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usedpidemo · 2 years

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Confide (fromis_9 Gyuri)

“Thanks for letting me come over. Um—” Jang Gyuri touches her index fingers together, cheeks burning red from shyness, while she walks around the dumpster house that is your living room. She tiptoes around the filthy junkyard that is your apartment, avoiding the soda puddles and junk food scraps that lie in the open for ants to scrap. “Sorry for ruining your Saturday night. I promise, this wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday night either.”

God. You feel just as embarrassed, if not more than she does.

Sometimes, you forget that Gyuri is an idol, a celebrity, a larger than life figure in the eyes of the general public. It’s almost like you’re ruining her image by her simply being there — a dirty, unclean apartment that belongs to someone barely hanging on financially. Thank goodness it’s on the sixth floor of a random building placed in a random place in the city. You’d drop to your knees in complete shame should those Dispatch cameras find someone like her hanging around a ‘peasant’ like you.

Marie Kondo will probably file a lawsuit against you if she sees how awful your flat looks.

Though she might be larger than life, Gyuri is still your friend — even if you don’t communicate as much because of her idol schedules anymore. So when she called you an hour earlier asking for your place, you didn’t hesitate in the slightest to offer yours. She confided in you the most and would share her feelings and ask for your comfort. There’s something she sees in you that she’d look for you for support rather than with her members.

“Sure, anything for my friend,” you say cheerfully while you hurriedly dust and sweep the floor — as if she didn’t give you an hour's headstart when she sent that text. She doesn’t appear bothered by it, but man, it makes you look apathetic when she’s dressed like a star in contrast to your simple homely shirt and shorts.

“Do you want anything? Food? Drinks? I still have some lasagna and chicken—”

“It’s okay.” Gyuri lifts her hand in refusal, flashing a cute, humble smile at you and presenting her trademark eye smile. “No need to make me feel any better; you’ve already done more than enough by letting me in. I’ll just watch TV and sleep on the couch.”

You’re worried. Her tone sounds so gloomy and downcast. A few times in the past she’s called you over the phone to express her problems, but this is different. There has to be a reason why she personally wanted to see you, but you don’t know what it might be.

Putting down your broom and dustpan, you approach her casually laying on the sofa. She casually kicks off her heels to free her congested feet.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. “What happened?”

She tilts her eyes up from the screen toward yours, curling her lips in a grumpy, sour expression. “What happened? Oh, it’s nothing. You don’t need to hear it.”

Strange. She would immediately spill the tea whenever you asked. Whatever it is, she must have been deeply hurt by it.

“I’m your friend, Gyul.” Drop to your knees to lower yourself to her level. “Whatever it is, I won’t ever tell anyone. Only I would know how you truly feel.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows, her tone changing from despondent to joy. “Are you sure, though? It’s quite a lot.”

You reassure her with a bright, wide grinned smile. “No, nothing is quite a lot for my friend. I have all the time in the world to listen to you.”

Your answer raises her spirit. Of course there’s a reason why you’re her confidant, and more importantly, her best friend.

“Okay.” Gyuri slides her legs off the couch, freeing up space for you to join her. “Sit here. I want to tell you everything.”

Without hesitation, you set yourself down on the opposite side of the couch, ears perking, ready to listen to everything that she has to say.

Gyuri takes a deep breath, averting direct eye contact with you. You solemnly observe her as she tries to make herself comfortable. The tears in her eyes tell you that whatever she’s been through is still a fresh memory — an open cut in her heart.

After a few minutes of crying, you try to grab a tissue and get up, but you feel a sudden tug on your arm. Gyuri’s own hand is pulling you back.

“Don’t.”

And that’s all she needs to say. You rejoin her on the sofa with a concerned look, then wrap yourself around her in a warm, comforting embrace. It takes a little bit before she eases into your hug and rests her head on your shoulder. The sight of a broken Gyuri, sniffling and sobbing like a baby almost makes you want to cry too—but you can’t.

Be strong. Be strong for her. Those words repeat in your head like a chant.

To hide the pain gradually seeping, you retreat behind shut eyes, pulling her even deeper into your clasp as she shares her pain with you. It doesn't matter how long it will take, there’s no way you’ll let her go until she ultimately feels better.

Eventually, the sniffles quiet down, and you feel a small shove on your chest. Gyuri releases herself from your embrace, rubbing a finger on her nose and flashing that trademark eye smile a second time.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I needed that so badly. Thank you.”

No words can be adequate to respond to that, so you simply flash a soft grin, mimicking her trademark eye smile that elicits a giggle from Gyuri. You’re also met by a quick, playful elbow to the belly in retaliation.

“God, you really know how to make me feel better,” she says with a chuckle.

“You’re my friend, Gyul.” you repeat what you said earlier. “I’m here for you. Always.”

—————

“Damn, I can’t believe he’d do that to you,” you say with utter disbelief as you stare at the phone in her hand. On the screen there’s an endless stream of texts from her boyfriend, Jeonghan. Except he’s her ex-boyfriend now.

“Yeah, and just imagine how many times he’d done this.” Her fingers slide to show more texts from the dismissive punk, Jeonghan. Even though they’re laid out differently, the meaning and simplicity remains the same.

> Stuck at work. Can’t make it.

> Sorry babe; another day.

> 🧡🙏

“Tonight was our sixth month anniversary too,” she continues, scrolling downward to her more recent exchanges with him. “We had it all planned out weeks in advance. I bought this beautiful dress because he liked it so much, and I booked him his favorite restaurant because we never had the opportunity to eat there together. Fuck, there’s a two month waiting list to get in!”

The more details she drops, the angrier her inflection grows. Even as you glance toward her, those furrowed eyebrows and steely glare show frustration even just thinking about it; how much more verbally speaking about it and looking at the evidence?

Her fingers stop at a certain time point. 8:29 p.m., the breaking point of their relationship.

> Hey, where are u babe? I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes now :)

> I gotta bail. Lots of paperwork and the boss is expecting results by tomorrow.

> See you later tonight?

She directs her index a little further down, focusing on her subsequent exchange back at him.

> Not a chance, dipshit. This is the last straw. Fuck you. We’re done.

“Just look at the audacity of this shit,” she grumbles, skimming through the rest of the conversation quickly. Bubbles and paragraphs from his side that are fruitless in salvaging whatever is left between the two of them. “He’s said more words to me through text in five minutes than what he’s said to me within the past two weeks.”

“I mean, what the hell does any of this even mean?” Gyuri shrugs her shoulders in disgust. Her sarcastic tone makes it apparent that he’s spewing total bullshit over the phone, and she’s completely appalled by his consistent failings as a boyfriend. “Trying to impress the boss? I guess his boss is more important than his girlfriend. Sorry I don’t sign your paychecks, buddy, but I have something to offer too, you know? Like, my bad I’m not a walking dollar sign!”

Her jokes elicit a small cackle out of you. That’s when she’s at her best—when she’s poking fun at the current situation, no matter how bad it may be.

“God, why is he such a damn workaholic?” she continues, expressing lament at getting into someone like him. “He cares way too much about work to even remember me. He missed my birthday dinner for work. He skipped out on our Valentine’s date so he could secure the partnership with those foreign investors. I don’t even remember when was the last time we kissed anymore. Maybe New Years?”

A sudden stop. Then, she wistfully sighs.

“He kisses his boss’s ass more than he kisses me.”

“Gyul…” You reach out your hand to hold hers, which she allows you.

The emotional rollercoaster continues, going from sullen to confident. “Well, I guess he can kiss my ass too.”

Dead silence follows for a few minutes. You expect her to break down in tears a second time, but she doesn’t. It’s a moment of quiet contemplation and rumination—one so that she can be firm at her decision to finally end things with her boyfriend. She doesn’t let go of your hand all throughout, confidently confiding her feelings to you. In exchange, your wide eyed gaze remains steadfast on her face.

When she speaks again, it seems like there’s still a hint of sorrow.

“I really feel so bitter about tonight. Gosh, it’s so embarrassing to be stood up like that. One year of dealing with his bullshit.” A small tear begins to flow from her eye, which she quickly wipes away with her free hand. “I wanted everything to be perfect. Despite my schedules, I took two days off, had my hair and nails done, and bought this dress that he liked. On top of that, I even complimented it with nice lingerie to surprise him.”

Both your eyes and hers’ look down at the lacy fabric hiding beneath her outfit. For a moment, there’s a rush of blood in the place you least want it to be—until you mentally remind yourself that you’re just friends. You’re there as a source of comfort, not a rebound for her.

“You bought lingerie?” you blurt. That curious side of yours is letting in a bit too much for comfort.

“Yeah,” she scans herself and even pulls a bit at the oppressive hem to give you a little more for your eyes to feast on. “Still have it on, too. See?”

You nod rapidly like an excitable dog until the red lights flash in your head, once again forcing you to remember that there’s only a thin connection of friendship between you and Gyuri and nothing further. Thankfully, she doesn’t see you comically slap yourself in the cheek to remind you of the fact.

She sighs again. “So much for preparing. Look at me, all dolled-up for nothing.”

Not really. You get the honor of seeing her like this, something that her ungrateful ex-boyfriend of his won’t be able to brag about.

“But yeah, I’m honestly glad to get all of that out of my system. Thanks for letting me ramble.” She turns her gaze toward you with a bright smile. “I’d rather spend my Saturday night with someone like you than crying and eating ice cream like a sorry bitch.”

“Hey, it’s all good. Anything for you to feel better.”

You press your hands between hers to give her warmth and reassurance. What wouldn’t you do to make her happy again whenever she needs it?

“I never really got to say this, but you’re such a great listener. Whenever we talk, I feel like I can actually share things with you. I can freely have a conversation with you, and it feels so refreshing.”

“Really?” you blurt out, surprised as you’re not quite the talker, nor do you provide anything beyond surface-level advice when it comes to friends, and as close as you two are, Gyuri is no exception. “I’m just…here.”

“And that’s more than enough,” she replies, leaning her face close to yours. You suddenly feel incredibly tense, almost uncomfortable even, but you do nothing to stop her. “Like I said, whenever we talk, you don’t just hear me, but you understand me. Does that make any sense?”

“Um, kinda?” you reluctantly reply, fighting off your honesty with your priority to make her happy. “I sort of get it.”

“Okay, good. I thought I was sounding crazy there,” she says, retracting her head back as you internally breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, and another thing.” You feel your body crash down to the couch as she suddenly pounces onto you like a predator from the bushes.

“Did I mention you’re really good at maintaining eye contact? Almost like you can be an idol too, like me.” she continues with a giggle, laughing at her own joke. “Honestly, I find them attractive. I feel like I can stare into those beautiful eyes of yours forever.”

Your cheeks burn brighter hearing her compliment. She giggles as you awkwardly gaze back with twinkles in your eyes. You’re not sure what to do now: to let those restrained feelings of yours finally manifest, or just allow her to do whatever she wants, but keeping a clear line between your friendship when it’s crossed, and she’s tiptoeing close to that border.

