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usedpidemo · 1 year

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And scene ((G)I-dle Minnie)

“Oh my God.”

No other words could adequately describe what happened to you. It was everything but a blur, things that could easily form into lifelong traumas. Almost everything you went through over the past few days might as well be taken straight out of a movie.

So where do you start?

An encounter with the local mafia that results in your fingers almost getting cut off, rescuing a Thai princess whose father was in cahoots with said criminal organization—the reason why she’s being held hostage as leverage—then escaping with her in a car and being pursued across the country by a helicopter and countless vehicles sent by the syndicate.

You should really be dead by now. Four times over.

Countless bruises, and wounds from bullets, blades, and everything that is designed to kill a man—any of these alone would be enough to permanently break any person, and you’re no athlete or assassin; you’re just a regular guy on what you thought was a promising vacation. It’s a miracle that you’re still breathing, more so standing, running on your feet towards the car you’ve taken refuge in, now on its roof and in flames.

Forget about the millions you’ve also stolen from the mafia; you’re thankful to be alive.

Unfortunately, your miraculous plot armor doesn’t seem to have passed on to the princess. At a glance, she appears to have only minor cuts and bruises like yours, but she’s laying on the tarmac, completely unconscious and unresponsive.

“Princess! Princess!” You shout, turn her face up and slap her cheek, checking for any signs of life. Blood trickles down her dirty face from her forehead, her lips, and her nose. You lean against her chest and press a thumb on her wrist, desperately seeking for a pulse.

Not a single response, not a single sign. She’s as good as dead.

Though you barely knew the woman, in the quiet moments when you weren’t dreading your surroundings, you grew feelings for her. Her beauty was befitting of her royal title, and despite her nobility, she never really thought much of it other than a personal burden. She only wanted to live a normal life, and you sympathized with her plight, even though you were merely a tourist passing through, unfamiliar with her customs and culture.

She didn’t deserve to die because of other people’s stupidity and recklessness, including yours.

You couldn’t bear to leave her alone. The survivor’s guilt hurts you more than anything that could have physically killed you. Sure, her family might not hold you responsible for their daughter’s death, but considering you ran off with her and traveled the entire country to find a safe haven, you might as well be an accomplice in their eyes. If not them, the media will.

You wanted to be by her side for as long as you could, praying for a miracle, but your instincts tell you to keep moving, to keep fighting.

You haven’t eaten anything for two days, and there’s nothing nearby that remotely resembles human civilization for miles. The sun has begun setting down, and soon enough, you’ll be prey to ferocious animals and the ruthless cold night. Despite this, you still have no intention to leave her. You’re just hoping the rescue promised by the national defense reaches you before it’s too late.

Just then, before you get up, you feel a tug on your arm. You turn and find the princess’ hand clinging to yours. She’s extremely weak, barely able to open her eyes, but she’s alive. Her little smile is more than enough of a reassurance that everything is going to be fine.

As much as you want to scream with joy, you’re far too overwhelmed with emotion, and all you can do is cry. Leaning close to her, you plant a gentle kiss on her chin and put her in a tight embrace.

“You’re—you’re—”

“Yeah,” she says, very faintly. She tries to widen her smile, but can’t. She doesn’t have to; she’s already done more than enough. “I’ll be okay.”

Right then and there, you give her a kiss you’ve been holding on for so long, all the pent-up feelings poured into your lips. A smooch so powerful, it can restore her life. A true love’s kiss, you could say. With the little strength she has, the princess gives in, reciprocating your love in kind, parting her lips. Both of you feel each other’s warmth with the setting sun shining down on you.

It couldn’t have been a more hopeful ending.

—————

“And cut!” A man’s rough voice echoes from the distance. That man isn’t really there, but he’s actually there, deliberating the action, fabricating everything up.

See, there was never any rescue, there was no criminal organization, and there was no damsel in distress. You were never really in danger all along.

You’re not really on vacation. You’ve been tirelessly working, in fact, in the confines of a film studio disguised as your ‘vacation.’ The princess you’ve been falling for is merely a co-worker, a colleague. It’s nothing but superficial chemistry to add some authenticity to an otherwise absurd but generic action movie plot.

You draw your lips away from the kiss, unknowingly keeping up the act with a light smile and blush on the ‘princess.’ She mirrors your sentiment, flashes a light grin back. Whether or not there’s some realism between you is up to the viewer, but at the very least the camera makes you two look believable. You can’t edit or animate chemistry like that.

“Great job everyone! That’s a wrap!” says the director, pulling up from his seat to laud you and gesturing to the other staff to stand in front of the cameras. Today’s the last day of filming for your next film, an action-comedy romance thriller with you as the lead. It’s a lot to take in at first, knowing that this is your first principal part in a high budget film after a string of acclaimed indies and even generating some awards buzz along the way, but you knew you had to take the jump and get your name out there beyond a niche of Letterboxd and Twitter film geeks.

As for your co-star, Kim Minnie, she couldn’t have had a more different career trajectory than yours. She was a child actress who’s path to box office stardom couldn’t be any straighter, but her momentum stagnated with a series of commercial and critically panned mid-budget romcoms. She needed a brand reinvention more than ever, and this was her first move in getting her star back on the rise.

As promising of a script as it looked, and even with a respectable director and crew handling, nothing is guaranteed for both of you. There’s so many ways the final product can end up: a critical and commercial success, an absolute disaster, a middling picture that will be completely forgotten after opening weekend, a cult classic that will only blossom years—decades even—after the initial release; the list goes on and on.

At least the bag is guaranteed. The studio threw you millions to star in their blockbuster, even when you have no prior hit or prestigious award to your name. Either a sign of the studio seeing star potential or a big red flag, casting an unknown, and knowing who was supposed to be in their initial casting before you stepped in, it’s safer to assume the latter. Either way, you’re getting paid, and you always have the indie circuit to fall back on, should the worst come to pass.

After a set of group photographs for the behind-the-scenes reel, it’s time for you to move past this project and onto the next one. You don’t really think much of the experience, apart from the overall kindness of the staff and professionalism of your co-stars, some of which you’ll likely work with again, and others you’ll never see again after today. Of course, there’s the press tour, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

—————

It isn’t until the next hour that you’re finally able to drop the act and become yourself again. Alone in your designated waiting room, having cleaned up your rather uncomfortable makeup and in your casual wear, you hear a knock on the door right as you’re preparing to leave. Putting on your shirt, you walk up and open it to a staff member with a box in her hand.

“Miss Kim sent me to give this to you,” says the assistant, holding out the wrapped gift in front of you, which you gladly accept.

“Thanks!” you say, enthused, smiling back at the crew member. “Tell her I sent my regards.”

“Of course, she’d be delighted to hear that. See you!” She replies before quickly turning away as you close the door.

You immediately unwrap and peel off the box that Minnie gave you, presumably a farewell gift, knowing that this was your last day together. You heard rumors of her kindness toward the staff and fellow co-stars in the past, and this confirms her great reputation as a giver and substantiates practically every story and excerpt.

So you open the box and find a new expensive watch inside, completely untouched with a tiny note attached to it.

> To my knight in shining armor

> Love, Kim Minnie

You don’t realize it, but as you finish reading the brief letter, you’re smiling widely, giddy like a child growing feelings toward their school crush. Perhaps there is a little more authenticity in the role than you initially brought, and a little more relatability with your character, falling in love with a princess like her.

Reality then hits hard. You’ll likely never see her again, as much as you want to do more films with her. She has a different preference in projects compared to yours, and your career trajectories couldn’t be any more different. Of course, that can easily change over time, and one day she chooses to become an indie darling like you, the same way you built up your name in the first place, but that’s as likely as a sequel to this picture getting greenlit.

Nevertheless, you were now motivated to see her one last time before leaving it all behind for good.

So you make your way to Minnie’s personal dressing room to knock. The door doesn’t open, neither does any sound echo from the inside. She probably left already, you assume, but the lights are still on in there after noticing the floor. You try again, yet the response remains the same: there isn’t any. There’s still staff roaming the halls doing cleanup, so you can’t make your presence obvious by shouting her name.

After about five minutes, you contemplate leaving, but decide to wait a little more. Eventually, you notice that her door appears to be unlocked. She’s still there; there’s hope. Out of morbid curiosity, you decide to take a peek. Quiet as a mouse, you gently turn the knob without generating a sound, only to find something blinding.

When you peek your eyes inside, you find Minnie shuffling back and forth—naked. It takes every muscle and nerve in your body not to slam that door shut and make your presence known. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you close the door. Thankfully, the staff nearby seem to have completed their jobs or conveniently decided to clean elsewhere; you choose to believe in the latter.

Your better judgment tells you to walk away now, that you can still get some closure later on. There’s still the press tour for you to meet her again, and you can always choose projects that also happen to include her. No need for you to get involved in an unnecessary scandal just because.

Despite that, you knew you wanted to see her again, just not like this. But after seeing a tiny glimpse, you had no intention to leave so soon. You wanted more.

So you quietly re-enter her room, your eyes peeking out to watch her dress, and it’s the sexiest thing your eyes ever laid upon. She’s no longer completely nude, having put on some panties since then, but you capture countless mental pictures of her sizable, shapely breasts before she puts on a lace bra. Her previously long blonde locks having turned raven, the former being a cover for her actual hair, flows down to her shoulders with a brush of her hand. Either way, she rocks both colors flawlessly. She radiates star power and charisma naturally on top of her charming, seductive face and well-toned body, and you wonder how her career would have turned out had she played more femme fatale characters.

Her body was perfectly designed for them. In fact, everything about her was made for them.

Even when she’s doing nothing, pacing back and forth half-nude without a care in the world, she makes it look like the hottest thing ever. None of your previous co-stars made you feel this way, enamored and smitten with every little move like they’re deliberate and purposeful. If her goal was to seduce you, she certainly perfected it.

You’re so into her, indulging in the sight of Kim Minnie dressing up for you like your own private little show, that you’re left unaware of your body’s deeper intentions, pushing you a little further past that door, bargaining for more, until—

Thud!

With a sudden, echoed yelp, you throw yourself from the safety of heaven and into the fire.

You crash into her dressing room, your cry echoing across the studio. No harness or body double can break your fall or save you now.

“Hey!” Minnie’s barely finished putting on her shirt when she rushes over to you, worried. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m good,” you say, grunting as you pick yourself off the ground, brushing off the dust off your clothes.

“Are you sure?” She softly brushes your hair, tilting your chin up so that your eyes meet, hers accompanied with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“I—I came over to, um—say thanks for the gift watch.” you reply, nervous, uncertain of your chosen words. It’s a miracle enough that you’ve found a reasonable excuse as to why you’re even there to begin with.

“Ah yeah! Manager-nim sent me your regards, but it’s much nicer to hear it coming from your own voice. It’s been great filming with you.”

“Of course,” you say, grinning. “Same goes with you, too.”

Minnie draws her hands away from your face. “Yeah, I hope we can find a way to share the screen together again.”

“Me too.” you reply, nodding in agreement, unable to avert your gaze from hers.

As soon as you stop talking, awkward silence fills the room almost instantaneously. Minnie’s nervous smile remains constant, anticipating a follow up like there’s another half to make it whole. She’s right in that you do have a few more things to admit, but as the saying goes: some things are better left unsaid.

Considering how you fawned over her minutes ago, this seems like the best option moving forward. Keep it all business. You know how this industry works, how these moments go, how one small move leads to another, and the ending is usually not a good one, even if the consequences aren’t immediate. In a line that takes promising careers and shreds them to nothing, you know better than to fall into the system. She likely knows, too.

“I’ll—” you turn around, pausing to glance back at her. This isn’t you, nervous and tense like it’s your first day on the job. “—be on my way now.”

She gives you a modest wave goodbye as you take a few steps forward, the door to your freedom inches away.

