Hey! Can I take JFK 3 plz. Thank you!
Good choice! A beautiful weekender. Not that label crap. It has style. But you would have expected anything inside, but definitely not camouflage pants. Looks a little bit too wide for you. But there's no harm in trying. Feels good… Very good! The desert boots go great with it. But somehow you can't find a suitable top… But you have the feeling that you are getting hairier. Really hairy. On your chest and your belly a real, well trimmed fur develops. With a few white hairs in it. Like in your beard. And under the fur your body is changing. Good healthy muscles. Under a thin layer of fat. Hey, you are a bon vivant! Lobster with a good Riesling for lunch. And after that a few workouts in the gym on the beach…. Isn't it wonderful how the sun shines on your naked upper body and on your bald head?
Your environment changes. Seagulls screech, the sea roars. And you are where you feel most comfortable, in your summer home in the Hamptons. The summer house that your family has owned for generations. And with which you were settled as the black sheep of the family. And now it's your gay bed & breakfast. Enjoy the free minutes, new guests are coming soon!
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talking about monsters, werewolf kreese....
Absolutely. GENIUS ideas. Big fuckin brain.
I’ve always loved werewolf Kreese because he’s the one that trained Red Riding Hood (Johnny) and all the little piggies.
Hairy chest and arms🥰
Papa wolf wearing granny’s apron
Are we talking about the kind of werewolf that just looks like a really big wolf after turning or are we talking about this? Because it changes things.
He’d never have a varsity jacket, that was a thing for the guys Betsy dated before him. He preferred something fit for meeting any broad’s dad in. Slacks with a clean, well-ironed shirt and shiny shoes will always do the trick in first impressions with nearly anyone. And when he still had his uniform, there were plenty of busty khaki wackies to keep him company.
But as he grew older, he started dressing like someone you could just guess would turn into a werewolf. Something like a lumberjack with concerningly pointy canines.
His sergeant could have turned him (if he wasn’t born a werewolf), and maybe that had a hand in his decision to let him fall into the pit of snakes.
Terry always knew his secret. Kreese was a bit vulnerable after everything. His girl’s death, the trauma of war, and being turned into a fucking werewolf—he had to tell someone and he knew Twig was too devoted to blabber.
He bought a whole field in the middle of nowhere with a load of sheep and goats for him to rip through on full moons, and John would wake up naked in their carnage. It wasn’t what he’d have liked to do with his free time, but he became absolutely ravenous and possessed, unable to stop himself.
Terry would be there by helicopter the next morning with towels and food a normal human would eat, his hair coated in pomade.
It was a jarring difference, being next to his elegant friend wearing pristine clothes when he’s bare and covered in blood, still has death stuck in his throat and the cracks of his teeth when Terry’s are white as the coke he snorts off his pinky after asking him what it felt like. Too excited to hear the gruesome details, but it was only Kreese’s second time turning and he didn’t remember anything but noise.
“It felt like eating something alive.” is what he decided to say.
“Sounds fun, I’m envious.”
He grew sick of being powerless and started doing the bullshit meditation that Terry was always trying to get to get him to do, fluffing up the act like a pillow, saying how it helps you ‘gain control’.
(”It’s the next thing to nirvana if you take just a pinch of peyote beforehand. Oh, captain, I was sitting on my floor straight-backed for five hours with zero boredom—”
“Just show me how to do this damn thing! It’s infuriating enough that I have to do this.”
Terry narrowed his eyes at him, hands on his hips. “Seon demands the admission of ignorance. Remember that, John. ”
He grabbed two cushions in placed them on the floor across from each other, sitting cross-legged on one “Now, shall we?”)
He didn’t fog up his mind with drugs, but he wrote down everything Twig taught him, calmed his mind, and accepted the fact that he didn’t know how to control the beast yet. He meditated every night, focused on every feeling, and explored every nook and cranny in his brain—though, a lot of things were figuratively covered up in tarps.
He found that one day, he had the steering wheel. His unwanted shifts were less frequent and he learns to change on command.
He’s never clear-headed as a furry monster, but he’s still aware enough in it. It’s no longer like taking a backseat in his body and watching himself do things.
(There is a possibility he could still lose control....COUGH)
I know he’d purposely shift and fuck around with teenagers trying to play hooky/canoodling in the woods by chasing them to their cars. Make everyone think they have a wolf problem in LA.
Probably would do it to the Cobras and see how they’d react in the face of danger. (real nice, Kreese.)
Does he tear people he hates limb from limb sometimes? Who knows. He definitely ponders it.
Or yknow, maybe he was just born as one and this universe has all sorts of creatures, ûwhich is an au I ADORE. Maybe he was always comfortable as a shifter and has total power over it. He’s a weapon in two forms, deadlier than a Cobra: that doesn’t sound like a problem to him.
He has always had that carpet on his chest and a viciousness inside so.
(And let me not get into him having ruts and turning pussy whipped—which includes ass. Just getting absolutely parched for it and humping against furniture, making guttural sounds like an animal and fucking his hand like he’s trying to give himself friction burn. Poor guy has no good place to pop a knot—or does he ?)
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Beyond the Horizon
Herobrine x black!reader insert
Warnings: Explicit sexual content
Dream sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex
Chapter 1: Same as it ever was
Next chapter
AO3
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“Give yourself to me… Let me consume your flesh and your soul…”
Rough hands mapped over her soft brown stomach, kneading and spreading the heat from his hands to her cold skin, tracing over the stretch marks on her sides up to her large breasts that fell to the side from their fullness. Kneeling over her naked body, he lowered his head down to her ear, growling lowly as a wandering hand found its way to her breast. Squeezing and kneading it with one hand, she arched her back to him. “This body belongs to me, it will always be mine. You are mine.” she moaned and nodded her head as he kissed her neck with chapped lips, searching for the perfect place to leave his mark that showed the world that she was claimed by him. She locked her ankles around his backside to pull him closer and whined, needing him to show her hot pussy attention.
“Please,” she turned her head to the side to give him more space to place more bites and hickeys, “Don’t tease me, I need you inside me.” she ran her hand through his soft, dark brown hair, balling her hand into a gentle fist to pull his hair to look at her. Pure white eyes gazed possessively into her dark brown eyes, he laughed lowly as he moved up to kiss her intensely, sharp teeth toying with her bottom lip and skilled tongue exploring her mouth. His dark blue jeans tightened as she made beautiful sounds for him. He sat up between her thick thighs and pulled off the torn teal blue shirt he was wearing, the low lighting of the single torch in her room highlighting his scarred and hairy chest. She was in awe of his rugged physique, his tousled and shaggy short hair that fell just below his ears and his short beard perfectly framed his strong face. She couldn’t wait to feel his scratchy beard on her plump thighs as he claimed her with his mouth. He gripped her thighs, admiring how his large hands sunk into the fat of her thighs, straining his pants further. She propped herself on her elbows to watch as he lowered himself to her waiting heat. “Hosanna, I want to hear you say my name… the name of the man who claims your flesh and soul.” His face was so close to her dripping heat, his breath tickling her sensitive clit. She moaned and scoot herself closer to his mouth to get any friction. “Aht aht…” he tutted as he kissed the inside of her thigh, sending sparks from the texture of his beard straight to her core. “Say my name, Hosanna…”
“Please, claim me… Herobrine-“
Hosanna woke with a start, a thin layer of sweat coated her entire body, she felt hot as she looked over her clothed form. She felt the spot on her neck that she could’ve sworn that there was a dark bruise, but there was no sting from the mark of the man from her dreams. She looked out the window, the sky was still dark and so she threw off her covers and walked to her front door to look at her clock.
“I know I’m a little pent up but…” she kept rubbing at the spot where the phantom hickey should be. She still felt too hot so she took a step outside barefoot, the cold dirt grounding her and slightly cooling her off. Hosanna closed her eyes and attempted to make sense of the dream she had without getting too excited again. “He’s just a myth… he’s not a real person… Maybe I need to talk to the cleric…” her mind was cloudy and sluggish as the sky began to lighten, the sun cresting over the horizon and filtering through the tall spruce trees. She turned around and walked back inside while white eyes watched from between the dense tree line, fading as the sunlight became stronger and ground began to warm.
——————————
By midday, Hosanna had finished shearing her sheep and milking her cows, preparing to travel to the nearest village to trade for food and tools. She figured that while she was there she could ask for advice. She packed the wool and milk onto her wagon, hitching her horse and made her way to the village.
After a short 30 minute journey through the spruce forest, she found herself at the edge of the village near the farm. She hopped off her wagon and waved down the local farmer and began to barter. After she got what she needed from the farmer she found the shepherd to sell her wool for emeralds, and after getting her money she made her way to the cleric in the church.
“Hello? Is the cleric in?” She knocked on the open door to the church and let herself in. “Is that Hosanna?” A voiced called from the second story of the church, “Give me a second dear, I’ll be down in a moment.” Hosanna found a spot on a pew to sit and waited for the cleric to come down.
When Hosanna had first shown up to this village, the homes and shops were in poor condition. As she renovated the buildings, the villagers came back, and in exchange for rebuilding and defending the village, they bartered reasonably with her and gave any extra supplies to her if she was in need. She looked fondly at the poor stained glasswork she did for the church, she had plans to fix it up and make it look nicer, but she hadn’t found the time.
The sound of books falling caught her attention as the cleric climbed down from the loft of the church. “Can you grab those books dear? Be careful, the red one is hot.” Hosanna got up and gathered the books, briefly looking at the titles while being careful not to grab the enchanted tome. “Hosanna, it’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you by today?” He asks fondly, carelessly scooping the fire aspect book and immediately dropping it and shaking his hand in pain. Hosanna laughed a little at his behavior. “I’ve been having those dreams again cleric.” Sighing, she picked up the book and gently set it on top of the small stack she had in her hands and gave it to him. “I know you said he isn’t real, but these dreams feel too real.” The cleric hummed and pursed his lips, the same tired expression he wore the last time she had come to him about her dreams. “Hosanna.” He started, he took the stack and set it on the floor next to the ladder, “You already know what I’m going to say.” He turned and began placing the books on the bookshelf. “Messing with those illagers helped keep the village safe, which we thank you for, but they must’ve told you a myth or something to try and scare you off. That man isn’t real and your obsession with him worries and bothers me.” Hosanna’s shoulders slumped, listening to the same advice from last time. “Cleric, I’m not obsessed with Hero-“
“You will not speak of his name in this church anymore Hosanna!” He cut her off with a stern voice and sighed long. “I cannot help you with your dreams… I am sorry. Please hosanna…” he turned back to her, “follow my advice for once, and please let it go.” He turned back and finished placing the books on the shelf. Standing there for a moment, she looked down at her feet and let out a breath through her nose, holding it for a moment then breathing back in and turning around and walking out of the church without saying goodbye to the cleric. Once outside the church she looked towards her wagon with her horse and decided to call it a day.
On the way back to her modest shack, she thinks about the night she broke into the illager’s outpost; how hard it was to clear it out and the men she’d slain to clear it, the treasures and trinkets she kept and traded, and what the Evoker did to her just before she cut him down with her sword. At the time she didn’t think much of it, illagers constantly tried to send fear from beyond the dead with their last words and that Evoker was no different. At least she thought until the dreams started.
“Nope nope nope nope, let’s not think about that right now! I’m not thinking about that right now- I’m thinking about what I’m making for dinner and boarding up my home!!” She shook her head and laughed to try and ward off those lustful thoughts, her face growing warm and a strong wave of heat rolled through her abdomen. “Y’know I’m thinking of having some pork, or maybe some stew, yessss,” she spoke out loud to drown that nagging feeling in the back of her mind, “some stew sounds amazing and I should get started on that- OH! Bread!! I’ll make bread to go with it, yes yes that’s a good idea!!” She talked to herself the whole ride back home, one part to bring her comfort as she went back home alone, another part to keep her dreams out of her head. The quiet nagging voice she blocked out, unable to get her attention, decided to remain quiet and instead chose to watch her from the dense foliage of the high spruce branches. Waiting impatiently for her to let her guard down and hear him.
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The smell of stew and baking bread filled her home, and the sound of wooden planks being nailed to her door frame and windows filled her ears. By the time the sun began to set, the bread was done baking and the stew was nearly finished. Hosanna put the last nail in the board that barricaded her front door and took a step back, satisfied with the work done she sat down on her bed and shook out her hands, fingers and thumbs raw and tender from smacking them with her hammer. At some point during her hammering she had stopped talking aloud and fell into a rhythm in her head, making peace with the silence until she was done. Realizing that she was now hungry, she got up with a grunt and walked to her cupboard and grabbed a wooden bowl and ladle, scooping hot beef and vegetable stew in her bowl and ripping off a chunk of bread to eat with it. She sat at the edge of her bed again and began to eat, mind still comfortably quiet and numb from her hammering and the food she was eating. On the window nearest her bed she left a small sliver so she could still see the sunlight in the morning to feed her livestock.
Now full from her dinner, she set her dishes near the stewpot and changed into her nightgown, putting out the fire in her fireplace and getting ready to sleep. The advice of the cleric briefly passed through her mind as she got ready to lay down in bed, and as much as she wanted to ignore it and immediately go to sleep, she thought twice about it and got up. “Okay okay…” she sighed as she meandered her way to her chest full of magic objects. “What did he say to use again? Red candles, redstone powder…I think uhhhhhh…" She stared long at the objects in the chest before reaching in, moving a book with a red poppy on it, and grabbing the book the cleric gave her some time ago.
She opened the page with the spruce leaf bookmark and read it aloud to herself. “Purple candles, redstone powder placed in the shape of eyes, and a single poppy flower in the center…” she looked back in the chest then back to the book, reread the passage then back to the chest, “Huh… I uhh…” she read the page once again then went back to the chest of objects that hadn’t changed since she first opened it, “Hmm…" She balanced the book in one hand and set the other on her hip. “I don’t have purple candles or a poppy flower…hmm…” she stood there, thinking about what she should do, on one hand she could tear down her barricade and grab a poppy from outside and go mine some redstone, but the energy required to do all that was too much for her at this hour. Her other option was to use the white candles she had, some ash from the fire, and a drawing of a poppy flower. Neither idea sounded decent in her head so she put the book back in the chest and closed it, “I’ll just try again tomorrow.”
Getting back in bed, she threw the covers back over herself and let out a sigh and relaxed into her bed, just now realizing how tired she actually was, and how easy sleep came to her. “Goodnight.” She told no one in particular, partly to herself, partly out of habit, and fell asleep. The all too familiar nagging came back as she fell asleep.
“Hosanna…”
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Shaved Sheep
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{Bunny Cam}
Jungkook x Female Reader
Genre: Stalker AU, Angst, Smut, Mature
Warnings: Masturbation, Oral (Male receiving), Sex but not really, Obsessive/Possessive behavior, Toxic relationships, Yandere, Cursing, Spanking, Homophobia, Mentions of a slur, Mentions of gore, Murder, People being shitty
Word Count: 14,242
Summary: He watches when you sleep, he knows if you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be bad only if you dare.
A/N: Lmao, the summary fucking sucks akfbkfbouhfo (so does the story). I planned this for kookie’s birthday but I wasn’t finished so fuck me. This is pretty dark so please be careful and make sure you read the warning! Edited but I’m always a dumbass so let me know if you find any mistakes. Also let me know what ya’ll think🥺 As always, enjoy!
He’d been at this for a while.
Well, a while could mean a considerable number of things. Let’s say he’s been at this for a long time; more accurately 3 years. He had your schedule memorized to a fault. The way you liked your eggs in the morning to the number of panties you owned, he could answer it in his sleep. He probably does, he thinks. Mumble about you in his sleep. You occupied his mind 24 hours in a day, and that’s why he felt he should be watching you all the time – like right now, as he sits uncomfortably on top of the willow tree next to your window. Perched in a posture that embarrasses him, with a branch digging into his inner thigh.
It’s all worth it when you finally come out from your steaming bathroom, a towel hanging dangerously low on your chest, showing the beginnings of your soft mounds. He almost moans at the sight, both from frustration at your tardiness and the sudden tightening of his crotch. Positioning his camera in front of his face, he eyes your figure through the lens. Careless yet graceful, you dance around your room from one end to another picking up your laundry and placing it in a basket. His camera softly shutters each time he decides to save a pose from you, which happens a lot. He wonders if he’ll get lucky once you head to your dresser and pick out a light orange sundress. A smile graces his features at your choice. It was one of his favorite dresses on you. But sadly, luck was not on his side as you come up to the window and shut the eggshell curtains on him.
Huffing, he sits up a tad to find the ledge he uses to exit the tree with his leg.
He learned the hard way that once you closed your curtains, you usually don’t open them for the rest of the day; so now he has to head home. He was disappointed of course, he wanted to continue watching you – especially in that dress. But its fine, better things await him at his house. Shoving his camera inside his satchel, he jumps off your back porch and runs to the alleyway a few meters from your place. There in the dark lane lays his locked bike, which he unlocks and hops on – beginning his ride home. He lived a few blocks away from you, not having the money to live in your side of town; but once he did, he planned on becoming your neighbor. It didn’t matter if you already had one, he knew he could take care of them easily.
After peddling for around a mile, he parks his bike near the run-down, motel-like apartment complex he lived in. Binding it to the rusted and useless ‘Cheap rooms available!’ board pole, he runs up the stairs to the second floor. The whole place was dirty, rat and roaches scurrying the floors ever so often, and there was a strong musty smell that enclosed the compound. The paint from the walls was chipping – tainted by unrecognizable stains and the wooden foundation grew mold. He hated this place, even if the rent made up for the appearance. Often, he would get into a quarrel with the land-owner, despising the man’s careless attitude towards the residence as well as toward his own rotten teeth and hairy chest. One day, he’d love to grab a blade and slice it right through the old man’s heart, but he promised you he’d only kill for you. Stomping his way past the ancient doors, he makes it to his own and slams it shut once inside.
His sanctuary.
Switching on the light of his small studio, he walks to the computer, settling his bag down by the twin bed. He scratches under his ribs over his hoodie as he settles into his chair. The tree by your house was filled with blood sucking bugs and he should probably do something about it, but he’s always so distracted by you he barely remembers to get other shit done. There was evidence of that scattered all over his cramped space, especially the floor. The 4 walls surrounding him are filled with photos of you on various days and angles. Polaroids of you hang in a line from a string on the ceiling, stretching out from one end of the room to the other. In front of him are multiple monitors, which he opens to reveal a video of you on your bed in your room. He lets out a content sigh at the sight of your calm form laying on your bed with a book. Your beauty shone even through the grainy pixels of the tiny spycam he hid in your room.
Moving the live feed to the smaller monitor on the right, he pulls up the spycam taping your bathroom, or more so your shower. He shuffles around his desk, picking up an open beer can from underneath his table. Relaxing back in his chair, he rewinds the broadcast to around 40 minutes ago, taking a sip of his drink. There you were, climbing into your shower, closing the glass door behind you. His eyes greedily graze your naked form, your radiant skin, the curve of your slender back, the way your nipples perked forward at the cold air. He was so glad he spent the extra money on this spycam with higher definition than the others hidden around your house, even if it left him broke for a month. His breath hitches when you slightly bend down to turn on the faucet, messing with the knob to get the perfect temperature for your shower with your ass on display. What he wouldn’t give to spread your cheeks apart, run his tongue along your folds and anus, drive his thick fingers deep into your cunt and have you dripping down his arm.
He didn’t notice how hard he was clenching the aluminum can until it exploded all over him, soaking through his jeans and hoodie. Groaning he picks up the tissue box next to his bed and begins wiping himself off. It was good that he became distracted before he could get too worked up, it was still light out and he didn’t want to be spent before midnight again. Throwing the tissues next to the other used tissues on the floor he gets back to doing his favorite thing. Pausing the window of your shower he brings back the live feed of you in your room to the main monitor. He smiles at you still lounging on your bed, the book placed over your chest as you scrolled away on your phone. You could be so lazy on the weekends, he cooed at your leg haphazardly dangling off the side of the bed. He loved it when you stayed indoors by yourself like a good little girl, it meant he could have you all to himself for the periods he spent watching you. It was just him and you, no one who could disturb his time between you both.
It isn’t clear to him when exactly you stopped connecting with the outer world. Perhaps it was when your lovers mysteriously vanished 3 years ago, or when men stopped trying to flirt with you all together. He recalls how scared you had been when officers came to interrogate you, and as bad as he felt – as much as he wanted to blow the heads off their burly bodies – he knew you deserved it for thinking you could make room in your life for anyone that wasn’t him. Or maybe it was because your best friend refused to talk to you ever again; a small rumor making its way to her ear about how you slept with her dad. Which was easy to believe seeing how he’d been fucking girls younger than his daughter for years. Most likely it’s when your parents cut off contact with you, the reigning black sheep of the family, when they received the sex tape you shot with your ex marked from you. An ex he ended up smashing each finger off of. Whatever it was, it was definitely because the gods had blessed him. You were meant for him and only him, and the circumstances that had all seemed to work in his favor only solidified that fact.
It was when he was off reminiscing about the most important years of his life that he bumped his leg into a hard brick-like object under his desk.
“Fuck,” He curses as his legs feels a light ting. Rolling back in his chair, he stares at the culprit that was the large stack of white paper. The manager had handed it all to him yesterday after he finished his second week of overtime; ‘to be stapled and collated’ he said. That motherfucker. Because of him – not only did Jungkook not have time to get home earlier to you, but he had to haul the hefty pile of papers uphill on his bike.
Whatever he thought about that guy doesn’t matter – he should get started on this task soon. Since this job is the one job he can’t afford to lose. So, with a heavy heart the young man clears his desk of the old ramen containers and sperm tissues and empty weed bags with one swift arm movement, cringing when he hears them hit the floor. Bending down, he easily heaves the stack up onto his now empty desk and begins to shuffle through them. Then he looks back up at you who’s back to reading her novel. If there was one thing he’d never do, it was show you how much of a slob he actually was. He couldn’t bear the thought of you finding him disgusting, so when he finally got you, he knew he’d do all the cleaning and housework. And that was fine with him, as long as he got to enjoy being a bit filthy while he was alone in this dreaded place. You would never find out, of course.
He starts to read the first document he grabs, something useless about company liability. Then he moves on to the next one, and the next. Until his mind is full of words and a yawn is crawling up his throat. Jungkook eyes you every few minutes or so, making sure you were still be his good girl. And that’s how he ends up spending his energy that day.
_
He wakes up with a large intake, forcing himself to sit up with his nose feeling strangely stuffed and his spine aching. As he adjusts his groggy vision, he notices the documents in a neater stack on the edge of his desk. That’s when he recalls the night before – how he was double tasking while trying to keep an eye on you lounging about. How you both took a break for dinner and watch some stupid melodrama with that tall actor you liked. And how he finally fell asleep on his desk at 2 in the morning while stapling said documents after you turned your lights off.
Jungkook didn’t have money for night vision cameras yet, but he was working on it! It sucks that everything was so expensive these days, especially love.
