hot words licked the walls of my mind every single second. I was very alive most days.

For work, I took care of Gem, a bright seven year old whose favorite color was a carcinogenic green. The kid was mute. And in lieu of a proper schedule–some of the families I’d worked for before treated their children as hostages to time, every hour had a name–I was given the simple task of entertaining Gem until her parents got home from work.

This meant long walks to the playground, afternoon movies, aquariums, library trips. I liked Gem. Her long sheet of blonde hair which ran down to her stomach and flew in the wind. Her penchant for worms and dirt. I could tell she knew more than I did, picked up on the subtle tones of the universe.

Each morning, I picked her up from her house and we headed out. Out to the avenues. Out to run out fingers along the brisk voltage of morning. Out to the world. It was the third week of June. It had been raining on and off for several days. But at last, the skies were clear and the sun was beautiful, dazzling rays falling to the ground. Gem held my hand.

Gem, it’s a wondrous morning, I said as we walked.

I held her backpack on my shoulder.

It’s the kind of morning you could weep over, I continued.

The kind you dream about when you’ve been inside for too long, marinating in all of your perceived misery piss. The kind you didn’t think you’d ever see again. But here it is.

I love the summers most because every horrible thing you did in the winter is gone. Every tantrum. Every snarl. Every shard of glass. Gone, gone, gone.

Eleven blocks.

We walked until we reached Gem’s favorite park, the one with the long, twisted slide and sprinklers and swings. Gem let go of my hand and ran to the swings. I sat down on a bench and drank from my water bottle. After this, we’d go to get lunch. Strawberry ice cream. Soda, sandwiches sliced down the middle. And then maybe we’d saunter down the boardwalk and play some of the games they have there.

I’ve always gotten along well with kids. I think I understand them. The bossa nova of the world, each little thrill and dissapointment. How you can feel gladness singe your fingertips. How the sun shines for the first time every time.

How confusing the grown ups are.

After work, I usually went to my favorite bar or called the man I’m seeing. Or both at once. It depended on how tired I was, how long the day had been. That evening, I went to the bar. On third street, it was a run-down bar that never had more than twenty occupants. I sat at the bar and ordered my usual; a banana daiquiri. The bartend asked how my day was. I said it was fine and left the conversation at that. I watched the small television above his head. A newscast about the bombings in Turkey and gasoline prices. All things that didn’t touch me. The universe only existed as I could see it. I got one more drink, paid and left.

On my walk back home, the skies were bloodied and vicious and beautiful. Clouds ate at one another like twins in the womb. I was wearing a long blue dress. I felt like taking off my skin. I wanted the wind. I wanted everyone to love me. The buildings seemed enormous, metallic titans left to rot in the ground after some fantastic war. I was living in the land of zero, the peace spread across the land like a woman on a bed.

I got home too soon.

✴

Gem stopped speaking at around three years old.

It was January and outside, snow filled the gaps of the city like glue. It dawned upon her parents as syrup spreads across the table–the silence. No babbles through the hallways. No requests for sippy cup. No mama. When her mother would urge her to speak, she would look into her face with her insect green eyes, and then look away. Gem’s pediatrician said she would grow back into speech. Had something happened?

Nothing happened, her mother said. Nothing has happened.

Gem had always concerned her parents. During holidays–out on the white, dense beach in Spain or with her many spritely cousins at Christmas–Gem preferred to play alone. She could never look at the camera when pictures were taken. And she had this–her parents called it a habit–habit of doing a sort of kangaroo hop when she was excited or nervous or anything at all. Sometimes she wringed her fingers in and out of crooked fists.

But the speaking was different. When Gem’s mother told me, she couldn’t stop herself from getting choked up.

It was like we lost her, she said. Whatever stupid hope I had that she was simply an eccentric kid, that I was the idiot for not understanding the way she saw the world, was killed. And replaced with the fact that we had something on our hands we weren’t prepared for.

When they finally got the diagnosis, Gem was five.

Often in these cases, early intervention was key; but also, girls were typically diagnosed later than boys. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And what mattered was what her parents were going to do next. Therapists moved in and out of the house like business men on a train. Occupational, speech, physical.

But in the summertime, she didn’t have access to therapists. All she had was me and our little ventures into the world. I hoped I was doing good by Gem. That sunflower kid. That cartoon heart. All I could do was try to guide, be her compass in a dark terrain.

I liked living two lives.

One where I filled in the gaps and another where I fell through them.

✴

Sometimes, I have strange thoughts, I told him.

I was in the bed of the man I loved. And I was sure he loved me too. At least, at that moment. He was five years older than I was. But he was fun to be with. I liked spilling out in the dark with him. I liked his giant hands over mine. I liked surprising him.

What kinda thoughts? He asked.

I know what other people are thinking. I know what everything means. There’s an ultraviolet shimmer to the world and I can see through it, I said.

It’s hard to explain, I continued. Happy neons. Dark, frustrated movements. An elevator dropping to the basement. How do you explain a yard to a kid kept in the attic?

You’re a freak, he laughed and kissed my head.

He didn’t understand.

✴

I sat out on his balcony–he was one of those people who had balconies but never used them–at the end of a gigantic, African cigar; one of his favorite pastimes besides television. And me. It tasted like midnight, a rough kind of bark. Ash. I liked letting the smoke out so that it floated above the city like a warning of sorts. Beware, there are people who say they love you and don’t. Beware, there are peep holes even in Heaven. I was high on a pill he’d slipped into my mouth, something small and pink. In combination with the tar and the night air and the fact that I was naked, I felt like a kerosene bomb. I felt like a laughing serpent. A dirty thrill. I began to speak out loud, beneath my breath so that nobody could hear me.

Not anyone besides you.

There aren’t many people like us, I began. Not everyone can see the mess, the vomit and slashes of graffiti and stray dogs and doom, and smile. Not everyone can see that there are fairgrounds in a warzone. Not everyone can touch the music. Not everyone can hear the light from miles away. But we can, Gem. I think we are gods.

I think we are poets.

#my poetry #fiction

61 notes · View notes