Then you stop.

You don’t end up getting your freedom. You don’t really want it. In fact, you toss it aside, a mere afterthought. Against your better judgment, you’re going off script, and there’s no external voice commanding you to stop, and you have no intention to. Impulse brought you to this point, and you were about to reap the full benefits. It’s a high, not a low.

“Minnie.” You turn around towards her with eyes full of lust, and her name dripping from your lips like your personal serotonin. She raises a curious eyebrow, puzzled.

“Hm? Something up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She doesn’t look fazed when you start walking back toward her. It’s like she knows you have some unfinished business.

A soft peck on the lip. It isn’t practice for a future kiss scene; the kiss only happened at the very end, and in some twisted way, the script wrote itself.

“I think you’re really pretty.” Quickly retreating, you make it so obvious how head over heels you are for her—flushed cheeks, childish grin, and stilted body language. All that’s missing is some cheesy modern pop music or some overused slow 80s classic in the background.

“I—I—”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are pleading, begging. “I kinda fell for you—no, I completely fell for you.”

She covers her lips with her hands, utterly in disbelief. Her cheeks are burning just as bright as yours. “Oh my.”

“Um, well you’re beautiful, and really kind, and—” You had many things to say to Minnie, most of which previously echoed by others, and there’s no substance behind them, apart from maybe the first point, and they’re not what you really want to confess.

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work.” She sees through the facade, but your awkwardness is genuine. Mostly. “It was cute though, I’ll give you that.”

“W-what do you mean?” Your eyes widen at the sudden twist.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I know that’s not what you wanted to say.” Her shy expressions are replaced by a confident, piercing smirk, her arms crossed close to her chest. “You think I’m hot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, no—actually yeah, I think you’re really hot,” you say, waving the white flag almost immediately. It was so obvious from the jump. One of the few times your ‘acting’ failed you.

“And?” Minnie raises an eyebrow, confidently expecting an answer. Her presence is so striking, it swallows up whatever remaining confidence you had left. There’s really nowhere to hide or run.

“Well, I hope you wouldn’t be upset, but—” Gulp your throat. “I quietly peeked through the door as you dressed.”

“Knew it.” Minnie shakes her head, quietly giggling at points. “I knew something was up when the door was slightly opened.”

“Yeah, but—I’m really sorry! I really wanted to say thanks first! I didn’t mean to peek through the door on purpose.”

“Yeah, because you accidentally peeked through my door? Sure, I believe you.” she replies, mockingly.

“Okay, but I couldn’t help it. You weren’t answering.” you say, tone deflated.

“You couldn’t have waited a bit longer?” she lifts an eyebrow, gives you a wary glare. “Fucking pervert. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

“Five minutes is a long time.” you quietly mumble, pulling out the last of your pathetic excuses, but she’s clearly caught you red-handed.

“Yeah, fuck you. Only sorry cause you’re caught.” Her eyes sharpen and she shakes her head. “Fine. You should be happy I’m in quite a good mood today, so leave. I’ll pretend this never happened, but I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

You’re visibly distraught. You have no intention to walk, not when there’s a lot at stake, and who knows what she’s going to do afterward. Hell, even as early as tomorrow, your career may no longer exist.

“Minnie,” You say, gently, eyes having gone from wanting to pleading. She turns to you with a fierce glare, as if the mention of her name desecrates her entire being. A stare so piercing you impulsively look the other way. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hm.” She scans your face. Soft, helpless, vulnerable. “And how will you do that?”

You take a deep breath, swallow hard. “Anything. Please don’t get me in trouble. No one else has to get involved.”

She pouts, runs the offer meticulously through her head, having all the leverage in this proposal. The negotiations delay to make sure all her terms are agreed upon. Footstep clatters echo from outside the room, but not a soul is aware or even tries to interfere with your little affair.

“Okay, you say anything?” she asks, facing you, expression still cold.

You nod, still trembling.

“I only want one thing, then.” Minnie approaches you, each step of her heel a death bell being rung. Her eyes gaze at you, demanding your attention belong to her and her alone—and there were plenty of different parts about her that grabbed them. “You said you think I’m hot, right? Good news, I felt the same way about you—that was, until you pulled that little stunt, pervert.”

She says the last word like it’s a curse on your clean record, a reminder that will cling to you till you’re buried six feet under.

Keeping her eyes locked on yours, she walks around you until a sofa is conveniently right behind her. She then walks backwards, her hand motioning you to follow her, to which you reluctantly oblige. Inches away from the couch, she stops you right in your tracks, rubs her palms down your shirt, sizing you up.

“You’re a good kisser, I’ll give you that,” she says, her modulated, assertive tone reduced to a faint whisper. “But I wanna know if you’re good at love scenes too.”

Despite your stature, you’ve never shot a sex scene. At best, it’s you and your on-screen partner making out before the camera pans out of view, leaving the rest for the viewer’s imagination. Now you have to do the real thing completely uncut.

There’s a huge price to fame, after all.

Minnie lifts her white crop over her head, granting you a much closer view of her cleavage. She tosses it aside before facing you again. Arousing of a sight it looks, you’re anxious. “Take your shirt off.”

You follow, your sweater joining hers on the opposite end of the room to be forgotten. She scans you again, your bare, well-built chest completely exposed to her, now completely clean of fake scratches and wounds.

“Fuck, this is nice,” she comments, palming your chest. This isn’t the first time she’s seen you shirtless, but it’s in a completely different setting and context. “I wish we could have done this sooner. Oh well. Better now than never, I guess.”

Minnie plants a soft peck on your bicep, then on another, until she’s marked all your core points with her strawberry flavored lipstick. She nudges you a tiny bit closer to her, enough that you can feel your groin tense up against the hint of her heat.

“Yeah, that’s it. You feel so hard for me. You want to fuck me so bad, don’t you?” Minnie wraps her arms over your neck, explores your back and squeezes flesh to claim. Her seductive teasing reaffirms your true intentions, even though you’re never going to openly admit them. At some point, you wonder as to what her definition of punishment means, but you brush the thought aside, especially when your blood rushes down from your head to your groin.

She sneakily grabs you by your balls, tightening behind obstructive layers of fabric. Your erection can’t wait to spring free, lest you go home with conspicuously soiled pants. Grabbing a hold of your tent, her infectious lips continue to quietly shatter your eardrums. “I can already imagine this dick fucking my pussy so hard and so fast. Mmm, I bet you can actually make me cum.”

Had it been any other scenario besides this one, you’d have fired back a quip or two. Instead, you remain silent, rendered powerless under her commanding spell, reduced to a weak groaning shell of yourself.

“Too bad that will have to wait,” she suddenly blurts, pushing you away before retreating to the couch. Crossing her legs, she adds, “Let’s do a little trial run. Pleasure me without using your cock, then we might get somewhere. Sounds good?”

You sigh. Whether out of frustration of being blue balled or because of her terms is up for anyone’s interpretation. She lifts her eyebrows, looking at you intensely, smirking, reveling at your visible disappointment.

“The producers are just down the hall, so unless you want to take it to court,” she comments, teasingly, instigating, sparking a fire in your gut. Footsteps echo, again proving her point. You don’t doubt her for a second, but it stings whenever you hear that stark reminder of your little mistake. You just wanted to get on with the act and move past it immediately.

Her eyes maintain an intense grip on you—smoldering—as you approach her and take her by the waist, watching as you take hold of her jeans and slide them down, pushing her gray panties along as extra baggage. Gracefully, she opts to give you a little mercy by kicking off her flats. Even when she seemingly does nothing, her eyes judge, take note of your serious, rather businesslike demeanor of undressing her.

Her splayed pussy’s right in your view, but your petty contempt for her makes it less inviting.

“What are you waiting for?” dares Minnie, pointing down at her entrance, eyebrows raised and tauntingly smirking.

You couldn’t be any more eager to wipe that confident smile off her face.

Keeping the rule in mind, you hover atop her seat on the couch and drop an arm, burying your hand between her pink lips. Minnie winces as your fingers make first contact with her clit, drawing her heat. She appears visibly shaken, caught unawares by your touch, even when she expected it.

“O-oh, f-fuck—” she whines, shutting an eye, cheeks puffing as she tries to resist, to no avail. Her nails rake into your back, inviting you ever closer, slowly relinquishing control, a perfect time for you to claim as yours.

The wet and warm sensation scalds, burns on your fingertips. You anticipated her to be wet, but not this soaked. Her pussy drags your digits further down like quicksand—nigh inescapable. Each little slap and touch creates a clap, a few raindrops that signal forthcoming rain.

Propped only by your other arm resting on her shoulder, you indulge in her wetness, searching for her favorite spot, the gold mine. Her body trembles, slowly but certainly adjusting to your fingers, moans becoming thinner and airy, eyes gradually losing focus on you, absorbed in the pleasure rapidly building within her. Her hips slowly buck and fold, grind against your digits in an attempt to swallow them whole.

“F-feels so good, f-fuck—” she whines, entangling her arm with yours, almost disrupting the euphoric moment when she drags you onto the couch with her. It’s a blessing in disguise, as you’re able to kick off your shoes and increase the tempo inside her.

In that moment, she had forgotten her anger, only to be replaced by a renewed feeling of bliss.

Moaning against her temple, lips barely grazing her forehead, you whisper, “You’re so fucking wet, and I haven’t even put this dick in you yet.”

“Fuck off.” Minnie suddenly snaps, tone frantic, her body set alight by need and craving for more. Even with the little fight she displays, she’s clearly on the losing end, delaying the inevitable. It’s all the more clearer when her voice fades, strains with every passing word, and her plea betrays her. “P-please, keep going.”

You slip a second finger, watch as her legs clamp down as her body squirms tighter and tighter beneath her touch. By the way her legs tremble and writhe violently, you swear they’re melting into the couch. She grasps at straws to keep you controlled, to keep your tempo stable, to leave some breathing room, to no avail. Your digits continue to fuck her at an intense pace, to the point where the wet, squelching claps of her cunt echo along with her lewd moans.

“Yes. Need that.” She squirms beneath you, her hands no longer craving you, but on a different goal; she brings them around her back, unhooks her bra for you to toss them aside on her behalf. Afterward, she grabs you by the wrist and leads you directly to her breast, a generous reward for your efforts.

When you hold her, it’s like rescuing a damsel in distress, saving her from her most wanton of desires by fueling yours. Every little touch, slap, and pinch of her naked body loosens her psyche and drives her wild.. From the most strained cry to the loudest scream, Minnie makes it clear just how amazing you feel to her, and her voice makes the sultriest sounds your ears are blessed to hear.

You can’t help but put such thought into words.

“God, you have such a sexy voice when you moan,” you whisper, and it’s what appears to break her.

Minnie lets out an ear-shattering shrill, her body convulsing as the pressure of your fingers finally pushes past a point beyond repair. Her legs lock tighter on your hand, as if they couldn’t be any more imprisoned, but they eventually loosen up and pave the way for her unannounced orgasm.

She gushes. Like a broken faucet, she doesn’t stop leaking, passionately crying through her vivid climax. It’s a mixture of slick and water that leaves your fingers incapable of leaving her, so you entertain the notion, dragging your digits in and out of her still gushing folds, seeming to make a mark on her cunt. Brushing in and out for a bit, until you settle around the exterior of her clit, you continue to fondle and caress her in your twisted form of aftercare. Even so, her orgasm continues to wash over her and your fingers, spilling onto the mattress you fuck her on.

“Oh God, I can’t stop cumming, oh God—” she whines, gasping for air, mouth agape, her hand grabbing her other breast; her orgasm is gradually dying from a shower to a drizzle.

“Mmm.” You brush your sticky fingers on her belly, playfully nodding in agreement. “Sounds about right.”