Yawning, he stretches his arms and back as he opens his sleeping screens hoping to see your face to cheer up his otherwise crappy consciousness. His face quickly falls however, when he notices you’re not in your bedroom or bathroom or living room or even your driveway.
Shit.
He freaks out and jumps out of his chair in sore legs, reaching for his bag on the bed.
9:12 his phone displays – making his round face turn pale. Running around in his room, he rushes to get ready. His bladder was especially full of the beers from last night. Other than that, there wasn’t much he had worry about since everything could be easily completed by multitasking. Such as brushing your teeth while pulling up your socks or combing your hair and looping your belt. After chaotically tying his white striped tie around his collared neck, he spritzes on the expensive cologne you once mentioned you like on a man, spraying on a bit more than usual since he hadn’t had time to shower. With that, he stuffs the skillfully collated and stapled documents into his black leather satchel and sprints out the door.
20 minutes later he was in front of the 25-story glass building. His nerves were eating at him as he hastily locked in his bike and entered the automatic doors. In front of him stood a black suited man in shades with his arms crossed.
As Jungkook jogged up a couple steps, the man raised his huge hand to stop him.
“I.D. please,” He spoke in a gruff voice
“Right,” Jungkook zipped open the front pocket of his satchel and brought out an employee I.D., swinging it around his neck. The man stepped aside, and he let Jungkook scan his I.D. in the machine next to him, that let out a green light afterward – letting him inside the small screen doors. He exhaled a breath, continuing his run to the elevators and punching in his floor. His insides felt like they were plummeting the whole ride up.
He really just wanted to quietly go to his desk, without making any ruckus or causing a scene but luck wasn’t on his side this time as the first person he sees when the doors slide open is his aging supervisor and his scowl. Once the man thoroughly eyes him in minor surprise of running into him, he frowns.
“You’re late,” The man grit through his yellow teeth
“I’m s-sorry, sir. I was up all night an-”
“I didn’t ask for excuses Jeon,” He sneers, “This is the second time this month, once more and I’ll have you kicked out of here- ass first, understand?”
“Yes sir,” Jungkook bows and steps aside to let the man use the elevator.
Before the doors slide close, his supervisor gives him another threatening glare. “Did you finish what I ordered? I’ll be back soon, and I better not find one mistake on those documents, you hear me Jeon?
“Yes sir” Like hell you’ll be back soon, you aging bastard.
Once he’s out of sight, Jungkook let’s out a sigh. He thought he was gonna lose his job today for sure. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Mr. Jang to act this way towards him and most of the team. The only people – correction women he’s nice to are the ones he finds fuckable. Still, he’s glad this didn’t happen in front of you.
He opens the doors to the office space, breathing in the cold air conditioning and watching everyone scurry about as usual. Some girls glance at him as he indifferently passes them on his way to his corner. His desk was luckily located with yours directly in front. Even though yours was closer to the Manager’s office and his was further back near the conference room. When he sits down in his chair, he notices you’re not at your desk. For a few minutes, he just eyes your empty area with confusion. The worry he felt this morning crawling back into his system.
But it quickly dissipates once you make your way out of the manager’s office, a few files in tucked under your right arm. Jungkook’s mood easily shifts at the sight of you and his heart starts to beat faster. He couldn’t go too long without seeing you, your graceful figure in that tight pencil skirt flawlessly hugging your hips. You sat at the front with rest of Team A who you supervised. Your side of the lineup were considered company gems; the pay was better, working conditions were more lenient and you all even had a dental plan. Sadly, thanks to him not knowing what to do and ultimately dropping out of college, he was grouped into Team B – the dispensable ones. His group was overworked and underpaid – even though the company made it seem like they treated all their employees equally. That was total bullshit.
And they had the worst fucking supervisor. An ancient stickler tyrant who acted like he was stepping out for business when Jungkook knew he was out fucking some blonde prostitute he was obsessed with in some cheap motel behind his sick wife’s back. Nothing in this company benefitted him. Not the pay, not the hours, and definitely not the bitchass supervisor. Nevertheless, he slaved all his days in this building for you. Looking up in your direction again, he smiles. He got to see you every day and that was enough for him. As long as you remained here, he would never quit. Just then a scowl made its way onto his soft features. What were you doing in the manager’s office half the time? Jungkook knew it wasn’t anything like that – that you were just doing your job, but doesn’t he call you in way too many times a day? His fingers clenched the strap of his bag as Jungkook thought about that man making a move on you.
You’re not good enough.
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the clacking of heels and a pleasant scent light up his area.
“Jungkook?”
He jumps when he hears your voice, rolling back slightly. There – in front of him you stood with a large halo surrounding your figure. His throat feels caught as you meet his eyes and raise an eyebrow. You were the most beautiful being in the universe, he bet even angels compared themselves to you. But they wouldn’t hold a candle. Jungkook felt over the moon at your proximity, cameras couldn’t capture the absolute divinity you embodied so casually. The tip of your nose, the smoothness of your glowing skin, the light makeup over your eyelids. Even the posture you stood in was lethal. Everything was luring him in until he was completely lost and at your mercy, and he’s certain that showed on his face. He sucks in a breath as he hears you speak again, some uneasiness in your melodious tone.
“Umm…you’re Jungkook, correct?”
As he processes your expression at his odd behavior, he forces himself out of his reverie. Can’t have you thinking he’s a weirdo.
“Y-Y…Yes,” He manages
“Oh, good. I was just wondering if you have those documents Mr. Jang asked for? He called to tell me he would be a bit late and if I could retrieve them and give them to Mr. Kim”
Jungkook had always wanted to skin the face off his supervisor, but in this moment, he’s never adored a man more in his life. You actually came all the way over here and talked to Jungkook because of that old man’s incompetence. He hopes Mr. Jang receives the blowjob of his life today.
You eye the boy staring at you with wide bunny eyes. He was always so strange, you wondered why your female colleagues gushed over him so much. You were about to speak again when he stands up straight – making your startled feet shift backwards slightly.
“Umm…Yes!! I have them,” Jungkook states with his voice higher than usual. He opens his satchel and digs out all the documents, presenting them to you with one hand.
“Oh, thank you,” As soon as you reach out for them and bumped your hand into his accidently, he let’s all the documents go. They fall to the floor with a loud ‘thunk’ making a few heads in the neighboring desks turn your way. “Oops.”
You bend to the ground, gathering up all the paper once again. Most of them were in stapled piles, so thankfully they didn’t scatter around too much. When you assembled the bunch, you look back up at him from your position on the floor. His eyes seemed like they would pop out of his skull and you thought you heard him gulp as he continued to observe your position on the ground. Slowly you stand up straight, feeling unnerved.
“Thank you,” You say once again holding the documents on your chest. When you fail to obtain a response, you just awkwardly turn around, sensing his eyes following you all the way back to your desk.
What a weird guy.
_
Jungkook’s legs feel like a frail horse once he makes it back home. Trudging up the stairs and into his room with a slumped back, he jumps right into bed and kicks off his office shoes. He covers his eyes with his arms.
Then he smiles, stretching his pink lips and displaying his bunny teeth. He smiles so big and wide.
Wow. Wow. Wow. WOW.
You graced his presence. You talked to him. You even touched him.
Holding his face in his hands, he rolls around the compact bed like a teenage girl. Holy shit. This was real.
It’s not that you hadn’t spoken to him before – I mean you both did work in the same company for years and he’s wrote down previous dates of conversations in his both his calendar and journal. But you’ve never made this much eye contact, he’s never got to study your face this close for so long, and you definitely had never touched him. He almost exploded right then.
And then, the part that virtually killed him. You were on your knees…right below him. Innocently staring back up at him. FUCK!
Jungkook groans as recalling that image has him hard instantly. His mind was racing, and he felt he was going crazy with his body temperature continuing to climb. The sun was just beginning to set which let orange streaks of light into his room through the blinds. He huffs as his hand caresses down his torso to grab his bulge, hissing when his fingers make contact. Swiftly, he unbuckles his slacks, pulling them off his butt to rest on his knees. He continues to fondle his hard on through his briefs, moaning when imagining your soft hand instead of his much larger one.
His imagination takes him back a few hours ago, with you on your knees in front of him. But this time there’s no documents on the floor to pick up. This time, no one else is around the chattery office space – unworthy peasants breathing the same air as you. This time, your eyes have a dark undertone in them as you sit there without any clothes on. Your skin was as smooth as porcelain, color reflecting the ceiling lights of the office. He holds his breath when you take your right breast in your hand, pinching your perky nipple with your thumb and index finger. No distractions. No distance. It’s just you and him, and this heavy atmosphere.
“Jungkook,” You say in a sultry tone, crawling closer to him on all fours.
“Fuck,” He curses as you hook your fingers into the waist band of his underwear, slowly pulling the cloth down with a smirk. Jungkook catches a tiny gasp from you as his erection springs up to his stomach in front of your face. You lightly grab the underside of his shaft as his breathing becomes heavy. Poking your tongue out – you lick a stripe up his dick, and he tenses, shoulders rolling back with a shiver. With a mischievous glint, you bring your tongue around the top, swirling his precum over his head while tracing a vein up his shaft with a manicured finger. Your hand bobs up and down his dick as you continue to skillfully twirl your tongue around the tip. His hand clenches tightly as you wrap your pretty lips around the head and hallow out your cheeks to suck.
“Ahhnn,” He hopes you don’t mind his loud, sort of feminine moans. But he still bites his lip to suppress them.
You remove yourself with a pop. Your hand was still gripping around his dick, steadily moving along his rod. Stretching your lips, you wink up at him and he has to do everything in his power not to fall to the ground. He was light headed with lust clouding his vision. The room had gotten dimmer sometime ago, he could only make you out as he did this morning. Your strawberry scent invading his rationality as you sat in front of him. Your honey tone as you repeated his name. The way your red lips curved with every syllable you spoke. Lips you were once again opening as he took your luscious locks in his fingers and directed his dick along your mouth. For a moment he just traced around your lips, glossing them with precum. These lips were his possession along with the rest of you, only he gets to claim them. Then he brought his head back inside your mouth, watching you take all of him in with hooded eyes. Inching his way inside, he saw your jaw go slack and lids flutter the more he forced himself in. You looked so beautiful with tears surrounding your sockets as you struggled to breath when he hit the back of your throat.
“You’re so perfect baby,” Your warm cavern was made for this – for him. Once he feels your throat muscles relax against him, he takes himself out ever so slow, obsessed with how wet his dick became with your saliva. Just to push himself inside again, holding your head down as you struggled. He threw his head back, failing to keep his moans quiet as you gagged around him with your nails pushing at his thighs. Tightening his fingers amongst your hair, he pulled your head back with force before he stuffed you full of himself once again.
He keeps that pace swift and harsh, frustrated at how you were always a few feet from him yet still so far away. This is what he needs, what he craves. His heart beats harder every time he shoves into your wet entrance, watching the way hot tears roll down your cheek but you don’t try to fight off his brutal thrusts. Saliva was sticking at the edge of your lips; your jaw was practically unhinged at his girth and lipstick was smeared all over his dick. You let him use your face like a fuck doll, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as he speeds up with his orgasm approaching.
“You – you’re so beautiful,” He grunts with every thrust “My angel, my doll, my fuck toy. M-Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Words slurred against his mouth as you laid your tongue flat against his shaft, slick dripping of your chin. As his arms fell to his sides, you once again took control of bobbing your mouth and hand against his length. It was really just himself and his own fingers but God he could imagine it so well. He could retrace every part of your body – practically ingrained in his mind from how much time he spent stalking observing you. Hours would go by of him watching you masturbate. Memorizing each facial expression of yours. Thirsting for your heat – this thirst, this is exactly how’d you feel. Jungkook could practically taste it.
He cums with one last push inside your warm mouth and a loud cry of your name.
Opening his eyes, he takes in large breaths gaping at the ceiling of his apartment. Holy fuck, it’d been a while since he came so hard. Chest moving up and down – it takes a moment for him to calm himself. Still high off your pretty face stuffed with his dick. He lays limp in his bed, bringing his hand up to see the insane amount of cum covering his palm. This part always brought him an odd grief. Having to ‘wake up.’ Be alone in his dirty room with your divine company no longer in sight. There was an empty feeling, not just in his balls but in his heart. It was all your fault. Coming near him with those big doe eyes, practically begging him to fuck you on your knees. Yet you wouldn’t let him…not right now. Fuck. Fuck you.
Jungkook knew it wasn’t the right time, that you didn’t know him well enough for him to make a move, but his patience was wearing thin. He had to act fast since he desperately wanted this dream to become a reality.
_
You were typing away at your keyboard screen, finishing whatever goddamn report of the month. At this point, you were moving in autopilot not even registering any words that were making their way onto the screen. Your back aches as you sigh, you really hated this job. If the pay wasn’t so good, you would’ve quit so long ago. The only good thing about this company was the dental plan really, and the big house you got to afford due to your wages. Co-workers of yours were snarky pieces of shit who excluded you in any activities due to you being the boss’ favorite. Communicating with them was always troublesome, which is why you were here working overtime alone on this 4-person job. At least your co-supervisor was a nice old guy who acted like a gentleman. Really trashy towards his own team though and you were pretty sure he was cheating on his sick wife. When you were almost done with the last paragraph, your phone next to your coffee mug decided to buzz and interrupt the silent, dim office space.
You pick it up reluctantly, already knowing who’d be behind the bright screen. As usual, your misery proves you correct as the name of your arrogant dick for a boss flashes on your phone screen. He was one of those types; the men that feel like they’ve led a hard-working life because they went to a prestigious college without a sport’s scholarship even if they enrolled with their rich parent’s money. Any sort of self-reflection towards their privilege fails to register within them. This man called you for fifty things a day even though he had his own slutty secretary on her knees every time he asked. Maybe you’d feel for the girl if she wasn’t scowling at you whenever you passed by her desk to reach his office. You knew she hated you because he had a thing for you. When he wasn’t calling you in just to subtly check out your ass, he was making passive sexual remarks in completely normal work-related conversations.
It’s not like you didn’t find him attractive. He was tall, dark and you knew he was eating rich with how much time you spent eyeing his muscles. But god was he dumb as fuck. And he didn’t enthuse you any bit, other than maybe imagining him pounding into you from behind with his thick fingers wrapped around your neck. Sexual attraction was normal you suppose – you were two young attractive adults after all. But other than that, you really desired nothing to do with him. Actually, you desired no relationship with anyone at all, for that matter.
Since your last boyfriend’s disappearance three years ago, you recall being too scared to date for a while. Staying at home 24/7 and opting to buy some large dildos in the place of men. But that fear had left you long ago. Slowly, you became someone who just didn’t care in searching for fairytale romance or a passionate night with the love of your life. Instead you just wanted to feel the thrill of being alive, that ecstasy of feeling afraid – waiting for the unknown. You wanted to feel like you did when you saw your dead boyfriend’s horribly mutilated corpse. But that moment had fled too fast and everything around you had become predictable in some gloomy, miserable pattern – with nothing to excite you. Your life had actually become so unbearably boring that you had all the time in the world to accept these insane thoughts into your head, with no one to stop you from so. There was no point in shame any longer, you had your fair share of that when your isolation first started turning you insane.
The more reclusive you stayed, the more apathetic you became.
Sighing, you click on his name to see what he wanted with you at this lovely time of the evening.
‘Had Lana review the documents
She said a page is missing from the last stack
Ask the intern about it’
Of course, he would think Jungkook was an intern. He surely paid him like one. You look up at his empty desk. For once in their despondent lifespan, Team B was allowed to head home on time. Great that meant you’d have to talk to that oddball again in the morning. Lost in thought at your dreadful near future, you get startled as your phone buzzes yet again.
‘More importantly, we’re still up for tmrw night, right?😉’
Staring at the screen with insignificance, you type your reply with bitter fingers.
‘Of course, sir❤’
When you’re about to type him a reply for the ‘intern’ text, a twinkle from across the room catches your eye. You glance back up to see the outline of an unfamiliar object on Jungkook’s desk. Peering into the indistinct space, you desperately tried to make out what was sticking up from his otherwise flat desktop. Oh, right! It hit you then – that was the black bag he carries around daily.
Honestly, you always thought he was weird, and you didn’t pay much attention to Jungkook. Writing him off as another tedious side character that appears in your timeline here and there. The ladies of the office surely seemed to disagree with you, obsessively gushing over his bunny-like features and sturdy physique. Little boys like him didn’t interest you. But you did find yourself studying him sometimes – you’ve always been a curious person – which is why you knew he carried that bag everywhere with him, never letting it out of his sight. Even today, he handed you the pile of papers straight from that satchel. He kept everything in there, how could he forget it here?! Although…he did look out of it the whole day today after your small interaction with him. Maybe he was unwell?
Whatever it was, the situation at hand was more important. If you told your boss Jungkook had left for home, even though he had every right to, he might get fired. That man was impulsive and became furious over the dumbest situations. He once fired an employee that gave 16 years to this company for not ‘ordering the right cupcakes for his favorite client.’ Groaning, you stand up and walk across the office to Jungkook’s desk, your heels clacking amongst the floor. As you thought, it really was his bag that was thrown on his desk.
It wasn’t right to look through his things and you didn’t want to, but you couldn’t have this young man losing his job over something as small as this. Something you can easily fix…hopefully. But why should his status at the company concern you in the least anyway? If he is or isn’t thrown out, it wouldn’t harm your life in at all. Crossing your arms in irritation at the headache starting from the battle of your moral interpretations, you reason that it wouldn’t hurt you to do one kind thing. Perhaps it might land you that promotion you were seeking tomorrow.
You felt bad. Your gut told you something was wrong. What if it’s not in there and you just invade his privacy for no good reason?
With reluctance you grabbed his bag, opening the zipper in slow motion.
Jungkook was peddling as fast as he could. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. How could he be so stupid. The whole fiasco with you talking to him today and his stupid hormones made him overlook something important. It was ridiculous how he was more concerned in getting home and jerking off to you then paying attention to any of his surroundings. Shit. If only you knew of the power you had over him. He didn’t even remember the dumb item until he was looking for his expensive camera when he recalled leaving it in that bag and leaving said bag back at his desk! Everyone had probably gone home by now, right? He knows some of the janitors steal from the pricks of Team A, but if a whole leather bag is on his desk won’t they at least take a glimpse? SHIT. Jungkook pushes his feet down on the peddles with great force, practically flying towards the workplace like a car.
There wasn’t any way he could afford for anyone to see what was on that camera.
Barging into the office on two left legs, he wheezes with his palms on his knees as he surveils the area around him. Most of the lights are off and the room is empty of life or noise. In a hurry, he had run into some of the caretakers downstairs and they told him they didn’t start on his floor yet. Out of habit, he glances at your desk, to find you staring at him with wide eyes. He straightens himself immediately, closing his mouth along with the racket of his breaths.
Why were you still here?
You had your hands hovering the keyboard and a fresh batch of coffee stood next to you. Were you supposed to be working overtime today? He thought it was tomorrow because he memorized your schedule for this month last week. Did your plans change without him knowing?
As he continues to leer at you, you clear your throat which makes him snap out of his daydream. Carefully, he turns away from you walking towards his desk. The bag is still right where he left it. He knows he can just grab it and go, but the fact that you’re here with him…alone of all things. How good could today get? Fuck, he thought he drained himself enough for today, but his mind was still racing with substantial thoughts. Would it be okay if he talks to you? Maybe he could help you out in whatever you were working on. Before he could get too far and freak you out, he grabs his bag and swings it around his shoulder. Turning around again he takes slow step, trying to seem casual. Was he walking too awkwardly? Did he look good in this hoodie?
When he’s a couple steps from the door, you call out to him.
“Jungkook?”
He faces you with giant deer eyes, “Yes?”
“I received a text from Mr. Kim stating that the last page from the documents you gave me this morning was missing. Do you think you have it in your bag?”
He takes a moment to process what you said, “Yes? Um…Oh right,” He begins digging in his satchel. And there it was, one single page – stuck to the bottom, ripped from the edge where it was originally stapled. The corner of his lip perks up when he finds his camera on top of the document. “Here you go”
Walking over to you, he hands out the paper and you notice it shaking in his fingers.
“Thank you, that’s all.” You say, gently taking the paper from his trembling grasp. Setting it down aside, you pick up your mug to take a sip of your coffee. It was still steaming so you blow on it slightly, puckering your lips. That’s when you notice the shadow in your peripheral vison. You look up to find Jungkook – still as a tree – gawking at you behind an unreadable expression.
“Yes?” You say in a confused tone
“N-no nothing” He stutters, clutching the straps of his bag tightly. “Sorry,” He states, before walking away from you. Turning his head subtly, he gives you one last glance before he heads out the door.
_
Jungkook was sure he was going to pop open his knuckles as his characters dies once again. He had been gaming for what – two hours straight? His room was lit with only his PC’s screens, and he’s sure his eyes would drop out of his sockets if he doesn’t close them soon. Also, he’d definitely lose his voice from screaming into his mic so much at the arrogant teenage brat who keeps mocking him. If only this damn kid appeared two days ago. His gameplay sucks because his focus is somewhere else – on someone else. Yesterday’s events had punctured both his mind and balls and he was completely spent. Yet you still continued to linger in his mind, like you had your hand wrapped around his brain.
It was destiny, Jungkook believes. It was a sign; the stars are telling him to make his move. Finally, after three years all he needed was some form of answer to his craving for you and he knows he’s received it as of yesterday. He was planning on talking to you by the end of the week, maybe asking you out to coffee like normal people do. There was always that fear of you saying no, but not after last night. Jungkook acknowledges he’s handsome, knows how people view him both in the office and out on the streets. Unlike some of the virgins on his server, he’s had his fair share of pussy before.
There were tons of different types he encountered. A few girls that were looking for a handsome fling. Others wanting arm candy. The most annoying girls repeatedly tried to find a way to get beneath the sexual layer – thinking themselves to be saviors or that he’s some poor lost ‘badboy’ who needs saving – clinging onto him with their delusional fantasies. They were always the hardest to shake off. His favorite type were the girls who understood that they have no meaning to him, they just wanted to get spit on and choked during intercourse. This was all way before he met you, of course. Before he pledged his faithfulness to his and your relationship. Nevertheless, he does know how to get into a woman’s pants.
He wants more with you, however. He wants to hold your hand whenever he feels like it and laugh with you at the cheesy dramas you watch and come home to you when the dark thoughts in his head overwhelm him and his loneliness eats away his soul. Jungkook’s never understood what love is or why people put themselves through pain for something as silly as that, at least not until he met you. What he feels for you, its love isn’t it? It consumes him entirely and he numbs the ache of not having you by watching over you compulsively. By memorizing your habits, by making you as alone as he is. Funny…he thinks he’s become like those girls he hated. A more excessive version, perhaps.