Despite this, the trigger in your brain pulls itself.

“I like your eyes too.”

She flashes that trademark eye smile, sharing in your shyness with cheeks, bright and red as yours.

“You like my eyes? You’re too sweet, thanks.” Her hands caress and squeeze your cheeks like a cat, molding them in her grasp like clay.

“Gosh, you’re so cute.” Gyuri continues to play with your face while you lay beneath her, completely powerless. “I feel like I could kiss you right now.”

If your thought cheeks couldn’t get any redder than the sun, now they are. Little by little, your restraint and willpower is crumbling away, but damn, if you aren’t trying your hardest to withhold yourself from making the first move against her consent.

“Then why don’t you do that?” you mutter.

Her eyes light up and a wide smile forms on her face, as if a light bulb magically appeared above her head.

“You’re right, why wouldn’t I? I’m single, after all.”

She doesn’t waste a second longer. The air around you tightens in a mere instant as her lips capture yours, and you feel as hot as the fucking sun with her weight pressing you down on the couch, her tongue invading your mouth, and her sweet little hum reverberating around your ears. Whatever space is left on that line, Gyuri has completely crossed it and back twice over.

Allowing your senses to relish the new sensation, you slam your eyes shut as you both make out passionately. Her hands roam and explore your body, without care for the obvious discrepancy in the way you’re poorly dressed compared to her—she knows where it will all eventually fall in the end. It doesn’t matter.

It also didn’t matter that you were acting defensive on the outside, knowing well that she was going to break you eventually, or that you were letting on more than she knew. A part of you wanted this to happen, and finally, here she is, letting her whole self onto you—mind, body, and soul as you dreamt of.

“Mmm,” she hums and drones between kisses, the tone bouncing between sweet and sultry. “Mmh, I’m sorry,” she has to talk between love pecks, which you admit, is a little annoying. “IIII-I really don’t know if you like the taste of my lipstick.”

Your response? To push her into your chest and continue making out on the couch. At points, you feel tugs on the fabric of your shirt and skin, while you blindly seek points to pull at her dress. Neither attempts at the other’s clothes result in any material being shed or torn.

Gyuri withdraws her lips from yours and clambers on top of you, using her hands as support on the sofa.

“Wait. Before we do this, I wanna make one thing clear: I’m not doing this to get back at my ex. I have lots of pent up energy I want to release. I also really want you right now.”

You slowly nod, the realization of her intentions slowly passing through your head.

“But I also really want to get back at him,” She lifts her eyebrows, as if demanding your approval for the deed. “Am I still making any sense?”

“Yes?” A form of dread lingers at the back of your mind, assuming that failure to respond within five seconds signals your end. Is this even cheating? But she said she’s single now, so it might be fair after all, or not? Should 24 hours pass before she should have done this?

She dives in for a quick peck of your lips; a small dose of brain juice to get your shit together—or to mess it up entirely.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she says disapprovingly, aware of your inability to give a proper answer. “Let me make it clear, then.” She dives close to your face again, whispering in your ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

She’s not even finished speaking, yet when her tone and demand sends shivers down your spine and raises the hairs all over your body.

“I want you to fuck me,” she repeats, in her most lustful tone. “Fuck me better than he did. I’m all yours tonight.”

You don’t even question that she has had some sexual experience with that bastard, not when she’s openly inviting you to take her with open arms.

“We can do whatever you want.”

Before you can even think of what you want to do with her, she crashes her lips down on yours again violently, with a little more hunger, with a little more desire. Between the hums that escape her lips is an occasional soft moan, and you are more than willing to simply let her seize control, despite her request for you to take the wheel. If the night ended like this—with Gyuri, your best friend on top of you after a round of kisses and nothing more—you would be more than satisfied.

Somehow, she has some kind of ability to read your mind like a telepath.

Her arms reach around the back of her peach colored dress, interrupting the makeout session. You offer yours to assist her, and you’re rewarded as you clasp the metal zipper keeping it together. She allows you to run it down her body, which you happily do. Slowly slide the velcro down her expensive fabric as the previously hidden matching colored cleavage exposes itself for you, with shapely breasts tucked behind a mouth-watering bra.

Gyuri does the rest, gently sliding the straps off her shoulder, pushing it down halfway. The way she’s positioned on top of you makes it difficult to completely remove, so she decides to get rid of it first, sitting up as the expensive piece of clothing ruins itself as it drops down to her legs. After a brief struggle, she kicks it off her feet and leaves it ignored on the floor next to the sofa. One half of clothed distractions gone.

She immediately plants herself atop you, making sure her cleavage is center stage, drawing your attention to her chest.

“Like the view?” she asks, rather stupidly knowing well you both know the answer.

Nevertheless, you nod approvingly as she giggles in response watching you openly lust for her. Then, it’s back to kissing and making out while laying on your couch again.

Disregard the lack of comfort you both feel on the sofa. The scent and flavor of her rosy lips on yours makes you forget about those feelings of hesitance and restraint. Gyuri’s also using you to give a mental middle finger at her former lover, though you wish she’d cut down on that and hope that your finger is planted on those tight lips instead—not just so she’d shut up but also so that you’d make her forget about him too. Such an opportunity will come, but for now, you’ll make do with the touch of her body, with your hands all over her, making her grimace and moan in pleasure.

“Nnngh.”

She tries to distract herself from your touch with a few futile attempts to recapture your lips in a heated kiss, but you are simply too much and leave her breathless. Your fingers even graze the cloth of her underwear and bra, but you’re not ready to move to that stage just yet.

“Be honest with me,” she lets out an airy purr. “We’ve been friends for a while. So I just wanna ask: Have you ever fantasized about me?”

Your heart drops as you struggle and squirm beneath her. The gulp in your throat is audible enough for her to hear. Seeing you vulnerable and weak for her like this, she flashes a taunting smirk. Contrast to it is that darned wholesome eye smile, making her appear like an angel and a demon all at the same time. It’s the little things in her body movement too: the slight tilt of her head, the seemingly innocent, caring hand on your cheek that’s building pressure on you, and the lift of her leg make it seem she’s playing you like a toy—no, you are indeed just a toy for her.

“Hmm—” Gyuri playfully places a finger on her chin, briefly retreating her stare at you, yet you don’t feel like there’s room to breathe. “Have you ever thought about getting to feel me? To taste me? To fuck me?”

Something distracts her. She looks down, and the sight amuses her. There’s a hill growing between your groin, and she giggles at your body’s excitement.

“O-Oh? Looks like your little friend is speaking on your behalf. Look at it; so excited to finally feel me.” she says seductively as you feel a sudden grip on your balls. Her hand rubs and squeezes around your clothed shaft, causing a small puddle to form on your shorts. “Then why don’t we make those fantasies come true?”

She hops off the sofa, strutting in the direction of your bedroom and hypnotizing your eyes towards her ass. “Let’s go to your room.”

Wasting no time, you jump off the couch as soon as you feel the air loosen around you, but as you prepare to zoom past her first, you suddenly stop.

“Lose your pants along the way there.”

Thank goodness Gyuri’s nowhere in sight as you shed your shirt, your shorts, and your boxers like a drunk maniac as you slide toward your bedroom. It’s only when you slam the door shut once you’re inside when she turns around to find you completely naked and hard for her.

“Oh fuck, you look so big,” she rasps as you cautiosly approach her, seated on the edge of your bed. “Bigger than my ex.”

She takes your thighs by force, positioning your cock right around her level—a perfect position to paint her white like the sheets.

“Mm, I’m feeling wet already.” Her whisper reverberates around your shaft, making you wince from the wave of her voice. “Why don’t I make you wet too?”

Gyuri takes your waist, pushing you with sudden force onto the bed with an audible thud and creak. Then, she clambers atop you again—a position you’re both familiar with by now, but neither of you are tired of.

“Just lay down,” she whispers against your neck, which you comply with by resting your head down. Her lips peck your collarbones, followed by a soft nibble and graze. “Just feel my tongue trail down your body—from your neck, to your chest, to your stomach, and finally to your cock.”

She disappears behind your closed eyes. From there, your imagination and senses do the rest. There’s weight being pressed on your chest; you assume it's her hands. You want to grasp at something, to reconfirm that what’s happening right now is real, but there’s hardly a reason to when her delicate, smooth kisses leave you winded.

You lay there, at rest, taking every bit of her lips on you at her command. Suddenly, a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes light up. She meets yours halfway; she’s a lot farther than when she started. She’s now by your groin, the line between your girth and her lips incredibly blurry. She might as well be kissing it. Oh wait, she already has.

“Ooh, you liked that, didn’t you?” she asks in a coy, playful tone. As you try to nod, you feel your head spin and you’re more dazed.

“You like it when I tease your cock with my little tongue?” she adds with a giggle.

Yes, fuck, of course I do—is what you’d say to her if she gave you an opportunity to breathe. Before you know it, she’s playfully slurping and licking your shaft. The gasps that you make grow a little louder in volume.

“Mm, wonder what happens if I put the tip in my mouth a bit?”

The answer is instantaneous. A sudden moan rings through the bedroom; it isn’t her whine, it’s yours.

“Mm, I love that sound. It’s so hot. Moan for me again.”

It’s not a request, more like a demand. She wraps her tongue and takes your tip into her mouth a second time, earning another moan out of you. What follows is a constant stream of airy groans and precum milked with each entry in her mouth, licking your most sensitive parts like a popsicle. Her fingers envelop your dick in a bind, wanting to get a little more out of you through jerking your shaft at a slow pace.

“I, I, guh ughh—Gyul!” Your face contorts and twists in all sorts of expressions, much to her delight.

“Bet I can make you cum right now.” She giggles before taking you into her mouth again.

Unwilling to burst so early, you shake your head. Mustering up whatever strength you have, you say, “N-no. N-need to p-put you deep in my mouth.”

“You want me to put the whole thing in my mouth?” She raises an eyebrow with intrigue. “Well aren’t you quite eager?”

She puts a finger on her chin again, as if very hesitant to follow through on the deed. “I don’t know if you can handle it. Sucking cock is a speciality of mine. Are you sure you want to, though?”

You don’t even hesitate to nod right away; at that moment, you’ve never looked so desperate and needy.

“Okay, you asked for this.”

Gyuri dives in again, taking almost your whole length in her mouth in a single swoop. Instead of her face, her hair, or any piece of her, you yank the sheets of the bed as you squirm and struggle beneath her, arousing her even more. Spit coats most of your shaft as the narrow space between you closes a little again, as seen with the occasional bump of her nose with your base.

The moans you make grow even louder, accompanied by the sporadic hiss. If her lips weren't enough to send you into a frenzied spiral, the little bounce on her chest does. Her head movement is intricate, intent to arouse you and make you even more wanting. On top of that, there’s her drool and your leak that spills on her top, staining her inviting bra and cleavage. To her, It’s not a distraction but rather an invitation, an excuse to finally let them finally slip.