Minnie takes a moment to gather herself before she pushes your hand aside—quicker than you hoped. By the way she orgasmed and screamed, you’d think she’d already be down for the count. “I wasn’t ready, you pervert.”

“I was only following the rules,” you respond, lifting your shoulders in a shrug, barely holding on to your confident demeanor, only showing the faintest sign of a smirk.

“Sure, whatever.” Minnie shoots you a stern leer, but it doesn’t faze you in the slightest—not when you know that she’s no better than anyone else. “Now fuck me with that cock and cum fast so we can get this over with.”

You get the pleasantries out quickly, as she wanted. Hopping off the couch, you undo your belt and pants, get your already hard cock free from its denim constraints. She eyes your shaft intently, looking unsatisfied, but you know it’s a facade, a poor acting effort compared to her usual abilities.

“Sure you want me to cum fast?” you tease, jokingly pointing out her fixated gaze on your cock. “Seems like you want me to give it to you nice and slow.”

“N-no. I was just surprised at how big it is,” she retorts, appearing even more scornful than moments before. She looks up at you, visibly annoyed, before looking down at your raging cock once more, another sign of betrayal.

“Please. Drop the act, Minnie.” Tilt her up from the chin, gently pushing her back down on the cushion. Surprisingly, there’s no pushback, no reluctance; she allows you to get atop her on the couch. Her eyes look into yours, then scan your chest with want, with need. “Let me fuck you the way you really want. I want it too.”

A flirty smirk forms on her contorted lips. She pulls you to her level by your shoulders, softly nibbling on your earlobe. With a hypnotic whisper, she says, “Fuck me.”

You return the favor, smiling lightly at the open invitation given to you—knowing that her body knows her wants more than she does. Without wasting any more time on needless pleasantries, you slip yourself in, introducing your cock to her welcoming heat. No matter how much you prepared for this, it takes every fiber of your resolve to not crumble immediately in that moment, uttering a sharp hiss as you close the gap between your length and her womb.

Your unison forms a harmonious groan and curse that fills the room louder than anything before. The powerful wave of pleasure surging through you overrides your senses, leaves you unable to move, keeps your eyes shut, unable to look at the handiwork beneath you. You grip a hand around her breast, elicit another moan from Minnie’s sultry lips, seek a sign you’re doing it right.

“So fucking tight,” you rasp, slowly fighting her tight, wet cunt from sucking you all in. Her creamy legs narrow the gap, leaving you even more breathless. Still, you manage, by some miracle, to pull yourself out before you plunge right in again.

Words can’t tell how good Minnie feels with you inside her; sexy, erotic mewls that tickle your eardrums are the only proper expression.

Your hands intertwine and find themselves in the only comfortable place they can be in, with each other. Finding nothing but paradise in her heat, you rest your head on the groove of her neck, still overwhelmed to look at her ecstasy-filled face. As you mark down her skin, leave marks that no amount of makeup can hide, you settle into a steady rhythm fucking her. With each thrust her walls clench around your cock, turn it to a canvas of her pleasure with her juices.

The world quiets down for just the two of you, except for the crescendo of moans that leave both your lips and the wet flaps of skin against skin, and that’s all you want to hear right now. There’s no pressure from the outside, no call from a producer or staff telling you to get ready, just the hot action happening between you.

Minnie’s thighs continue to clench around your hips, put more pressure around you to burn. In retaliation, you put her deeper into the couch, melt her flesh into the leather as you comfortably fuck her at your pace—not too fast, but not too slow. She returns your lovemaking in kind, rolls her hips, and meets you halfway with each thrust. One hand rests on her taut breast, the other on her hips, but hers are connected with yours; either way, you have the actress exactly right where you want her to be.

“You fuck me so well,” she whines, tone low, lifting her neck up, kicking her thighs, urging more out of you. “Harder. Harder.”

Lifting your figure up, your cock sinks further into her suffocating walls, plunging as deep as you can into her drenched pussy. The deeper you go, the higher your moans reach. Her hot body leaves you so weak, so breathless, that it forces Minnie’s legs to spur your hips on, to keep fucking her just like this.

“Minnie.” Her name is a plea to make the sensation stop or at least slow down, as incredible as she feels around you. Ultimately, it does nothing, and you press on, as if only her body can satiate you.

It’s then that her eyes flutter open, lips still melted and open, still moaning as you pound her. Her chest heaves with each deep breath, while her palms find their way around your chest. She tries to pull you down again, but to no avail. Ultimately, her body goes rigid, trembles violently beneath you as her second orgasm overcomes her and leaves her completely open to the throes of pleasure.

“I came again,” she whispers, her light figure quaking from her fresh climax. Even with jittery muscles, her hand traces up to your shoulder, till it reaches up your cheek, forcing you to meet her. “Please, cum in me already.”

Her legs loosen around your hips, as if telling you otherwise, but the feeling is so good—so wet, so warm, and so tight—that it would be a disservice to everything you’ve done so far not to unload in her. She has her eyes observing you, softly caressing your shoulders in a desperate plea, as if you have any other intention other than to do what she wants you to. It’s fucked—how her glazed eyes keep you still, all while your body continues to work overtime. She melts, she contorts, she anticipates you coming undone for her.

Even with her frame rocking and clenching beneath you, her breasts bouncing with each sharp stroke, it’s her eyes, her expectant gaze, keeping you at bay. Her lips shift around, her orgasm beyond her at this point, softly whispering one final plea. “I want—all of you—inside me. Don’t ever—think of—pulling out. I’m all yours—baby!”

You suppress a breathy gasp, grit your teeth, your muscles and nerves all over the place. A little more before you ultimately surrender. A handful of strokes is all it takes before you go numb, burying your cock deep into her cunt. Hot, hot thoughts fill your head, mostly asphyxiating sensations choking your entire body as you pour shot after shot of thick cum inside her greedy cunt.

“So—warm,” mumbles Minnie, ignoring the longest syllabled fuck from your side as your body gradually descends, all your strength completely sapped in one fell swoop.

You eventually find solace on her bare figure, your cock still throbbing inside Minnie’s pussy, but your motions slow to a halt, until the only sign of life coming from you is the wave of deep breaths you gather on her collarbones. She joins you in rest, letting her nails take refuge on your back, tracing and marking your skin as you did to hers.

The two of you remain entangled, relishing each other’s sweat, cum-filled bodies on the couch, bathed in the afterglow of sex. Both of you would happily sleep another day on set if it meant you were in each other’s arms. Of course, that’s not the reality; you don’t know when you’ll see each other again after this.

Surprisingly, Minnie is the first to break the tense silence. Brushing your hair, she mumbles, “You okay?”

A question that you should be asking her, not the other way around.

You lift your head from her body and nod, create little ripples on her flesh. “Yeah. I should be asking you that.”

She flashes a gentle grin, the trademark smile you’ve missed, and will miss. “I’m good. More than that, actually.”

A few more minutes pass, with your eyes lovingly staring into each other, unwilling to let the moment die. “You could have just asked, you know.”

“Hm?” You lift an eyebrow.

“You could have asked, and we would still end up like this. Fucking pervert.”

“Ugh—you’ll never stop referring to me as that, are you?” you groan, dropping your face on her neck while she throws her head back and chuckles.

“Nope. Pervert.”

—————

(A/N: This one's dedicated to @svndaysaweek, I saw his answer to a particular ask and thought it was very appealing of an idea to write. Again, apologies for the sudden month long drought, was feeling extremely unmotivated and still am XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #gidle #minnie

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homomenhommes · 6 months

Text

STORY: Ups And Downs 16

Character

(Note: This chapter does not contain a lot of explicit sex, but the information here is necessary to follow the development of the characters and the plot. Plus, there is a lot of humor and there will be more artwork at the end.)

“There you are,” Woody observed nonchalantly. I had clenched my eyes shut when Zac and Davey practically sucked me into a parallel universe, but I panicked when I heard the door of the limo open and saw Woody leaning over, almost touching me, as my dick blasted gobs of goop all over Zac and Davey’s faces and forced Woody to flinch lest he be caught in the onslaught of my cum barrage as well. Oh fuck! I just got this incredible job two hours ago, and now I’m gonna be fired before the ink on the paperwork dries.

“Kim has been looking for you two,” indicating Rafael and me as if nothing had just happened. “Your lunch is getting cold. I would invite you two (Davey and Zac) to join them, but it seems that you’ve already eaten.” Rafael, Davey, and Zac laughed at the joke with cum all over their faces and dripping out of their mouths, but I was still too panic-stricken to do anything but squirm in my seat—with my shorts down around my knees and my dick still at attention and still oozing joy juice.

And as Woody walked away, leaving the door wide open, Davey and Zac gave us both kisses as we pulled up our shorts and fled to the patio, where Kim was setting up our lunch.

“I knew you’d be starving, wanting more than a sandwich,” said Kim, “so I grilled you some steaks with baked potatoes and a medley of sauteed zucchini and squash. And if that’s not enough, I’ve got cookies baking in the oven.”

I was indeed starving, so I scarfed down the hearty meal, and when Kim brought us four hot chocolate-chip cookies, Rafael took a pass, so I devoured his two as well as mine. “I have to eat fast,” I confessed, “since this may be my last meal. I think I’m a dead man.”

“Because you had sex in the limo?” questioned Rafael. “Pfft. It’s not as big a deal as you might think. If Woody doesn’t say any more about it before breakfast tomorrow, you’re safe.”

“I hope so, but I’m not going to take any more chances today. Let’s get back to my training ASAP.” And so we did.

Rafael took me back to the garage and showed me how to operate all the new-fangled computerized gadgets in all the vehicles. When I asked about maintenance on the vehicles, Rafael explained that we were not expected to be mechanics. We just had to keep the vehicles clean, keep track of the maintenance required under the warranties, and schedule the service appointments.

Next on the agenda, Rafael showed me how to operate and maintain the pool and spa. I had a pretty good idea from having worked in the hardware store, but our family had never owned a pool ourselves, so I paid close attention to Rafael’s instructions. He then took me to the pool house and showed me where the supplies were kept.

The pool house was attached to a shed/workshop that housed all the lawn and garden tools as well as ladders, work benches, power tools, and other hardware, all of which I was very familiar with. “You may never have to use most of these tools,” said Rafael, “but some guys like to come in here and build stuff for their dorm rooms or whatever.”

Or to get their rocks off.

The next stop on our tour was the boat house down by the lake. There was no motor boat, but there was a paddle boat, a canoe, a kayak, a row boat, and related gear. “There’s not much to do here,” said Rafael. “All the guys are pretty good about putting things back where they belong when they’re finished, but we do make a point of following up on the guests when they use the boats just to be on the safe side.”

There was nothing to do at the barn or the guest houses, so we skipped those. “You just have to look after the gardens,” said my guide. “And just as with everything else, you can tap any of the guys around the pool to help out when needed.”

The tour and training session took us right up to 5:00 o’clock, and since we had an hour free before dinner, I decided to relax by the pool, but before I did, I went up to my room to retrieve a sketch pad I had brought with me. I had always enjoyed drawing but never really got to do as much of it as I had wished, so I thought now would be a good time to hone my skills.

Sitting at a table under the loggia on the patio, I began sketching portraits of some of the guys around the pool. “That’s very good,” stressed the voice over my shoulder. I recognized the voice immediately and snapped to attention as Mr. Block put his hand on my shoulder.

“Relax, Joe. No need for formalities. We’re all family around here.” As I settled back into my seat, Mr. Block lifted up the sketch pad I had placed on the table. “Do you mind?” he asked. What the fuck was I gonna say? “Hell no, asshole. Keep your goddam hands off my artwork?” Of course not.

Remaining standing, with Woody now at his side, Mr. Block flipped through several pages of the sketch book and nodded his approval. I don’t know if he appreciated the artistic talent or if he was just getting off on the fact that most of the sketches were nudes and some were undeniably homoerotic, but I accepted his endorsement gratefully.