Jungkook growls as he dies yet again and closes off his sever. Today was just not his day. He discards his headset and grabs his unfinished ramen cup, practically shoving the last of its contents into his mouth in one large take. Throwing it to the side, he grabs his energy drink and downs it in one go while he’s still chewing to help swallow without difficulty. Stretching his shoulders, he huffs, looking at the time on his screen. You were probably making dinner right now. Maybe watching a horror movie or finishing your novel. What if you were in that mood tonight, the one that made you rip off all your clothes and seize whatever sex toy you touched first in your drawer. He loved your dildos the most, he was always amazed at how they stretched out your cunt so nice and tight. Exactly like he wants to. Sometimes he’d break into your house just to lick them clean.
Shuddering from his thoughts, he opens his folder where he stores the camera records. His favorite part of watching you was the anticipation. He clicks the kitchen cam to find it empty. Okay, so you weren’t cooking. He goes on to click the living room cam. Also empty. In excitement, he clicks the bedroom cam…to find it blank? The screen was black, and it darkened his entire room. There was no sound or even static from the tape. Great…it’s probably broken.
He sighs, staring at the monitor in scrutiny. There were other times when his spycam’s malfunctioned or broke down over the past three years and it was always such a hassle. Barely managing to excuse himself from work to sneak into your house when you’re not around, finding the spycam (and maybe taking a trinket of yours), getting back home to diagnose it. And either spending hours fixing it or spending money replacing it. Then sneaking back in and placing it back up. Always took a lot of work and interesting fact he discovered – acting like a thief was sort of dangerous! Who would’ve thought? His ‘all black ensemble all the time’ hadn’t helped either. Your neighbor almost caught him last time.
Today was really not his day, but the important thing was to see what you were doing. He glances at his camera on the side of the desk. Would you have your window open tonight? Well…there was only one way to know for sure. He gets up from his chair, pausing a bit as his vision blacks out for a moment. When it returns, he grabs his camera and stuffs it in his satchel. Then he slips out of his sweats to pull up his jeans and has to sit on the bed to wear his heavy easy climb shoes. Once he picks up his keys, he’s out the door into the cool summer night.
The bike to your place was easy, the wind blew through his hair like a lullaby. His hair was getting quite long, most of it reaching halfway to his ears. He was going to cut it, but he saw you eyeing him last week. There was no way he was letting scissors come near him now, not with the way your gaze glossed over his strands.
He finally reaches the usual alleyway and locks his bike by a drain pipe, making sure to secure it tightly. The reason why he parked it here was so no one takes note of the large blue P5X in the middle of the backroad behind your house as it was too heavy to carry over your fence. Besides, he’d trust the abandoned alleyway any day over the quite suburban neighborhoods. If movies have taught him anything, it’s that the nice-looking places are always the deadliest. That’s another reason he’s installed cameras around your house; for your own safety.
Jungkook spots your place after a short walk, turning his slow steps into a quick jog. As he comes near, he notices the light of your bedroom window beaming into the road, and he quietly cheers. Your window was open – he finally gets to see your pretty face. When he was in front of your house, he hops the familiar fence into your slightly unkept backyard. Once he moves in with you, the first thing he’s going to do is mow the fucking lawn. He walks up to the willow tree standing sturdy by your window, waiting on him to climb on. He loved this fucking tree, it was truly a pure and majestic plant.
As usual, he grabs onto a firm piece of bark and he uses his shoe to push himself up. He repeats this process until he’s safely tucked into the branches of the large tree. As usual, the leaves were blocking his way, and also protecting him from getting caught. Using the leaves as a cover, he gets himself ready by pulling out his camera and perching himself on his stomach. And as usual he moved towards the light behind the leaves.
As usual. Everything was supposed to be as fucking usual. But today was not his fucking day, was it?
When he finally gets a view behind the leaves using the lens of his camera, he almost drops out the tree all together. He let’s out a loud involuntary gasp. His throat constricts and his eyes widen at the sight he’s met with.
He first saw your eyes, your beautiful shapely eyes clenched together in ecstasy. Then he saw your arms. Your healthy, silky arms grasping onto someone’s broad back. And then your legs. Your sexy, glowing skin folded on someone’s hips. Hips that should’ve been his. He moves his camera out of his sight, taking your position in with his own two eyes. There you were, with your jaw hanging open and your body blocked out by someone else’s, a body you were urgently clinging onto. From then on started the moans. He hadn’t registered them before until just now, his brain connecting the movement of your mouth to the soft moans just now reaching his ears. A shaky breath leaves him.
“Uhh – ahh-” You were getting fucked, up against your wall.
“There,” You were mewling for the man pounding your smaller frame
“Faster!” A sob leaves his throat, his pants tightening at the scene. No, he didn’t want to get hard at this, not when his heart was shattering into a million pieces. But his body refused to listen to him as his dick started leaking precum
There was slight sweat on your forehead, your eyebrows were furrowed, and your now open eyes were glazed with desire. The muscles of the stranger tense as he holds you, hard ridges producing beads of perspiration – both yours and his – leaving no distance between your entangled limbs. He doesn’t know what to feel, just that his body hurts a lot all of a sudden. He accidently presses the camera shutter, not noticing it taking one pick after the other of the dreadful scene in front of him. Suddenly you make eye contact with him and his whole figure freezes.
You were looking. Fuck. You were staring straight at him, he knows you could tell he was here. He should get the fuck out of here – leave this place immediately but he’s frozen. The pounding of his heart intensifies when you smile.
You were…smiling? You were staring straight at him and…smiling? What the fuck was going on? A chill ran down his spine.
While making direct eye contact with him, you smirk, bringing your hand up to grab your boss’ locks. “Right there, baby,” You groan, throwing your head back but still staring out that window. “Ahh-You do it so well, better than mm- anyone.”
Jungkook was crying. He felt the tears leaves his sockets one by one. It was those days again – the ones three years ago. When you would break his heart daily by casually dating or flirting. When he had to put together that revolting tape of you and your now ex. Nausea crept his insides, his arms felt limp. Only the shadows know how he survived that time period. And it was supposed to be gone, that retched habit of yours. You were only his now. Yet here you were, with that evil glint in your menacing stare, mocking him with every breath that left your lungs.
When the bastard moves his head to the side to nose your neck, is when Jungkook catches a glimpse of the man who tore you away from him. It was him…your boss. Jungkook’s breathing becomes heavy.
You were doing this on purpose. You were torturing Jungkook on purpose. But WHY?! Why would you do that to him? Are you punishing him? It’s not something he knows for certain, but he does know this man had corrupted you. He took you away from Jungkook. He made you become this cruel. And Jungkook doesn’t share what’s his, ever.
It was that sudden thought just then, that blackened his pupils and clenched his teeth. The tears became hot, leaving a fire in their trail and burning the skin of his cheek. He no longer cried out of utter devastation, but a new emotion fueled him – bought back the energy that drives him to pursue you. Anger. Red, hot, scorching anger.
“I’m gonna cum”
He can no longer digest the scene. His stomach churned at the sight and he forced himself away, jumping out of the tree and falling feet-first into the lawn. As he straightened up, the ache got worse, his head felt like it would explode any second. So, he leaned on the bark, trying to keep cool. It didn’t work though as his mouth dropped open and he threw up all over the roots of the plant. His throat constricted and he struggled to breathe, eyes wide at the misery at hand. When he was done vomiting his guts, he took a step back and observed the sight in coughs he tried to keep silent. Pieces of food had mushed together and dyed into a green unidentifiable gunk by his energy drink, drenching the roots and grass surronding of the tree. He felt so sick, eyes hazy and the gross stench filling his nostrils. As soon as his conscious cleared a bit, he ran away from the scene of the crime.
Jungkook ran from the tree. From your yard. From the long backroad. All the way back to that silent alley way, not once looking back.
He was out of breath once he found his bike. Too exhausted to drive for now, he rested his arms on the wall. That’s when he noticed some of the contents from his earlier actions got on his pants and he wiped away at them furiously, grunting loudly. His grunts soon became whimpers and his eyes blurred once again as he let out a loud wail. Why would you do this to him? Why? He did everything for you, just to be with you…so WHY?
His body is shaking as he hangs onto the wall, trying to wipe tonight from his mind. The longer he thinks about, the crazier he becomes. Images continue to plague his mind and he shouts curses into the wall as his crotch continues to ache.
Why was he hard at a time like this? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
No longer having the energy to care, with one last curse he unbuckles his jeans and pulls out his raging dick. Immediately he starts stroking his shaft strong and fast, and he uses the last of his adrenaline to fuel his pace.
He can see it still, your naked form. The gorgeous expanse of your skin and your legs spread apart. Except this time, you’re bent over your bed with your ass on display for him. Only for him. Your hands are tied behind your back but you’re not struggling. Yet.
Grunting, he jerks himself off as he imagines raising his hand up – then landing it straight on your soft ass cheek. You cry out as you shift away from him only to have him hold you down with his other arm. The skin around your butt becomes a rosy color, his hand print appearing in the aftermath. Immediately his pupils blow out, breath coming in hefty takes as he one again raises his hand towards your other cheek.
“How *smack* dare *smack * you *smack*” He grits out the last word so hard that he accidently bites his tongue. The taste of iron swirled in his mouth. Your cries were muffled against the bed your face was stuffed in and it makes his heart ache. This isn’t what he wanted, he only wanted to make sweet love to you. Give you everything you asked for. But he was weak and inept…underprivileged and a good-for-nothing. His insecurities held him back for three fucking years, but he was trying. Groveling away in the only company that would hire him. Letting himself be belittled, ridiculed, endlessly worked…all for you. He was trying really hard. Hiccupping as tears fall down his face, he rubs against your bottom to sooth you, not taking his eyes off of your cunt.
In exchange, that man embodied everything he wasn’t. Money. Status. Power. He could provide for you – he could give you anything you wanted and maybe that’s why he got to touch you. Jungkook recoils, recollecting what a dumbass horndog he became just because his fingers brushed yours. How sad was it that after all his efforts, Jungkook was stuck behind his dirty 4 walls masturbating to thoughts of you every night while this man got to live his dream without even half the work? What had he done to deserve you?
Not good enough. Not good enough. You’re not good enough.
“W-Why…did you do that t-to *hiccup* me”
“Why, when I love you so much?” When he recalls what you did, all the anger comes back. Red paints his vision as he once again spanks you like crazy, not caring about your screams this time. With how you angled your ass, you were practically urging him to continue. Heat radiates from you and his palm, his mind traveling a mile a minute. He brings his thigh up to your core, enjoying the way you instantly soak through his jeans while whining at the stimulation. Not just your suffering but even your face wasn’t correctly recreating in his perception, because to him this wasn’t about you. It was about your lack of fucking respect for him. Right now, only his pleasure mattered to his brain.
Pausing his merciless attack, he enjoys the view of your dripping cunt. Once again mindlessly rubbing at your bottom. Grabbing your sore ass cheek with one hand, he positions his dick at your entrance with his other. He groans as he sinks into you, stretching your insides apart. Fuck, if it felt this good in his own mind then he can’t even fathom how it would feel in reality. As he settles all the way inside, he doesn’t wait for you to relax around him. No, he wouldn’t wait for you.
Instead he pulls out and slams against you balls deep with one swift thrust. His moans sound out in sync with your cries – pleading for his forgiveness.
Before he could help it, he cums right then – abruptly, unfinished and the fury still alive in his bones. Inhumane growls come from him as he’s faced with the red brick wall that he coats with hot white strings of his semen. Bumping his forehead onto that wall, he slows his breathing, watching as the white streaks drip down the uneven ridges of the bricks. Reality kicks in. This is how it would be every time, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t get to be inside you, he wouldn’t get to taste you, and he would spend away his days ejaculating prematurely like a fucking child.
Unless he did something about this.
Something he hasn’t done in a while.
As the young man continues to stand alone in that alleyway, an idea forms in his head. Since you were staring at him in such a sinister way – no surprise or fright in your face – you know exactly what he was doing and probably who he was. For the first moment that night, he flashes his pearly whites. Looks like it was finally time for you both to officially meet.
_
The man paced as fast as his heavy legs could take him, trying his best to seem confident and not an object of suspicion. Sweat was building in his temple and he could feel it. In that moment, all of his senses were at their peak and he’d probably be able to feel the flutter of a fly’s wings or a mole beneath his feet. As he wasn’t the most athletic, he was already out of breath from the steps he had taken, but he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes wandered around everywhere, staying no place more than a few seconds.
When he opens the doors of the building, he’s greeted with another presence.
“Good evening Mr. Jang.” A young janitor, probably his son’s age tells him. It has an unsettling effect on him – one where his eyes widen, and eyebrows raise. He responds with a forced smile, teeth clamoring faintly, as he continues to walk on by.
“Yes, good evening.” The worker’s pupils follow the blue suited man all the way to the elevator, where they are involuntary required to make eye contact again as he waits for his lift to arrive. Another forced smile from his side.
The elevator doors open quickly to Jang’s relief, and he gets inside. He hits the top floor immediately and looks towards his shoes. For a few seconds he just blinks, trying to see if this was some hellish nightmare he was stuck inside. If he could somehow wake up to a better reality. With her lying next to him.
The lift reaches the top floor and lets him out, he quietly walks into the windy night enclosed by the vacant terrace. There he pauses, running a palm on his bare head a few times to ease his discomfort. She did that for him too, it always calmed him down.
His phone rings. Again.
“Y…Hello…yes I’m at the rooftop. Yes, I’m alone.”
The aging man shifts on his legs as the distorted voice replies to him. It was that contrast of the unusually deep baritone in one ear and noiseless summer night in his other that ran a chill up his spine.
“I’ll do it…but please can I ask wh- no! NO! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again. I’ll do what you asked!”
“Just please,” He begs, bringing his hands up in the darkness to his head, “Don’t send those photographs to my wife…”
He sniffles bitter and exhausted, as the call ends and he’s once again completely alone. Eyeing his phone, he stands there for a bit just exhaling through his nose. The calm before the storm let’s say. Never in his life has he considered himself a kind man, he always took what he wanted from who he wanted as much as life allowed him to. His wife was just some rich whore he managed to impregnate in the 80’s, he didn’t mean to make a life with her. He also didn’t mean to just watch as life left her. But he can’t change what happened; he can’t change that they have a son who rarely speaks to them, he can’t change that he found another woman – much younger, much tighter. And he can’t change taking a generous life insurance policy out on her ill body. Divorce isn’t something he could afford, not when he’s this close.
Instead was he a murderer? No, he couldn’t cause someone’s death even if he was hoping for another’s. So that has to account for something, right? It was the least he earned to be able to love himself…didn’t he? With a deep sigh and a muffled sob, he clicks on his boss’s name and waits as his phone starts ringing, holding it next to his ear.
“Hello?”
He did it…he called him. Now he should start talking but no – the words won’t come out. Should he tell him the truth? Should he stick to the script? All he could do was stand there with his mouth catching flies as the other line repeats his greetings.
“Hello? Jang, what the fuck? I know it’s you. What the fuck do you want at this time of night?”
Compared to the other call, this man’s voice was louder, and he hated it twice as much. Perhaps this was destiny, a twisted fate of all the choices he’s made in the past couple of years. Kim had always been a brat, the reason Jang dreaded going into the office he should’ve originally been in charge of. The brat didn’t have half the qualifications he did, nor did he have half the rights to speak to him in such a belittling manner. Nonetheless, luck only delivers to the wealthy or sons of the arrogantly blessed. Seniority holds no place in competition to those privileged enough to win. Perhaps this was karma, another card of destiny – taking back what was unfairly given.
He failed to register the threat looming right behind him, caught up in his pleasing daydream of a payback. His own karma watching him with hawk eyes.
If this is destiny…then he doesn’t have to feel bad about this, does he? It was always meant to happen, and he was just doing what the cards told him. He was just a messenger delivering a message.
And so, with a large gulp, deliver he did.
_
Kim parked his Benz at the back. He parked near the trees, their cover setting an ease inside his otherwise chaotic mind. The last thing he expected tonight was a call from that musty old man. Fucking Jang, he wonders why he hasn’t fired him yet. It was you who did most of his work anyway, while he was out fucking some chick from their red-light district bar. If only that bastard wasn’t also involved in his side business.
Getting out of his car, he takes fast strides to the structure in front of him. All of this was getting out of hand.
“There’s a mole…We should meet”
Kim wasn’t gonna lie, he was shitting himself the whole ride to the warehouse. Contrary to what people think, Kim considered himself a sharp man. He knew that none of his crap was really his, that his alcoholic father could take everything away in a matter of moments if he pissed him off enough. That man spent his youthful years beating the ‘sissy’ out of him and now uses his older age to sass the failing status of his business. It was such a curse representing that man’s last name. Such a tragedy that he was born into the mud pile he called a family. Maybe that’s why he took refuge behind illegal activities, turned his once average company to an underground drug laundering agency. That way he could earn his own money, untainted by his elegant family’s legacy. He craved that independence.
Everything was better than it seemed anyway. They weren’t distributors nor were they providers, they were just middle men. People who safely hid the drugs given to them by providers and taken away from them by distributors. Meaning he’d get the same amount of punishment despite having the least amount of profits. Apparently, young rich boys mean nothing to mafia heads or underground gangsters. Nothing more than disposable aid like he considered others. Tsk. Fuck all this shit.
What he needed to do was find this ‘mole’ Jang mentioned and eliminate him fast. There wasn’t any blood on his hands minus multiple teenaged addict’s untimely death, but he didn’t consider that his fault. However, this time he’d make sure to kill this son of a bitch – whoever he was – himself. The thought of finally having power over some plebian pleading soul right before he rips the life from their eyes gave him an adrenaline rush. Finally, he wouldn’t just be a monster because of who his father was, but because he could get shit done.
He grunts when he makes it to the warehouse doors, opening them with more force than he meant to. Once he steps inside, he notices that It’s too dark to see.
“Jang? Where the fuck are you?” Kim shouts into the shadows
…
Nothing but silence in return. He feels uneasy…like there was something terribly wrong with this place.
“Fuck,” He mutters, pulling out his phone to call the old man. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes roamed about. The alcohol in his system heightened his nervousness, made everything sort of unfocused even in the dark. With one call, he charged into battle without thinking, eager to blow someone’s head off tonight”
Ring Ring
Everything went in slow motion as he spotted a light coming from a few feet away. It looked like a phone. Kim gulped before he walked towards it. Praying that it wasn’t what he was thinking.
As he came by it, he began to tremble. His name was displayed on the small screen. It was cracked from an end and…there was something red on the front edge. What the fuck.
Snap
In an instant he turns around, the ringing still haunting his ear. He definitely heard something…or someone?
“W-who’s there?!” He tries to shout but his voice fails him as he squeaks. The realization that he’s not alone frightens him. All the vigor from before leaves his build and he becomes a small boy once again. The shadows symbolizing his father, the small noises sounding like the leather belt that bruised him continuously.
“W-what do you want?”
“Weak,” he hears his father’s voice sneering, “You gonna grovel like a f*g? You sissy.”
Anger swells inside his chest, his teeth clenching in pure hate. “I won’t grovel you motherfucker, come out this instant!” He roars before taking out his gun and shooting a few rounds at random. Still, no reply. Kim heaves in the darkness for a few seconds, placing his gun in multiple directions, trying to make out the cunt playing with him.
That when he notices Jang’s phone. It’s gone. Did someone take it? When? As he’s busy staring at the ground where it once laid, he doesn’t hear the steps of the shoes behind him.
*Crack*
He falls to the floor with a thud as something heavy hits the back of his head. The gun slips away from reach, further into the darkness. Screaming he clutches the gushing wound on his head, blood immediately making its way from the blow in his cranium. He tries to push himself up with one arm, falling back down miserably. That attempt lands him a hit on the back of his thigh as he wails. His vision blurs and he wheezes in pain, completely immobile in a growing pool of his own blood.
His father laughs at him, the leather belt in his hand crackling with pride. Turning himself around, he brings a weak arm up, pleading with the silhouette of what he thinks is a man. “P-please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
The man scoffs, reaching behind him to pull out a tiny object. He flicks it a few times to reveal a lighter. As the fire brightens everything around him, he notices a bat in the man’s other arm. A very bloody bat. Slowly, he brings the lighter up to his face and Kim’s eyes go wide with the last bit of his strength.
“Y-you’re that i-intern-
“Name’s Jungkook.” The man interjected before bringing the bat up and smashing it into his face.
In a moment, the last thing Kim saw were spotted stars in his eyes before he felt the awful pop of his nose breaking and eventually lost conscious.
_
You were painting your nails. Scratch that, you were attempting to paint your nails. Bending your body in half and sticking out your tongue in concentration, you groan when that bombs, and you make yet another mistake. This shit was impossible.
After a long week of complete exhaustion, you were happy to be home on your couch with a pizza box on your left and a glass of wine on your right. Sitting there and swirling the brush inside your nail polish container you hummed along to the tune of the newest pop song stuck in your head. It was a nice night, compared to the heat wave your city had been experiencing for the past month. So, you decided to leave the windows open and let some breeze in. Soon you were thinking about watching a thriller on Netflix.
You sighed, this is always how your days passed no matter what type of weather was out there. Alone – in your way too large to live alone in house. Since your bitch of a best friend left you, she decided to take all your other friends with her. Online harassment from her minions got so bad you had to delete all your social medias. Family was no good either. Your parents were the most annoying creatures on the planet, refusing to let you in that one time you flew home to see them for the holidays. Whatever, it didn’t matter – you fucking hated everyone anyway. Fuck Melissa, fuck Dad, fuck David, fuck Uncle Ben.
There were sometimes though, where you would make a stupid penis joke towards an actor on screen and wished Melissa was around to laugh in that obnoxious way she often would. Or that your Dad would still call you for his check ins with one of his million pet names. You wished David was still around to see if your company really made you supervisor, he owed you like $40 bucks from the bed. And other times you wished Uncle Ben still brought you those expensive gifts from his crazy trips.
But whatever…like you said. Fuck everyone.
You’re startled when the doorbell chimes, almost bumping your acetone all over the place. In confusion you look over to your clock hanging above the dining room wall. It was almost midnight. Who could it be at this hour?
You jump again when the doorbell rings for a second time. Whoever it was sure was impatient. Moving your pedicure items to the side, you stand up in annoyance, making your way over to the door. Quietly you peek into the peephole, hoping to see a familiar face. Oddly, no one seems to be outside. Yet the bell chimes again.
With great hesitance you pull the door open, only slightly.
The sight you’re met with leaves your jaw hanging open. On the other side of the door – right in front of you, stood Jeon Jungkook. Not a trace of emotion on his face as he glared at you and pushed the door open the rest of the way. You back up slightly. He was holding a bat covered in blood and dirt, red and black stains surrounded the smooth skin of his face. The stench of iron and gasoline makes you scrunch your nose, and you put a palm over it in disgust.
Jungkook stands there, staring at you. You wore a white silk kimono, one side of it delicately hanging on your arm and exposing your bare shoulder. Smitten by just the sight of you, he breaths in your strawberry musk – mixed with acetone for some reason. When he steps inside you let out a tiny gasp. Raising an eyebrow, he continues to watch you. He prepared a whole speech about how you’re his and he was here to punish you accordingly tonight but as soon as your glassy orbs met his, he lost all train of thought. Funny, he was tearing limbs and breaking bones a couple of minutes ago and now he feels like he can’t even advance his hand to touch you.