Speaking of, her mouth slips out your slippery dick abruptly, but not of her own accord. Finally, some room for you to breathe, but it only lasts for a moment, if not less. Just as quick as she spits you out, she immediately takes you right in again. Your cock is light play to Gyuri’s throat; she puffs and gulps it down her gullet playfully like she’s in need of oxygen, and you’re drowning deeper in pleasure and desperation to blast right in her mouth.

You don’t realize that between intense thrusts in her maw, she’s already slid down the distracting bra off her shoulders, with the panties following suit. The contemplation lasts as long as your attention toward her, though. Look up at the ceiling, frantically searching for any other thoughts aside from the warm, aching pain building up in your groin. You don’t want the night to end like this, after so much teasing.

But it looks like you're not the only one buzzing desperately after all.

There’s a ringing noise that can easily be mistaken for the bed trembling. Gyuri frees your throbbing shaft from her throat, but replaces the iron grip of her lips with her fingers instead. “Oh? My phone is going crazy right now! I wonder who it could be.” She’s leisurely stroking you off while sarcastically taunting her ex-boyfriend. Could be literally anyone else, says the part of your brain that has regained some semblance of thought, but she’s mostly kept you in a prison of bodily pleasure, securely fenced by lust.

“Why don’t I show you what he’s missing?” Gyuri hovers atop of you, no longer away from a distance, her nakedness in clear view. You lay beneath, eyes twinkling, with an exhausted expression on your features. Her soft but lust filled gaze keeps your eyes locked on her, enough of a diversion that catches you completely unawares when her wet folds are speared by your stiff cock.

She bites her lips and closes her eyes as the new sensation invites itself within her tight walls. Her body squirms violently with the slow entry of your shaft. It’s almost like she’s never taken it hard, but she quickly acclimates to the new presence inside her when her hips effortlessly bounces on your waist.

“Oh fuck, you feel so fucking amazing,” she moans, pressing her hands on your chest for stability. There’s no support for the instability that you’re feeling on your side, however. With just one slam of her hips, she’s left you completely heavy and weak, but you’d be lying if it wasn’t the most pleasurable sensation you’ve ever experienced.

As spent as you are, you want more. You need more.

Hold your arms out to grab Gyuri’s slender waist. Such a flawless body; perfectly sized busts that can snugly fit in your palms, lean waist that isn’t too thin, based on the moist trickle around her navel, a clean bush, and toned, shapely legs that can wrap themselves around your throat and smother you. Of course, the icing on this orange cake is the hot, wet sensation of her tight pussy suffocating your shaft, almost getting you to blow with just one pump.

It only gets worse from there—or better, depending on how you look at it.

Not only is Gyuri phenomenal at deepthroating, but also at riding you. Her hips rise and drop in gentle waves, the wet crashing sound of flesh filling the space between you. She leans her head close to yours with a starry eyed stare and disfigured grin from the overflow of pleasure surging her. Each bounce, each slick entry leaves you even more breathless by the second. There’s no momentum for you to swing upward despite the immense urge to fill her, to fuck her.

“Fuck, fuck, Gyul, you feel so damn good,” you say, gasping for air.

“You feel so fucking amazing, fuck, I—” Her loving gaze is snapped, her eyes shut themselves closed, her train of thought incapacitated by her wanton desire to feel every inch of you. It’s more than enough to give you space to thrust up and catch a small glimpse of your wet cock disappearing and reappearing between her stretched folds.

Gyuri is reduced to a moaning hot mess, only capable of producing two words, and they’re all you need to spur your arousal.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Her filthy tongue repeats her utmost desire like a religious chant, a want for you to grant her desire for complete bliss. Her clean look is ruined within a matter of minutes, with frazzled long hair hiding her face, her lips gushing out spit like a feral dog, and behind the messed up appearance is makeup running down her gorgeous face. What a twisted, yet perfect way to conclude her night. Now, she was as dirty as you are.

Your bedroom becomes a soundstage for the lewd lovemaking you’re both doing. She’s riding you hard that produces echoes from skin clapping, the bed creaks sharper and in rhythm with her hips, and your moans are overpowered by her endless stream of profanities and her pitched whimpers.

It’s the perfect image to fall asleep to—Gyuri’s breasts bouncing on top of you while practically waking the neighbors up with her coarse and salacious sounds.

“Gyul, hold on—” The words escape you with utmost urgency, as if they are spoken before you even thought of them.

“No, no, want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t walk!” she shouts as she quickens her pace riding you, completely ignoring your voice.

And for a moment, it seems like that would be your end. It isn’t until you grab and fondle her breast that her tempo suddenly slows down, then eventually to a complete halt. She comes to her senses to find her hair blocking her view, like that she needed any when she was in that state.

Brushing her hair away, she looks down at you. “What do you want?”

“All fours.”

Gyuri takes a deep breath, then gently lifts herself off you, releasing your cock from her soaked pussy with a plop. She turns around and positions her body on fours, as you wanted. Her face is high on the edge of the bed, and her backside is presented to you, with her stretched out cunt and white thigh highs in full view. Based on how wobbly her elbows are, she was close to trembling too. Like she said, fuck her so hard that she can’t walk.

For the first time in a while, you feel the pressure in your body loosen, even though Gyuri isn’t the heaviest woman. Gingerly get up and position yourself behind her ass, ready to take her on her fours. Line your stiff, wet cock on the edge of her entrance, eager to finish.

“What are you gonna do, babe?” She looks back at you, appearing a little tired, but desperate. “I need your cock inside me again—fuck!”

You aggressively enter her cunt from behind, prematurely breaking her sentence. Her nails claw into the edge of the bedsheets, holding on as you fuck her. Hard. You’re much more relentless than when she rode you, pounding and thrusting her with your whole girth filling up and stretching her pussy as deep as you possibly can.

“Oh, oh fuck—that’s so damn fucking deep, give me more! Fuck!”

Just when it seems like her mind is going down into that familiar zone once more, her phone buzzes. Again, you’re not the only one trembling due to Gyuri’s influence. She giggles as you ramp up the pace, the slaps of wet skin growing louder than the first time.

Looking back at you a second time, she sees the determined, fiery look in your eyes and giggles. “Guess you heard the phone. Someone must sense how good you’re making me feel right now.”

“Shut up, just fucking take it.” A burst of frustration and anger takes you and you redirect her gaze away from you, pumping in her faster and faster. Not only do you want her to be incapable of walking, but you also want her to finally shut up about him.

“Pull my hair, make it fucking sting. I can handle it, I want it—fuck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. A fistful of luscious hair in your grasp, the handful of her ass on the other, as you control and dominate her from behind, snarling along with your emphatic, deep plunges, coating and spilling even more of her slick all over your shaft and on the sheets.

One deep thrust, and out comes a moan from Gyuri. A sharper, completely different one from any other that renders her breathless and gasping for air for a moment.

“Oh shit, oh shit, that felt so damn good. Do it again.”

Somehow, lightning strikes twice. You impale her deep again, nearly recreating that same moan from her. Repositioning your shaft inside her cunt, this time with your palms all over her reddened ass, you piston her with furious intensity. The continued ringing of that damned phone stirs you up even further; might as well be a timer to when you eventually climax.

Then there’s the ever so talkative Gyuri, who just can’t help but build that fire in your loins.

“You hear that? My phone, right? He’s so mad he lost me tonight,” she purrs huskily between moans. “He’s so fucking mad that this pussy is all yours tonight, and that you’re much better than he could ever be.”

The thin line that is your patience couldn’t be any more slimmer, you want to tug her hair again—

“And he’s so fucking mad that you can make me cum.”

“Please, fuck, Gyul—” Tug on that hair and hiss in her ear as you continue your steady, furious assault on her cunt. “I don’t care anymore; I’m so fucking close.”

“Good. Then you better not stop, because I’m going to cum soon too.”

“Tell me where.” In the midst of the heat, you nibble her ear, leaning close to her face, showing a little sign of affection. A little distraction from the twitching you feel in your cock.

“Anywhere, babe. Anywhere you want it. I’ll let you do the one thing he never got to do. Whenever you’re ready. I want to cum with you, too.”

To no avail, you try to recapture her lips once more, nearly pressing your entire weight on her in the process. Your hands are no longer on her ass, instead they’re intertwined with her own hands. Knowing she’s ready whenever you are, you want to savor her pussy’s hot sensation a little longer, even for just another second—

“Fuck!”

The words tumble from your mouths in perfect sync, a flawless, near-indistinguishable cry. Burying your cock deep in her pussy, it leaves you both over the edge, inadvertently making you dangle off the bed too. Despite this, your grip is stable enough to pour your every drop of seed into her womb. Not a single ounce wasted, all of you finally giving in to her, as she has given herself to you.

For a moment, you feel your body on the verge of collapse, but you muster enough strength to pull back, regretfully leaving her painted, slicked up mess of a cunt, and fall onto the bed once more.

Gyuri’s body teeters on falling off the bed or onto you. Against your expectation, she rests on her side, narrowly avoiding a possible fall again. The room suddenly falls silent; an air of tranquility passes through the place as if nothing happened.

You lay down with a wide smile on your face, relieved and content. A perfect ending—

“Holy shit,” says Gyuri between deep, heavy panting. “I thought you were good in bed, but I didn’t know you had this in you, like fuck.”

Not even an intense, rough pounding can shut her up.

She weakly crawls back to your waist, resting her head close to your shaft.

“Mm, your dick looks a little dirty. Let me clean it up.”

You wince as her tongue wraps itself around your flaccid shaft again; thankfully it’s only a couple of leisurely, lazy licks instead of an intense vise grip, enough to clean the cum off your tip and sides.

“All clean.” She giggles as she looks at you. “Mmm, we taste great together.”

Resting her head on your thigh, she looks up at the ceiling, then she sighs. “Thank you. This was what I really needed. You made me feel good. No, you didn’t just make me feel good. You made me feel better—about everything. This was fantastic.”

An air of silence follows. Then, you say, “Of course, Gyul. You made tonight great, and it’s all because of you.”

Just as she’s about to speak, there’s that damned phone ringing again.

“Ugh, does he ever shut up?” She rolls her eyes in disgust, then turns to you again. “Hey, do me a favor and turn off my phone.”

You’ve never been more in a rush to follow a command. Leaning to your right, grab her phone and slam the ringer off. Then, you leave it where it should have been from the very beginning—on the floor with the rest of her clothes to be completely forgotten.

She crawls up to your head, laying right beside you. “Thanks.” Then, an intimate kiss on your cheek.

When she brushes and caresses your cheek, you turn to her with a loving, tender gaze. She returns your look with her signature eye smile and pleasant grin. You were no longer friends. You’re lovers now.

“Can you do me another favor?” she asks with a soft tone.

“Sure, what is it?”

Gyuri leans her head ever closer to yours. “Could you fuck me again? I want to make sure I get my money’s worth from this outfit, and that entails a few more orgasms, for the both of us. What do you say?”