“Woody did mention last night that you had an affection for the arts, and I can see that he was right.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Turning to Woody, Mr. Block said, “What do you think, Woody? Greenwich?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ll take care of it.”

I had no friggin’ idea what the hell they were talking about, but before I could ask, they walked on.

Rafael, who had been standing nearby, joined me at the table, but before I could ask him if he knew what they were talking about, Woody suddenly reappeared.

“You,” he asserted, pointing a finger as he addressed me, “and you,” he repeated, pointing this time at Rafael. “My office. Two minutes.”

“Oh shit!” I whispered to Rafael as soon as Woody was out of earshot. “He’s gonna can me for that little stunt in the limo.” Rafael said nothing. He just tried to console me a bit by rubbing his hand over my back. It felt good, but I knew it was pointless. The die had been cast.

“Not there,” said Rafael, as I started to knock on Mr. Block’s office door. Instead, he led me to another door at the other end of that wall. I had never noticed it before because it blended in so perfectly with the wood-paneled walls in the library.

“Come in,” said Woody in that deep sexy voice of his when Rafael knocked on that door. Getting chewed out or not, I could listen to that resonant voice all day and all night. I just hoped I wouldn’t pop a boner while he raked me over the coals. I thought he was fucking hot, but I also felt intimidated by him. Part of that was because of the fact that he was my boss and my fate rested in his hands; part of it was the simple fact that he had a commanding presence wherever he was or whatever he was doing.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating the two high-back leather chairs in front of his desk, nearly identical to the ones in Mr. Block’s office.

“I’m so sorry, Woody…Mr. Woodward. I won’t—”

“Have you killed someone without my knowing it?”

“Huh? No, I just—”

“Have you burnt down one of the guest houses?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then shut up and listen. If you’re trying to apologize for that little incident in the limo, forget it.”

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, he explained. “Look, Joe. You have suddenly found yourself thrust into a strange new world, and you don’t know quite what to make of it yet. You may feel like a kid in a sexual candy shop. That’s natural.

“Every boy dreams of screwing his prom date in the back of a limousine. Or having sex on an airplane.” With that comment, Rafael mustered all the strength he could to avoid laughing, and I turned beet red. “You’re blushing,” Woody continued. “That’s cute.” And that little observation fractured Rafael’s restraints. He burst out laughing so hard, I thought I was going to have to give him CPR. As for Woody, he simply broached that tiny demi-smirk of his, and I thought I saw a microscopic gleam in his eye as he paused and then continued.

“Over the next few weeks, you’ll probably play out your cowboy fantasies in the loft of the barn, your pirate fantasies in the row boat, or your Tarzan fantasies by swinging from the chandeliers. Don’t try that one,” he quickly added. “It didn’t work for me, and I’m sure as hell it won’t work for you.”

Oh, my god! Was that a confession?

“Go ahead,” Woody continued. “Get it all out of your system. Eventually, you will settle down. Hopefully that will be sooner rather than later. Now, may we get down to business?” Once again, it was more of a command than a question.

“In a couple of weeks, Mr. Block is going to an art show in Connecticut—Greenwich to be more precise—and he would like you to go with him, Joe.”

Holy shit! Me?

He thinks you have some artistic talent, and I agree, and he wants to encourage that. As you have no doubt observed, Mr. Block is quite a collector of homoerotic art.

“Yes, and it’s all beautiful,” I said.

“Indeed. So, meet me here in my office tomorrow morning at 9:00, and we will start planning our trip.”

“Our trip?”

“Of course, I’ll be going with you. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you to keep you from swinging from the hotel chandeliers.” That comment was made all the more funny because he said it with his characteristic deadpan face, and Rafael again nearly fell out of his chair laughing. And I must admit, I thought it was pretty funny too.

“As for you, Rafael, you may be wondering why I brought you into this conversation.” As Rafael nodded his concurrence, Woody continued, “Mr. Block is inviting you to join us on this trip as well.”

“Really? But I’ll be leaving for Spain in just a few weeks.”

“Precisely,” acknowledged Woody. “Mr. Block wants to reward you for all of your exemplary service these past few years with this little vacation. You will fly to New York with us, but while we are at the art show in Greenwich, you can remain in New York City—all expenses paid, of course—and see the sights or do whatever horny young men do in such places when left without proper supervision. Once you leave here, you will not be returning to San Diego. Mr. Block has a little something he wants you to do for him on the East Coast, which I will explain in due time, and then you will be off to Spain, where you will become the worst nightmare of Catalonian mothers instead of the mothers of California’s defenseless young men.”

And to that comment, Rafael rubbed his hands together, batted his long eyelashes, and grinned like the proverbial cat that was about to eat the hapless canary.

Before either Woody or I could rein in Rafael’s hysteria, Mr. Block knocked on Woody’s office door. “Pardon the interruption,” he said. “Could I see you for a minute, Woody?”

“Excuse me, fellas. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Whew!” I exclaimed the minute that Woody stepped out. “I thought for sure I was gonna get canned.”

“I told you not to worry,” said Rafael, slowly regaining his composure. “It all really boils down to character,” he added.

“Character? Whaddya mean? All the rampant sex around here, and you say it’s all about character?”

“Sex has nothing to do with character,” explained Rafael. “It’s really about how you treat people. You can demonstrate character with people whether you’re having sex with them or not. Likewise, you can demonstrate lack of character if you mistreat them. It’s not about sex. It’s about dignity and respect.”

“Wow! When did you become King Solomon?” I teased, but at the same time, I knew that what he had said made a lot of sense.

“Sorry about that, guys,” said Woody, re-entering the room and once again taking his seat behind the hand-carved executive desk.

“As I was saying,” he continued, “meet me here at 9:00 in the morning, Joe, and we’ll start planning our trip. I told you I could use your help with some administrative tasks. This will be your first chance to demonstrate those skills.

“While we’re doing that, Rafael, I need you to make sure the Navigator is ready. We’ll be going out right after our meeting.”

“That’s it for now. Go get ready for dinner.”

Rafael left the office ahead of me, but I paused, mulling over what he had just told me about character.

“Is there something else?” Woody asked me.

As I turned to face him again, I asked somewhat sheepishly, but very sincerely, “Would it be appropriate if I invited Davey and Zac to join us for dinner?|”

For a moment, Woody gazed at me as if he were trying to figure out if I was the same homeless vagabond he had rescued from a seedy motel room in Atlanta or if perhaps my body had been inhabited by some alien from another planet. But then there appeared that ever-so-slight smile at the edge of his lips and that miniscule gleam in his eyes. “Sure,” he finally said. “That will be just fine.”

As I turned again to leave, Woody caught me. “But make sure they are dressed appropriately for dinner. We wouldn’t want them to make a bad impression on Mr. Block.”

To be continued

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floweringgravetender · 1 year

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Story as part of a trade for @Pac_aroni on instagram

There have always been ghost stories, some of houses haunted by owners long since past, some of graveyards still teeming with the souls of the lost, some of vessels who allow sailors to pass on. However one story, from a small unimportant town, is as true as the day is long. Due west of this town lies a railroad, abandoned due to the advent of vehicles such as the car. Along this lowly railroad there isn’t much. Piles of trash here, small camps left behind by those who created it. But most peculiarly, a group of train cars. Most had been derailed or eaten away by the sands of time and infestation of rust, some still stood awaiting their next departure which would never come. Down the hill from the graveyard of locomotive parts was a derelict circus tent. Although ripped and tattered the tent still stood, waiting for the next group of guests to walk in and behold its wonderful show.

This tent, worn by time and passersby who happened upon it, has a legacy to the town. Some speak of being able to hear laughter, even after all this time of the circus being out of commission. Some speak of music and singing being heard coming from the far reaches of the plot of land. Some even talk of seeing movement and shadows in the dark areas, as if someone is still there ready to put on a show.

Some venture out and never return, local authorities come to the conclusion that they get lost in the forest and never get back out. Due to the thick canopy it's usually impossible to find anything from the air, and the cliffs with loose rocks create a hazardous environment on foot. The old circus tent is avoided entirely as its protected land owned by a family who has since moved away but retains ownership over the land. This means authorities have no jurisdiction over what goes on in there and without a warrant they can’t legally enter the property.

All stories have some truth behind them. All myths have something they’re based on. Greek gods were used to explain natural phenomena, fairy tales are meant to teach life lessons. Due to contrary belief not all stories are mostly wives tales aside from the built in message or explanation of nature. The story of the circus by the trains has a darker, deeper truth behind it all. In actuality the disappearances were all caused by someone. She stayed cloaked in shadow but those who have seen anything discernable of her who have lived to tell the tale have pieced together parts of her. With everything gathered it seems she is dressed as a circus clown, which is entirely plausible considering the place she was found in.

A small poster was laying on the ground. A gloved hand reached down to pick it up. Scanning over it while the person moved along the circus show area. Although dirty the poster was relatively new compared to the equipment it was found in. the poster read:

BEWARE: STRANGE PERSON SIGHTED NEAR OLD CIRCUS TENT

PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND AVOID IF POSSIBLE

Although descriptions are spotty and pieced together at best we have a possible description of the subject.

Long legs with dark leggings or stockings, colorful hair tied in pigtails, white gloves, and a similar dress to that of a clown though less colorful than most expect of a clown.

We have yet to get a reliable description of the face of the subject.

What followed was a proposed picture of the subject with the face blurred out. Crumpling up the piece of paper the person scoffed.

“Can you believe this?” the woman said, turning to a mannequin “they think my hat is pigtails for crying out loud!” she said, grabbing the mannequin and accidentally pulling its arm off. “I have to hand it to ya, you always stay armed!” placing the arm back the woman looked into a mirror. She saw something that would only make kids cry. She saw herself, she was a clown, dressed up to look silly and to be fun for children and parents alike. She was meant to be happy and spread laughter through cheap puns and quick gags. All she could muster was a half baked smile and a bit of confetti left in her pocket.

“Man what happened to this place. I miss when the crew was still around.” she said to herself pacing around the room. Landing down on a bed that looks more mold than mattress she stared at the ceiling and pondered. Why was she still here? What reason led to her being trapped here? She hated this place when it was operational. Why does she have to be here now? All of these things raced through her head day in and day out to the point she had to keep a journal to even remember her life.

She had worked for the circus since she was 16, running from home and joining a traveling caravan. She was out of her state before her parents could even call the authorities. Working with them for 2 years as a janitor she eventually moved up to being a folly blown attraction. She had become a clown for children, she walked around with balloons and confetti and let children play around with both behind her during her day. From pulling on her skirt and leggings to trying to grab the belt she had all her equipment on she had enough. Going to her superiors she requested all guests be asked to be more mindful and respectful of those who work there. Without so much of a word a quick slap to the face put her in her place.

She endured treatment much worse than this as time went on. A strange man was trying to flirt with her when she was off work one day, she asked him to get away and he wouldn’t listen. Going to her superiors she was able to get him kicked out but this time her punishment was the worst she’d ever got so far. Getting grabbed by the private security guards she was scolded for talking down to a guest and then branded with the circus’ symbol. Eventually the punishments got as bad as lashings. Some would say she should have just left or called someone. Unfortunately the circus always took place in remote areas meaning running away would likely lead to a slow and painful death in a forest, and calling authorities wasn’t an option as phones had barely even been invented yet.

She endured. It was all she could do. Eventually it came out she wasn’t the only actress this has been happening to. The people who owned the traveling circus eventually cut their losses and abandoned their project. Killing or taking those they could, they fled. Unsure of where or why the owner fled, the lowly clown simply waited to die. Despite waiting, nothing happened. She waited for days to feel any sign of the end but nothing ever came. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. She eventually lost count of time as the tent which she now considered her how started to degrade.