When you continue to look at him with such distaste, he expected you to scream, to cry, to run. He was expecting you to act like his prey usually does.
He was not expecting you to smile.
“What did you do?” You ask him in the biggest smile he’s ever seen you in.
It feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. You step closer to him, tilting your head to hear his answer but he’s struggling to form words. Fluttering your lashes, you patiently wait for him to talk.
“I…I-I killed him.”
“Killed who?” You ask without missing a beat. It seems like you’ve realized though as your mouth forms an O and you let out a laugh, “Wait, Mr. Kim? You really killed Kim?”
Jungkook nods as his heart starts beating faster. He’s not used to you being so close and acknowledging him. “And Jang”
“Whoooaaa, and Jang?” You jump up in enthusiasm, surprising poor Jungkook.
“Y-you don’t care?” He asks in a tiny voice
You give him a weird face, “Care? Why would I?”
When he gives you the most clueless face in return, you sigh – crossing your arms. He sure was naïve.
“I found your camera,” You begin, looking up to witness his shocked reaction. He looks like he wanted to say something, but you hold up a finger to stop him, “Well, actually I found all your cameras. The first one being the one with all those creepy pictures of me.”
“At first, I was shocked, and a little upset. Then I became scared. And then I realized…that I was actually scared” You stare at him with wide, insane eyes and he wonders why he’s never witnessed this side of you. It was kinda turning him on. “I was scared…holy shit I was scared of you and it was the best thing ever. Then I wondered if you had any other cameras…and I was right.”
Lifting your head to the left corner of the living room, you point at the spot. “I found the first one there, and the second one in the kitchen and then in the bathroom and so on.” Suddenly your face becomes solemn and you give him a scowl that makes him deflate like a small animal.
“Then I thought…Wow! so much interesting shit is happening in my life – in my own home and I had no fucking idea? Why? Because my stalker happened to be a bitchass coward who couldn’t make a move?”
He winces when you berate him, his head dropping and tears forming in his eyes. There was so much he wanted to tell you, but a headache was forming in his brain from all the gasoline he had inhaled. You place your hand under his jaw, gently bringing his face up to yours again, “That’s why I decided to lure you out myself. I took off the spycam in my room and decided to fuck my boss, hoping you’d come see and do something. Knew you would perch on my willow tree seeing how the photos in your camera were angled…Which by the way is a fucking mess! Clean up the nasty chaos you made on my precious tree tonight!”
Jungkook nods firmly, still processing what you said.
“S-so wait…wait then Kim was jus-”
“Yeah, Kim was just a pawn. He’s practically been begging to fuck me for years anyway, and I was gonna do it for that promotion he offered me. But this is better. Also, Jang touched my ass way too much on ‘accident.’ I didn’t want them to die, but I don’t exactly care either.”
Jungkook smiles shyly. The fact that used Kim to get to him. You didn’t care about Kim’s money or his power. He got insecure for no reason. And you had just asked him to stay by telling him to clean up his mess! If he’s right in guessing your intentions, then he feels that he’s going to burst out crying. Although he’ll still punish you for fucking him. That agony he felt was still deep inside his gut and he hadn’t been able to cum for two days, plotting this elaborate scheme of murder. With everything you were telling him, he didn’t think you’d mind much.
You’ve accepted him, after all. He’s enough for you.
You’re enough.
“Tell me what you did to them.”
“I beat them to a bloody pulp.” Jungkook says monotonously. It’s the first sentence he states without stuttering. “Attacked them both from behind with a single blow and cracked their skulls. Continued to beat the shit out of them then dropped Jang’s body to an alleyway. Broke both of his arms. Dragged him to an empty warehouse known for drug transactions where I fucked up Kim. Smashed his face in, his eyeball was hanging out by the end of it…it wasn’t very attractive. Then I threw gasoline all over the place and burned it to a crisp. Firefighters and Media’s probably there by now”
“Holy shit…that’s…fucking crazy,” You eye the bat. “What if you get caught”
“I won’t…they’ll say it was a rival drug gang. Left a few traces of underground trash” He answers as you lift your brows. There was a lot you didn’t know about him, especially the three years prior to him getting that job in your office. You wouldn’t know of the life he had before he laid his eyes on you, the co-worker with the beautiful smile showing him around his new workplace. He wasn’t interested in returning to a time before you became his purpose for existing, but he was smarter than he looks.
There was a lot he understood.
Jungkook frowns at the floor before making eye contact with you, “Do you…hate me?”
“…Your weird ass excites me Jungkook. I think I fucking love you.” Meh, honestly you weren’t really in love with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to say it cause you knew as long as Jungkook stayed this psychotic, he’s the only man you would come close to loving. You hadn’t ever been in love before, but you were willing to ty it out.
At your confession Jungkook shows you his bunny teeth and his eyes crinkle. It meant so much to him, you wouldn’t even be able to comprehend. These three years have gone very differently for both of you, after all. While you were out there losing people from your life and wasting your existence away, Jungkook was falling in love with you deeper and deeper each moment he spent watching you. To the point of complete, irreversible fixation. A loud bell rings inside his head and he chokes up.
“I love you, too.”
You grab his cheeks, lurching forward to kiss him and it only takes a second for him to reciprocate.
It was a sloppy, hungry kiss. Your tongues swirls around his and your teeth bump into each other. You lick the sides of his mouth, tasting someone else’s blood and the residue of fire. It makes you moan into him. With that the beast awakens, dropping the damn bat out of his hands and grabbing your ass instead, pulling you close to him. His wet muscle dominates yours easily, your legs giving out slightly and he rushes to hold you up by your thighs. Ever slip of his tongue has you clenching your core in excitement. Lewd noises fill your doorway as you hang onto his sturdy frame and he pushes harder and harder against you. He bites your lip and you whine, feeling him smile into your mouth. When you felt like you could no longer breathe, you pull back to stare at his blown-out pupils with lust fogging your mind.
Out of breath, he whimpers as you rub against his hard on. He was sexy as fuck with his lips swollen and glossy with your spit, pupils dilated, his jaw ajar and lurid sighs leaving him. Jungkook held onto you for dear life while waiting for your next move, you felt his thick fingers digging into your thighs. You smile at him with heavy lids, running a hand through his wild strands. Cautiously, he places his face into your exposed shoulder and inhales your scent. Shivering at the sensation, you groan as he starts biting at your neck aggressively, as if trying to make a statement. You coo at him, trying to calm him down by patting his head, and you wonder if it worked once he slows down and you feel tears amongst your bitten hickeys.
That’s what excited you the most about Jungkook. There was no certainty about him, you couldn’t predict him at all. Some part of you thought he would come to kill you instead of Kim or Jang and the rush you felt seeing him in your entrance drenched in blood almost gave you a standing orgasm. Right now, you have no fucking idea why he’s sobbing into your shoulder while dry humping you with such eagerness…was he happy? Was he mad? Was he sad? You couldn’t tell that Jungkook was absolutely enthralled to finally have you in his arms – touch you all he wanted – and he did have a very rough and bloody week. He was emotionally drained. What you did know, however, was that you haven’t felt this much thrill for a long, long time. And the root cause of it was this man baby in your arms, covering you with gore and ash.
What a weird guy.
You weren’t sure where this was headed, all you knew was that Jungkook would be pounding inside of you on your bed in a couple of moments. Without changing of course because the guts spilled across his shirt was making you drip down your thighs. Wrapping your arms against the crying bunny rabbit, you speculated if there was another extravagant plot you could cook up to get him to kill someone – this time right in front of you. After all, it was as if you were Frankenstein and he was your monster with rabbit features and brawny arms. The thought makes you chuckle before you notice how he’s began hiccuping and repeating his love for you on your skin. Sighing, you whisper in his ear to simmer down. It was getting difficult to breath with how he was smothering you. Oh well.
Looks like your night just got interesting.
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Livetweet of accidentally getting into fairyland...
Best twitter thread ever?
https://twitter.com/NeolithicSheep/status/1330548523721515013
Shepherd: Oh hey Ursula, do you have the number for those people who take out invasive plants still?
Ursula: Probably somewhere, yeah. They said they didn’t usually work on such small properties, though, and I don’t know if I’ve got an infestation worth their time.
Shepherd: Ok but what if I say "kudzu" to you, can we throw enough money at them to make it worth their time.
Ursula: If you say “kudzu” to me, I will panic, scream, and come running to Dogskull with a flamethrower.
Shepherd: Ok well I suggest driving but maybe pack up the flamethrower.
Ursula: OH MY GOD YOU FOUND KUDZU OH GOD WHERE IS IT ARE YOU SURE IT ISN’T JUST WILD GRAPE
Shepherd: YES I KNOW WHAT WILD GRAPE LOOKS LIKE THANK YOU anyway I was walking Beamer this morning after the deer ate breakfast and the white deer was walking down toward the back of the property, you know that low tucked away part? And I thought, well, we'll just trail after her at a polite distance and if I'm lucky I'll find some of her fur caught on a bush! Wouldn't that be great! So we kept going past the big ass fucking oak trees that make, like, that weird arch? And there's kudzu.
Ursula: What big oak trees?! There’s no big oak trees back there! It’s all pine!
Shepherd: Yeah you know, the two really big motherfuckers that look like English oak. They're like, way the fuck back there.
Ursula: There are no English oak on Dogskull. Are you sure you weren’t trespassing on the Freemason’s property?
Shepherd: No they're closer to the front I think? Who's next door to them? Also I thought Dog Skull was 7 acres? Because I should be off it and hitting the road by now.
Ursula: Next door to them is the people with the trailer on its side. Do you see any trailers lying on their sides?
Shepherd: A lot of oak trees, a little bit of kudzu, zero trailers in any orientation. Some birds and squirrels. Oh hey Beamer found a nice pond.
Ursula: Okay, this is important. Do the oak trees still have leaves on them?
Shepherd: Yeah but so does the one up front.
Oh wait. These are, uh, still green. Like summer green.
Ursula: Right. Okay. This could be a problem. Give me a couple minutes, we have to take trash to the dump and then I’ll look some stuff up. Meanwhile, DON’T EAT ANYTHING.
Shepherd: You mean in case it's poisonous, right? Like THEORETICALLY if I didn't see this tweet until just now and HYPOTHETICALLY I found an apple tree and ate an apple, that would be fine?
Ursula: ...that would not be fine.
Shepherd: Beamer didn't want any, which was weird I thought.
Ursula: INDUCE VOMITING! INDUCE VOMITING!
Shepherd: He didn't eat anything! I'm not going to gag my dog for not eating an apple!
Ursula: Not the dog! Induce vomiting in yourself! Every chunk of that apple needs to come out before you digest it!
Shepherd: FINE. I have puked it up. It was a really good apple, too.
Ursula: Oh thank god. Whew. Okay. The alternative was that you were gonna need a cold iron enema and I wasn’t sure how to do that on short notice.
Shepherd: Oh hey fun fact, "cold iron" is just, like, iron. It's not a special kind or anything!
Ursula: Do you have any on you right now? Beamer’s collar or tags or anything?
Shepherd: Collar hardware is all aluminum these days, otherwise it rusts. Let me pat down my pockets.
Syringe of dewormer? Is that helpful?
Shepherd: Anyway I don't want to alarm you but uh. I can't find the trail I followed? So you and Kevin will need to go over tonight and give the boys [i.e. oxen] a hay bale and the goats and sheep two.
Ursula: No! I am scared of cows! We have to get you out of there!
Look, I have a bunch of Llewelyn books from my teenage pagan days. I’m sure Scott Cunningham or Silver Ravenwolf covered this somewhere.
Shepherd: Scott Cunningham seems like a really drastic measure just because you're afraid of some cows. But sooner or later I'm going to run out of cigarettes so sure, why not.
Oh!! The boys' bow pins are in my pocket, I was going to sand them today and oil them! They're very definitely iron!
Ursula: That’s good! That’s very good! If anyone tries to talk to you, keep hold of those!
Now let’s see...do you consider yourself a “solitary practitioner?”
Shepherd: Ursula I'm an ornamental hermit, you don't get much more solitary.
Also so far the only person who tried to talk to me was a frog.
Ursula: ...what did the frog say?
Shepherd: "SMOKING KILLS."
I tossed it back in the pond.
Ursula: *rubs forehead*
Shepherd: Fucking frogs are all alike, I'm telling you.
Ursula: I really wish these authors had spent less time on “why Wicca isn’t Satanism” and more time on “what to do when you’ve strayed into the fae realms.” I mean, I understand it was the political climate of the time...
Shepherd: I feel like nobody really covers that last one anymore. You have 4 hours until the cows want dinner.
Ursula: Silver Ravenwolf suggests making your magical working space more inviting with stencils?
These books spend a surprising amount of time on interior decorating as a vital part of ritual magick. I never noticed that when I was fifteen.
Shepherd: Yeah me neither honestly. It's remarkably unhelpful when you're stuck in faerie and your collie is getting bored.
Shepherd: So you want me to... Build a magical working space and stencil it?
Ursula: I can’t actually see how that would help matters. Maybe I should check the Foxfire books instead.
Shepherd: I... Don't remember them having anything relevant, but I might be wrong?
Ursula: They have everything. Ooh, this one is about how to scald the bristles off a hog!
Shepherd: A) I already know how to do that and B) I do not have a hog, sufficient firewood, or a hog scrubbing brush here.
FOCUS, URSULA. FOCUS.
Ursula: Sorry, the ADHD meds haven’t kicked in yet today...uh...let’s see...avoid whippoorwills, if you see any?
Shepherd: I do that already, otherwise they steal your toenails.
Ursula: If you harvest apples, leave one on the tree or it attracts the Devil.
Shepherd: You told me not to eat the apples! Am I allowed to eat the apples now??
Ursula: No! These are hypothetical apples! NO EATING! I tried to look up deer in the Foxfire books and there’s a story about somebody’s grandpa wrestling a buck in a mill dam and drowning it, but I don’t see the relevance here.
I mean, Grandpa does sound like a badass, though.
Shepherd: I feel like I shouldn't wrestle deer here. What if I try telling Beamer to find his sheep?
Ursula: Well, research has hit a small snag. I tried googling for the foxfire books and kudzu, in case there was something about fae kudzu portals, right? But it turns out your Twitter is the third hit.
Shep, we may BE the experts.
Shepherd: Uh oh. OK. In that case, you and Kevin go over to Dog Skull. Hitch up Cole and Cannon and take them back to the oak trees. Put a logging chain around one and yell real loud "LET SHEPHERD OUT OR WE START PULLING"
Ursula: Oh hell no! I read tree law Reddit! I know how this ends!
Do you want us to get sued by Freemasons?!
Shepherd: I DON'T THINK THE FREEMASONS ARE THE PROBLEM HERE, URSULA
Ursula: I DON’T TRUST THEM WITH THEIR LITTLE LEVELS AND SHEEPSKINS AND WEIRDLY OCULAR PYRAMIDS
Also if you see a pyramid with an eye on it, don’t eat it’s either.
Ursula: Okay. Never mind the Freemasons. I wrote a book about this once, I think. White animals, scary fae, random magic deer. It was set in Finland, so you may need to fashion some umlauts, though.
Shepherd: I've got my chore knife, I can carve so many umlauts. Do I just put them in trees until I get back?
Ursula: First of all, are you wearing pants?
Shepherd: YES I'M WEARING PANTS YOU WEIRDO
Ursula: t’s a legitimate question! I mean, I’m not wearing pants.
Now Shep, this is very important. You have to take off your pants.
Also your shoes, your hoodie, and probably Beamer’s collar.
Shepherd: Ursula. Why are we getting naked.
Ursula: To break the misdirection spell! Put your clothes on backwards!
And possibly inside out? Shit, there’s a bunch of different sources. I don’t know if they have to be inside out, but definitely backwards.
Uh...let’s see...hmm, backwards definitely. Inside out might be for leshy. Leshies? Leshys? What’s the plural form, do you think?
If you happen to see any giggling green hairy dudes, ask them what the plural form of their name is. That’s gonna bug me.
Shepherd: Beamer's collar doesn't have a backwards! I'll turn it inside out. And my clothes backwards and inside out, got it.
Shepherd: There's just, like, frogs. And squirrels. I can hear music though! There might be a dance party, I could go ask about green hairy dudes?
Ursula: STAY AWAY FROM THE MUSIC unless it’s the Freemasons I guess
Shepherd: No it's more folk music. The Freemasons play, like, Michael Jackson.
ANYWAY clothes are backwards and inside out. Beamer's collar is backwards and just to be thorough I tied the rope end of his leash to his collar instead of using the clip, so his leash is backwards too. He's pulling me away from the pond!
Ursula: Tell him to go find his sheep!
Shepherd: I have so instructed him! Hopefully there's not, like, the faerie equivalent of really good sheep here. Hey do you want me to grab you an apple
Ursula: No, they don’t come true from seed, but if you can cut me a decent slightly whippy twig with a few leaves, I might be able to root that sucker.
Shepherd: ...you want me to pause a collie on a mission while I test the whippiness of twigs??
I HEAR MOOING. I SEE PINE TREES.
Ursula: GO TOWARD THE MOOING
Shepherd: THERE'S THE OLD RUSTED OUT METAL THING! I'm back! On uh the opposite side of the property from the one I left from.
Also there's a goddamned chorus frog calling.
Ursula: Yeah, they do that.
Ursula: THANK GOD THE KUDZU IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PORTAL
...oh, and you’re back, that’s good too. Very pleased.
Shepherd: Anyway you don't have to feed the boys. Unless you want to?
Ursula: There is no situation where I will WANT to feed your giant-ass death bovines.
Also, what have we learned about following the white doe into the woods?
Shepherd: She knows where the really good apples are?
Also my boys are tiny!!
Ursula: ...I’m gonna go take a nap.
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フェリシモ | FELISSIMO
The sheerable sheep 😭😭😭😭😭
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Epithets; the Pros and Pitfalls
Ok gang, so recently the topic of epithets in fanfic has come up and this is a topic I have been thinking about a LOT for A LONG TIME so I figured maybe now is the time to share my thoughts on phrases like ‘the braided baka’ and ‘the ebony-eyed Chinese pilot’ and what some of the pitfalls are in using epithets to enrich your writing.
NOTE: I am not slamming the use of epithets! I am not coming into your fic from 25 years ago saying ‘shame!’. I am only maintaining that these are tricky to get right, and to raise awareness of how epithets can be a really useful, powerful tool of description but also a double-edged blade.
What is an Epithet Anyway?
An epithet is a word or phrase applied to a person or thing to describe an actual or attributed quality, in addition to or instead of their name, and which are used to identify.
On one side of tradition, they are poetic. Homer, writer of the Odyssey, was a big fan of these. ‘The wine dark sea’, ‘rosy fingered Dawn’, and ‘Nausicaa of the long white arms’ are some of his most famous, never mind ‘Apollo, destroyer of mice!’. In his works they were generally descriptive, or talked directly to the schemata (the perceptions and understanding) of his audience.
Everyone knows Achaeans are super hairy, right? You know that.
On another side of tradition, they are identifiers. If you have a populace named virtually nothing but John, Richard and Henry and you’re not used to using family names, then calling this John ‘Long John’ and that John ‘Little John’ helps direct attention to the right person. Or to acknowledge their good or bad deeds/attributes (Peter the Brave vs Stinky Pete, for example) or their lineage (Aragorn son of Arathorn/ John of Gaunt). They can be used for comedic purposes as a device to make purposefully similar characters more amusing (Wee Jock, Big Jock and Smaller-than-Big-Jock-but-Bigger-than-Wee-Jock Jock all agreed to steal the sheep. The Pirate with the Peg Leg and the Pirate with the Clothes Peg boarded the ship.)
But notice that many of these epithets still use people’s names or are direct substitutions for when a name isn’t known. And they are largely subjective - epithets carry not only description but opinion - the opinion of society at large or the opinion of the individual speaker - and pinpoint value - what it IS about this person we should pay attention to.
And that means epithets can be used to praise, (Richard the Lionheart), to criticise (Bad King John), and to stereotype (those hairy Achaeans).
Oh and these are just epithets used for people. Epithets come in other forms, for example:
“The earth is crying-sweet,
And scattering-bright the air,
Eddying, dizzying, closing round,
With soft and drunken laughter…”
The highlighted parts of Beauty and Beauty by Rupert Brooke are also epithets. But i’m going to focus on those used to describe people in this discussion.
In short, epithets always carry meaning in two ways - they focus on what the user feels is perceptively important about the subject of the epithet, and as a result, when we look through the lens of an epithet, our view of a character narrows.
Why are they Great?
Because they’re poetic by nature; they add interest and often eloquence. And because they tell us so much about the point of view of the user. They can add new facets to characters and give writers a secondary means of identifying characters to reduce name fatigue, or differentiate between otherwise similar characters. They can be comedic or evocative. They can show the changeability of characters as they develop or when circumstances change. Clever Odysseus, Lord of Men can become Pitiable Odysseus, hated by the sea.
But because they are poetic, because they carry opinion and because they are inherently narrow in their focus, there’s a whole bunch of pitfalls to be aware of when using epithets. Getting this wrong, well, maybe you just make your story harder to follow. Get it very wrong, and at worst you could genuinely offend someone.
What’s the Problem with Poetry?
The first basic issue you may encounter is that your epithets are too vague or are being overused.
‘My better half’ is an epithet. But if he (she? they?) has not been introduced in any capacity and you also alternate referring to him (her? them?) as ‘the hardened police officer’ and ‘the sloe-eyed beauty’ I might be forgiven for losing track of how many people are in the scene, how they’re related and how I should be thinking of them. Especially early in a story where i’m still getting up to speed with the setting. Here your epithets are muddying the story and it’s a situation where you should be using names. Even for fanfic where we’re assuming that the characters are familiar to everyone, you should be clearly introducing your version of the characters, because generally readers like to know they’re on the same page from the start rather than get thrown for a loop later on. And also you can’t be sure what your reader is thinking, so tell them.
Don’t forget that a NAME captures the whole of a person. Epithets only capture a slice.
You may also make your epithets too purple. ‘The azure-orbed golden-haired CEO’ is a mouthful, and may be adding detail that is irrelevant to the scene; imaging encountering that in a scene where Quatre is busy slashing through Leos in a desert battle. Who is stopping to think about that? Why does it deserve a spotlight right here, right now?
The other type of overuse is to pick one epithet that is your favourite and use it for every other mention of that character. Because epithets carry more meaning than names this is a little like shouting that character’s name through a bullhorn. It’s great the first couple of times - Wow! Exciting! Memorable! - but it fatigues faster than using their name would have. The epithet can then become annoying (’I know he’s got long hair, stop saying it!’) or at very very worst it can become othering. You will alienate your reader from the character, and at the absolute worst, this may mean your reader either comes out with expressions of an attitude to that character that you had no intention of courting or encouraging, or they think YOU have those attitudes and go away from your story thinking ‘wow, that was a well-written story but OOF. that guy’s got some uncomfortable feelings about stuff’.