As if the invitation wasn’t enough, her hand reaches down to your cock, slowly stroking you back to hardness. Then, you pounce and get on top of her, eager to fulfill her request. She blushes and giggles as you shower kisses on her neck and collarbones.

“Mmm, it looks like you have more endurance than my ex too.”

(A/N: Woo happy birthday present to me! Jokes aside, I seriously contemplated whether to even write this, as of course, she's no longer a fromis member and the wound might be still be fresh in the hearts of some readers. (I've even examined other female idols to fit the role but at the end, it was always her) It's very sad we'll never get to see her as an idol again, but I'm looking forward to fromis and actress Jang Gyuri's new paths. Anyway, this might be a new normal for the blog moving forward, as I have only two weeks left of break before college starts back up again, where the writing will be even more slower as class leaves me even more mentally drained than I already am. Why am I so damn unmotivated and unfocused? Anyway, thanks for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #fromis 9 #jang gyuri #gyuri

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ambermotta · 4 months

Text

Draconic Offerings – A Personal Insight

Offerings are a way of showing goodwill and honoring spiritual beings. Even more than that, taking some time to give an offering also means you are dedicating a moment of your day to thinking about them, which makes attuning to their energy easier and keeps the relationship you have with them alive.

Offerings are versatile and personal. Today I thought to share my own POV on giving offerings to dragons.

So remember: this is just my experience (or "UPG"). Other folks may have different insights!

_________________♡♤◇♧_________________

In my own experience dragons seem to like a variety of things, from simple to shiny, which to me reflects both their humble wisdom and love for beauty.

Natural beauties seem to captivate them most: pearls, crystals, metals, colorful patterns. Anything that gleams and projects lively colors.

They also seem to enjoy humbler natural offerings, such as stones (bonus points if they are an interesting shape or from an important place) and wood from powerful trees, such as willow or oak.

Offering Elements (like fire, water) feels pretty powerful especially when doing magical work. If the dragon in question is associated with a particular element, offerings of that element feel best but they seem to accept all elements still.

Food can be a great offering, but I feel like they don't make it such a big deal. To me, offering elements feels the best.

I'd try to figure out what they like before offering anything specific. If you can't, go for something more generalist until you get to know the dragon better. To me, it feels like food is a bit less essential to them when compared to other spiritual beings.

If you decide to work with them long term, it may be good to dedicate a space for them and do weekly or monthly offerings.

So here's my list of offerings I associate with dragons:

Water

Fire

Incense — which one varies, I like offering them according to the dragon. Though I know Dragon's Blood is a popular one and I like it

Shinies — pearls, shells, jewelry

Gemstones

Crystals

Metals

Stones and wood — especially if it has strong magical properties

Potent herbs

Food offerings:

I think of rich flavors and warm food. You could share a meal with them

Meat

Sweet fruits

I don't feel particularly strong for bread, milk and cookies, but they are under the "generally acceptable offerings" for most cultures. So I think you can give them if you're short on supplies or unsure, but I'd ask the dragon what they prefer

Alcohol — I have never offered any alcoholic drinks to dragons, but they might be appropriate. I would ask

Overall, as I have mentioned in another post, the dragons I work with don't really make a fuss about offerings. I give them because I want to share with them.

I do however use offerings in our magical work together, usually to power up the ritual, and on that note, offering corresponding elements feel the best.

Important Sidenote:

Be mindful that whenever you want to take anything from nature you must ask the local spirits for permission and make sure it's legal in your region.

You don't want to be taking anything too important for the survival of the ecosystem (even a fallen branch can be crucial for some organisms), and you also don't want to leave behind anything that could harm it.

I mentioned shells as offerings — unfortunately, taking them does have an impact in the ecosystem so I disencourage it. Their calcium is important for the ocean's chemical cycles and the shells themselves are used by other organisms, so be mindful of that.

Final Considerations

There is not really too much to say about this, really. That is because offerings are very personal things.

One man's junk can be another man's treasure.

One dragon may like simple offerings, another one may like something fancier. You can offer an old necklace which has a deep meaning to you, or a simple food offering.

What matters is that you make your offering special for you and the dragon, and if you're unsure about what they like, by all means ask!

Or adopt the good old trial and error method.

And lastly, do take the opportunity to connect with your dragon. Don't just say "here you go" and call it a day. Make it special! Spend some time with them!

They'll enjoy it more if you put more time, effort and meaning into it.

Thank you for reading!

#draconic witchcraft #dragon guardian #dragon magick #dragonkin #draconic magick #draconic wicca #draconic witch #witchblr #baby witch #magick #spirit work #witch tips #witchcraft #pagan tips #baby wiccan #offerings

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heavyhighlandheart · 10 months

Text

Hawkins Hellraiser Pt.5

Chapter Five: The Trailer Park

Summary: You and Eddie head to his trailer to watch a movie. You've fallen for him, big time. He's a total sweetheart with you.

Warnings: 18+, graphic gore descriptions from real horror movie, mention of bad relationship with father, good ol' makeout sesh

w/c: 2k

A/N: Okay, so I really loved writing this part, it's been in the pipeline from the beginning but I wanted to set the scene and expand on the characters. Plus, I'm a completely hopeless romantic and didn't want to dive right into the smut (stay tuned for that). Anyway, enjoy! <3

Eddie’s ‘71 Chevy van was falling to pieces. The seat’s fabric was ripping at the seams and stained ten times over. You winced at the sound of it squeaking and grinding every time Eddie hit the brakes. You weren’t sure if you felt completely safe in the passenger seat, as if the whole thing was just going to pack in at any moment.

“I fixed her up myself, you know,” Eddie beamed, eyes on the road. “She was a much bigger mess than she is now, trust me,” he spied your hand gripping the door handle and sensed your unease. “My uncle taught me, got me under cars that he’d take home from the yard and showed me how to fix ‘em up. That’s the trouble with people, as soon as something stops doing what it’s supposed to do, it’s junk, trash. They don’t realise it can be fixed, if they’re willing to get their hands dirty.” He turned to you with a sly smirk on his lips, his left hand rested on the wheel. You smile back, releasing your grip slightly. Eddie turned back to the road. “Still, my old man didn’t like that so much. Said I should be learning how to break into ‘em, hotwire ‘em and get away quickly,” he shook his head, looking down at his free hand that he began to flex and stretch as it rested on his thigh.

“That must have been tough,” you look at him longingly, waiting for him to match your gaze. Eddie shrugged, giving you a pained smile, “dads suck, right?” You nod, your mind piecing together the parts of Eddie Munson that you didn’t yet understand.

The van began to bump and shuffle as Eddie turned into the trailer park’s dirt road. He pulled in front of a trailer on the right, the van grinding to a sharp halt. “Here we are, my humble castle.” He skips over to the passenger door, eager to hold it open for you as you hop out of the van.

“Eddie!” a childish voice called from behind you both. A young boy was running towards him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, with a thick book in his hands. “Hey, dude!” Eddie beamed, catching him in his arms and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. “I’ve been waiting ages for you!” The boy squealed. “Can we keep reading?”

You give Eddie a puzzled look and he responds with pleading eyes, like he’s making the hardest decision of his life. “One sec, big guy.” He places his hand at the small of your waist and ushers you a few steps to the side, leaning into your face in a whisper. “Listen, I uh-”, he sighs, head hanging down, chestnut eyes looking into yours, “I…I read to him, his mom asked me to. He’s not so great with words but he really wanted to read The Hobbit, so when his mom found out it was one of my favourites, she uh- she begged me to read it to him. Said she’d even pay me in cigarettes.” He scoffed, staring at you with those pleading eyes, hoping you would understand and be okay with it. Your heart must have skipped a beat because your breath caught in your throat briefly, and you pressed your lips tighter together. “I’ll just read him a chapter and then we can watch the movie, is that okay?” You grinned, putting your hand on his arm that was still at your waist, “absolutely”.

Eddie smiled a toothy grin and clapped his hands, jumping with excitement and patting the kid on the back, “c’mon buddy!”

Eddie pulled out two deckchairs from inside his trailer, offering one to you, the kid quickly taking his seat in the other. Eddie sat on the ground next to him as he used the tucked bookmark to open up the pages. “There were many paths that led up into those mountains, and many passes over them. But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers.” The kid’s eyes lit up, as did Eddie’s, like he was reliving his childhood all over again. He would occasionally sneak a glance at you, your head leaning into the wood of the chair. Sometimes you would close your eyes just to try and listen more intently to his voice; his tone changing with each character and with perfect expression. You envisioned the scenes in your mind; descriptions coming to life as Eddie spoke, like some kind of guided meditation. His voice was warm and inviting. When his eyes were on the book, you’d let your eyes fall onto his lips, the way they moved with certain words, how he smiled and chuckled at his own reading and how he would moisten his lips when he turned the page. You noticed how the book rested in his hands, one hand holding the spine from below and the other tracing the words as he read aloud. Your thoughts on him were changing. He was misunderstood; a kind and hopeful soul. The more notice you gave to his lips, the more you wanted to kiss them, or wanted him to kiss you. You licked your lips at the thought.

Eddie placed the bookmark at the next chapter and shut it tight, “there you go, buddy,” he smiled, passing the book over. “One more, Eddie, please?” he begged. “You know I’d love to, kid, but-” he leaned in to whisper in his ear and glanced over at you, “I’ve got a date.” The kid rolled his eyes, “ugh, fine. Tomorrow though?” Eddie grinned, pulling the kid to his feet and ruffling his hair, “tomorrow, for sure. See ya, buddy.” The kid ran off to a trailer a few rows down, waving as he went.

You stand up, hands tucked into your back pockets. Eddie walks over to you, looking smug. “So uh, are you ready for that movie?” You nod, suddenly your mouth feels dry and you clear your throat, blushing, “mm-hmm”. Eddie opens the door of the trailer for you, following you inside.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, quickly bundling up clothes and magazines and throwing them into one corner, “I uh- don’t usually have visitors." Pots and pans were strewn across the kitchenette, pillows sunken into the sofa and the curtains closed. It felt darker than it should and there were a few questionable smells lingering. “My uncle’s working today, his first day shift in weeks, so he shouldn’t be back until later tonight.” Eddie tried clearing some of the mess in the kitchen, throwing the pans in the sink and closing any open drawers, brushing crumbs off the counter and onto the floor. He turns to you, realising he’s skipped your attention. “Listen, uh- you have a seat, make yourself comfortable, I’m just gonna tidy some shit up and then we’ll get that movie started, huh?” You nod, taking a seat awkwardly on the sofa. Eddie heads further into the trailer to the bathroom, and you hear him banging and clattering as he tidies. When he’s out of sight, you start fluffing up the sofa pillows and brushing down the upholstery, straightening up anything you can find. You pick up a blanket from the floor, smells musty but it’ll do, you think to yourself, fanning it and folding it over the sofa. You tidy up what you can of the coffee table; a used bong, cigarette butts and ash turning the wood from a gleaming light birch to a dirty grey. The TV sits on a small cabinet at the wall, a few VHS tapes underneath - a couple of horrors, The Dark Crystal and a porno - quite the mixture.