She slowly started to forget that which she wanted to remember. She wrote it all down but eventually forgot she meant to write it down. This led to her distrusting even herself, reading her journal every so often but getting more and more infuriated as time slipped through her fingers. Eventually she realized she was not going to die, though her sanity was spread so thin this realization brought no solace. As time went on, trains stopped passing, more people started to show up trying to take things away. She would defend her home when she could. Using illusionary tactics she had picked up during her living days as she called them.

Her memory loss got so bad she began to forget who she was outside of her past line of work. Eventually due to some people saying her shadow must be an illusion she decided that would be her name. Writing it down she shortened it to Illu. Illu was contempt with her new life, protecting that which she loved although it still bears the pain and suffering she had to endure. It was her home and as anyone else would, she defended it with her life. A life she had no ability to lose.

People eventually tried coming to the circus tent in search of Illu, talking about how if they find her they’ll take her away. They could never find her, nor a way out of this place if they got too close. Soon she began hearing dogs barking and lots of professional sounding chatter. It must have been police officers. They would never enter the property, she was unsure as to why but liked the seclusion. Slowly even the police stopped showing up as much. Although the privacy brung Illu much joy, she felt conflicted. On hand, she was happy to be left alone in her domain which she tried to keep tidy and neat. On the other hand she enjoyed scaring those who happened by her home. She never could truly figure out amands. All that brought her any kind of solace was the journal that served as a memory of sorts. Although it brought her distress, the journal was all she had to remember anything about herself. And there was comfort in that.

#writing #original character #oc #for a friend #novice

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prettyboyreid · 4 years

Text

i love you most

After a particularly rough case, Spencer wonders if it’s time for him to step down from the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: violence against children (nothing too graphic), out of order plot lines

Word Count: 4,116

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the photos Garcia displayed on the screen, shifting uncomfortably in my seat as she gave us all of the information that the detectives had sent to her. Three kids, all little boys, had been found in local parks in Oklahoma City, posed on the swings. They hadn’t been reported missing, so they had to assume they were taken in the middle of the night.

“How old were the boys?” Rossi asked, doing his best to keep his attention away from the pictures provided for them.

“Uh, all of them had turned four in the past two months,” Penelope answered, thankful she could face away from the screen as she gave them all the information they needed. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, rifling through the file I’d been given when I stepped in the door of the round table room.

“They were all taken a few days apart. We can’t waste any time with this; wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announced, folding his own file up before exiting the room quickly, moving in the direction of his office. I could tell he wasn’t entirely prepared for this case - none of us were. He had a young son at home, JJ had two, and Morgan had one on the way. This case was hitting close to home, and I could tell we all couldn’t help but think what if it was one of them?

We all sat at the table in silence for a moment, Garcia turning off the screen so we didn’t have to look at the pictures longer than we needed to. None of us moved for a solid two minutes, preparing ourselves for what we’ll have to face through the next few days.

JJ was the first to get up and leave the room. She wiped at her cheeks with the pads of her thumb as she made her way down to the bullpen. Morgan followed next, then Rossi and Emily. Garcia and I sat in the room for a moment, her hand resting heavily on my shoulder as she passed me to go back to her tech room.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket and dialed a number that was committed to my memory, holding it to my ear before standing up from my seat. It only rang twice before my favorite voice answered.

“Spence? What’s up?” she asked in a somewhat worried tone. I usually didn’t call her in the middle of the day, and the last time she got a call around this hour, I had gotten shot in the knee.

I couldn’t really blame her for being nervous.

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to tell you we got a case… it’s in Oklahoma,” I explained to her, leaning against the large wooden table as I spoke. Having known her as long as I have, I could tell she was frowning at the news. She always did whenever I had to go away on a case.

“Do you think it’ll take you very long? Should I move our trip down to Ocean City from this weekend to next week or something?” I could hear the disappointment in her voice. She’d been looking forward to this trip for months, especially since I technically was supposed to be on one of my mandated leaves for the next thirty days starting Friday.

“No, no, I should be home before then. I’ll keep you updated, alright?” I assured her, folding my free arm across my chest before glancing up at the clock on the wall.

“Okay,” she sighed out, clearly out of relief. “Be safe. I love you.” I still got butterflies every time I heard her say those three simple words.

“I will. I love you more,” I reminded her with a grin, hanging up the phone before sliding it into my back pocket. I made my way down to my desk and grabbed my go-bag, heading towards the elevator with the rest of the team so we could head to the jet.

Morgan and I were instructed to go to the latest crime scene. On the jet, Penelope called us to tell us that a new body had been discovered that morning. I volunteered to go, just so no one else would have to. Derek, of course, wanted to come with me. Not exactly in a protective way, but just to make sure I was alright. It was an intense case, and he knew I had breaking points just like everyone else. He didn’t want me to reach that point, not in front of a bunch of detectives or grieving parents.

The scene was enough to make Morgan lose his breakfast. He heaved over a trash can in the park, and all I could do was pat his back comfortingly. His forehead was glistening with sweat in the midday sun of Oklahoma, which he wiped at with his wrist once he stood up again.

“You alright?” I asked cautiously, retreating my hands to the pockets of my black slacks. I glanced between him and the crime scene that had been taped off, noticing how none of the officers or detectives would get within twenty feet of the swingset unless they had to.

“I will be, once we catch whoever the hell’s doing this,” he said, clearing his throat before approaching the scene as if nothing had happened. I followed quickly behind him, cautious as we made our way closer to the playground.

There was a bruise in the shape of a comparatively large hand around his small neck, his hands taped down to the chains of the swing with clear packing tape. His head rested against his right hand, his eyes left open and fixated on the open, barren playground in front of him.

I could understand how Morgan got sick after one glance. If I had eaten more than a granola bar and a cup of coffee for breakfast, I probably would’ve done the same.

“He was just a kid,” I heard my partner remind the two of us in a hushed voice next to me, walking around the swing to try and get a better understanding of the crime scene. The longer we stared at it, the worse it seemed to get. From adhesive residue from tape or glue around his mouth to red friction marks around his wrists. Just looking at it felt like a knife twisting in my stomach.

It got harder and harder to focus on the task at hand, so Morgan and I stepped away and back towards the SUV we had driven here.

“How could anyone do that to a kid?” I asked no one in particular, my hand resting on the black door handle as I glanced back towards the swings again. I was trying to picture some happy moments families would have shared there, trying to turn this into something that wasn’t so grim and gut-wrenching.

It wasn’t working very well.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out, Reid,” Morgan reassured me, looking over at me from the top of the vehicle before stepping in. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight, a feeling of homesickness washing over me suddenly. I let out a heavy sigh before joining him, pulling the seat belt over my chest before sinking back into the black leather seats.

We sat in silence for a while, watching as the detectives and the local Crime Scene Unit collected the last of the evidence they needed, trying to analyze the scene as much as we could from our seats.

“When you found out about Savannah being pregnant,” I started, turning my attention over to the man sitting next to me. He turned to face me as well, intrigued by the way I had chosen to start my sentence. “Did you consider leaving all of this? The FBI?” I asked, chewing on the inside of my cheek. He looked ahead after I finished, clearly pondering over the heavy question.

“Yeah, I did,” he answered honestly, still watching as the Crime Scene Unit put the rest of the evidence in the back of a black van. “But I never thought I really would until today,” he finished, putting the car in reverse before pulling out of the parking spot.

It had been two days. Two long, gruesome days that I wished would have given us answers.

But we came up with nothing.

We interviewed the parents of all four boys, went to their preschools and daycare centers, even Mommy and Me groups that they used to go to.

Still nothing.

It wasn’t just my team that was getting impatient; the Oklahoma City Police Department seemed to get more and more aggravated every day. I couldn’t say I blamed them.

“We might have something,” Jennifer said as she came into the room, a thin file in her hand. She opened it up once she was at the head of the table the rest of us were sitting at, pulling out a picture of a woman and a paper that looked similar to a background check Garcia would run.

“This is Miranda Laughlin. She’s twenty-eight years old, and she ran a nursery all of the boys went to when they were infants. The funding for the nursery fell through before the boys were eighteen months, and closed down soon after,” she explained, shoving the file into the middle of the long table before leaning against it.

“Why do you think she has anything to do with this?” I asked, taking the picture and looking at it. She had looked oddly familiar, but not enough to resonate with me.

“She had a son, Grayson. He was the same age as the boys, and he’s the reason she opened up the nursery in the first place. Three months ago, when her husband was driving him back from a play date, they were in a car crash. The son was choked by the seat belt and died when paramedics couldn’t reach him,” she told them, a grimace apparent on her face as she had to explain to them what happened. “His birthday was the day before the first boy was found.”

“That’s one hell of a stressor,” Rossi said, looking over the background check before looking up at the rest of the team. Everyone else pushed out of their seats almost immediately, heading for the door. I was about to follow suit, before Hotch stopped me.

“Are you up for this?” he asked, his voice sounding somehow more serious than it usually was. “I know you were at the crime scenes, and I don’t want you to do something in the field that you’ll regret,” he told me, but I nodded softly.

“I want to be there to arrest her. I want to make sure she pays for this,” I told him, pushing past him before following the rest of the team out to the SUVs.

I took a Kevlar vest from Emily before strapping it on, making sure we all had everything before I got in the back seat. I pulled my seat belt on and locked in place, glancing up for a brief moment as the car lurched out of its parking spot quickly and headed down towards the Laughlin house.

The jet ride home was silent. You could barely even hear anyone breathing. It gave me an uneasy feeling - the loudest people I know being more than quiet, but I wouldn’t want it to be any other way right now.

I had texted my wife that we were on our way home, and I could tell how excited she was that I’d be home for vacation. I couldn’t wait to get home, not just for vacation, but just to hold her tightly and remind her how much I had missed her.

We seemed to land back in DC quicker than we had arrived in Oklahoma, and despite voicing the fact about the way the tailwinds work in our favor, I just stayed quiet, just like everyone else.

We went to the sixth floor of the FBI building, gathering up anything we would have left behind before we all filed out, one by one. Some people took the stairs, some the elevators. We just needed to be alone, or we needed something we couldn’t receive from the other members of our team.

I took the stairs. I held the brown leather satchel close to my body as I descended six flights of stairs, relishing in the silence and the echo of my shoes hitting the concrete floors. The door to the lobby seemed heavier than usual, like it carried the weight of everything we worked on in a simple eighty inch by thirty-six inch slab of metal.

Nonetheless, I made my way through the barren lobby and out to the parking lot. I made a beeline for my car before getting in the driver’s seat, tossing my go bag and satchel into the passenger seat before pulling out of the nearly empty parking lot.

It wasn’t a long drive back to our house - twenty minutes, tops. But tonight, the road seemed to stretch out miles and miles more than they should. Time seemed to slow down, as if I had driven back home from Oklahoma. I relished in the quiet, the whipping of the wind beneath the tires in my car and the soft zoom that I’d hear every now and then when a car passed by me. When I finally pulled into the driveway of the white house with vines climbing up the sides, I noticed the light from the living room was still on. I quickly checked the time on my watch as I grabbed my things.

8:26.

They should still be awake.

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought, locking the car doors behind me once I had gathered all of my belongings. I practically sprinted up the front steps to unlock the door, setting my bags down the second I made it past the threshold and saw practically the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

Y/N was sitting on the couch, with our son Ethan tucked under her arm, sucking on his thumb as he was entranced in the cartoons displayed on the television. His head snapped up the moment he heard the bags drop, a bright smile displayed on his face as he wriggled out of his mother's grasp.

“Daddy! You’re home!” he exclaimed, the soft patter of his sock-covered feet drowning my ears as he ran up to me with his arms open wide. I crouched down so I could be at his height, picking him up the second his arms wrapped around my neck. I held him close to me, holding his curly-haired head in my large palm as I stood up.