Whose Line is it Anyway?
Epithets can be factual. They can be based on things you know, I know, and (most importantly) everyone in the story knows. For example, ‘The Wing Gundam Pilot’ is a factual epithet for Heero and is based on knowledge accessible and agreed by 99% of people.
It would still not work if the narrative POV is a character who doesn’t know Heero or doesn’t recognise him as a Gundam Pilot at all. E.G. He’s in disguise and questioning Abdul, who has never met him before.
And this is because epithets are still directional. They convey an understanding or a focus from the user to the reader, regardless of if the user is a character within the story, or the voice of the author themselves. And that’s where it can get weird.
Let’s say I’m writing a story from Rashid’s POV. As a person, he is unlikely to be fussed about the colour of Heero’s eyes, or the fact that Trowa is tall because Rashid is too pragmatic to give a hoot if your eyes are blue or not, and literally everyone is a shrimp compared to Rashid. So in that story, epithets like ‘The azure-eyed pilot’ or ‘the tall pilot’ would be strange if not meaningless coming from that character, and in fact would break the 4th wall by forcing the author’s voice into the foreground.
Effective epithets are either universal and readily accepted (and therefore often neutral/factual, even if they are poetic - rosey-fingered Dawn) or they are naturally biased towards the perspective of the user. Which means characterisation of an epithet used by a person in a story to describe another person in the story goes both ways: When a story in Heero’s POV describes Duo as a ‘violet-eyed beauty’ I may think ‘Duo, purple eyes, pretty boy, yes. check!’ but I will probably also think, ‘wow, Heero’s a massive closet romantic and he has some serious pants-feels for Duo’.
Or if that doesn’t match my view of Heero as a character, I may well think that this author has missed the point of Heero Yuy: Perfect Soldier and it’s THEM who has the serious pants-feels for Duo. If it’s the middle of a gritty battle scene, I may also think ‘Wow, is this really the time, author? Put it back in your pants’.
Or maybe in the above example, it’s a 1x2 but this is jumping the gun. Heero isn’t aware of his own feelings yet so this kind of epithet is premature in Chapter 1. Bring it in down the line when Heero’s acknowledging to himself that Duo makes him go all weird and sweaty.
So use epithets knowing that they will describe the target but also the user, and if those things don’t accord, can jar your reader quickly out of the headspace you were trying to achieve or shout your own voice over that of your characters.
Distilling or Reducing?
If I take a mint plant and distill it, I will end up with a bottle of menthol oil which I could shove under your nose and declare ‘this is perfume!’ and you, eyes streaming, would have to stand there and generally agree.
But if i take a mint plant, rip off a leaf and push it in your face and declare ‘this is perfume!’ you’re less likely to agree with me. Because in this case, I am not distilling, i am reducing.
Epithets can work the same way. At their best, they take everything you want to convey about a character and their situation/personality and condense it into one potent phrase that socks your reader in the face.
But all too often, they are used reductively and then you actually lose a great deal of what’s important about a character for the sake of showmanship and/or lazy writer’s short-hand.
Let’s go back to the Odyssey. Odysseus has just washed up after being shipwrecked; he’s naked, salt encrusted, beardy and beasty and savage. Whilst stumbling around on the shore he is met by a princess, Nausicaa. Nausicaa of the long, white arms. That’s her epithet. From a modern feminist perspective, it seems a little reductive, but in the context of the story, it’s a distillation. She plays an opposite to Odysseus in this scene as he struggles to come back to civilisation after his hardships. She is washing rich clothes; he’s dressed in rags. She’s feminine and cultured and graceful; he’s acting like a wild lion. She represents civilisation and ideals with her fragility and her skin that’s been protected from the sun. He’s burnt and has forgotten how to act like a man.
So whilst the epithet is focussed it tells me a lot of what i need to know and expect of Nausicaa in terms of her role in the story, and the fact that she will compel Odysseus to come back to himself as King of Ithaca.
However, epithets are commonly based on appearance, status or origin, and can very easily fall into stereotype and tropes. Remember Homer’s hairy Achaeans? Was that a flattering description? Would Achaeans bang their chest and cheer proudly to be described as hairy, or would they be put out? If Achaeans are hairy, then what are Trojans?
Let’s bring this to a modern context. If I use ‘the American pilot’ as short hand to convey that Duo is brash and loud and reckless...can I guarantee that my reader will agree with that assumption? Personally I know a lot of Americans, many of whom are not brash or loud or reckless. And if Americans in my fic are de facto brash and loud and reckless... what are Chinese people like? Humourless and ill-tempered? Or is that just Wufei? As a British person, I can find it more than tiresome to see myself represented as old-fashioned and endlessly polite; particularly when it gets obvious that the writer hasn’t the first clue about the UK or British culture. I can only imagine what it’s like for minority groups.
If you start short-handing in this way, it’s the top of a potentially slippery slope into unintentional racial or cultural profiling. This is where epithets can start to raise eyebrows or make readers reach for the back-button. You need to ask yourself - is this lazy description or is this meaningful? Is this from a ‘generic’ POV (IE, mine as the author) or is it quantified by the POV of a character in the story who may carry those biases? Should those biases be acknowledged or explored by the story? Should those biases be carried in character speech only, then, or is it ok to put them into the prose?
Is there a way I can characterise that without short-handing with a basic epithet? If I’m already saying that Duo flipped the table and threw his hands up in impatience, does tagging on this epithet strengthen the meaning of those actions, or are his actions defining the epithet?
Did you know that the alternative meaning of ‘epithet’ is ‘a disparaging or abusive word or phrase’? This is loaded description.
And finally, sometimes the epithet is just plain boring. If the epithet is a universal fact, then it is also a static snapshot of the character we’ve seen before; and it’s often not even individual. Heero has blue eyes... but so does Quatre, and so do Relena, Zechs, Mariemaia, Treize, Sally Po, Sylvia Noventa and that guy over there. It tells me nothing about Heero as a person and even if we argue ‘but it’s a specific shade of blue!’ Well...sure. It’s still not that unique and you shouldn’t have to dig that deep into the epithet to make the trait stand out. It’s the literary version of a newspaper headline yelling ‘WOMAN WEARS CLOTHES’.
For example, compare:
‘The blue-eyed Vice Foreign Minister entered the meeting room’
Cool beans. So what? Relena’s arrived but my attention is already distracted away from her looking for something more plot-related. Especially if this is chapter 3 and her appearance has already been described to me 6 or 7 times.
‘The false queen, Relena Peacecraft entered the meeting room’.
J u i c y! Sounds like tea is going to be spilled. Who’s still holding this grudge against her? Is she the villain here? I’m gonna keep reading.
TL;DR
In summary, epithets carry a lot of personal perspective and can be powerful devices in writing. Used well, they will lift up your writing and make it memorable, vivid and engaging. Used thoughtlessly, you can stumble into a number of pitfalls, some which will make your writing harder to read or unintentionally comedic, and others that could make you look like an asshole.
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‘chernobyl‘ character power rankings
Our heroes and not-heroes ranked by their dedication to the happiness of all mankind.
10. Comrades Bryukhanov and Fomin
A two-for-one dead battery extravaganza. Coming in absolutely last, the least powerful characters in Chernobyl HBO, Bryukhanov and Fomin are the first people in the Party apparatus who might be able to get their heads around the scope of the disaster, but instead they spend the night trying to make physics bend to politics. It’s really annoying when something important breaks right before a long holiday weekend.
Bryukhanov was probably a used car salesman’s favorite toupee in a previous life.
Fomin thinks radiation can’t see you if you can’t see it.
More concerned with their May Day picnic plans than the happiness of all mankind.
Zero megawatts.
9. Comrade Dyatlov
This guy is like a xenon-poisoned reactor. Low power, is what I’m saying. He’s introduced early on as our villain (the mustache alone), and only gets more villainous as he oozes fluid into his hospital pillow, refusing to help our heroes understand the disaster. The historical Dyatlov argued for years and years for the innocence of the men in the control room, alive or dead. The Dyatlov we encounter here doesn’t care if every kitten in a thirty-kilometer zone suddenly goes bald. Not at all interested in the happiness of mankind. 200 megawatts.
8. Shadov, the Minister for Coal Industries
Class exists in a failed worker state, as is made abundantly clear by the Minister for Hair arriving to send the miners to Chernobyl with an “I am the Lord your God” type announcement, flanked by angels with assault rifles. On the other hand, he looks a bit worried that the reactor fuel might sink into the ground and poison the water supply all the way to the Black Sea, which shows some concern for humanitarian felicitude. 700 megawatts.
7. Mikhail Gorbachev
Look, we don’t see it in the show, but temperance drives? Clearly not interested in the happiness of anybody. 1600 megawatts.
6. Bacho
Rough and tough Afgantsy who’s deployed to Chernobyl to shoot cows, sheeps, and cabbages.
Cynical - up close and personal experience with geopolitics will do that, when you’re one of the little guys on the ground. Not immune to human suffering (witness him immediately welding Pavel under his wing), but largely uncertain what any one man with a gun has to do with human happiness. Prefers not to think about it. 2400 megawatts. 2500 when Pavel is nearby.
5. Valery Legasov
Number five on our list, Valery Legasov doesn’t seem to like people much - he likes his lab and his cat, and probably doesn’t spend much time thinking about his own happiness, much less that of all mankind. He brings his sharp wits to Chernobyl to slay the dragon, and along the way learns important lessons about politics and comradeship (namely, that they exist).
At the very end, he decides that Jeff Goldblum was right - to be a scientist is to be naive. Scientists are so preoccupied with whether they could, they don’t stop to think if they should find the truth that the State wants buried, or clone dinosaurs. Neither made people very happy. Really makes you think. 3200 megawatts.
4. Glukov
Leading us into the top four the way he lead his miners to victory in Chernobyl is Glukov, a no-nonsense, level-headed, scrappy honeybadger.
Willing to challenge the shrugging, hand-waving, politically correct command structure at the worksite, unafraid to demand answers about the very real lives of the very real men ordered to do dangerous work, shows us that he’s very concerned with the happiness of the Many, and is willing to give the Few their share of stress ulcers.
Helping him place so high in the rankings is the fact that he’s a giant hairy naked bear, and that’s somebody’s definition of happiness. 9280 megawatts.
3. Boris Shcherbina
Boris is a career Party man, and a true believer in the System. He’s very concerned about the health and wellbeing of the people of Pripyat, Ukraine, Belarus, the USSR, Europe, and the planet, once he understands how serious the situation is. You can tell by the care he takes of the people around him that he has a lot of love to share.
Very concerned with drinking to the happiness of all mankind. 12,700 megawatts.
2. Ulana Khomyuk
As the future’s entreaty to the past, judge, jury, and executioner wrapped in soft knit sweaters, Ulana’s a stand-in for humanity’s sometimes clumsy, sometimes sabotaged, but endlessly renewed and eternal pursuit of truth. The way Ulana sees it, happiness has a lot to do with truth, accountability, and the safety that should follow. Big picture. Cares deeply about individuals, and about the kind of world being made for our children. Probably out there protesting climate change right now while we’re on the internet reading this. She’s better than all of us. Very dedicated to the happiness of all mankind. Power level of at least 24,720 megawatts.
1. The 750,000+ liquidators, scientists, medical personnel
who got bused to Chernobyl, pointed at Shit Mountain, and told to start shoveling. 33,000+ megawatts.
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Making One’s Bones (chpt 5)
Chapter List
--
Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.
--
Zoology
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Safari Adventure opened Gage to a world of opportunities—namely watching a loincloth-clad man beating the shit out of a giant lizard with a metal pipe.
Points for effort, Gage thought as he crouched next to Bossanova and whispered, “What is that?” He’d heard rumours of the creatures lurking in Safari Adventure, but never seen them himself. Not that many people came back from Safari Adventure.
Bossanova squinted at it. “Looks like an alligator crossed with a deathclaw.”
“The fuck is an alligator?” Gage hissed, irritated by the incredulous look she was giving him.
“Pre-war reptile.” She bounced the flat of her sword against her shoulder and smirked. “I think we should call it a gatorclaw.”
Gage pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding to save his sanity. “Alright, fine. Gateclaw—”
“Gatorclaw.”
“—Gatorclaw then!” he snapped.
There was a crash as Loincloth went hurtling straight past them and landed on a rusted trash can.
The whatever-the-fuck-it-was—gatorclaw, whatever—paused, turning its elongated snout towards them, making a noise like an aggressive drainpipe. Panting and dragging one of its immense legs, it shuffled towards Gage, its small yellow eyes fixed on him. He stood up and took an involuntary step back.
“Hey!” Bossanova yelled, circling it, banging her sword against the gates and attracting its attention. It turned its big head towards her and snarled. Gage pulled a grenade out, primed it, and rolled it carefully to the gatorclaw’s feet. It looked down as the grenade bumped gently against its toes, and both Gage and Bossanova retreated.
The explosion rocked the ground, sending meat and pieces of paving slab everywhere. Bossanova poked her head out from the wall she’d taken refuge behind, and grinned. “Nice.”
Gage gave her a thumbs up, getting to his feet, and then whipped around as Loincloth came back into view, trailing his piece of pipe behind him. Gage pointed his gun at the stranger, his finger on the trigger.
A warm, dry hand fell on his arm. “Wait, Gage,” Bossanova stepped past him, staring at Loincloth with a wry smile on her face.
“Lady!” the man said, smiling broadly. “Cito see you kill monster! You friend?”
“Well,” Bossanova replied, still smiling, “I think you did most of the killing. But yes, friend.”
The man called Cito giggled at this. Gage rolled his eye. He sounded like a fucking idiot. Gage glared at Cito, and then said to Bossanova, “He can’t even string two words together. Why we bothering with him?”
Cito lowered his head. “Cito sorry Cito not talk so good. Cito family not talk. Cito not talk to man or lady in long time.”
Gage snorted. “Let me guess. You were raised by apes.”
Bossanova shot him a warning look, but Cito piped up, “Cito not know ‘ape.’ Cito only know ‘family.’”
“Oh my God.”
“Gage.” Bossanova let her glare linger on him for a few uncomfortable seconds, and then hitched her smile back into place as she spoke to Cito. “Cito, what are those things?” She gestured to the dead lizard. “Some kind of deathclaw?”
I thought you were calling them gatorclaws, Gage thought irritably.
“Death? Claws?” Cito’s brow furrowed. “Cito not know. Cito only know ‘death’ bad and monster bad.”
Gage was relieved to see a flicker of annoyance cross Bossanova’s face, but she quickly quashed it. “Are there any more?”
“Many more monster. No stop.”
“This is gonna be more trouble than it’s worth, boss,” Gage muttered. “Don’t get involved with sheep.”
“He fended that thing off with just a pole,” Bossanova hissed back. “You’re suggesting we clear this place out alone?”
“Cito kill monster,” Cito went on, oblivious to the hushed conversation between his new ‘friends.’ “New monster come. Cito kill monster again. New monster come again.Monsters not stop.” His face screwed up in frustration. “Monsters hurt Cito and Cito family. Help Cito stop monsters?”
Gage stared pointedly at Bossanova. “I knew this would be a pain in the ass.”
“Cito not doctor,” Cito piped up. “Maybe find medicine for ass while help Cito?”
Bossanova snorted with laughter, and even Gage felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Sure, friend,” Bossanova replied, still grinning. “Lead the way.”
Cito beamed at her. “Cito happy have strong friend. Follow!” He lumbered off, pipe in hand, leaving Gage and Bossanova to run after him. Cito bounded through an alleyway and into an open cage, but as Gage stepped inside, there was movement to his right, concealed by his eyepatch.
Gage saw teeth. Then his world spun as something slammed into him, sending him flying. His rifle skidded across the ground, and Gage scrambled for it, glancing over his shoulder in time to watch a towering gatorclaw rip Bossanova off her feet. It lifted her up to its open maw.
Gage lost all thought of his gun. With a strangled yell, he charged, pulling out the knife strapped to his thigh and plunging it into the thing’s eye. It dropped the boss as it roared in pain, trampling blindly. Bossanova rolled out of the way of its tail, which was smashing into the bars of the cage, bending them.
Gage laughed as adrenaline coursed through him, and picked up his rifle. He could smell the blood in the air, hear the universal sound of pain. God, he fucking loved it.
The more the gatorclaw tried to get the knife out, the deeper it went. Gage’s racing heart spurred him on, a high like no other, and he emptied a clip into the screaming animal.
Bullets, however, only seemed to piss it off. The remaining eye settled on him.
“Shit.”
It lunged, swinging for Gage’s head. Its speed took him by surprise, and Gage felt a rush of air as its thick, stubby claws streaked past. He dodged and rolled out of its way as it went for him, aiming potshots with every miss. “Pick on someone else, you fuck!” Gage bellowed.
Bossanova sprinted around it, raising her sword high. “Leave him!” She drove the sword into its back, but the blade bounced off harmlessly.
It turned and swiped at her, its arcing tail nearly taking Gage’s head off. Bossanova dodged the blow with ease. Then the tail whipped around again, slamming her into the nearby wall. She slid to the ground, dazed.
“Boss, move!”
The gatorclaw pounced. Bossanova shifted her weight to the side, thrusting her blade up as its jaws came down. The hilt hit the wall, burying the sword deep into the creature’s throat.
It reared up, gurgling, and Gage sprinted past it, seizing Bossanova’s arm. “Come on,” he hissed, shooting a look at the thrashing gatorclaw as he dragged her up. “It still ain’t fucking dead. We need to go!”
She nodded, her eyes unfocused. The gatorclaw snapped around, spraying blood from its gushing throat, and Gage threw his hand out, pushing the boss behind him. Just a few minutes, it would die. The sharp, yellow gaze said otherwise.
“Fuck this.” Gage centred its big, ugly face down his sights.
Clang.
Cito came from nowhere, bringing the big steel pipe down onto the gatorclaw’s head. It tried to snap at him, but the protruding sword pinned its jaw in place.
“Loincloth, kill it!” Gage bellowed, shoving the boss back again as she tried to rejoin the fight.
Cito leapt onto its back, slamming it with the pipe again and again, while the gatorclaw writhed and slashed. There was a sickening crack, and it fell with a tremendous crash. Its skull was split in two.
Cito jumped lightly off the corpse as if nothing had happened, and beamed at them. “Strong friends. Follow Cito. Cito have medicine.” He shot Gage a worried look. “Not ass medicine.”
Gage ignored him, directing his attention to Bossanova. Slowly, she got up and walked unsteadily to the gatorclaw, placing her foot on its neck. Then she seized the hilt of her sword and pulled it free with a slick, wet noise. She wiped the blood off the now slightly bent blade, and then staggered, her eyes unfocused again. Bossanova sank to her knees, cradling the sword and muttering, “No, no, no no…”
“Boss?” Gage said uncertainly. Any sign of weakness could be a death sentence. Bossanova ignored him, turning the sword over in her hands and pushing on the damaged blade, as if trying to straighten it.
“Boss.”
Her head snapped up to look at him. She glanced down at the sword, bit her lip, and then met his eye again. She gave a short nod and got to her feet, looking determined.
Gage settled. “You,” he said to Cito, gesturing with his weapon. “Get us out of the open. Now.”
Cito frowned, but nodded.
Bossanova limped over to Gage, producing the knife he’d jammed in the gatorclaw’s eye. She twirled it through her fingers, offering the handle to him, and he chuckled as he took it. She clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, Gage. Thank you.”
Gage halted, blinking at her as she followed Cito. Slowly, he reached up and touched the spot where she’d laid her hand. It burned, and he gripped it tight, confused. Gratitude was a lie to placate the gullible. But this seemed…
“Gage?”
Gage looked up to see Bossanova waiting for him, a small frown on her face.
“What?” he snapped.
She raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Stand around and get eaten by the gatorclaws.”
Gage let out a heavy sigh. “Are we really naming them that?”
“Got anything better?”
He didn’t, but he’d rather take on a feral ghoul naked than admit it. Instead, he settled for glowering at her.
Bossanova smiled sweetly and then laughed. “Thought not.” She jammed her thumb in the direction of Cito. “Cito says we’re going to meet his family.”
Gage groaned. “Fucking wonderful.”
They followed Cito around the corner, revealing a large, flat-roofed building with little peaked glass windows on the top, the words ‘Primate House’ in wonky white letters of the double doors.
To the right of those battered doors was...well. Gage squinted at the statue, wondering if his remaining eye was failing him. It looked like a cross between a hairy deathclaw—which he hoped didn’t actually exist, lest Bossanova christen it with something equally stupid as gatorclaw —and a deformed yao guai. As he drew closer, a memory stirred in the back of his mind, and he remembered his mother sitting with a book, teaching him how to read. It was a book about animals—one of the pages showed a creature very similar to this statue. A gorilla, it had said.
Gage stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t thought about his mother in decades.
“Gage?” The boss looked over her shoulder at him, concerned. She’d made it all the way to the front door of the Primate House, her fingers resting on the handle.
He shook his head. “Comin’,” he muttered, jogging to catch up and bowing his head to avoid her shrewd stare. He thought she might say something, but after a few seconds she turned from him, opening the door for Cito, then following him inside. After a pause, so did Gage.
The smell was overwhelming. It was worse than himself—worse than anything the Disciples could cook up. It was even worse than Pus Pouch Pete, and that was saying something.
Gage immediately regretted remembering the sight of Pete’s face. When his retching finally subsided, he heard Cito proudly pronounce, “Family!”
Gage turned his attention into the gloom where Cito was indicating. The light filtering through the cracked ceiling illuminated several gigantic, half-rotting, hairy monstrosities ambling around the enclosure. Gage jumped back with a yell and the beasts scattered, baring gleaming white fangs, eyes glinting in the darkness.
Cito jumped in front of Gage, extending his hands out towards the creatures howling in fright and territorial rage. “Friends!” he bellowed, his voice just audible over the noise. They fell silent at once, their dark, beady gaze fixed on Cito. Then they relaxed, shuffling away as if nothing had happened.
Gage remained pressing to the door, his fingers digging into the wood. He was no coward, but he hadn’t been expecting this. The creatures looked similar to the statue out front, except they were...gaunter. He could see patches of raw skin where the fur had fallen away, blisters spattering the peeling flesh, and remembered that the Pack even had one of the damn things in his cages. The things disgusted him.
The boss didn’t seem much keener, but her revulsion less so than his, probably because she was near enough a corpse herself. “Gorillas,” she said from the blue, confirming Gage’s suspicions. “They must have been ghoulified when the bombs fell.” Bossanova considered them for a moment, then grinned. “Ghoulrillas.”
Gage didn’t have the stomach to argue.
Cito gestured for Bossanova to follow, leading her around and introducing her to members of his ‘family.’ Gage stayed where he was, hand inching towards his sidearm. He didn’t trust them, and the second one caused trouble, they’d all be fucking dead.
But the ghoulrillas remained placid, watching Bossanova with mild interest as she tailed Cito, her feet squelching in the shit-strewn floor. By the time Cito started introducing her to a smaller ghoulrilla called ‘Chris’, Gage relaxed. So long as they didn’t do anything stupid, the flea-bitten furballs would remain docile.