Eddie appears, having already removed his denim jacket, revealing his Hellfire Club baseball shirt. He ruffles up his fringe, opening the fridge and grabbing two beer bottles. “So this-” he opens the bottle with his teeth, letting the top fall to the ground, “-is for you,” he chuckles, passing you a beer. He does the same with his own and holds out his bottle, “cheers,” he grins, and you tap your drinks, both taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s good. Hey, did you tidy up in here?” You look around sheepishly, “uh- I might have done a little”. Eddie chuckles, “c’mon, let’s get this movie started, you’re gonna love it.”

He puts the tape in and sits on the sofa, puts his feet up on the coffee table, and pats the seat next to him. You wonder for a moment if he’s just being incredibly nice, or if he really, genuinely likes you. You can't decide whether you're brave enough to make a move. You sit next to him, clutching the beer bottle with both hands, eyes on the tiny little screen in front of you. You decide you're going to do it, make a move. You grab the blanket that you folded up earlier, opening it out and laying it over yourself, it brushes over Eddie's leg. "Wanna share?" You ask hopefully. "Uh, duh! Can't have you hogging it now, can we?" Eddie smiles, reaching to pull the blanket over his legs and waist, brushing your legs lightly. You smile smugly to yourself, pressing the bottle to your lips to take a sip.

The movie continues, an hour passes, and you've made no significant moves on Eddie. C'mon, you tell yourself, just do it. Pretty soon you don't have to try. A particularly horrific scene begins and Eddie starts to look excited, "oh this bit is so fucking awesome, just wait." One of the cannibals reaches into a bird cage to grab a tiny bird fluttering around, before pulling off its head and drinking its blood. You writhe and squirm, covering your eyes, "oh that's fucking disgusting!" Eddie laughs, "aw c'mon, it's so metal!"

"No it's gross! Tell me when it's over!" You turn to face him, pulling up the blanket to cover your peripheral vision. You stare at him as he watches the TV, light flickering in his eyes, a sly smile curving at his mouth. "Okay, it's all done," he laughs, turning to see you looking up at him, slumped into his shoulder with your eyes wide. "You promise?" You ask, your voice shaky with anticipation.

"Yeah, I promise," Eddie speaks low and soft, his eyes dropping to your lips. He leans in slowly, placing his lips to yours softly, lingering for a moment. He hums against your kiss before pulling away, revealing a toothy smile. "I've wanted to do that since the day I saw you in Miss O'Donnell's." You can't help but smile, your cheeks flushing, "oh yeah? Even after I pushed you into the lockers?" Eddie chuckles, "especially after you pushed me into the lockers!" You're taken aback and raise one eyebrow, "really?"

"Uh, yeah, that was fucking hot!" Eddie's eyes widen and he takes a longer sip of his beer. You laugh and your hand falls, resting on his thigh; you don't even think twice about it, it feels natural. "It wasn't supposed to be hot, it was supposed to be intimidating." You furrow your brow, attempting to show off your hard exterior. "Oh, trust me," Eddie starts, "it was, but it was still fucking hot!" Your eyes meet again, and you both stare longingly. That voice in your head comes back, do it, do it, do it. "Eddie… can I, uh- can I kiss you again?" Eddie bites his bottom lip and smiles sweetly, leaning into you, "I would love that". His lips press to yours, reaching a hand up to caress your cheek as your hand grazes his thigh. His lips part for a breath and you follow suit, touching your tongues lightly, dancing together in slow waves.

The movie continues in the background, the victims' screams almost inaudible as you both sink into a moment of sweet pleasure. You had to pinch yourself with the hand holding your beer, you couldn't believe you were finally kissing Eddie Munson.

A/N: if you got this far, thank you! I'd love to hear your thoughts on Hellraiser so far, so please feel free to send me an ask and let me know what you think, make any requests, ask questions! <3

#eddie fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #stranger things 4 #eddie x reader #eddie smut #eddie fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie fluff

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mimble-sparklepudding · 4 months

Text

Yet more anagram ridiculousness!

It's been another silly week so, in another episode of the utterly ridiculous series for which nobody asked, here are some further anagrammatical adventures.

Siberite Akagane of @hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend is an anagram of "Tease Biker Again", but hopefully she will not tease Humble, who wouldn't like it very much the first time, let alone if she did it again. She is also very alarmed by large Garlean Hangars - "Eek! Giant Airbase!" Finally, once she is finished with the adventuring life, there is always the option to open a chain of "Anti Age Bakeries", offering skin tightening doughnuts and moisturising croissants.

Thorne Bitterclove of @thornethelegend clearly is not worried about fashion in camping, with his tendency to "Covet Horrible Tent" - his son will not approve I suspect. However I don't believe he deserves a title like "The Controvertible" and I certainly don't associate him with "Rotten Brothel Vice"!

Laurent Toussaint of @fantasy-so-far is very unfairly termed "A Unresistant Lout". I'm also not sure what to make of "Auntie's Lost A Runt", but I don't think it's particularly flattering. However, his Sharlayan studies have clearly produced some interesting research into "Lotus As A Nutrient".

Rowan Argentas of @tallbluelady is very into urban planning, as she "Arranges A Town", however I am sure she does not deserve her reputation in Ul'dah as "Worst Arena Nag", but then again, those gladiators need some pushing sometimes. However, her ability to describe the latest fashion is demonstrated, as she "Narrates A Gown".

Finally Khaidu Ejinn of @dedicatedtomoonlighting, who is attempting to mingle with the local nobility of Kugane with cheery greetings, such as "Hi Ninja Duke!" He also looks very sexy in the beautiful rich greens of the East - "I Hunk In Jade". However he remains a dangerous fighter, with his fearsome war-cry of "Ha! Die in Junk!"

OK I'll stop now! Sorry for the silliness!

#anagrams #anagram silliness #ffxiv #ffxiv oc #ff14 ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ff14 #ffxiv au ra #ffxiv lalafell #ffxiv roegadyn #ffxiv elezen #ffxiv hyur #ffxiv viera

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

Text

Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 8: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2k do you think the hardest puzzle was the friends you could have made along the way but didn't because you are emotionally closed off as a defense mechanism??? asking for a... colleague💚🔧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, alcohol, denial like for real

“Ok! Flip the switch!”

“There isn’t… what switch?”

Eddie dropped his hands, which he held maniacally above his head, down to his sides with a miserable frown.

“I know that, idiot! You couldn’t let me have my mad scientist moment? No flair for the dramatic in you, none at all.”

He tutted, waving you on with the task at hand.

Smiling, you picked up the remote control for the shabby, almost humanoid robot the two of you had been working on and pressed the button that broadcast the signal. With a jittering, sputtering movement, the prototype came to life, walking towards Eddie in a stilted manner.

“Ha ha! He’s alive! My child!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, happy to be basking in Eddie’s good mood. Finally breaking down to your begging and pleading and demanding, he had let you participate in something a bit more substantial than making him coffee and handing him screwdrivers. This project, the first of his prototypes, you had completed together. And you could feel a sense of pride swelling within you, along with your cheeks blushing at the thought of you both creating ‘life’ together, as Eddie put it.

But everything, including the legs of the little mechanical man, came to a grinding halt as he fizzed and hissed, internally combusting in just the smallest of explosions, before falling to a heap on the floor.

Looking up at Eddie, you were met with a glare.

“You.”

“Me!?”

“If I had worked on that myself, this would never have happened!”

“If you’d worked on it yourself you’d be months away from even this moment!”

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to offer me the sentiment that we learn from our mistakes.”

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, I don’t make mistakes. People like you make mistakes.”

You could feel a lecture coming on, a dressing down, a complete and utter annihilation of your being, Eddie’s favourite pastime it seemed. Especially when he was furious.

“It must be humbling, being in my presence. The opportunity to even glimpse my greatness. The dawning realisation of just how insignificant and unworthy of note you are. Is that why you are intent on destroying everything I’ve worked for?”

“Hey! I helped, but you had already started on this hunk of junk before you let me even pass you the tools you were using.”

“Skipping past the irrelevance of the time you spent in relation to how much damage you could do, how dare you insult my robots. Hunk of junk? These are my masterpieces! When I have defeated Batman with the help of these mechanical hands, they will become monuments to my genius, and therefore, testaments to his, and your, stupidity.”

“Eddie, I’m not-”

“Mister Nigma, sir!”

Ah, the calling card of every argument. The shift back to formalities. Just as you got used to calling him Edward, or even Eddie, there was always something that pushed you away again, whether legitimate or imaginary, Edward always found a way. Sighing, you slumped down on the chair by the work bench and turned your back to him. You were exhausted. Tired of arguing, tired of being lectured, insulted, degraded. It was becoming apparent that this might not be the work you were cut out for.

But as you sat, martyring yourself and wondering how long it would take you to clear your room out, Eddie approached behind you.

“I’m not going to apologise.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“I realise that there is no… one specific thing to blame. It could be you, it could be the parts, it could be the quality of the wires used.”

“It could be something you did.”

“Doubtful.”

You turned to him, rolling your eyes.

“Either way. You’re right. You could stand to learn from your mistakes. So next time, I am hopeful that you’ll do a better job.”

It was pathetic, but you were so grateful for the small improvements he showed. The willingness to end an argument on a somewhat neutral note being one of them, which you hoped to encourage. So you smiled at him and nodded.

“Next time.”

“Yes. But! Until then, perhaps a celebration is in order, for we just saw our mechanical man take his first steps, albeit crude and deathly ones.”

Our mechanical man. You repeated the phrase over and over, holding it as close to your heart as you could imagine. He had credited you, he had acknowledged your efforts. He probably didn’t mean to, and he might have corrected himself by now if he had noticed, but either way, you were clinging to this. It would be enough to stave off the thought of leaving for at least another week or so.

“So, what do you say, we autopsy this poor creature, scope out some plans for improvement, and then order food?”

You didn’t say anything, but your smile answered the question.

“I know what you’re thinking, my dear. Mister Nigma, sir knows how to meticulously structure a very good time indeed.”

With a wink, he crouched down and began separating the shrapnel of the robot’s chest cavity, and you joined him on the floor, sifting through the remains, smiling at him.

And while he pretended not to notice, Edward was well aware of the glances you stole. Just as he was well aware of the credit he had given you. It made him feel what he could only imagine was happy when he considered that he had a partner on a project. A partner. All he would admit to was that you were more of a help than a hindrance, but in reality, your enthusiasm, even just your presence, influenced his capacity for output and his joy in the work. It made everything go faster, smoother. You were like a good luck charm, if he believed in anything as ridiculous as luck.

It was strange to him that you made him consider such notions. There was something about your presence he still couldn’t put his finger on. But he was content to ruminate, to puzzle over it for now, pleasantly stimulated by just your existence as he stole his own glances while you worked on the broken and shattered pieces of the first of what he hoped were many projects you would complete together.