“I missed you so much, bug,” I breathed out to him, smiling as I felt his face nuzzle into the crook of my neck, his head resting on my shoulder.

“I missed you too! Mommy said you would be home tonight, so I wanted to stay up with her,” Ethan explained to me, pulling away slightly so he could look up at me as he talked. I chuckled softly as I listened to his little rambling, moving my hand from his head to his back to keep him from leaning back too far.

“Is that so?” I said with a grin, looking over at Y/N as she stood up from her seat on the couch. Our son nodded his head ferociously, his eyes squeezing shut as he did so. “I bet you’re super tired then, huh?” I asked, pushing some of his bouncing curls out of his face.

Even though I had a picture of him in my wallet and at least a hundred pictures of him on my phone, nothing would ever compare to his blazing brown eyes and amber curls being right in front of me.

“Nope, I took an extra nap with mommy today so we could have ice cream when you got home,” he told me, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I couldn’t help but laugh, nodding softly at his answer before kissing the top of his head. “How about you go wait in your chair at the island, and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” I told him, and he nodded quickly, letting me set him down before he ran into the kitchen.

I faced Y/N for the first time in much too long, smiling almost lazily as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My hands instinctively held onto her hips, kissing her softly with a wide grin. I held her against me for a moment, having missed everything about her for nearly four days. It physically pained me to be away from my family for that long, but it always made the time I spent home so much more valuable.

“Rough case?” she asked, pulling away from me, her hands falling down to my own before lacing them together. I nodded softly, my nose scrunching up a bit at the thought.

“It was kids… all of them the same age as Ethan,” I told her softly, worried that he might overhear despite being a room away. I hated letting him hear me talk about work, and tried to keep the cases away from him as much as possible.

She just nodded softly, pushing some of my hair out of my face as she gave me a sympathetic smile. “Go spend time with your son. I’ll tidy all of this up,” she promised, leaning up on the tips of her toes before pressing a soft kiss to my nose. I thanked her softly and gave her a small smile, heading into the kitchen where I saw Ethan waiting patiently, his feet swinging excitedly beneath the stool. My smile only grew at the sight of him, ruffling his hair up slightly before opening the freezer.

“How does moose tracks sound?” I asked, pulling it out before waiting for an answer. It was his favorite ice cream, and he could never say no to it. I turned around to see him nodding quickly with a bright toothy smile, folding his hands together in his lap as he waited excitedly.

I spent another good hour, at least, sitting at the kitchen island, just eating our bowls of ice cream while Ethan caught me up on everything I had missed in the past few days. So far, he had made three new friends, made a lot of crafts with his mom, and watched Star Trek with his mom (“Because I missed you, Daddy.”) It made my heart wrench at the thought of missing so much, even though, in reality, it wasn’t relatively that much.

Once I got him cleaned up and had the dishes in the sink, he seemed tuckered out and about to pass out against my leg he was leaning against. I bent down to pick him up, carefully resting his head on my chest as I carried him through the living room and up the stairs to his room. I didn’t need to flick on the light, considering the little night light on the other side of the room and the fact I probably knew this room better than the back of my hand. I pulled back the light sheets that had a solar system patterned across the soft fabric, carefully placing him down in the bed before tucking him in.

He let his eyes open to meet mine lazily, smiling as he saw me next to him. “You’re coming on the trip with us tomorrow, right?” he asked me, his voice tired and quiet as he spoke. I nodded softly at his question, pushing his hair out of his eyes as I gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, I am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I promised him, leaning down before pressing a soft kiss to his head. “G’night, bug. I love you,” I told him, smiling as he blew a kiss to me, making sure to make a big mwah sound as he did.

“Goodnight, daddy. I love you more,” he said, curling up against his pillow and tucking his stuffed teddy bear under his arm.

“And I love you most,” I added, smiling down at him as I slowly got up, heading to the door and closing it once I was out of the room. I let out a heavy sigh, noticing that the hall light was off. I headed down to the master bedroom, tugging off my tie and the expensive belt that rested on my hips.

I pushed open the door, smiling as I saw Y/N laying on the bed, wearing one of my older button-up shirts and a pair of athletic shorts. I tossed my clothes into a hamper in the corner of the room, grabbing a pair of basketball shorts from a set of drawers adjacent from our bed before tossing them on and joining her in the large bed.

She immediately set her phone down and flicked off the lamp on her bedside table, curling up next to me and wrapping her arms around my torso. I chuckled softly as she rested her head on my chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as I sank down into my spot in the mattress.

We just laid quietly for a few moments, just drinking in the time we had together alone for the first time in too long. My mind began racing with different thoughts, thinking back to everything Ethan had told me while we ate our late night snack together, and back to the case I dreadfully had to work.

“What would you think about me stepping down from the BAU?” I thought aloud, my eyes fixated on the patterns in the paint on the ceiling above us. I felt her looking up at me, though, knowing it wasn’t what she was expecting to hear from me.

She stayed silent for a little while longer, the gears turning in her head as she tried to think of a proper response. I knew she had wanted me to quit, especially when Ethan was born, but she also knew it was one of the things I loved most in the world, behind the two of them. I’d told her many times before that I feel this is what I was made for, but to think that I was missing out on so much made me hate it more and more each day.

“I think only you can decide that, Spence. You know how I feel about it, but it’s your job. It’s been your job for over fifteen years. I can’t ask you to step down from it if you’re going to be unhappy,” she told me, her fingers trailing different miscellaneous shapes across my chest. I nodded softly as I listened to her, wrapping an arm around her to hold her as close to me as possible.

“What if I just went to teach at the academy? They always need new teachers, and one that was from the BAU would be-”

“Spence,” she cut me off, knowing my ramblings could go on much longer than necessary. “While I would love to talk about this, you need to sleep. I know you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left, and we have thirty days until you have to go back to work, plus a three hour car ride tomorrow,” she explained, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I pinky promise, we’ll talk about it. But right now, you need to sleep, okay?”

I couldn’t help but smile as she babied me slightly, chucking before nodding softly, pulling the heavy duvet over the two of us. “If you insist,” I grinned, letting my free hand rest around her as well. I pressed my lips to her shoulder, despite them being covered by the familiar fabric of my old dress shirt.

“Good night, angel. I love you.”

“Good night, Spence. I love you more,” she said, her hands combing back through my hair tiredly, doing her best to lull me to sleep.

“I love you most,” I murmured wearily, holding her body as close to mine as I felt my eyes and mind becoming heavier and heavier, smiling to myself as the last conscious thought I had was how lucky I was, lucky to have a wife like her, a son like Ethan… how lucky I was to have people that cared about me.

God knows I never thought I would.

tags: @danielleslegacy

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onthemeander · 3 years

Text

ACOTAR Review

I have to start off by just mentioning that this book was heavily suggested to me. I only ever heard praise of the plot, characters, and the romantic message at its core. I feel this needs to be brought up because it was the fuel for the utter frustration I felt while reading this book. A frustration at my core that drove me to write my first ever review, so thanks for that.

Let’s start with the Pros of this book.

It is an easy read. I can inhale 300 pages in only two days. It is a good relaxing read if that’s what you are looking for. The kind of book you can curl up with on a rainy Sunday and just pass the free time if you're burned out on binging Netflix.

Okay, that’s it for the Pros. Now onto the Cons.

This book, a loose reimagining of Beauty and the Beast, feels like it has been written by a 50 shades of grey fan who hates Disney princess movies because the princesses are not “tough” enough. This novel comes off as the edgy version of a fantasy world that wants to include all the dark sides of life but doesn’t want to address the life long lasting implications of those dark actions. I am looking at you Ryhsand. Oh and I will go in on him later but first let's talk about our heroine.

Feyre is a young girl whose family has fallen onto hard times and it is her single minded goal to keep them all alive. They live hand to mouth, off the game she manages to hunt in a rather inhospitable forest. One day while trying to kill a Doe she sees a massive wolf and decides to kill it as well, as it was making eyes at her doe and a girl is hungry.

She kills the massive creature and takes both animals home to skin and prepare for meals. The money and food ensuring that her family won’t starve for at least a few weeks if they ration properly. Days later another more terrifying monster comes to her cottage, a Fairy in beast form by the name of Tamlin, who says she killed his friend. Now, because she killed a fairy, she can either die or come live with him for the rest of her life. She takes the later… obviously.

Feyre is a fine enough protagonist, bland enough that you can imagine yourself in her position and fantasize about having two hot men chasing you. In my younger years, I would have happily daydreamed about being in her world, surrounded by magic but being personally skilled enough to not need the aid of magic.

A pet peeve, a totally personal bias, is that to her everything is just the worst. Her Sisters are awful, her dad useless, the cottage disgusting, hunting she hates it, the fairies vile, the Spring Court a prison, and so on. The issue isn’t so much that she has a negative mindset, that is human and that can make for an interesting shade of protagonist but in this novel, it is so one-note. Everything is described with the same level of disdain. Which makes moments where she talks about having to protect her family or Tamlin honestly confusing because with how little she seems to like them the reader is left wondering why? Because of a promise she made? To a mom she hates?

Listening, family relationships are complicated. The best line I’ve heard about a relationship similar to Feyre’s, comes from the movie Ladybird, where the titular character tells her mother “I know you love me but I don’t think you like me.” Maybe it’s the fact it’s a movie and the way it is said but it is hurt there. There is a pain in the girl’s voice that her mother and she are at odds.

Feyre at no point talks about the personal pain that comes from being so distant from her family. She just resents them. Even a short moment of remembering the better days, little memories of when her and Nestia playing together as kids or Elane showed her something in the garden. Something that shows that there is, even for the briefest moment love in these relationships.

Without those moments, Feyre’s flip-flopping between going home and staying at the Spring Court feels more like padding to extend a book that saved all of the interest for the last 3rd.My bigger issue with Feyre is she doesn’t seem to really think so much as exist and react in the world. For a series that many have commended for being about feminist agency, Feyre lacks more agency than a rock in a river. At least then the water has to move around the rock.

A story based around Beauty and Beast is always going to bring into question the nature of female agency. This French fairy tale was written in 1740, in a women's magazine, meant to help teach girls about their ultimate futures. In a society where women were the property of fathers and husbands. It urged girls to look at their “beastlike” husbands and try to find the good in them. To become okay with the fact that who they marry might treat them terribly but means well… maybe this book is a perfect adaption of that idea, but I digress.

Feyre is whisked away to this magical world and through her, we learn about the fairy world. A world of violence, court games, and so much sexual assault.

While in the spring court she is tricked by a mirage of her father, nearly eaten by Naga’s, threatened multiple times by basically everyone, sees a fairy die from its wings being ripped off, finds a severed head in the garden, and so on. Whenever she expresses confusion on what is happening there is always a Fairy there to monologue away the day with detailed pages long exposition.

She readily accepts any explanation of the fairy world a man, in particular, tells her. Its exposition for the readers but for a girl who has grown up in a world that believes fairies are violent and enslave humans she is so quick to accept everything they tell her. She doesn’t stop and questions intentions and if she does wonder about the intentions of a character she usually ends on the side of being favorable to them, l especially if they are attractive.

It's clear that Feyre isn’t there to be a character but a vehicle, an avatar for the reader to travel from point A to B. She never reacts to things in a way that a person of this world with such polarized groups would react to being forced to live in the enemy camp.

Then there is Tamlin. He is fine. Your standard brutish romantic interest that is cursed to be ugly forever, by way of the phantom of the opera mask. He is demanding and haughty and thinks he knows better than everyone. Your standard High Lord ego makes for the verbal back and forth that toes the line between sexual tension and toxic relationships.

He does that standard bodice-ripping shtick, while hopping up on fairy dust, he pins Feyre to the wall and bites her neck. She says no, he ignores and then runs off. With a lovely little moment later blaming her for leaving her room, therefore, he can't be held responsible.