The conversation between Cito and Bossanova—if it could even be called that—turned to a holotape left by some asshole who’d died outside the Primate House, and how they had to go to ‘the triangle house’ for the gatorclaws.
Gage stopped listening. All he needed to know was where to point his gun, and Bossanova could update him on that later. Deciding to see if there was anything worth stealing in this place (though he doubted it), Gage strode off, eyeing the ghoulrillas and waiting for their reaction. They gave none, so he continued on into a side room, where an old mattress lay in the corner next to a faintly glowing bush. The bush lit up a crate besides it. If there was anywhere in this place that had loot, it was sure to be the crate.
Deciding the shit on the floor wouldn’t make much difference to his already filthy boots, Gage strode over to the crate— squelch squelch squelch —and crouched down to inspect it. On top of the crate was a small collection of toys, some Nuka World memorabilia, a white Nuka Cola (also glowing), and a letter.
Gage glanced back at Cito through the next room, blinking. He could write? Or read? But who would send the idiot a letter?
For one fleeting moment, Gage’s imagination went into overdrive, and he saw the ghoulrillas leaving out instructions for Cito with a shit-tipped finger. Then he shook his head, dragging himself back into the realms of sense and reason.
Still, he had to know what the letter said now. Double-checking Cito wasn’t watching, he picked up the paper and cola, holding the glowing bottle close to the words.
“If you're reading this note, then you've met Marcosito. His father, Marcos, was killed in a Super Mutant attack on our settlement, and I'm afraid my own wounds will be taking me as well. I don't have much time, and I'm terrified to send him out into this world alone, but I don't have any choice. I'm begging you to please take him in and see that he gets the food and shelter he'll need in order to survive. Tell our little Cito that his parents love him, and that if he's looking for us, we'll always be inside his heart.
Cito's Mother,
Imelda”
Gage blinked, scanning over it again. He frowned and looked up. Cito was surrounded by ghoulrillas, who were now picking bits out of his hair and eating it. He wondered if Cito had ever read the contents of the letter.
“We’ll always be inside his heart.”
Snorting, Gage crumpled up the note and tossed it over his shoulder. After all the effort of Cito’s parents, the ones to take care of him couldn’t read. Stupid bastard wouldn’t understand, even if Gage told him. The note meant nothing, achieved nothing.
Gage knocked the rest of the junk off the crate and opened it, using the bottle as a light to see inside. It was empty. Gage clicked his tongue in disappointment, then studied the Nuka Cola, wondering whether to keep hold of it.
After a beat, he set it back down. Anything glowing probably wasn’t worth putting in his body.
“Gage?”
Gage turned so fast he near fell over, hoping Cito hadn’t spotted him. Even from across the room he could see the boss glaring, as if she knew exactly what he’d been doing.
Cito, at least, was not paying attention, picking crap from the smaller ghoulrilla’s fur while it scratched its ass with great gusto.
“You ready to go?” Bossanova said pointedly.
“Yeah,” Gage said, getting to his feet. “Comin’, boss.”
--
“God fucking damn it!”
Pain shot up Gage’s arm as he slammed his fist into the whirring terminal and he turned away, pretending his hand wasn’t throbbing. Frustration burned and crawled under his skin like fire ants. Hours and hours they’d been fighting, following that fucking idiot ape man to the ‘triangle house’ which turned out to be a building called the ‘Welcome Center.’ Tired and bleeding, they’d staggered in, hoping to find the answers, only to be met with another goddamn gatorclaw.
The monster lay in a heap at the foot of the stairs, the combined efforts of Gage, Bossanova, Cito, and the ghoulrilla called Chris finally bringing it down. But it had been a hard battle, the day’s fighting taking its toll on them. And to top it all off, despite the various terminals inside the foyer indicating the steel door at the back of the room led to a loot-filled facility right beneath their feet, they couldn’t crack through the terminal keeping the door sealed shut.
All in all, Cito’s trip had been a fiasco. Gage stalked away, shaking his head as he clenched his fist, and headed back towards the helpdesk, where Bossanova stood. She was messing around with another terminal, trying to play the holotape Cito gave her inside the Primate House. Suddenly it crackled to life and Bossanova gave a cry of triumph.
The tape began to play.
“This is...Doctor Darren McDermot, last known survivor...at the Safari Adventure... Replication Facility. This is my final recording. I've done something horrible...the thing I created...the thing I called the gatorclaw…”
Bossanova caught Gage’s eye, and her gloating expression made him want to shoot himself in the head right there and then.
“...they must be destroyed. They can't be...tamed, they can't be controlled...their sheer ferocity is like nothing I've ever seen. And now...the Nuka-Gen Rep...Replicator is out of control. It's producing them at an...alarming rate…”
Gage stopped listening. This was not good. This was not good at all. The ones they’d faced were bad enough, but a whole park of them? His eyes drifted back to the sealed door, and he groaned. “They’re gonna be below us, aren’t they?”
Bossanova nodded.
The gatorclaws were coming from here. And if they weren’t stopped, nevermind Safari adventure, the whole park could be overrun.
“I’m guessing you had no luck?” Bossanova said, smartly stepping around the bleeding Cito, who was applying a thick, foul-smelling salve to his ghoulrilla companion. They’d taken the brunt of the gatorclaw attacks in the fight to get to the Welcome Center. Bossanova ignored them, her eyes fixed on Gage.
“No luck,” Gage repeated, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. His fingers were still tingling a little. “Needs some sort of passcode. I can’t do shit with computers.”
“Neither can I.” She glanced hopefully over her shoulder at Cito, who was now smearing the salve on the ghoulrilla’s wound with his tongue, and promptly returned her attention to Gage. “Seems we have no choice but to find the passcode.”
Gage allowed himself an inward chuckle, and then said, “The old messages mention the ‘Angry Anaconda.’ Like a ride or something.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go. Cito!”
Cito looked up sharply, mid-lick.
“We’re heading out to the Angry Anaconda. Can you lead the way?”
“Friend go to big metal snake?” Cito’s brow furrowed. Then his expression brightened, and he nodded vigorously. “Cito know! Lady follow Cito!”
“How about we go back to the Primate House for the night? Let ‘em heal up first,” Gage called out, earning himself an incredulous look from Bossanova. He shrugged, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “They ain’t no good to us dead.”
“True.” She grinned at him. “And there was me thinking you cared.”
Gage snorted, but didn’t bother to retort. Cito looked from him to Bossanova, and then resumed licking the ghoulrilla.
Gage’s first thought when he’d met Cito had been something along the lines of shoot him and move on. After all, they’d only have to do it later to finish clearing out the park for the gangs. Bossanova’s insistence at talking the matter through pissed him off. But when she’d convinced Cito to bring Chris along for the ride, she’d addressed Gage’s scowls with a wink and the muttered words, “Cannon fodder.”
Gage wasn’t entirely sure what a cannon was, but her tone said it all. Meat shields.
He didn’t know how he felt about this. Not sacrificing Cito and his family—that was smart—but things were taking so much longer because of it. If Gage didn’t know any better, he’d say she was averse to violence, and far too keen to put others first. That made him extremely uncomfortable.
Bossanova watched them for a moment, her expression caught between revulsion and a smile, and then walked back over to the terminal at the central helpdesk, crouching down in front of it. She tapped her way through the keyboard for a minute, and then pulled another holotape from her pocket.
Gage frowned. “What’s that?”
“A little something I borrowed from Mags.”
The image of Bossanova’s hand darting out to snatch something from a desk in Mags’ quarters shot through Gage’s mind. His entire body went rigid as Bossanova continued to mess around with the terminal.
“You…” Gage’s voice shook, and Bossanova looked up at him. “You stole from Mags?”
“I did,” she replied, returning her attention to the computer.
“You coulda got us killed!”
Bossanova shrugged. “But I didn’t. So stop worrying.”
Gage studied her, his thoughts racing as his temper rose. He wasn’t against stealing as a general rule, but stealing from her own when she was supposed to be making a good first impression was an automatic death sentence. After all his warnings, she had stolen from Mags.
For a split second, he wondered if she was worse than Colter. Because despite her experience and clear leadership qualities, she was willing to throw everything away for a reckless urge.
“Boss,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light, “you need to be careful how you handle this shit. If you—”
Bossanova looked at him coldly. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”
“I’m telling you how not to get your fucking head blown off!”
The room fell silent. Gage could feel the eyes of Cito and the ghoulrilla on him, but he didn’t care. He glared at Bossanova, his hands tight around his gun.
“Noted,” she said, scowling at him before dropping her gaze back to the computer screen.
Gage saw red. Letting his gun hang from the strap around his neck, he strode across the room and slammed his fists onto the desk so hard the computer rattled. In a flash, Bossanova pressed a knife to his throat. Gage froze, and Bossanova leaned forward, unclipping his gun from its strap and removing it.
“Back off. Now,” she hissed.
Gage didn’t move. Instead, he met her eye as his hand slowly drifted to the pistol at his hip and said, “Boss, I get it. You were in charge, back in the day. You know how pre-war gangs work. Well this—” He made a vague gesture to the surroundings with his other hand, but stopped quickly as Bossanova pushed the knife harder to his throat. “—this ain’t like your gangs. Nisha, Mags, William, Mason—they will kill you the second they see weakness, and if you’re too damn arrogant to listen to my advice—”
“Then I’ll be the next Colter?” she replied sharply.
Gage opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it. Finally, he gave a slight shake of his head, wincing as the knife sliced into his skin. “No. You ain’t like Colter. You want to make this work as much as I do. But the other gangs won’t care about that if you steal from them. Sure, you gotta be the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the park—but you also gotta be on their side.”
He gripped at his pistol and tried to carefully unholster it. Bossanova’s eyes flicked down, and she smirked.
“Going to shoot me, Gage?”
Fuck.
“Depends if you’re going to stab me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then you should,” Gage said, feeling irritable again. Any raider worth their salt would have finished him off by now.
Bossanova raised a non-existent eyebrow. “I can get nasty if you prefer. But then how would you learn?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Bossanova gave him a long, searching look. Finally, she lowered her knife. Gage stepped back, touching the spot where the blade had been. His fingers came away red. His own fault, he knew, but it pissed him off all the same.
“When I deal with people, I deal with them permanently,” Bossanova said, wiping the knife on her pants and slipping it back into a sheath hidden under the many folds of her clothing. As she did so, Gage spied a strange gun with a disc shaped barrel tucked just out of sight. Then it disappeared behind the fabric again as Bossanova said, “But if you’re quick to pull the trigger, people will be just as quick with you.”
“What, so you don’t like teaching people a lesson?” Gage snapped. “How the hell did you run a gang?”
Bossanova rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I said,” she retorted, equally sharp. “The point is, if you go around killing everyone at the drop of a hat, when it’s your turn to be punished, you’ll be shown a similar amount of mercy.”
“Sounds like you’re afraid of doing dirty work.” He knew he was being petty, but the bitch just tried to cut his throat, and then not gone through with it. Grateful as he was to still have his head, he was starting to have doubts about her. She had no grit.
Bossanova sighed heavily, looking as angry as he felt. “You’re the one who dragged me into this mess without checking my credentials.” She threw him a nasty look. “I know how to be cruel—how to enforce. Broken bones, cuts...blow torches were always a favourite.” Her tone was amicable, as if she was talking about cooking eggs again. “You don’t become the boss without putting the fear of God in others.”
She paused. “By the time I reached the top, I had a reputation—didn’t need to torture anymore. I only killed when people broke the rules. They used to call me the Docile Don.” She laughed to herself, her gaze unfocused.
Gage frowned. “Sounds more like an insult.”
Bossanova’s eyes snapped back to his. “Oh, it was. The disrespect was addressed thoroughly, but in all honesty, I didn’t mind. I let the tales of horror mingle with my supposed ‘meekness.’ They never saw me coming.” Bossanova stared off into the distance, as if basking in a happy memory. “There is nothing like ending a man’s life with a smile.”
“Why not just shoot them and get it over with?”
“I already told you why,” Bossanova snapped. “At the Grille, remember?”
Gage cast his mind back, and vaguely recalled what she was talking about. Ah, yes. He remembered. “You had to do things subtle-like, because of the city guards?”
“They outnumbered us, so we outsmarted them instead. It was a game, in a way. We got on with our business and they tried to stop us. But they never could. Not completely.”
Gage shivered. The thought of being outgunned like that was a nightmare come true. And being unable to just shoot a rival in the face…?
Well, it explained Bossanova’s caution, at least. Gage felt his anger reducing to a simmer, flickering moodily in the base of his stomach. “Things ain’t like that now. You need to show your strength, keep everyone in line. If you don’t step up, the gangs will underestimate you. And then…”
“I aim to be underestimated. Because it’s the last thing they’ll do.” She held up his gun and tossed it to him. He caught it, understanding her meaning.
Don’t fuck with me again.
Gage sighed. He’d be dead before the end of the week.
Bossanova went back to tapping through the terminal, her posture tense. He stared at her, trying to think of something to fill the billowing silence.
“I thought you didn’t use guns,” he said finally, remembering the strange-shaped firearm concealed on her person.
Bossanova looked up. “What?”
“That gun you have. The one with the disc barrel. I saw it when you put your knife away.”
She frowned for a moment, and then her expression cleared. “Oh, this?” Her hand slipped under her clothes, and she produced the device. When Gage nodded, she continued. “I don’t normally use guns, no. But this one is for emergencies.”
“Emergencies? It’s a gun, not a bomb.”
“I know. But it’s a special gun, for when I’m truly desperate.”
Gage considered asking what was so spectacular about her stupid gun, but she closed the conversation by stowing it away again and returning to the terminal. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be annoyed with her. So long as she didn’t use it on him, or got him caught in the crossfire, he didn’t give a fuck.
After a minute or so, Bossanova picked up the holotape off the desk and inserted it into the terminal port. A few seconds later, the terminal crackled to life as a recording began to play.
“Mother, it's Mags. Thank you so much for your tape. It kept William, Lizzie and I very entertained during our time in the holding cell. We found the part about refusing us our inheritance particularly amusing. Because that money is ours. Years we spent under your thumb. Trying to be the perfect little dolls you always wanted. Both have the scars to prove it. So if you think we didn't earn every cap that's due to us, then you're even dumber than I thought. We're coming for those caps. And there's nothing you can do to stop us.”
The tape rolled in silence for a few seconds longer, and then cut out. Gage stared at her, startled to see she looked pleased by this. “Mags has daddy issues. So what?”
“So,” Bossanova said, ejecting the tape and turning it over in her hands, grinning broadly, “if their parents are still alive, and we deliver them to Mags and William…”
Gage blinked. Then he felt a grin spread across his own face. “They’ll be in our pockets.”
Bossanova nodded, pleased at his quickness on the uptake. “Precisely. This is deep...personal. And nothing is so sweet as settling a personal grudge.”
Gage studied her, wondering. He’d never been stupid enough to throw everything away for vengeance, but unless she’d made more in the wasteland, all her enemies would be long dead by now. Why then was there such bitterness in her voice? “Sounds like you’re talkin’ from experience, boss.”
Bossanova’s hand moved to touch the scarf around her neck. She paused, letting her arm drop away, and then nodded.
“Was it worth it?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.
Gage resisted pulling a face. Two hundred years should be enough to get over whatever went on. Personally, he didn’t see the point in holding onto shit. Shut up, move on. He thought about Mags and the money she was owed. Would he be quite so apathetic if it was his inheritance? Gage looked back at Bossanova. It had to be caps. He couldn’t see anything else keeping her so angry after all this time.
“Hey, boss?” Gage said, before he could stop himself.
“Yes?” she looked at him, as if anticipating his next question.
“Uh.” Gage hesitated, noting how tense Bossanova suddenly was. Every muscle in her body seemed to be contracted, her knuckles white as she clutched her arms. “Well...can’t help but notice you keep grabbing at your neck there, boss. And your sword. What happened?”
Bossanova bit her lip, her fingers now digging into her skin, and bowed her head. Her discomfort was infectious, and he was starting to regret asking at all.
“Forget it,” he muttered, turning away from her. Before he could take a step, though, she spoke.
“I...lost someone.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “He gave me this sword just before he died.”
Gage’s head snapped towards her. “What?”
“I was betrayed,” she continued, louder now, but with a definite tremor. “By those I thought I could trust.” Her breathing was growing harsher by the second, and if she’d had nails, Gage bet she would have drawn blood from her palms. Her eyes were distant, searching past him for something no longer there. “I made some...decisions. Bad ones. Nicky advised against it, said it would cause too much trouble. I didn’t listen to him, and when it all went wrong…” She pulled down the scarf around her neck, revealing a long, wicked scar. “I survived. Nicky didn’t.”
Gage didn’t know what to say. He wanted to shake her, tell her to get a fucking grip. The guy was dead, and by the sounds of it, centuries ago. What was the issue?
Probably fucking him, Gage thought idly.
He kept his distance as, slowly, Bossanova clawed herself back into control. She breathed deeply through her nose cavity and out through her mouth, her eyes sliding shut. When they opened again, Gage saw nothing behind them. She let go of her arms, red marks pressed into her stripped skin. “Remember what I said? I know you’ll keep me alive as long as I work to your benefit. But there are other kinds of trust...if you want it.”
Gage looked at her, from her grief-stricken face to her barely contained shakes. No, he wasn’t sure he wanted it at all. This was the leader he’d landed himself with: a shitty, pitiful wreck, blubbering over some long-dead fuckhead who couldn’t even protect his own boss?
Deciding the smart choice was simply not to answer, Gage strode across the room, pretending to reload his gun. He just didn’t get her. One minute she was putting Nisha in her place, threatening to cut off Mags’ nose in front of William, and taking down gatorclaws without getting herself killed, the next she was crying over this Nicky.
Gage stared at an old poster without reading it. If he was honest with himself, her emotional outburst didn’t trouble him, so much as the fact it resided comfortably next to her bloodthirsty nature. He’d met a couple of people like her in the past. All of them were unstable, and all of them had grown increasingly reckless, until chems or sheer stupidity led to their deaths.
If Bossanova was telling the truth, she was over two-hundred years old. Gage had never met anyone like her.
“Are you ready to move out? I want to get back to the Primate House before dark.”
He turned to her. It was as if their conversation had never happened. She looked ready to kill, her weapon gripped in her hand, her eyes sharp with steely indifference. Against his better judgement, Gage felt himself relax. So long as she was like this, things were fine.
“Yeah, boss. Let’s go.”
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Big bad wolf misses his wife
Negan x Eugene NSFW NON-CON
Hi there! As promised, here a Negan x Eugene fic. Sorry for mistakes and for torturing our poor boy. Have fun ~
WARNING: Non-con, NSFW, M/M
Eugene shivers when he felt Negan’s breath near his ear.
“What would you say if I tell you to come in my room at sunset?”
The engineer couldn’t help but stutters.
“I… I would wonder why? You can always come to my room or we can talk here too.”
Negan smirks and something tells Eugene he didn’t quite understood what the Sanctuary’s leader’s request implied. The look on Negan’s face, though, gives him all the indications he needed: he wasn’t stupid, far from it, but he thought having multiple wifes gave Negan all the sexy time he required to satisfy his needs.
“Come to my room at sunset, it will be fun, I promise.”
Eugene shyly nods and looks down, hands fidgeting nervously in front of him. Negan smiles before turning back and returning inside the Sanctuary. Survive at all cost was always Eugene’s motto, but it seems like this night will be particularly rough if he have to behave while Negan is having his “fun” with him. Men aren’t exactly Eugene’s thing and he naively hoped it wasn’t Negan’s thing neither, considering how many wifes the leader has. Eugene decided to focus on the work at hand and he returns to supervise the worker pouring melted metal on the walkers, pushing Negan’s promise in the back of his head, trying to forget about it for as long as possible.
Eugene waited until it started to get dark to go to Negan’s room. It was probably later than what his leader expected, but the engineer planned to blame the workers for it. With a little luck, Negan would had ask one of his wife to satisfy him instead of waiting for his doctor Smartypants. Eugene force himself to think positive. Maybe Negan wasn’t going to do THAT, maybe he just wanted to talk?
When the door opened, all his hopes vanished. Negan was standing there, wearing only a white bathrobe, freshly shaved and his hair still wet. Negan flashed his signature smirk.
“Well well… I almost waited for you!”
He invited Eugene into the room and closed the door behind him. Breathing heavily and shaking, Eugene tried to look anywhere but the bed, Negan or Lucille resting against the night stand. He stutters nervously as Negan come near him, breathing right next to his ear.
“You… you got nice… nice windows curtains…”
He could swear Negan smelt him.
“I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about the fucking curtains, you know?”
Eugene nods. The older man go sit on his bed, lightly tapping the space by his side.
“Come… sit.”
Eugene did just as he was told: he awkwardly sat next to Negan, stiff and uncomfortable, trying to look anywhere but at the leader. The reality of his situation just started to weight on him, but he still tries to think about something else. He could feel Negan staring at him and from the corner of his eyes, he saw the man lick his lips, smiling. Negan was a wolf and Eugene was a poor little sheep, far away from his shepherd.
“You remind me of Lucille.” says Negan as he rubs his hand up Eugene’s thigh. “She was quite on the heavy side too, and that’s why I was so unfaithful to her, but I really loved her with all my fucking heart, you know?”
Eugene shivers when he feels Negan’s hand brushing against the bulge in the front of his pants. He gulps loudly and looks away. His body was betraying him, reacting on his own despite the fact he was clearly more interested in tiny waist and big boobs than muscled, hairy masculine body.
“I didn’t know that…”
Negan gently pushes Eugene to lie down on the bed and the engineer shut his eyes tightly as he lets the leader kneel between his legs. He was stiff and trembling, like if he was waiting for a meeting with Lucille.
“Are you afraid, Dr. Smartypants?” Negan’s hot breath against his face made Eugene shivers.
“I’m… just nervous…”
“First time with a man?” That idea seems to enjoy Negan. “Don’t worry,” he said, leaning down to whisper in his new recruit ear, “I will be veeeery good with you.”
Eugene couldn’t help but whimper. Negan’s hands got to work and start undressing the man he had recently kidnapped from Rick’s group, like he was some sort of reward hard earned. To Eugene’s surprise, the big bad wolf wasn’t rough like he imagined him to be: he didn’t rip off his clothes or bite his collarbone, tugging at his pants violently. No, nothing like that. Negan was nice and almost lovingly kisses his neck, hands gently unbuttoning his shirt before caressing his skin, slowly making their way to Eugene’s waist to undo his pant and capture his pouty lips in a passionate kiss. He was treating him like his wife… except for the additional parts between his legs, of course.
Once Eugene was completely naked, Negan sat on his heels to take a good look at him. Eugene's hands raised to his face, but only to cover his mouth: he keeps looking at Negan anxiously, trying not to cry in shame. He was hard and leaking thanks to his inexperience and Negan’s gentle touch. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, considering the situation. Negan licks his lips and grips the love handles at his captive's hips.