When the food arrived, Eddie offered to collect it from outside, leaving you to wander to the kitchen and set out the dishes. By the time he had come back in, you were grimacing at the fridge.

“Nothing to drink.”

“Hm… coffee?”

“Coffee and… pizza?”

“Italian?”

“Terrible. Oh!”

You jogged slowly to your room, picking out a crate of beer from the mini fridge you had added to the minimal furniture. An addition that Eddie questioned with a look.

“Warm beer sucks.”

“I’m more concerned that you keep them in there and not in the main fridge.”

“I do most of my drinking in bed at night, or before I go to sleep.”

“That’s probably not a good habit. What could possibly be driving you to that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him as you passed him a bottle, and he seemed to understand the slight jab at him that you were making. Raising the bottle to you he nodded, sheepishly.

“Understandable.”

Adding to the list of things you were learning about Eddie, as you watched him consume three beers with what was more than his fair share of the pizza, you realised he was a bit of a lightweight, at least in comparison to yourself. You were buzzed, for sure, but Eddie seemed completely drunk, and it was opening up another side to him. One that was just as talkative, but now, it was like he was actually saying something.

“So you should by now, I hope, be beginning to comprehend the uh… breadth! … of the tasks ahead of you, the sheer scale hic of the gauntlet I have thrown down!”

He sloshed his bottle as he gestured enthusiastically, splashing beer to the floor and delicately dipping his fingers to the little puddle before frowning.

“You have to help me build little robots…”

He brought his free hand up, fingers held very close together as he tried to emphasise how small these ‘little robots’ would be.

“… and you also hic have to uh… clean that spill up. Sorry.”

You giggled and smiled at him, and to your surprise he smiled back.

“I dunno why I don’t do this more often, I’m obviously much more… t-tolerable… I think.”

“I think I know why. And I don’t think you’re more tolerable. You’re just as intolerable as you always are.”

It was meant as a joke, the kind that he would usually smirk at, annoyed at you mostly for being as witty as he was. But he lowered his head and nodded.

“My father thought I was intolerable. Makes sense. Mother too.”

Entirely guilt ridden, you slid off the sofa to the floor beside him, allowing yourself to get closer to him than you really had been before.

“The guards at Arkham, the inmates at Arkham. None of them could suffer me. Biggest brain, smartest man, most intolerable human being. I suppose that’s why I have no friends. It’s… difficult for people to make the effort… for a connection.”

He looked to you for sympathy, but could see the hurt on your face.

“Before. No friends… before.”

Eddie placed his palm awkwardly on your shoulder, staring at it, as though he was surprised even at himself for making that leap. Which he was. He’d never before thought he would be brave enough to consider someone a friend, let alone have someone who seemed to be genuinely upset at the notion that he wasn’t a friend to them. He could feel his heart in his chest, suddenly very aware of the way his blood was circulating around, towards specific areas, the speed at which that integral organ pumped if around him. His throat, closing up, allowing him only the shallowest of breaths as he felt the heat on his palm, as though your body were on fire below him, too hot to touch, warning him to let go, or inviting him to enjoy the pleasant warmth.

Standing up, swaying slightly at the speed and the alcohol that he could swear he could feel swishing around in his stomach, he placed his hands securely in his pockets, as though containing them would prevent them from doing anything else without his specific permission.

“It’s very late. I think if we would like to be up early… in the… the morning time… we should perhaps go to our bed. Our beds. Separate… we have separate beds.”

From the floor, you looked up at him, watching the way he slurred his meanings and words, keenly studying the way he avoided eye contact, the way he struggled to look away from you.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

As he shambled off to his room, the door slamming three times behind him as he tried to close it in his stupor, you leaned back against the sofa, downing the very last of your beer and setting the bottle to the side. Staring at the arched brick ceiling, the stalactites of grime forming and reaching down to you, you could feel a scream rising up in your chest, desperate to come out.

It was the awkwardness, the tension. You could sense it the whole time, because you were the one with the crush. But if Eddie could feel it, it meant one of two things. Either he had feelings for you, or you were weirding him out with the way you insisted on being close to him. He opened up to you this evening, sure, called you a friend, in a roundabout way. But you knew which of the two options were likely. So, in the silence of the living area and with Eddie’s drunken snores giving you the security and permission to do so, you let out a long, hushed groan in place of the desperate howl you needed to get out.

#finnie writes #arkham riddler #arkham edward nigma #riddler x reader #arkhamverse riddler #the riddler #arkhamverse #riddler #the riddler imagine #riddler smut #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x you #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma #arkham!riddler #the riddler fanfiction #arkham!verse #finnie yotn

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captain-lessship · 4 months

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Sometimes, when something I write that I hate and when I get frustrated, as stupid as it sounds, I read or listen to Anton Ego’s Review

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the *new*. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new: an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist *can* come from *anywhere*. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

Anyone Can Write.

#fanfic writing #fanfic #writers problems #writerslife #writers on tumblr #writerscorner

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talesfromsiteredacted · 10 months

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Dealing With Fae Entities, a Helpful Guide To Managing Elves, Faeries, Pictsies, and Other Annoyances

Hi, kids! This is Dr. Snow here, your friendly neighborhood Fae expert, as of this afternoon. After several very irritating encounters with the Fae, Dr. Clef and I agreed I should record some tips for dealing with them.

First thing first, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, NO MATTER HOW FRIENDLY A FAE MAY SEEM AT FIRST ENCOUNTER, GIVE THEM YOUR TRUE GIVEN NAME. Names have power, give them yours and you are screwed.

Second, never enter any contract without reading it three or four times and running it through both Legal and Ethics first. Dr. Venser failed this crucial test, and had to give up her first born child. Don't be like Venser. Fae contracts are almost as hard as Hell contracts to break.

If cornered, bonk the bastard relentlessly with cold iron. Burns them worse than a bloody flamethrower, plus the added hilarity and embarrassment of being nearly clubbed to death by cookware. Skillets are the best option, but never underestimate the humble fireplace poker.

Do not, no matter how hungry you are, or how good the food or drink look, accept "free" gifts from the Fae. That's how you wind up in their debt. Plus, the Fae are worse cooks than Clef, which is saying a lot. THERE IS NOTHING FREE WITH THE "FAIR FOLK"! Bunch of scheming, cheating arseholes. Again, remember Dr. Venser!

Never believe a word they say. They lie more than Clef.

If a Fae raiding party approaches, throw candy at them then call in the MTFs. They're distracted by sweets, much like children. Plus, they are compelled to pick up every single piece of thrown sugar. Candies that shatter against hard surfaces, like jawbreakers, are ideal.

If captured, AGREE TO NOTHING, EVEN THE ATMOSPHERIC CONDITIONS. Agreeing with the Fae on anything is practically giving them consent to torture you.

Carry silver on your person at all times. To think, Dr. Harrigan laughed at me over my silver snowflake Scranton pendant. She's not laughing now, seeing as she's now the Fae King's newest plaything. Silver burns Fae like cold iron, plus it renders their unicorns too weak to do much.

Trust nothing in the presence of the Fae. They bend reality just by being here. Cold iron jacketed hollow point magazines will be distributed by Munitions. Treat them like your average Bixby, aim for their head once distracted.

To ward against the Fae, salt the entryways and windows. While this works on vampires due to the purity of salt, the elvish arseholes will be compelled to pick up every last grain of salt spilled. You may then headshot them to your heart's delight.

If attacked by six inch tall blue pitcsies with red hair and a tendency to fight, steal, or drink anything they come across, offer copious amounts of alcohol, and hide. The Nac Mac Feegle may be tiny compared to him, but those scunners managed to kill SCP 076-2 with minimal effort. One of them even climbed in his loincloth. Look, if even ABEL is afraid of these guys, don't try to take them on. Abel barely lasted ten minutes.

Refuse ANY item offered. We do not need another "Anomalous Ring Of Inconsistent Waterbreathing" incident. Poor Dr. Mariner needs a tank now, and that damned thing is fused to his finger.

Unicorns, while beautiful, are... not very nice. How not nice? They'll gore you as soon as look at you.

Do not look at the Queen of the Fae. Two reasons: one, she's incredibly vain and will pester you to no end on how beautiful she is, and then... she'll try to get you into bed with her. Bad decision. She's got a higher (dead) body count than a black widow spider, and like a preying mantis, bites her victims heads off. Two, the King is hella jealous and you may not even live to accept that invite to the Queen's bed. Bigger dick than the Scarlet King.

Glitter also distracts the Fae long enough to dome them easily. Especially if 035 coats his junk in it. Wasn't ever expecting Disco Dong Dyo to be helpful, but the bastards were so confused killing them was easy.

If all else fails to repell the elvish dickheads, threaten to summon Dr. Clef. Not even their King wants to hear his ukulele.

If, for some reason you are tired of life, you decide to really annoy the Queen, insult her appearance. Again, she's extremely vain. She'll be so busy trying to become your version of the "perfect" woman it's easy to distract and kill her. Use their weaknesses against them.

Those perfect, 7 foot tall walls of elvish muscle in the invading forces? That is not at all how they really look. The average Fae's no taller than 5 feet tall, max. And uglier than a Hollywood divorce. It's a glamour, pretty convincing one too. Distract them enough, and it crumbles.

Speaking of distractions, these dickheads are compelled to dance whenever they hear music. You can thank Dr. Myriad for this one, they had the entire army grooving along to the "Safety Dance". Yes, there is video footage. No, the Fae do not have rhythm. It was like watching the most awkward mass dry heave set to '80's pop.

Grimhounds, much like Wu-Tang Clan and the Ethics Committee, ain't nothing to fuck with. Think hellhounds on massive doses of steroids, pcp, with the most advanced and aggressive case of rabies, with teeth sharper than Abel's swords. They are fast, relentless, and the only sure way to get them off your arse is to blow them off the map with high explosives.

While it is possible to bribe the Fae... they're not trustworthy. Just don't bother.

Mousetraps work well against smaller entities. As do cats; Liam caught one last night. Was really funny to see my fluffy boy dragging this cursing little sod all around my kitchen like my cat was doing a victory lap. Theiving bastards won't raid my pantry again anytime soon, heh heh.

Clef discovered if you use enough rocks, you can weigh them down enough to drown them. It might have helped that the portal opened upon the Red Pool instead of the ocean as I intended. Oopsie. Mea Culpa if the Ethics Committee are reading this. I know, three months Keter Duty. Still worth it.

If you're thinking of poisoning the Fae... don't bother. It simply doesn't work. No one knows why. They can, however, succumb to the zombie prion disease, but then... you have to deal with feral, infectious, and above all quite undead Fae.

For once, those damned bloody Tesla Gates are useful. Fae and electricity do not react favorably, for the Fae. They explode. Bone shrapnel is an issue, but if you get far enough back it's minimal. Still, wear your goggles kids!