While Feyre has probably never listened to a single rule in her life that is still a huge red flag.

Lucien, an interesting play on the Beast’s servants. He is torn between wanting Feyre around to break the curse but also hating her for killing a friend. Honestly, I think this could have been the most interesting relationship if there was more time devoted to it. That happens a lot in this book, interesting things happen too fast and a lot of time is just devoted to Feyres’ water bowels.

Finally Ryhsand, oh dear Rhy, how I wish I could cut you from my mind just as easily as you pop other Fairies brains. Rhys is not a bad character but his introduction into the book is right when this 400+ novel went from bland but inoffensive to outright infuriating. He is the triple threat of assault; Mental, Physical and Sexual.

We first meet the Lord of the Night Court at the Fire Festival (or in honor of Maas naming conventions Fyre) where he saves Feyre from a trio of Fairies that wanted to assault her. A fine enough intro, maybe a bit overused, but I liked the Howl’s moving castle vibes with the playboy swagger and not knowing why this guy is helping at all.

I was excited at first when he showed up, I couldn’t help but get online and see what fans had to say about the books and instantly noticed that the top pairing from the series was Feyre and Rhys. Not just a fan-loved pairing but an actual canonical couple. I was interested to see how the story went and how the author would hint at this future couple while the current story was still very much pointing to a Tamlin happy ending.

Imagine my surprise when the very next scene that Rhys pops up in, ends with him physically pinning Feyre and mentally assaulting her. I believe she refers to it as a talon in her mind ready to rip her consciousness into oblivion. What a great love interest.

To add insult to literal injury, he then mentally violates her and reveals all of her more adult desires that she has been thinking about Tamlin.

He blackmails them all, threatening to tell an evil queen, Aramantha, about Feyre’s existence unless Tamlin kneels and begs. Even then he demands Feyre’s name. She lies and gives him a girl’s name from her village.

Later we learn that the village girl, Claire, has her family burned alive in their home and is dragged to the Fairy world where she is brutally tortured, mutilated, and put on display like a bear pelt. This cruelty is all the result of Rhys not keeping his fat mouth shut about Feyre being in Tamlin’s court.

The author thinks it's okay to excuse this innocents girl's murder away and make Rhys seeming cunning, by saying that he knew that wasn’t Feyre and lied to protect her. A logic so backward I am surprised my spine didn’t snap in how far it had to bend to dodge the fact that he caused her endangerment by telling Aramantha about Feyre to begin with.

Things get darker than the night court once we enter under the mountain. There, while trying to survive Aramatha’s trials, Feyre breaks her arm to the point that the bone is exposed. A day later, bleeding out, in pain, and feverish from infection, Feyre has to talk to Rhys in her cell. He offers to heal her arm in exchange for her living with him every month for two weeks.

Feyre is not interested in his deal and tells him to leave several times. What does our future perfect mate decide to do then when denied what he wants? He grabs Feyre by her exposed arm bone and twists. This man. This sexy dream boy that so many people say is their model for relationships, grabs an injured woman’s exposed bone and tortures her. Just so she will promise to live with him. He is the little boy kicking the dog because it didn’t follow his orders.

After being physically assaulted in a way that is so painful I am sure most people would black out, Feyre agrees to his deal. However, she bargains the time down to one month. He agrees and seals the deal. Just like that Rhys becomes the male embodiment of a period, complete with all the emotional distress, muscle cramps, and blood.

So does the torture end there? Oh no. For several nights after that he makes servants strip her, paint her and dress her in fabric so thin that she is basically naked. Why paint you ask? Rhys claims it is so she and he knows if anyone touches her. Though I will say that while he states this he touches her shoulder and the paint magically fixes itself. So You know it will show if anyone but Rhys touches her.

He then parades her publicly in front of the entire court like a toy. She is forced to publicly expose her breasts and genitals to a crowd of people that from day one want to see her die. He reduces her to a sex object in a crowd that already does not see her humanity.

Then he drugs her. Not an exaggeration, he even admits to it later in the book. He forces her to drink wine that makes her blackout. The next morning she can barely remember anything and has to rely on Lucien to tell her what happened. While blacked out she is forced to dance practically naked, giving Rhys lap dances and just sitting in his lap. She is exposed so throughout that Lucien even comments that he has seen more than he ever wanted to.

All of this culminated in a moment where one-night Feyre gets a moment with Tamlin, the man she loves, and they kiss and touch each other. The paint is smeared and Rhys finds them. He tells Tamlin to leave and then pins Fyre again calling her a stupid human. Then shoves his own tongue down her throat against her will as she thrashes. Aramantha finds them then and makes sure everyone in the court gets a good laugh at Feyre’s “promiscuity”.

The act is disgusting but what really made me want to burn this book was the scene directly after this. Where Rhys shows up and gives his “reasoning” for abusing her. He was just protecting her because Aramantah would be mad if she found Feyre and Tamlin kissing. He was using her nude dances to try and anger Tamlin so he would fight back when he can. He drugged Feyre so she wouldn’t have to remember the humiliation of being someone's harlot. He did all of it to help her and him.

It's okay that he abused her because it was all for a greater plan. It's okay cause he is hot.

This is the moment when I have to step away from the book review and talk about what I have seen surrounding this novel. I have heard several fans explain away Rhy’s abuse by saying “but it was in her best interest” and “that’s what war does'”. So, let's unpack that, first “in her best interest” is basically the catchphrase of every abusive partner at this point. There will always be a reason for the abuse, it’s a gaslighting tactic that ensures that abusers can deflect any blame from themselves and onto their victim. This creates complicated emotions that will paralysis the abused person from leaving the relationship altogether.

If you find yourself in a relationship where you are always rationalizing away mistreatment then please take a step back and question why there are so many excuses to begin with.

As for the but war does that. I would like these same people to say that while looking at photos of real war atrocities. To look at images from the Nanjing Massacre or the Wounded Knee Massacre and say the same thing. Those acts of violence against men, women, and children were done during the war. Does that make it okay then if the violence was done by an attractive soldier who was deep and brooding?

I have a tendency to write my own preferred scenarios which I know is kind of pointless for a published book but fix fit fiction is a thing so hear me out. Or don’t, that’s fine you can stop reading here as the review is over. I just have one simple idea that could fix a lot of my problems with this series.

Separate Rhysand into two separate characters.

Make the man she meets at the Fyre Festival and the guy who threatens her in the mansion and under the mountain just different guys.

You can keep the dark cunning mystery man of the Fyre Festival, maybe not even name him until he shows up again in the court to help. Have him come to her cell and offer his help. Have her say no and instead of grabbing her exposed arm bone he just says it’s the only help she will get. Hell Feyre talks herself into anyways after he grabs her bone so let's just skip that violence. Have her agree just as he is about to leave and give her the stupid arm tattoo and save her life. Then that’s it. He shows up at the end to help her but that’s it.

The man who meets her in the cell does not need to be the same man who forces her to do stripteases in front of hundreds of people. Make it Attar or some other male henchman of Aramantha who makes her do the dancing and drinking and everything else.

You still want him to be cunning and calculating? Maybe have a little bit of the grey morality that makes us all squirm? Great than keeping the scene with the forced kiss (not great but whatever). That is easier to overlook than drugging, sexual harassment, and assault. He can be forcibly kissing her to protect her and hell let's throw in an apology for fun.

Then you set up a situation where you have this dark and mysterious figure who we still don’t know why he helps her.

I know people say wait till book two and I do plan to read it. I got to see what excuse the author comes up with that seems to explain away so much abuse. What could she possibly say that makes me sit back and say “You know yes he pimped her out and yes he pulled on an exposed bone but you know what he just suuuuuuch a good guy.” If she is that good of an author then she should become a PR writer who makes spin articles for R. Kelly and Harvey Weinstein.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #feyre #book review #book reactions #I had to get this out of my system #random rant #maasverse #long post

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cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

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On the fifth day of the apocalypse, nothing happened.

Or more accurately, nothing NEW happened.

Roads were cleared, people were rescued and fed, ushered into bunkers and hospitals by superheroes and aliens and furries. Everyone was largely scared and confused, but grateful.

Skulduggery Pleasant was there at some point!

And the not-really-teens-anymore Titans, She-Ra, homestuck trolls, anime characters, demons, fairies, and innumerable other beings that crawled from all corners of the multiverse to lend a hand.

It was beautiful.

It was chaos.

Avengers Endgame wishes it was this cool.

On the sixth day, the black sky cracked like an eggshell, golden light seeping through the gaps like runny yolk.

The sun had returned.

It shattered the darkness like glass, banishing the dark and hungry things that had flourished in this weeklong night. Sending them scrabbling for their vile dens.

Volunteers and evacuees alike cheered at the bright blue sky, and the cowardly star shone all the more brighter. Even though, deep down it was ashamed of itself for abandoning its post, getting eaten by an angry omnicidal Angel isn't something anybody wants, so running away is perfectly valid in this situation.

Well… not really, but I feel bad for the poor thing.

For a moment, there was peace and quiet, and Hope as the last of the evacuees were loaded into emergency vehicles and sent rumbling on towards the last bunkers with available space.

Jack stopped his search for the End and raided his cellars, treating all the volunteers to fresh hot stew, buttered bread, and strong coffee or cocoa. His Ma, Harley, lent a hand.

There was brisket, latkes, and sufganiyot, spinach matzo lasagna with white sauce! There was pizza, soda, tofu, burritos, cookie cats, grubloaf, and so many other things that everyone brought from back home. What started out as a thank you lunch, quickly became a victory potluck.

A witch in training sets a massive pot of soup onto the makeshift buffet table and everyone immediately swarms it hungrily, she purrs proudly as her dish is praised.

A dish of sugar cubes, oatmeal, and apples is brought out for Swift Wind, She-Ra's mighty steed.

Faces are stuffed, stories are swapped, wounds are healed. And not just the physical ones.

Someone tells a joke so hilariously bad that soymilk comes squirting out of Beastboy's nose.

We could End things here, with everyone happy, healthy and safe, with full stomachs and fuller hearts… but you know we can't, dear readers. As much as I want to, as much as you want me to.

I can't.

A Plot Hole opens wide, in the middle of a ruined street with a sound like tearing paper and literary agony. Ink splatters the ground like blood from a fresh wound, and from it crawl Spoilers and Continuity Errors. Seven times seven voices echo from the Hole's drooling depths, shaking loose out of context snippets from the next Narrative over, "You think you've won?" snarls the End of Everything as She slithers out of the ink and emptiness, "You might have gotten all of the humans to safety, might have put my Horsemen out of commission, but I'm. Still. Here."

Green fire curls from her lips and forms a single Word, and then the Narrative starts to shudder and scream. A portal tears itself open above the tables laden with feasting heros and sucks them out of their seats like boba pearls through a straw, many of them scramble to stay put or at least snag the last slice of pizza but they are all forcibly expelled back to their homeworlds without so much as a goodbye.

Although their exit is rough and abrupt they hopefully land safely, without too many bumps and bruises. They're outside of my grasp now, but I hope I can at least give them that much.

Only Jack is left, the portal snaps shut before he can be pulled through it and gravity quickly sends him plummeting into the feast table with its half full plates and sharp silverware. He stares up at the End, wincing in pain.

She stares down at him, all seven great green eyes blazing with HATE, "It's time that you and I finish this, don't you think?" She smiles then, lips curling over venomous fangs that would make any snake self conscious. Another fiery Word and the world changes, becoming terrifyingly familiar.

Oh Jack… I'm so so very sorry...

The world is Ending, and it's all your fault.

The sky is a green-gold mirror, broken, reflecting everything that ever was and everything that will ever be within shards of Dreams that fall like verdant rain and distort the landscape around you as they crash haphazardly to the ground, like glass meteors, shattering on impact. Glittering splinters of impossibility cut your cheek as they fly by, you can taste the bitterness of your future in the pain.