"You might be a man, but damn you got some pretty hot curves and your butt... wow! I always hated to admit it to my wife, but I loved her big fat butt!"
Eugene lets out a strangle whine. He didn’t know if he had to say ‘thank you’ or stay quiet. He didn’t have time to decide, Negan was lightly tapping his thigh.
"Come on now, turn around. Show me your lovely bottom."
Reluctantly, Eugene did as told. Never in his life was he so embarrassed. Kneeling in the bed, face buried in the pillow, arse presented to Negan like he was some sort of eager whore, Eugene was trying really hard to think about pretty girls when the leader starts caressing his rear. The fake doctor was grateful Negan didn’t ask him to touch or even suck him. Just the idea of putting male genitals inside his mouth makes him nauseous. Still, the worse was to come. He can hardly understand what part of him remind Negan of a woman, but he guess it doesn’t really looks different from behind if he doesn’t look between his legs; he was not the hairy type, unlike Abraham.
"I wish my wife would have let me put it in her butt before she died. Man to man, I'm sure you understand."
Eugene was bright red and had trouble answering Negan: his touch starved body was quite fond of the leader’s soft caresses and it hurt his pride more than what he was comfortable with.
"That's... that’s not something I really thought about..."
Negan finally let go of Eugene’s butt and sighs.
"Oh... well, I'm telling you, you were missing something."
He shivers when he heard a bottle cap open: lube. Eugene hissed through clenched teeth when he felt Negan’s wet fingers pushing against his asshole. It didn’t burn as much as he thought, but he deeply regrets coming here sober.
“Damn you’re tight!”
Eugene whimpers softly, feeling Negan’s rough hand griping his buttcheek. He tries not to make too much noise; he didn’t want to make Negan mad. Suddenly, Negan’s fingers brushed against a spot inside him and electric jolt of pleasure shot through Eugene, making him moan before he bites his lower lip to shut himself. Negan smiles as he watches the doctor squirms under his touch. The embarrassment clearly visible on Eugene’s face amused Negan.
“My my…” Negan purred, visibly pleased. “That little moan was fucking adorable. I wonder if I can make you do that sound again?”
While Negan was relentlessly rubbing that soft spot over and over again, Eugene was weighing the pros and cons of letting his voice out.
Pros: Negan will like that and it will probably make things end faster.
Cons: He won’t ever get his pride back again
His mind was going blank. He barely felt the pain anymore, just jolts of pleasure crashing down his body, and he decides to let go. The pillow muffles his moans, but he knew Negan was delighted to listen to him.
“That’s good baby… Nothing wrong in enjoying it, doesn’t it?” Negan practically coos.
A brief sigh of relief left Eugene when Negan pulls out his fingers, but he tenses again when he felt something way bigger at his entrance. Without a single warning, the leader pushes his cock inside the engineer in one go. Eugene yelps loudly. That burned damn hell lot more than the fingers. The older man stayed very still, hushing softly to calm down his precious doctor. Slowly, the pain lessens as Eugene get used to Negan’s girth. After giving him a few minutes, which was very generous knowing the man, he started to rock his hips, quickly picking up pace. It wasn’t long before Negan hit that sweet place inside Eugene, making him see stars despite the situation.
“Come on sweetheart,” says Negan as he pulls on Eugene’s hair to raise his face from the pillow, “I want to hear your voice again.”
Even if he didn’t really wanted to, Eugene couldn’t keep quiet no more. He hated himself for that, even more when he felt his erection brushes against the bed. Negan gave him a hard slap on the ass.
“Damn you feel good baby! Tell me how much you like it!” His voice was deep and husky, clearly lost in his ‘wife’ fantasy. Eugene opened his mouth to reply, but he wasn’t able to think about something to say. How should he respond to that? The only thing he was able to let out was moans and embarrassed squeals.
“Tell me you like my dick baby! Come on don’t be shy!”
Eugene gulps loudly and tries to keep his voice from quivering as he obeys, hoping it would speed up thing.
“I… I like your dick…”
“Louder!”
“I like your dick!”
Negan groans loudly and Eugene keeps repeating it again and again. The warm feeling in his lower stomach worried him; he couldn’t help it but feel his climax near, his toes curling and he wasn’t able to talk anymore. Negan was delighted to feel his captive clench around his cock and Eugene felt his pride slip away, gone forever.
“Ah damn… Lucille…”
The sanctuary’s leader groans the name of his wife as he empties himself inside the younger man trembling under him. Eugene tried to catch his breath before he sits up. It was finally over and all he wants now was to take a burning hot shower.
Negan lies down in his bed, looking at Eugene with a satisfied grin on his face.
“That was good. Best fuck in a while, to be honest.”
Eugene nods shyly.
“It’s late. You should get some rest…”
Once again, Eugene nods without a word and get up, eager to leave. He froze in horror when he felt something wet dripping down his thighs: Negan’s cum. He quickly picks up his clothes, dresses up and left in a hurry. That shower is going to burn his skin down to his soul.
@mortifilia
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Real People. Not Actors.
There’s a new car commercial on television, have you seen it? Unsuspecting real people, not actors, are lead out from what is presumably their house to find a brand new SUV parked in the driveway. They ooh and ahh over how prestine and shiney it is, saying things like “this is the most attractive SUV I’ve ever seen” or “it’s so stylish, so modern.” Then the spokesperson, dressed appropriately for the late January weather, opens the backdoor and the subject’s real family, not actors, pop out like an overcrowded Jack-in-the-Box. Everyone squeals and screams in delight, hugging each other tightly while still finding space in their joyous meeting to coo at the car behind them, as if the surprise reunion and the SUV are now so intertwined they can’t help but think of the inanimate object as part of the family.
Now they have to buy it. Now you have to buy it. You wouldn’t not buy a member of your family, would you? You wouldn’t abandon your family, would you? Only a real animal abandons a member of their family like that. Though, I suppose, animals have a sense of loyalty one shouldn’t disregard, so only a real sub-animal would abandon their family like that. A real low-life.
You don’t want to be a low-life, do you?
Well, I was in one of those car commercials. Sort of. Let me start from the beginning.
My boyfriend, Henry, is an actor. Though the term “actor” is a real stretch. One might be inclined to call him more “real person” than “actor.” Ever since I’ve known him he’s wanted to be in front of an audience, despite having no natural acting abilities nor any desire to memorize scripts or practice. I think his logic was that if he pushed the universe enough, eventually he’d be given a spotlight. He was desperate to be famous, even if it was for only a few minutes. About a year ago he started focusing more on commercial gigs than “real” acting gigs. I guess he figured commercials would be easier.
“Lean against the counter and eat a spoonful of cereal. Act as if your life has meaning now. Do you practice mindfulness? Try to look like your practicing mindfulness as you eat the cereal.”
I was reading a novel in the tub when Henry came bursting in, screaming about how he had done it. I had been fully relaxed in my little ritual of self-care and the outburst completely surprised me, causing me to drop my book in the bath.
“God dammit!” I cried as I fished the book out from the soapy water and threw it on the floor. It sat there open, the paper pages melting into the synthetic fibers of the bathmat beneath it, completely ruined.
“I did it! I did it! Babe!” He cried, his hands raised in triumph, one clutching his phone as he looked at me, “I did it!.” The dimples in his cheeks were deep from the wide smile stretched across his face. He looked almost manic.
I inhaled, the lavender scent of the bath filling my nose as I tried to calm my frazzled nerves.
“What did you do, Henry?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“I got a gig! A gig, babe! A real gig! Isn’t that crazy, babe?” Henry had the infuriating habit of saying “babe” constantly as if he were a sheep baaing.
My anger melted with shock and happiness at my partner’s joy. I shrugged off the book. Buying another wasn’t too much of a hassle, and it could have been worse - it could’ve been my kindle. “Oh my god, that’s wonderful!” I stood, naked and wet, and we hugged in excitement. The now lukewarm water lapping gently at my calves.
“And guess what, babe! You get to be in the commercial too!”
My grip on him loosened as my enthusiasm waned. “What?” I asked, pulling away from him.
Henry straightened, his smile engulfing my entire view as he looked at me. “It’s a family commercial, babe! They want you too! Isn’t that awesome!?!”
“Why can’t they cast you a professional girlfriend?” I asked, not trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
“Babe, it’s a “real people, not actors” thing, so it’s got to be the real deal.” His face fell in concern, “you’ll do it with me, won’t you?”
My heart pained and I sighed, “of course, love. Anything for you.”
Henry cried out in glee, “thank you, Claire!!!” He gave me another squeeze before running out of the room, “I’m gonna call my mom!”
“You might want to change your shirt too!” I called after him as I bent down and pulled the plug.
I stood in front of a nondescript office building far outside the city holding two paper cups filled with coffee - one black, one with cream and just a touch of sugar - while Henry dealt with the casting director inside. It was chilly and I had the bulky scarf my aunt knit me for Christmas wrapped tight around the bottom half of my face. I was trying to think of a way to drink the hot brown liquid without removing the comfort of the scarf when Henry appeared beside me. He beamed as he took back his cup.
“Ok, babe, the release forms are all sorted!” He bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement and looked out over the barren parking lot, “the casting director said someone will be here soon to drive us to location.”
I nodded and looked longingly at my cup as I wondered why we couldn’t wait inside the dingy office. Turning my head, I searched the windy road we had driven up only moments before. I was impatient to get the shoot started. The sooner we started, the sooner we’d finish. Henry had warned me it’d probably take all day and I was already regretting my decision to come. I strained my eyes trying to see further down the road, willing a vehicle to manifest. I held the cup of coffee in both my hands, the warmth penetrating the skin of my fingers and palms only slightly, the rest of my body shivering in the cold.
We only had to wait a few minutes before a grey windowless van pulled up in front of us. I eyed it suspiciously. Rust was beginning to eat away at the wheel well and the grey paint was dull, having lost its luster long ago. I looked at Henry and silently begged him not to make me get into the van, but he wasn’t looking at me. The driver’s side door opened with a squeal and a young man jumped out.
He was slight and very chic looking. His wool peacoat was fitted, and the jeans and boots I could see beneath it were dark and fashionable. He wore round glasses and his beard was neatly trimmed close to his skin. A grey beanie was pulled over his ears and he smiled warmly at us as he brought a pen down to the clipboard in front of him.
“Henry Cooper and Claire Lane?”
“That’s us!” Henry exclaimed. I waved unenthusiastically.
“Hi, I’m Brett. I’m the production assistant for today’s shoot. The location is only a fifteen minute drive from here.” He slid the back door of the van open and Henry jumped in. I hesitated, looking from the worn cloth seat, yellow foam visible at the corners, to Brett.
Brett just smiled that warm professional smile at me. “I know it looks a little sketchy - they won’t let us drive the prop vehicles unfortunately.”
I groaned beneath the thick wool yarn of my scarf and followed Henry. Brett slid the door shut behind me and I searched futilely for a seat belt. The van bounced and swayed as Brett hopped into the driver seat. “Hope you guys like indie rock!” he called over his shoulder as the van rolled out of the parking lot and onto the main street.
The back of the van was surprisingly clean and I found myself becoming more comfortable with the situation. I could only see the road through the windshield, but the winter sun shone through the bare trees and it felt nice to be so close to nature. Henry took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I rested my head on his shoulder and smiled as a Modest Mouse song played over the speakers from Brett’s iPod.
Twenty minutes later, we were both beginning to shift in our seats. My coffee cup rested empty in my hands and I had removed several layers as the dry heat of the van started to make me sweat.
“Hey Brett, are we almost there?” Henry asked, peering around the passenger headrest in an attempt to see more of the road.
“Yep, any minute now!” He called back over his shoulders. The van jostled beneath me as he turned onto a dirt road stretching through the dense trees.
“This is where we’re filming?” I asked, looking around him. “We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
Brett laughed goodnaturedly. “Yeah, easier to set up all our gear. You’ll be surprised how much lighting and camera equipment we need for a minute long commercial.”
I lurched back into my seat as the van hit a pothole, my coffee cup falling to the ground. Bending down to retrieve it from under the seat, I touched something sharp. I hissed in pain and brought my finger to my lips instinctually. My tongue traced the source and the coppery taste of blood stung against my taste buds. “The fuck?” I said under my breath as I bent my body down further so I could see. My coffee cup was rolling lazily with the sway of the vehicle, lightly bouncing off of a polished axe, the edge sharpened to a nasty point. My brow tightened in confusion.
“We’re here!” Brett cried cheerily. I sat upright and peered around him. In front of us loomed a giant house, old and brittle looking like a haunted house leftover from Halloween. Windows were smashed in or boarded up and the wood walls were rotten and sagging under the weight of their age. Shutters, bricks, and glass littered the ground.
I looked at Henry with concern, but he only shrugged.
Brett pulled up in front of the house. He turned in his seat to face us, smiling, waiting for a reaction. I sat still, disbelieving the situation around me. Brett, not phased, grabbed his clipboard from the other seat and jumped out. Henry wouldn’t make eye contact with me as the back door slid open. Brett stood there, his hand outstretched like a driver preparing to escort his fare out. I shook my head and scooted backed into Henry.
Brett laughed and turned his head, “Bob, can I get some help with the talent?”
A beefy hairy man appeared in the door. “This is Bob, the gaffer.” Brett explained as Bob reached towards me. I turned, pushing Henry to go deeper into the van. A strong hand wrapped around my ankle as I threw myself over the back of the seat. I kicked hard, but struck only the winter air. Bob tugged and my hands slipped from the seat. Pain shoot through my knee as I fell to the hard ground. Tears began to collect in my eyelashes.
Bob pulled on my leg, still in his grasp, and my chin hit the ground, more pain screaming through my body. My leg pulled at my hip socket as Bob started to drag me towards the house. I looked up to see Henry jump from the van and run towards me. Another big man, much taller than Bob, ran up to him and, using the bottom of his heavy work boot, kicked him in the side of the leg, right beneath his left knee. Henry fell with a sickening crack. He screamed in pain and I realized I was screaming as well. I clutched desperately at the dirt in front of me trying to stop Bob’s progress. My fingernails tore upward as I tried to cling to the frozen earth moving beneath me.
The tall man picked Henry up and hoisted him over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Henry cried out and squirmed in his grasp. Bob stopped and my leg fell to the ground. I rolled over and saw that I was in front of a brand new SUV. Behind it, the trees stretched out towards the cold sun like forgotten bones.
“What the fuck?” My throat was hoarse, the tight and raspy sound of my voice foreign to me. My whole body shook and the tears that glazed my face were beginning to freeze.
Henry was dropped unceremoniously beside me and I grabbed him. We hugged each other, our bodies clinging together in desperate fear.
“Cameras ready?” The tall man yelled, his voice low and gravely, the words sounding as if they were rolling over jagged stones.
A small woman being swallowed by an oversized green army jacket held out a thumbs up from behind a giant camera. Brett ran up beside him, the clipboard in one hand, the axe I cut my finger on in the other. He looked towards us, that warm friendly smile from the office parking lot unmoving.
The sound of a throat clearing startled me and I looked back, ready for the next horror. Standing over us was an attractive man in a smart charcoal coat. He smiled down at me, his perfect teeth a bright white that contrasted sharply with the grey colors surrounding them.
“You guys ready?” He asked, his smooth voice viscous like oil, dripping from his lips.
“Wh-what?” I whimpered, “r-r-ready for what?”
“Places everyone.” The tall man cried from beside the camera and the handsome man looked up towards him, smiling that dazzling smile.
“Camera rolling?”
“Rolling.” The woman said.
“Ac-tion.” The word was spoken meticulously, the man relishing every inch of it.
The handsome man looked down at us, “what do you guys think of the new 2018 Meridian?” He asked enthusiastically, gesturing to the car.
I looked at the car, then to the camera, then back to the handsome man with the white smile.
“Cut!” The tall man yelled. He bent down to pick something up. I screamed as he stood, a crowbar hanging loosely in his grip. He began to walk towards us, his heavy boots crunching the pine needles and leaves beneath him. I turned away, preparing to stand and run when I saw Bob watching me. His arms were crossed and a smile slowly formed on his thick lips. My knee twinged with pain.
No running. I thought. There won’t be any running.
The tall man reached us and slowly knelt down so that he was eye to eye with us. He rested his weight on one knee and snarled, the crowbar resting on the ground beside him, his fingers lightly tracing its sides.
“Don’t. Look. At. The camera.” He growled. He stood stiffly, raised the crowbar, and swung it down onto my outstretched foot. The pain tore through my bone and muscle, electricity shooting through my body as I screamed in agony. The tall man walked back to the camera. I sobbed as I looked to my leg. Bone jutted out from torn flesh, as white as the handsome man’s teeth. I tried to scream but the sound that emitted was pained and small, my voice no longer functioning. Henry hugged me closer, and I tried to swallow, to give my throat some relief, any relief, but my mouth was dry.
“Ready?” The tall man asked again. There was no answer. “Action!” He said, the word chopped short.
“Henry, Claire, what are your thoughts on the new 2018 Meridian?” The smooth voice asked from behind us.
I turned to look back at the man, who never stopped smiling at me. “W-why?” I choked, barely audible.
“What was that, Claire?” The man held his hand behind his ear, “I didn’t catch that.” He dropped his hand and gestured towards the SUV, “what are your thoughts on the new Meridian?”
“I… I…” My voice caught as more tears forced their way from my eyes. I couldn’t speak without sobbing, so instead I simply nodded, hoping to somehow make this torture end.
The handsome man stepped around us, careful to avoid my injured foot, and walked towards the car.
“Well, what’s a family SUV without family?” He pulled the back door open with a flourish.
My blood curdling scream filled the quiet air around me, piercing high into the sky. Four faces starred out from the inside of the car. I screamed again as their eyes widened in recognition. My mother, father, sister, and brother-in-law began to squirm and pull against the chains binding them to the seats. Their cries were muffled by dirty rags wrapped around their mouths. My niece, only five years old, was slumped over in one of the seats, completely unconscious. I tried to focus, to see if her chest was rising and falling, but I couldn’t tell. Bruises and cuts lined their faces, their skin only clean of blood and dirt where rivers of tears had washed them away.
Before I knew it I was standing, all my weight on my good foot, my good knee. Bob’s arms were wrapped around my waist as I struggled, flailing my arms wildly. I slapped and punched his solid mass, desperately trying to push myself forward while his meaty arms held me back.
The last thing I remember is something hard falling against the back of my head and the world going black.
I woke up in a hospital room yesterday with a mild concussion, a dislocated knee, and a shattered foot. They say I was found outside the doors of the emergency room early in the morning, bloodied and unconscious. I’ve repeated this story numerous times to the police, who are still searching for my family. I pray they are still alive.
The nurses are kind. One of them tried to wash my clothes for me, but the police took them in as evidence. They were able to give me back my wallet though. All my cards and receipts were still there, even the Christmas check from my grandparents that I still hadn’t cashed. As I looked through my wallet, the familiarity of it comforting me slightly, I noticed that one of the card pockets felt oddly thick. I pulled forward at my credit card and found a small, folded up note behind it.
“I don’t expect you to understand, but they promised me fame. I’m sorry and I hope you’ll forgive me one day. I love you, babe.
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A monster that licks Popes? It's astounding that you have 475 pages of data on something with such awfully specific criteria!
BUCKLE UP, DUSTY,THINGS ARE GONNA GET POPE LICKY.
FIRST THING the PopeLick Monster is actually named after POPE LICK CREEK inMetro Louisville, Kentucky, and the POPE LICK TRESTLE, the 90ft tallrailroad bridge the creature is purported to live under. This is thebridge!! First is 1904, second is TODAY (well, okay, 2011.)
The Pope family wereREALLY BIG in 19th century Kentucky, and the best info we havesuggests that the creek was named after JOHN POPE, the thirdterritorial governor of Arkansas! He had one arm and three wives (notat the same time.) But this ISN’T ABOUT HIM. Also the trestlepasses over a little river, or ‘lick,’ so that’s the best leadwe have on the origins of the name!
People say the PopeLick Monster has the upper body of a REALLY PALE guy with wide-seteyes and goat horns, and the legs of a goat. Or a sheep! They sayit’s an escaped circus freak or a farmer who sacrificed his goatsto SATAN, or maybe a human-goat hybrid (which is biologicallyimpossible for a whole bunch of reasons including the fact thathumans have 46 chromosomes and goats have 60 but okay.) It’ssupposed to lure people out onto the trestle and then force them toleap to their deaths, or drop right off the bridge and land on carspassing underneath on Pope Lick Road. Other versions claim it has agiant rusty axe, or that it holds people down on the traintracksuntil they get run over! They say it can imitate a train whistle, itwails and screams, and it might have HYPNOTIC POWERS.
THIS IS NOT A REAL PHOTOGRAPH. WE DON’T HAVE ANY OF THOSE YET.
This is where thingsget kinda frustrating because it’s an urban legend so there’s awhole lot of ‘People say…’ and ‘It is said that…’ and I’mlike, WHO SAID THAT. WHEN. WHAT’S THEIR EMAIL BC I HAVE QUESTIONS.
Um, okay, what we doknow. We have a lot of anecdotal evidence dating back to the 1940sabout the Pope Lick Goatman or Monster or Sheepman. Several sourcessay an entire Boy Scout troupe in the 50s/60s camped out near thetrestle and were attacked in the middle of the night by a hairy creature that shrieked and threw rocks at them and may or may not have just been a really antisocial naked hobo guy, but I can’t findany information other than a bunch of people saying it happened, so,again, legend. We have claims of cattle mutilations and sightings ofthe monster leaping across the road in front of cars, and WeirdKentucky cites a guy called Doug Oller who says his grandfather saw a‘screaming devil jumping a fence, grabbing two full-grown pigs andjumping off with them.’
Unfortunately noneof the 17 Doug or Douglas Ollers in the Metro-Louiseville phonebooksare taking my calls anymore, so I can’t substantiate that claimyet.
Here’s wherethings get SERIOUS. The trestle is 772ft long, and at least 4 peoplehave died trying to cross it. In 1987 Jack Bahm, 17, and DavidBryant, 19, tried to cross the bridge. Bahm was killed on impact withthe train and Bryant jumped, dying later of his injuries. In 2000Nicholas Jewell, 19, died in a fall from the trestle trying to avoidthe train. In 2016 Roquel Bain, 26, climbed out onto the bridgespecifically LOOKING for the Pope Lick monster and got hit by thetrain AND fell off the bridge. People say the monster lures monsterhunters and thrill-seeking teenagers out onto the bridge with itsTELEPATHIC powers, but it seems like most of the time the only thingthat tempts people into climbing onto the bridge is the LEGENDITSELF. Kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I guess. The factis, Pope Lick Monster or no Pope Lick Monster, the trestle is toolong to escape if you’re surprised by a train.