073 is immune to the Fae glamour. He confirmed the Fae being unattractive, and I think it was the first time I ever heard him drop the "mf" bomb. Dr. Gears dropped his Foundation issue mug so hard it shattered. You know you're hideous if CAIN, the nicest guy in the Foundation, calls you "one ugly motherfucker" to your face. Dr. Clef and Dr. Cimmerian nearly hyperventilated laughing in shock.

In need of a quick distraction, but trapped in your office? Simply scatter whatever is on top of your desk, book it out of your door, and flag down the fine friendly folks in the MTF. While the Fae reorganizes your desktop, the MTF can shoot them. Even if you don't believe Clef on this... we had one in his office last month, he scattered his massive pile of paperwork on the floor, by the time we got the clear to go back in, his desk had never been better organized. Aside from the blood splotch on his Shooter's Bible.

Fun fact: Fae are highly flammable. A raiding party caught the backblast from one of 682's Volcano Chili farts, there was nothing but ash in seconds after the flame hit them. Must ask if we can weaponize the big lizard's flatulence, that stuff burns hotter than even thermite! Pity R&D could never quite replicate it, even if it reeks worse than a zombie skunk in a manure pile.

By all means, allow 049 access to the Fae should they attempt another invasion. With his skills and knowledge, we'll soon know exactly how these bastards operate on a physical level. For once, Ethics Committee has authorized 049's request for live test subjects, provided they're Fae. No, Agent Dennis does not count, he's just short, not an evil magical arsehole.

One last thing: I cannot stress this enough. NEVER TELL THE FAE YOUR TRUE GIVEN NAME, AGREE TO ANYTHING THEY ASK, OR THINK OF TRUSTING THEM FOR A SECOND. I realize this sounds incredibly species-ist of me, however, it's truth. The Fae cannot be trusted, even less so than you'd first suspect. They will trick you, use you, then drop you harder than the atom bombs. Shoot them first, don't bother with asking questions.

Okay, I think that's everything. Oh, wait... never mentioned how to spot one before it spots you. Grimhounds are obvious. Hellhounds on steroids with rabies. The Nac Mac Feegle, once you meet them you're either broke or dead. The others? People who seem way too perfect, too good to be real, you meet in life? Those could be Fae. The hot chicks in the bar everyone is flocking around despite them being mean vapid idiots? Fae. The super smoking but arrogant dickhead every straight girl in 10 miles is lining up to be rejected by? Either Lucifer Morningstar post marriage or Fae. The guy in Soho offering unbelievable deals on top line stuff like PS5s or suchlike? Fae. And shimmering lights where no such lights could possibly be, Fae. They can be anywhere. Stay alert, stay aware, trust your instincts. Keep on, carry cold iron and silver, and Secure, Contain, Protect on.

Hugs,

Dr. "Rabbit" Snow and Dr. Alto Clef

#scp foundation #tales from site redacted #dr snow #dr clef #do not trust the fae #auntie rabbits helpful hints

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palfriendpatine66 · 9 months

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Director’s commentary on chapter 6 of dx:lovesick aka the reunion (posted very late last night in case you missed it! Check it out💕)

I have this headcannon that I didn’t include in the chapter because it wasn’t exactly necessary to know for the story; but I humbly offer the backstory of Anakin furnishing his new apartment below, if you happen to be interested.

In college neighborhoods in Boston all of the apartment leases end on August 31 and everyone moves out all at once, and all the new leases begin the next day on September 1st and everyone move in en mass. I didn’t have a specific neighborhood picked out for Anakin, I have no idea about Cambridge and the areas around MIT, but this is how it works everywhere else in Boston:

All through the week leading up to the big moving days the alleyways and sidewalks become filled with abandoned stuff. Overflowing. Everything that is deemed too hard to move or not needed gets left behind, because almost no one has a car and is piling everything to be moved into a borrowed SUV. If they’re lucky.

It becomes an insane free for all. City residents and other college students scavenge through the stuff. It’s popularly known as Allston Christmas, which specifically refers to one neighborhood, but applies near every major campus. Literally everything and anything can be found.

And I just have this very vivid mental image of Anakin - scavenging junk piles for droid parts Anakin Skywalker - showing up to his bare apartment with his one overpacked suitcase and a backpack bursting at the seams from his big move - looking out his window to the alleyway below, eyes wide, just like “HOLY SHIT! Look at all this furniture! And it’s just THERE? For FREE? Where anyone can take it??”

And so he walks his block and outfits his new apartment like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He definitely grabs the glass coffee table - does he even need a coffee table? He hasn’t had one before and that’s going to be really hard to lug up to his 5th floor walk up all by himself. But look at it! It’s a great table! So he brings it anyways. He goes back, gets a side table, some storage shelves, and eventually comes back with his dresser (and that was so heavy and so tiring that he thinks that might be it for the day. Unless there’s a lamp. He could really use a lamp)

And that’s how he came by the glass top coffee table that sent him to the ER and back into Obi-Wan’s arms where he belongs.

And now I’m very sure you have a good idea where I attended college 😉

#dx:lovesick #thought this was a little too lengthy for an author’s note 😉#the more you know

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radical-revolution · 10 months

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Avalokiteshvara

Beings are numberless, I vow to save them

Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to end them

Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them

The Buddha way is unattainable, I vow to attain it

We are living in a time of great peril and possibility. There seems to be no bottom to the horror that each news cycle offers up, and it’s hard to know if we will ever be able to pull ourselves out of the downward spiral that our planet is undergoing: authoritarian regimes reducing people to numbers; income inequality growing vaster; greed and hatred moving through the land like a dark unctuous mist. How can we possibly save all beings under such dire conditions? And yet, we are committed to our bodhisattva vow, beings are numberless, I vow to save them.

And how about delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to end them? Anyone who has taken a good look inside their own mind—an honest look, not a simple scan—cannot help but be humbled by the useless junk flying around in there. Sometimes the junk is just a collection of benign time wasters, like lists and echoes of past conversations, and sometimes the junk is mean-spirited jealousy or feelings of envy for what we don’t have. We have learned, as social beings, to only speak a small portion of the delusions that we permit to roam freely through our mind. We can hardly even see our delusions, how are we supposed to end them?

There is no limit the wisdom of the Universe. But Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them. Thousands of teachers, past and present, have left their words and stories in the form of books for us to learn from. All the sutras and practices, all the things the Universe teaches us moment by moment about being human and living on this wondrous planet. The amount of information is endless and can be overwhelming. It seems we can only assimilate a small drop of the vast Dharma found everywhere in the Universe.

And yet, the Buddha way is unattainable and we vow to attain it. We commit to do what any sane person would agree is the impossible. These bodhisattva vows speak to a bottomless level of commitment rather than the accomplishment of an attainable goal. They encourage a state of the heart rather than pointing to a concrete outcome. When we make our bodhisattva vows we put no limits on ourselves, offer no escape clauses or final destinations. We go all in; our compassion knows no bounds. This is the same commitment that an artist makes when she looks at a blank canvas, or that a musician faces in a soundless room. There is nothing and soon there will be something. The blank canvas, the impossible, is met with a not knowing mind. We keep walking without knowing where we will land, or if we will ever land. This is our bodhisattva vow, to walk into the unknown each day with an open heart and confidence in what we cannot know.

***

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justahumblesideblog · 2 years

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We were all blinded by the idea of Hunter receiving the full found family treatment, that we overlooked the very obvious “become a cyptic trash goblin” route. This is the same little dude who was dumped onto a top of a mountain and made it to the bottom BEFORE even getting his artificial magic staff. This was the only true outcome.

#the owl house #the owl house spoilers #toh #toh spoilers #toh hunter #hunter toh #labyrinth runners #he played with his strengths #and his strength is choosing the least mentally healthy option and running with it #humble offerings (junk)

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omnybus · 1 year

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The House (2022) Netflix Original Analysis

I watched this anthology months ago, but it hasn't appeared on my dash until now so I figure I'd throw in my two cents about the film and its message. I feel the overall theme in this anthology is about the different ways that materialism ends up hurting people, and leaves them disconnected from the world.

(Spoilers)

In the first short, the parents become so obsessed with the new house and all the stuff it has to offer they not only ignore their daughter's pleas, but also all the red flags popping up around them. Plus the way that the father starts out humble and almost a bit proud of the furniture he's had for generations, soon starts laughing and belitting the sight of his old house being destroyed. Later he's seen happily burning all his old belongings, wasting otherwise perfectly good furniture just because he has new ones. The wife, meanwhile, sews a bunch of curtains to cover the windows, metaphorically blinding them to the outside world with a wall of envious green. She's later shown producing far, far more curtains then she could possibly need, almost smothering herself in them. In the end, they are consumed by their materialism as they are transformed into furniture themselves, their pride, excess, and ignorance of their surroundings, reducing them to mere extentions of the house. It's only when their own daughter's life is in danger that they actually reach out to her, but by then they're too far gone and are consumed by the fire and the house.

In the second short, the Developer is shown to be deep in debt and is trying his best to sell his house to pay it off. The house seems perfectly fine at first, but he insists on dolling it up with exotic and expensive fittings, furniture, and "state-of-the-art" gadgets, trying to make the house more impressive than it actually is while ironically sending him deeper in debt. This theme of trying to put on airs of wealth and sophistication runs through the whole short, especially during the open house scene- he tries to present junk food and energy drinks like champagne and canapes, he dresses up in a nice suit despite spending most of the short in his underpants, and trying and failing to woo the others with his gaudy gizmos like the bluetooth lights and rotisserie oven (which, let's be honest, are neat but wouldn't serve much practical use in daily life; I mean how often would any of us actually cook a rotisserie chicken?). He even sleeps in a cot in the basemenr instead of his own bed upstairs just to keep it looking nice. All the while problems pile up- stuff breaks, messes build up, and of course the fur beetles grow out of control as the Odd Couple continue squatting in his house. During all this slow-boiling chaos, the Developer has no-one to help him; no family, no friends... the only person he feels a connection to is his dentist, who eventually gets fed up with him. In the end, the house is in ruins as the rat-bugs tear up and devour everything, and the Developer, now reduced to a naked, feral creature, learns an ugly truth the hard way: no matter how fancy his house, clothes, or belongings are, he's still a rat deep down, and failing to accept his shortcomings ultimately led to his mental collapse.

In the third short, Rosa's problems are sort of a mix between the previous two: she's obsessed with trying to renovate the house to get more tenants and more money, yet is utterly blind to the world and people around her. The world outside is completely flooded, and everyone has either left or drowned; even if she manages to fix up the place there's nobody left to rent from her, nor anyone to exchange the money with for anything. Instead of acknowledging this, Rosa blames her problems on her tenants for not paying rent. Normally she'd be rightfully upset with being paid with fish and rocks, but what does she honestly expect? Neither of her tenants have any way of making money even if they wanted to. The only reason they seem to stick around is because they truly care about Rosa despite her bitterness, and want her to stop obsessing over this lost cause. Eventually something comes along to shake up the status quo in the form of Cosmos, who at first offers to help Rosa with her project, but instead tears up floorboards, builds a boat for the two tenants, and converts Rosa's house into a makeshift sailboat. But ultimately it is up to Rosa to choose whether to stay here in her ultimately doomed comfort zone or venture forth into the scary but more hopeful unknown. And unlike the other two shorts, Rosa gets the happier ending because while she does start off materialistic, she has something the other victims of the house didn't have: love and support from friends who care about her.

Ultimately, consumerism ends up consuming you back, and can leave you in a state of hollow isolation and dissatisfaction that no amount of expensive toys and trinkets can fulfill. This is the true meaning of "money can't buy happiness"; while nice things are nice and money certainly solves a lot of our problems, past a certain point it just becomes more disposable income. Money can't buy or replace real, meaningful relationships with other people, which we all need to truly be happy.

#ramblings #media analysis #the house 2022 #netflix original #stop motion animation #consumerism #materialism #isolation

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sunkissedfawn · 7 months

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In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new: an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

#anton ego #ratatouille #quote #review #letter #film

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star-shard · 1 year

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Ride or Die (Part 1)

Elvis x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Premise: It’s been months since Elvis made a little record at Sun as a birthday present for his mother. One evening, the two of you go out for a drive. Crime isn’t that so different from the music business, you both come to find.

Note: Bank Robbery AU

Words: 2.2k

Nothing really compared to a drive with Elvis. If his voice just talking wasn’t enough of a sound system, he always had the best tracks playing on the radio. And he seemed to know them better than how he knew how to drive. Sure the heat outside was murder, but the breeze was bliss. He was bliss. It didn’t matter if the truck you were in was one flat tire away from the junk yard, it was a hunk of junk that you’d come to love. There was a metaphor somewhere in there. Elvis wasn’t junk. But he was a hunk of something, that was for sure.

You could still picture him the first day the two of you met. Just next door to Sun Records. It was in Taylor’s restaurant, a place with food on par with the staff. Easy, a little tasteless, but lovable all the same. Maybe that’s why Elvis stood out. Well, anyone adorned in pink and black, looking more like a matador than a musician would leave an impression. He had been excited on that particular day. He asked for a soda, and apologized with the slightest stutter when his child sized guitar hit against the lunch counter. He was hopped on on something. And you wouldn’t mind getting hopped up on him.

It was natural to strike up conversation. And he told you about this music he just had recorded at Sun Records, he said it was a present for his mama. About as modest as you can get. But, you couldn’t help but wonder. If he wanted to make a cheap record, one could cut a record for a lot less around the corner, for just a few cents opposed to the four dollar fee that Sun offered.

No, you saw just as clear as day that the song in his heart wasn’t just for his mama. And he had that same twinkle as other musicians had after bustling in fresh of a session next-door, eager to be discovered. Elvis’s hunger was in his eyes, and in his stomach. He put away an impressive amount of hamburgers.

And after drawling comments and interests you queried about, you had to just come out and ask. Why did he want to be a famous singer? He said in this almost bashful way, “I think I could be great.”

The way he said it, the way he smiled something crooked but genuine, you saw the stars that he did.

It started as just liking how he talked about music, but then you loved how he talked about anything. In a restaurant, under a tree, gazing at a car dealership. Then you loved how he looked at you, with both eyes no less. Most people only looked with just the one. And when he asked you on a date to the drive-in on your third meeting over a milk shake, you came to love how he’d brush his greased up hair back when he said a joke only the two of you would get.

His humor was off-color but so was he. Everything about him was both frills and leather. Fluff and yet also made to last. The idea of him being recorded on anything less than four dollars was absolutely not a possibility.

Elvis was a one to one to a toddler learning to walk: eager, scared, and ready. It felt a shame he was trapped in a metal box on wheels day to day, the strings that hit his fingers more often than not were electrical wires, not that of a guitar. Crown Electric employed him, and helped pay his family’s bills. And you understood that. Taylor helped pay yours. A stepping stone was small but it was solid ground.

But you just knew he deserved better. Even in his more quiet moments, when he wasn’t musical, there was an introspection there that he only let his loved ones get a glimpse at.

It had been a few months since he first cut those two humble track record at Sun.

That rusted truck had become a bit of a second home because with his work schedule, riding with him was a majority of your dates. And he’d stop whenever he could in front of that recording studio. He’d linger, stop in, ask if any work was needed. Only to be turned 180 out the door.

So when one evening he came to your house with the offer to go for a drive, you thought it would be like any other. That he had a delivery or a job. And you’d no doubt cruise by Sun Records for another errand of Elvis’s almost puppy dog like devotion to them.

You couldn’t help but notice his disappointment railing him deeper every time he stopped there. What was once expectant excitement had devolved into soaked wires connecting. No sparks.

Tonight specifically, in that one piece get up with ‘Crown’ printed proudly on the chest, he looked like he had the jitters. Knowing Elvis it was more likely he had too much cola than anything else. But you could have sworn the way he gripped that steering wheel, he was bracing for impact.

“The wheel’s supposed to be a circle, you know. You don’t gotta break it,” you mentioned. Not even the hopping beats of R & B that pumped through the truck was enough to get him moving. That’s how you knew something was amiss tonight.

“What?” His delayed reaction was answer enough and the sweat going down his forehead wasn’t from the balmy summer night. That heat was coming from the inside. “Right… sorry, honey, didn’t even know I was speeding.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the seat, your knees coming to the dash, “looks like you don’t even know where you’re going. I thought we were going to the west side for your job.” You rose an eyebrow but weren’t gaming for a fight. More curious in your prodding.

“Well. You know.” You didn’t know. But sometimes Elvis got like that. Even when he was in love. His heart was as open as a public park. But his mind had specific walls labeled: Do Not Enter.

You wondered if it was just the station, that maybe turning the dial towards country would get him going in a direction. Any direction. You fiddled with the radio. The stations offered both melody, advertisements, and static. You had to grab the car door when he nearly missed a stop sign. “Elvis Presley, what’s going on with you?”

He seemed to remember again he wasn’t alone in the car and mercifully the car came to a complete stop. You knew this part of town. A few blocks up would be Sun. Not an unusual stop. At this point in his life, when Elvis went to sleep, he didn’t count on sheep, he counted on Sam Phillips. But there was something else bustling in him. “Nine months…” He mumbled, his fingers released their death grip to the steering wheel and now placated it with a drumming motion. “Nine god damn months.”

For a hot second the idea of him getting someone pregnant grazed your mind. Hard not to, the number nine was a weighty one in a relationship. He seemed to have caught your look his way.

“Since I cut that record,” he said clarrified, “I go to Sun Records more than I go the Church!” Well, you’d heard of sun worshippers before. It was true as he said it. In all honesty Elvis was a little more important to you than Church. And any chance he had to get his voice heard was just as important. His eyes went to the glove box.

“Then why are we heading to Sun,” you asked, “for god’s sake, Elvis. I know you’re good… you know you’re good. If Sam isn’t calling you in, I say that’s on him.” You knew Elvis had the spirit, he jumped just as high as anyone in any gospel crowd, and could sing as high as any bird. More than anything else, seeing him almost in pain was the worst of it all. The way his fingers drummed so hard you thought it might just get an echo.

Elvis breathed just in time for the disc jokey on the radio to announce an advertisement for something that could fix your life. “It’s money. Always money.” His eyes went to the glove box.

Now the picture was coming into focus. “That landlord. What did she say to you this time? Your daddy can’t help it, his back is what it is.”

“It don’t have to be,” he said right back. And you saw something going on in his eyes. Not in the blues, but right in the center, in the black. Elvis was thinking of something a mile a minute and you were just trying to parse it out. It’s like he felt a little shame at it, like he needed permission to say what he meant. His eyes were now staring at the glove box.

There was something in there. Right under your knees. “Elvis…” you said carefully, holding that word like it might cut you. “I can walk home. You know I can.”

That seemed to get him to compromise his nervous energy. “Maybe it’s Memphis, maybe it’s me. If I just had money. I know that, this time at night, at the Bank, they change shifts and it gets… disorganized for a bit. I know. I asked for a lone last week, I know how they work.”

It was coming into focus now. Why he was out on a drive. Why you were here next to him. Why his eyes seemed to watch the glove box like it might jump out of the car and go for a walk if he didn’t keep an eye on it. And it made sense why music wasn’t reaching him right now. Because what he was reaching for was far away from himself. “…You’re serious.”

Elvis didn’t answer, but that was answer enough. The disappointment. Being told no and no and no and no over and over again. From landlords, from Sun Records, you could almost see the word imprinted on his neck the way his veins were popping out.

And by the way he looked, he was waiting for a no from you. You wondered if that’s why he brought you. If you were the last layer of moral fiber here to talk him down. That sentiment touched you. Something in him knew this impulse wasn’t right. Elvis didn’t want to rob a bank. He just wanted to feel alive.

“I think we’ll be lucky to get two miles out,” you said. After all, this piece of shit broke down more often than it drove.

“There’s Cadillacs, parked out front of it.” He said it like a boy that had just cheated on a test, mischievous, anxious. “They go way faster.” He seemed ready to just about bite his tongue off. There was no way in hell he’d tell his mother about this, but he would tell you. Yet almost like it was baked into his nature, he still desired a mother’s response, deep in those puppy dog eyes.

Even if something was burning out of his chest.

For a second you just looked at him, waiting to see if he might start crying. If that was the case you’d hold him. You’d tell him it was okay to get desperate, that didn’t make him a bad person. Maybe if they sped through a few stop signs they’d make it to Sun Records before it closed and could ask one more time if they needed a new singer.

Instead your knees lowered to the handle of the glove box. Elvis’s voice truly reached little boy pitch. “Wait-“

Clink. Metal. Heavier than a wrench clunked down just in front of you below the dash. It was loaded. But you didn’t need to look at it to know what it was. Your eyes were looking deeper into his now. “Was it expensive?” You ask.

“It’s from one of the guys at work. He’s always packing. Left in in the truck and… I told him it went missing. I know how to fire it. I wouldn’t have taken it if I didn’t.” Elvis said assuredly, he must have noticed by now that you weren’t going to be any scolding mother right now. Not when things were getting interesting.

This was getting real. So real it had a caliber.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Elvis said carefully. Because he needed you to say it. That was something about Elvis that made him different from all the other musicians that rolled into Taylor’s all pompous and full of shit. They were so inside themselves. But Elvis was different. To put it frank, it was almost like he was outside of himself. And he needed to be touching something else, to know anything.

Some musicians only heard their own voices. But Elvis heard everything.

And you, heard Elvis.

As cars passed where you were parked on the side of the road, the glint of gun metal shined in the corner of your eye, just in front of you. Reminding you, just what he asked of you. The truck rides you had with Elvis were better than any shift you had at work, better than any song on the radio. A ride that didn’t end, a ride on the run, what was so wrong with that.

“I think I’m riding shotgun.”

#Elvis #omg this is so self indulgent #dark!Y/N #Y/N is a bad influence here y'all

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