So… YEAH. Actualdemon haunting backwoods Kentucky? Scary hobo guy throwing rocks atBoy Scouts? Lethal yet non-paranormal psychological trap?? IMPROBABLYGROSS GENETIC MUTATION? We JUST DON’T KNOW. Since the 1980s thebase of the trestle is protected by an 8-foot fence and a ton of‘DANGER’ and ‘KEEP OUT’ signs but, come on, when has thatever stopped dedicated monster hunters? Or teenagers. The answer isNEVER, I should know because I’M BOTH.
There was anindependent movie, ‘The Legend Of The Pope Lick Monster’ and astage play/film, ‘The Trestle At Pope Lick Creek.’ The monster evenhas its own Facebook page. And THIS SHIRT, which I kind of NEED.
If you want the full 190minute video presentation with slides that I originally made for myYoutube channel, PM me. I just need to make sure you’re not goingto share it with anyone who’s going to speed up my voice so I soundlike a crazy chipmunk and put stupid circus music over it, because that’sa precaution I need to take, apparently.
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25/03/2016
The Woman in the Dunes, Kobo Abe
Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
The Jolly Postman or Other Peoples Letters, Janet & Allan Ahlberg
The Wolves Of Willoughby Chase, Joan Aiken
The Wanderer, Alain-Fournier
Commedia, Dante Alighieri
Skellig, David Almond
The President, Miguel Angel Asturias
Alcools, Guillaume Apollinaire
It's Not About The Bike - My Journey Back to Life, Lance Armstrong
Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood
Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach
Go Tell It on the Mountain, James Baldwin
The Ghost Road, Pat Barker
Carrie's War, Nina Bawden
Molloy; Malone Dies; The Unnamable, Samuel Beckett
Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett
The Adventures of Augie March, Saul Bellow
G, John Berger
Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
Mister Magnolia, Quentin Blake
Forever, Judy Blume
The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
Five On A Treasure Island, Enid Blyton
The Enchanted Wood, Enid Blyton
A Bear Called Paddington, Michael Bond
Ficciones, Jorge Luis Borges
The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, John Boyne
The Snowman, Raymond Briggs
Flat Stanley, Jeff Brown
Gorilla, Anthony Browne
The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
The Pilgrim's Progress, John Bunyan
A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess
Junk, Melvin Burgess
Would You Rather?, John Burningham
The Soft Machine, William S. Burroughs
The Way of All Flesh, Samuel Butler
Possession, A.S. Byatt
The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, Italo Calvino
Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino
The Stranger, Albert Camus
Oscar and Lucinda, Peter Carey
Nights at the Circus, Angela Carter
Looking For JJ, Anne Cassidy
Journey to the End of the Night, Louis-Ferdinand Céline
Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China, Jung Chang
Papillon, Henri Charriere
The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
"Clarice Bean, That's Me", Lauren Child
I Will Not Ever Never Eat a Tomato, Lauren Child
Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Pierre Choderlos de Laclos
Disgrace, J.M. Coetzee
Waiting for the Barbarians, J.M Coetzee
Princess Smartypants, Babette Cole
Nostromo, Joseph Conrad
The Public Burning, Robert Coover
Millions, Frank Cottrell Boyce
The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
That Rabbit Belongs To Emily Brown, Cressida Cowell
House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
The Black Sheep, Honoré de Balzac
Old Man Goriot, Honoré de Balzac
The Second Sex, Simone de Beavoir
The Story of Babar, Jean De Brunhoff
The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
White Noise, Don DeLillo
Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion
Sybil, Benjamin Disraeli
Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy, Lynley Dodd
The 42nd Parallel, John Dos Passos
The Brothers Karamzov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
An American Tragedy, Theodore Drieser
The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco
My Naughty Little Sister, Dorothy Edwards
Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison
The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
The Siege of Krishnapur, J.G Farrell
The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner
"Absalom, Absalom!", William Faulkner
Light in August, William Faulkner
Take it or Leave It, Raymond Federman
Magician, Raymond E. Feist
Flour Babies, Anne Fine
Madam Bovary, Gustav Flaubert
A Passage to India, E. M. Forster
The Diary of a Young Girl, Anne Frank
Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon
That Awful Mess on the Via Merulala, Carlo Emilio Gadda
JR, William Gaddis
The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman
One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
Maggot Moon, Sally Gardner
The Owl Service, Alan Garner
In the Heart of the Heart of the Country & Other Stories, William H. Gass
Coram Boy, Jamila Gavin
Once, Morris Gleitzman
The Conservationist, Nadine Gordimer
Asterix The Gaul, Rene Goscinny
The Tin Drum, Günter Grass
Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
Little Mouse's Big Book of Fears, Emily Gravett
Lanark, Alasdair Gray
The Quiet American, Graham Greene
Life and Fate, Vasily Grossman
The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time, Mark Haddon
Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy
The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway
The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway
The Blue Lotus, Hergé
The Adventures Of Tintin, Hergé
The Glass Bead Game, Herman Hesse
Where's Spot?, Eric Hill
The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
The Odyssey, Homer
High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
Dogger, Shirley Hughes
Journey To The River Sea, Eva Ibbotson
Little House In The Big Woods, Laura Ingalls Wilder
A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
Goodbye to Berlin, Christopher Isherwood
The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James
The Ambassadors, Henry James
Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
Lost and Found, Oliver Jeffers
The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
The Tiger Who Came To Tea, Judith Kerr
One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
In Praise of Hatred, Khaled Khalifa
Gate of the Sun, Elias Khoury
It, Stephen King
The Queen's Nose, Dick King-Smith
The Sheep-Pig, Dick King-Smith
Diary Of A Wimpy Kid, Jeff Kinney
Kim, Rudyard Kipling
I Want My Hat Back, Jon Klassen
Darkness at Noon, Arthur Koestler
The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
The Milly-Molly-Mandy Storybook, Joyce Lankerster Brisley
Women in Love, D.H. Lawrence
Seven Pillars of Wisdom, T.E Lawrence
A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle
The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing
Tristes Tropiques, Claude Lévi-Strauss
Pippi Longstocking, Astrid Lindgren
The Call of the Wild, Jack London
Nightmare Abbey, Thomas Love Peacock
Under the Volcano, Malcolm Lowry
The Good Soldier, Ford Madox Ford
The Cairo Trilogy, Naguib Mahfouz
The Naked and the Dead, Norman Mailer
Man's Fate, Andre Malraux
The Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann
Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
The Kite Rider, Geraldine McCaughrean
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers
"Not Now, Bernard", David McKee
Tent Boxing: An Australian Journey, Wayne McLennan
No One Sleeps in Alexandria, Ibrahim Abdel Meguid
A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
Private Peaceful, Michael Morpurgo
Beloved, Toni Morrison
Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
Under the Net, Iris Murdoch
The Worst Witch, Jill Murphy
Pale Fire, Vladimir Nabokov
A Bend in the River, V.S Naipaul
Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston
A Monster Calls, Patrick Ness
The Knife Of Never Letting Go, Patrick Ness
The Borrowers, Mary Norton
Master And Commander, Patrick O'Brian
The Silent Cry, Kenzaburo Oe
My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk
Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
The Truth, Terry Pratchett
Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
Truckers, Terry Pratchett
Life: An Exploded Diagram, Mal Prett
Paroles, Jacques Prévert
The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust
The Ruby In The Smoke, Philip Pullman
Eugene Onegin, Alexander Pushkin
Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon
Live and Remember, Valentin Rasputin
Witch Child, Celia Rees
Mortal Engines, Philip Reeve
Clarissa: Or the History of a Young Lady, Samuel Richardson
How I Live Now, Meg Rosoff
I Want My Potty!, Tony Ross
Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Roth
The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
Holes, Louis Sachar
Blindness, Jose Saramango
Being and Nothingness, Jean-Paul Sartre
Nausea, Jean-Paul Sartre
Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald
Revolver, Marcus Sedgwick
Where The Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak
The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
Katherine, Anya Seton
Come over to My House, Dr Seuss
Daisy-Head Mayzie, Dr Seuss
Great Day for Up!, Dr Seuss
Hooray for Diffendoofer Day!, Dr Seuss
Horton and the Kwuggerbug and More Lost Stories, Dr Seuss
Hunches in Bunches, Dr Seuss
I Am NOT Going to Get Up Today!, Dr Seuss
I Can Lick 30 Tigers Today! and Other Stories, Dr Seuss
I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew, Dr Seuss
My Book about ME, Dr Seuss
My Many Colored Days, Dr Seuss
"Oh, the Thinks You Can Think!", Dr Seuss
On Beyond Zebra!, Dr Seuss
The Bippolo Seed and Other Lost Stories, Dr Seuss
The Butter Battle Book, Dr Seuss
The Cat's Quizzer, Dr Seuss
The Pocket Book of Boners, Dr Seuss
The Seven Lady Godivas, Dr Seuss
The Shape of Me and Other Stuff, Dr Seuss
What Pet Should I Get?, Dr Seuss
You're Only Old Once!, Dr Seuss
Dr Seuss's Book of Bedtime Stories, Dr Seuss
Special shapes: A flip-the-flap book, Dr Seuss
Dizzy days: A flip-the-flap book, Dr Seuss
The Tale of Genji, Murasaki Shikibu
A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
"The Gulag Archipelago, 1918-1956: An Experiment in Literary Investigation", Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Memento Mori, Muriel Spark
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Muriel Spark
Heidi, Johanna Spyri
The Making of Americans, Gertrude Stein
The Charterhouse of Parma, Stendhal
"The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman", Laurence Sterne
Driving Over Lemons: An Optimist in Andalucia, Chris Stewart
Goosebumps, R.L. Stine
Ballet Shoes, Noel Streatfeild
The Home and the World, Rabindranath Tagore
The Arrival, Shaun Tan
The Secret History, Donna Tartt
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain
Froth on the Daydream, Boris Vian
Creation, Gore Vidal
Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut
The Color Purple, Alice Walker
Scoop, Evelyn Waugh
The War Of The Worlds, H.G. Wells
The Time Machine, H.G Wells
The Once And Future King, T.H. White
Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
The Code of the Woosters, P.G. Wodehouse
Native Son, Richard Wright
Going Native, Stephen Wright
The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
The Dream of the Red Chamber, Cao Xueqin
Red Sorghum: A Novel of China, Mo Yan
Revolutionary Road, Richard Yates
We, Yevgeny Zamyatin
Germinal, Emile Zola
Amazing Grace, Mary Hoffman & Caroline Binch
Horrid Henry, Francesca Simon & Tony Ross
Meg And Mog, Helen Nicholls & Jan Pienkowski
Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes, Mem Fox & Helen Oxenbury
The Elephant And The Bad Baby, Elfrida Vipont & Raymond Briggs
The True Story Of The Three Little Pigs, Jon Scieszka & Lane Smith
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When spying from the outside, Little Marie had often wondered what the inside of a witch's house looked like. She had pictured some dark, dirty and scary place and was very surprised when the witch showed her to a warm little living room. The place was crowded and yet very clean, without any sign of carelessness. There were several closets and shelves covered in items Little Mary could barely see the use of. Candles lighted the room, here and there. A crystal ball and several piles of cards were set in the middle of a round table the witch and the child had to edge past. Colorful rocks and crystals were sitting on the only windowsill in the room, taking the light filtered by a tracery of ivy vines. On the opposite side of the room, a peaceful fire glowed in the fireplace under a dried flower crown. A black sheep skin was on the floor, between two old armchairs. Little Mary noticed a pair of stools next to the hearth.
The witch made Mary sit in one of the armchairs, close to the fire, so she could warm up. "Take off your clothes," she said. "I'll find something for you to wear until they are dry."
Little Mary didn't really want to be naked in a witch's home, but her host disappeared upstairs before she could object. I'll keep my underwear, she decided before obeying.
She folded and placed her clothes and shoes on one of the stools, as close as possible to the fire, then sat back into the chair, reaching out towards the flames to warm up as she looked around curiously. Suddenly, she heard a growl and turned around to look. Unable to see because of the back of the chair, she curled up on herself and, her fear swollen from the delay, shyly peaked over the armrest.
Her eyes grew wide with terror. Three huge wolves had walked in, lined up, silent, teeth bared, sniffing around like they were looking for something. Her, that's what they were looking for! Little Mary immediately sunk back into her chair and tried not to make and sound, biting her tongue to hold her terrified sobs back. Maybe the witch would come back soon to rescue her. The child realized almost immediately that these wolves were probably the witch's, the ones she raised to devour intruders. Maybe she had even sent them to kill her. Little Mary felt tears sting her eyelids and blinks them away. One of them rolled over her cheek.
Another growl sounded nearby. Little Mary curled up on herself even more and risked a look on her right. She met eyes as dark as night, a muzzle on the watch and sharp, shiny teeth. The wolf was eying her hungrily, greedily, mouth open and tongue sticking out. The two others were right behind, ready to catch her if she tried to run. Mary let out a terrified little whine but couldn't move a muscle. Curiosity was going to kill her after all.
Seconds went by, her eyes trapped by the wolf's gaze. It wasn't attacking, but Mary didn't relax just yet. She needed a whole minute to realize the beast wasn't growling anymore, and another to see its teeth were covered, its tail was wagging, and it didn't look threatening anymore, just surprised and happy. The child didn't understand. The two other wolves started growling louder, but the first one scolded them, like it was defending the little girl. And slowly, as it stepped closer to the chair in a protective posture, Mary noticed it was changing.
Its fur was partly reducing, showing the light brown skin underneath. Its muzzle shortened, a face formed, fingers grew out of its paws, and the creature that wasn't really a wolf anymore, but not quite a human yet, stood up on its strange hairy legs to face its two comrades. The two other wolves stopped growling and looking down, almost shamefully. So the wolf man turned to the child still curled up in her armchair, kneeled down and gently took her hand.
He didn't say a word, but his almost human face triggered a still painful memory in Little Mary's heart. At first, she didn't dare to believe it, or to even think of it. But the wolf man was watching her with dark, insistent, penetrating eyes and Mary couldn't look away. After a long while, she eventually opened her mouth and breathed : "Jo?"
The man nodded with a moved smile. Little Mary felt something swell painfully inside her chest. She felt like her heart was about to burst. She reached out shaking hands towards her best friend and let herself fall forward, unable to stand on her knees. He held her close, and since the armrest had the nerve to stand between them, he stood and took her into his arms, just the way he did when he was still the young shepherd taking her to church every day. Little Mary was crying crocodile tears, almost screaming her friend's name, babbling happy and confused words to which he only responded by holding her closer. The two other wolves watched, unmoving, in the corner.
"Hey, hey! What are you doing to our guest, you savage!" the witch yelled as she ran down the stairs.
Jo jumped when he heard her arrive and stepped back without letting go of the little girl drying her tears in his fur. He started making little whining sounds, like a dog getting beaten with a stick.
"Oh, shut up and drop her, now!" she said threateningly.
Reluctantly, Jo hunched over the armchair to let Little Mary down, as the girl had to convince herself to let go as well. He moved away obediently when the witch took his place by the chair.
"Did he hurt you, child? Tell me what he did, that animal."
"No, no," Mary managed to say with her throat still tight. She explained the witch what had happened and who Jo was, trying very hard to recover from such an emotional reunion. The witch listened, her brow furrowed, glancing sternly at the sheepish wolf man from time to time.
Mary didn't understand why the witch was being so strict with him, or why she had separated them like this, why Jo had become a wolf among the witch's wolves, and as she started asking her questions, half falling back into a sobbing fit, the witch said "Sh-sh-sh-sh, child. Let's get you dried, we'll talk afterwards."
She had brought back from the upper floor an old brown wool dress and a towel. She first covered her up with said towel before glaring at the two wolves patiently watching them both. "Instead of peaking, you two, go outside and milk the cow for me, that'll calm you down!" she ordered.
The wolves whined but eventually got up and left the room. Little Mary heard a door slam shut on the other side of the cottage, then nothing. The witch helped her out of the rest of her clothes and dried her vigorously with the towel before putting the old dress on her. The thing was too big and feel down to her feet. Mary started feeling better and thanked her. Jo was standing next to the fireplace, staring at the floor, hands behind his back.
"Come on, here, dummy," the witch told him once Mary was decent. "I'll allow you to touch her, but I'm warning you: if I see a single hair out of place, you are sleeping outside tonight."
Jo walked forth, ears flat on his scalp, tail between his legs, and reached a hesitating hand towards his young friend. Little Mary didn't bother as much and, like the first time, hugged the shepherd as hard as she could. The witch took advantage of that to lay her clothes in front of the fireplace.
"I missed you so much, Jo!" Little Mary chirped. "Just wait until Lia learns you are alive! You have to tell me everything that happened! Why are you a wolf? Please, answer me!" Unfortunately, as much as she asked, Jo didn't say a word. "What's the matter? Can't you speak, Jo?" Little Mary asked and Jo sadly shook his head. "Oh, my poor Jo! No matter, you're alive." And hugging her friend even closer, she asked the witch. "Pardon me ma'am, but could you tell me why my friend is mute?"
"Because he's a wolf," the witch replied, shrugging.
"Then why is he a wolf?"
"I don't know if you're ready to hear that answer, child."
At this point, Little Mary heard a door open on the other side of the cottage and two wolf men, the witch's wolves, came in carrying a bucket of warm milk. Mary didn't recognize their faces. One of them took two cups out of a closet and they gave all of that to the witch before sitting submissively by the fireplace, each on a stool. The witch poured the milk into the cups, then open a cupboard and threw some spices into each one, muttering something under her breath.
Finally, she gave Mary a cup of warm milk and sat down in the armchair in front of her, with the other cup. Mary didn't want to be impolite, but she was pretty sure it wasn't wise to drink something a witch had given her and she was watching her drink, wondering what she could do.
The witch, as if reading her thought, snickered. "You're clever, Child. You are right not to drink something from a stranger. Here, look." She took Little Mary's cup and poured some of her milk into her own cup. Then she poured some of the milk back so they had the same amount again and gave it back to her. "Are you feeling safer, Child?"
Mary nodded sheepishly before drinking. The milk was both sweet and spicy and tasted wonderful, she had never tried anything like this. She smiled at the witch but one of the two wolf men by the fireplace suddenly turned back into a wolf and fell from his stool with a pitiful moan. The witch looked daggers at him and showed him the door.
"Out. You are sleeping in the stables tonight."
The wolf obeyed, head low, and Mary, as she watched him leave, felt upset about how strict the witch treated her wolves. "That poor man! He didn't do anything wrong! It's not fair!"
"Oh, really?" said the witch, sending her a mocking smile over her cup.
"Yes, I think," Mary replied, slightly puzzled by her reaction.
"What did he do, exactly?"
"He fell from his chair."
"Go on?"
"Uh…" Mary scratched her head, not knowing where the witch was going. "He turned into a wolf."
"Why did he turn into a wolf? Do you know?"
Mary stopped for a moment. She did not know. "Maybe he didn't mean to."
"He did not. But you don't know why he transformed." Mary shook her head and the witch snickered again. "You are judging me without knowing what I know, because I know why my wolves change, and that's why I treat them the way I do. As long as you don't know the truth, your judgement is wrong."
Mary thought about the witch's words and said "You are the one who wouldn't answer me earlier, though."
The witch smiled, nodding. "Are you sure you wish to know the truth, Child? It could very well be unpleasant to you."
"I want to know," Little Mary said with confidence, and the witch laughed.
"You are curious, Child."
"Yes," Mary sighed.
"That's good," said the witch, and Mary looked at her with stunned eyes. "Curiosity leads to discovery, and discovery leads to progress. I'll tell you my story."
Everything had started as Father Hugh had been nominated as the village's priest. The previous one had just died after attacking the witch, who already lived by the village, one time too many. If Father Hugh had one good trait, it was that he wasn't stupid enough to risk his life killing a witch, as powerful and dangerous as she may be. After all, as long as you didn't get in her way, you could almost forget that she was there.
Almost, which meant sometimes, without any known reason, she would curse a farmer's harvest, poison a flock of sheep, or force a merchant to leave the town with horns or hooves. People would fear her greatly, for they wouldn't know she wasn't doing this out of nothing. Don't they always think witches torment mortals because they enjoy laughing at others' misery? The truth was that the witch was watching attentively the villager's actions, and only punished unpunished crimes, or at least the ones she considered to be bad enough.
"Why didn't you just explain the villagers theirs faults?" Mary interrupted.
"I tried of course, when I was young. Talk isn't enough, Child, everyone isn't as well-meaning as you. Criminals know what is right or wrong, that's why they are criminal : because they still choose to commit the crime."
Unfortunately, the villagers that didn't understand the reason for the witch's wrath were scared and complained to the priest who, after a while, had to actually find a solution. Father Hugh then had the idea of meeting her one day, to talk to her, and instead of chasing her away, offered her a deal. Since she wanted to spread her own justice, she could cast one curse that would put true criminals under her power and keep them from harming anyone. However, all honest people had to be safe from her and those she cursed, she wouldn't cast any more spells on the village. In exchange, Father Hugh promised her peace and total power over the ones that had been a threat to the village.
So she had accepted, and ever since, every person that was a certain danger for the villagers, every person that voluntarily chose to kill, to harm, to torture, would take an appearance showing their lack of humanity: one of a beast, a giant black wolf, that would however be incapable of harming innocent people, according to the deal she passed with the priest. Some would become mad, indulge in their own animality and become a prey to the hunters. Others would be horrified and flee to the forest where she would find them and hide them in her cottage, until the day they would be able to regain their lost humanity.
"Thankfully, little people here are bad to the point they have to be cursed," the witch promised.
"So that means Jo did something so bad he had to become a monster?"
Jo nodded sadly and Mary felt her heart clench. How could her best friend, this nice young shepherd her parents trusted with her since she was born, have done anything this awful?
"Actually," the witch said. "My curse affect people who've lost their morality to the point of deciding on committing their crime. Your friend never actually did anything, but he had decided on doing something that made him a threat for the village."
"And what could he have wanted to do that was so horrible?"
The witch hesitated a little before answering, glancing at poor Jo who was begging with his eyes, sitting at Little Mary's feet like a faithful dog. "Something I cannot yet reveal to you, Child."
"Why?"
"Because it's something not everyone is able to understand or forgive, and because even if he had such a thought, your friend can still be human again. You see, my wolves can only leave their animal form if they can control their desire to harm. And in return, if they have any bad intentions, they immediately turn back into a wolf. That's why I made that idiot leave, earlier."
Mary looked at the wolf man sitting close to her and kissed him on the top of his head, between the ears. "It's fine, you will tell me what happened, some day. And I know I will be able to forgive you anything."
And Jo whined sadly, looking down. At that point the witch had gotten up to go watch behind the window's ivy screen, and she told her : "The rain has stopped and it's getting late. You should leave, but do you understand the situation better, Child?"
Little Mary stood from her seat and left her empty cup on a table. "Oh yes, ma'am, thank you for telling me! And I…" Little Mary hesitated, but the witch pressed her on. "I'm happy I met you and I… Can I come to see you again? You, Jo and the other wolves?"
The witch laughed. "You are a good girl, Child, and I don't have a lot of visits. If you enjoy spending time with an old crone, my door is open."
Then, the witch helped Mary dress up again, walked her back to the front door and watched her go home with a satisfied face.
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