Before you stands the End-of-Everything, with a head wreathed in flame, Her serpentine form stretching away into forever. Nothing around Her burns or even smolders, no, it grows. Patches of green swallow impossible structures, strangling their foundations until they lean dangerously, drunkenly across the deserted street you stand on. Plants spring forth from places they were never meant to, devouring everything they touch like a cancer, they tug at your feet as you walk. Moss and vines try to crawl up your legs, only to be torn apart with each solemn step.

In your hand is a sword. An old and heavy thing, carved from the bones of a beast Higher than you, among the rabbits and snakes and suns carved into the blade is a Word of your own, it means "to assemble a name from scars". The tip drags across the seething wasteland of invasive life and makes it blacken and wither.

You are tired and alone, but you cannot rest until it is done.

The End-of-Everything hisses as you draw near, and speaks in seven times seven tongues, “Do you know who I am?” She says, Her choir of voices crackle and snap like a forest on fire.

There is an edge of frustration to Her tone, as if She were just as tired as you. You stare at Her with empty exhausted eyes, She has invaded your dreams and asked you this question more times than you can readily remember, and each time, you have failed to answer correctly.

Stubbornly, you clutch your blade white-knuckle and it grows lighter in your hand. Just a hair, just a touch, but you can feel the weight leave as the dying embers of your resolve glow just a little brighter.

“You are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You.”

#ic #the end is nigh #ask to tag #food /

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chiseler · 3 years

Text

Ophelia By the Yard

Cobwebbed passages and wax-encrusted candelabra, dungeons festooned with wrist manacles, an iron maiden in every niche, carpets of dry ice fog, dead twig forests, painted hilltop castles, secret doorways through fireplaces or behind beds (both portals of hot passion), crypts, gloomy servants, cracking thunder and flashes of lightning, inexplicably tinted light sources, candles impossibly casting their own shadows, rubber bats on wires, grand staircases, long dining tables, huge doors with prodigiously pendulous knockers to rival anything in Hollywood.

Here was the precise moment — and it was nothing if not inevitable — when the darkness of horror film, both visible and inherent, leapt from the gothic toy box now joined by a no less disconcerting array of color. The best, brightest, sweetest, and most dazzling red-blooded palette that journeyman Italian cinematographers could coax from those tired cameras. Color, both its commercial necessity as well as all it promised the eye, would hereafter re-imagine the genre’s possibilities, in Italy and, gradually, everywhere else.

When color hit the Italian Gothic cycle, a truly new vision was born. In Hammer films and other UK horror productions, the cheapness of Eastmancolor made it possible for blood to be red. Indeed, very red. And, while we shouldn't underestimate the startling impact this had, it was a fairly literal use of the medium. In the Italian movies, and to a large extent in Roger Corman's Poe cycle, color was an unlikely vehicle to further dismantle realism rather than to assert it. Overrun with tinted lights and filters, none of which added to the film’s realistic qualities, the movies became delirious. In Corman's Masque of the Red Death, we learn of an experiment that uses color to drive a man insane; it seems that filmmakers like Corman and Mario Bava were attempting the very same trick on their audiences.

The application of candy-wrapper hues to a haunted castle flick like The Whip and the Body adds a pop art vibe at odds with the genre, and when you get to something like Kill, Baby...Kill! the Gothic trappings are barely able to mask a distinctly modern sensibility, so much so that Fellini could plunder its phantasmal elements for Toby Dammit, fitting them perfectly into his sixties Roman nightmare.

Blood and Black Lace brings the saturated lighting and Gothic fillips into the twentieth century -- a sign creaking in a gale is the first image, translated from Frankensteinland to the exterior of a contemporary fashion house. A literal faceless killer disposes of six women in diabolical ways. The sour-faced detective remains several deaths back on the killer’s trail because the movie knows its audience, knows that it has zero interest in detection, character, motivation — though it’s all inertly there as a pretext for sadism, set-pieces of partially-clad women being hacked up, dot the film like musical numbers or action sequences might appear in a different genre.

Since the 19th-century audience for literary Gothic Horror was comprised of far fewer men than women, would it be fair to ask whether Giallo’s advent might be an instrument of brutal violence, even revenge against “feminine” preoccupations? Consider 1964’s Danza Macabra, the film’s amorous vibes finding their ultimate source in that deathless screen goddess named Barbara Steele, whose marble white flesh photographs like some monument to classicism startled into unwanted Keatsian fever. Her presence practically demands that we ask ourselves: “Who is this wraith howling at a paper moon?” In other words, is it a coincidence that Steele’s “Elizabeth Blackwood” — a revenant temptress and undead sex symbol — hits screens the very same year as Giallo, which would transform Italian cinema into a decades-long death mill for women?

The name “giallo”, meaning yellow, derives from the crime paperbacks issued by Italian publisher Mondadori. The eye-catching covers, featuring a circular illustration of some act of infamy embedded in a yellow panel, became utterly associated with the genre of literature. These books were likely to be by Edgar Wallace, the most popular author in the western world, or Agatha Christie: cardboard characters sliding through the most mechanical of plots; or classier local equivalents, like Francesco Mastriani or Carolina Invernizio. The founding principles laid down concerned the elaborate deceptions concealed by their authors, traps for the unwary reader, and the use of a distinctive design motif. The tendency of the characterisation to lapse into sub-comic-book cliché, the figures incapable of expressing or inspiring real sympathy, was, perhaps, an unintended side-effect of the focus on narrative sleight-of-hand.

When Italian filmmakers sought to translate sensational literature to the screen, they looked to other filmic influences: American film noir, influenced by German expressionism and often made by German emigrés (Lang, Siodmak, Dieterle, Ulmer); and the popular krimi cycle being produced in West Germany, mostly based on Edgar Wallace's leaden "shockers." These deployed stock characters, bizarre methods of murder, deceptive plotting, and exuberant use of chiaroscuro, the stylistic palette of noir intensified by more fog, more shafts of light, more inky shadows. A certain amount of fun, but different from the coming bloodbath because Wallace, despite somewhat fascistic tendencies, is anodyne and anaemic by comparison. No open misogyny, a sadism sublimated in story, a touching faith in Scotland Yard and the class system. In the Giallo, Wallace's more sensational aspects are adopted but made to serve a sensibility quite alien to the stodgy Englander: people are generally rotten, the system stinks, and crime becomes a lurid spectator sport served up to a viewer both thrilled and appalled.

The Giallo fetishizes murder. But then, it fetishizes everything in sight. Every object, every half-filled wine glass and pastel-colored telephone, is photographed with obsessive, product-shot enthusiasm. Here, it must be emphasized that design implicates the viewer as the Italian camera-eye gawps like some unabashed tourist. Knife, wallpaper, onyx pinky ring — each detail transforms into an object made eerily subject: a sentient and glowering fragment of our own conscience, staring back at us in the darkened theater and pronouncing ineluctable guilt. And yet, for the directors who rode most dexterously the Giallo wave, homicide was something one did to women. Indulging in equal-opportunity lechery was merely an excuse to find other, more violent outlets for their misogyny. Please enter into evidence the demented enthusiasm for woman-killing evinced by Dario Argento, Mario Bava, Lucio Fulci, et al. — whatever trifling token massacres of men one might exhume from their respective oeuvres are inconsequential. Argento’s defense, “I love women, so I would rather see a beautiful woman killed than an ugly man,” should not satisfy us, and hardly seems designed to (also bear in mind Poe’s assertion that the death of a beautiful young woman was the most poetic of all subjects).

Filmmakers like Argento have no interest in sex per se. Suffering seems inessential, but terror and death are key, photographed with the same clinical absorption and aesthetic gloss as Giallo-maestros habitually apply to their interior design. Here, it must be emphasized that design implicates the viewer as the Italian camera-eye gawps like some unabashed tourist. Knife, wallpaper, onyx pinky ring – each detail transforms into an object made eerily subject: a sentient and glowering fragment of our own conscience, staring back at us in the darkened theater and pronouncing ineluctable guilt. That’s one important subtlety often lost amid Giallo’s vast antisocial hemorrhage.

Like a river of blood, homophobia, in the literal meaning of fear rather than hatred, runs through the genre. Lesbians are sinister and gay men barely exist. As we try to work out what in hell the Giallo is really up to, little dabs of dime-store Freudianism seem sufficient.

The filmmakers’ misogyny could be suspect, a sign of compromised masculinity, so they need fictional avatars to cloak their own feverish woman-hating. The subterfuge is clumsy at best, the desultory deceit embarrassingly macho. Giallo’s visual force, powerful enough to divorce eye from mind, is another matter, leaving us demoralized and ethically destitute; our hearts beating with all the righteous indignation of three dead shrubs (and maybe a half-eaten sandwich).

The Giallo is founded on an unstated assumption: the modern world brings forth monsters. Jack the Ripper was an aberration in his day, but now there's a Jack around every corner, behind every piece of modular furniture, every diving helmet lamp. Previously, disturbing events arose from what Ambrose Bierce called The Suitable Surroundings, or what the mad architect in Fritz Lang's The Secret Beyond the Door termed, with sly and sinister euphemism, "propitious rooms." There's the glorious line in Withnail and I: "That's the sort of window faces appear at." But now, in the modern world, evil occurs in the nicest of places, and tonal consistency died in a welter of cheerful stage blood. One needn’t enter an especially Bad Place to meet one’s worst nightmare, or perhaps better to say: the whole bright world qualified as a properly bad place. Imagine the pages of an interior design magazine invaded by anonymous psychopaths intent on painting the gleaming walls red.

Though the victims are overwhelmingly female and their killers male (Argento typically photographed his own leather-gloved hands to stand in for his assassin’s), when the violence becomes over-the-top in its sexualized woman-hating (like the crotch-stabbing in What Have You Done to Solange?), it’s usually a clue that the movie’s murderer will turn out to be female: a simple case of projection. Only Lucio Fulci, the most twisted of the bunch, trained as a doctor and experienced as an art critic, not only assigns misogyny to a straight male killer (The New York Ripper) but plays the killer himself in A Cat in the Brain. Though, in another self-protecting twist of narrative, all psychological explanations in Gialli are bullshit, always. Criminology and clinical psychology are largely ignored, and Argento has a clear preference for outdated theories like the extra chromosome signaling psychopathy (Cat O’Nine Tails). Did anybody use phrenology, or Lombroso’s crackpot physiognomic theories, as plot device?

A tradition of the Giallo is that the characters all tend to be dislikable, something Argento at least resisted in Cat O’ Nine Tails and Deep Red. With disposable characters, each of whom might be the killer and each of whose violent demise is served up as a set-piece, this distancing and contempt might just be a byproduct of the form rather than a principle or ethos, but it’s of some interest, perhaps mitigating the misogyny with a wash of misanthropy. A Unified Field Theory of Gialli would find a more deep-seated reason for the obnoxious characters as well as the stylized snuff and the glamorous presentation. What urge is being satisfied, and why here, now, like this?

Class war? Though prostitute-ripping is encouraged in the Giallo, most victims are wealthy, slashed to ribbons amid opulent interiors. Urbane characters who might previously have graced the sleek “white telephone” films of forties Italian cinema were briefly edged out by neo-realism’s concentration on the working class. Now these exquisite mannequins are trundled back onscreen to be ritually slaughtered for our viewing pleasure.

Victims must always be enviable: either beautiful and sexy or rich and swellegant, or all of the above, so the average moviegoer can rejoice in their dismemberment with a clear conscience. Mario Bava bloodily birthed the genre in Blood and Black Lace (1964), brutally offing fashion models in a variety of Sade-approved ways, the killer a literally faceless assassin into whom the (presumed male) audience could pour their own animosities without ever admitting it, with the female killer finally unmasked to provide exculpatory relief.

If narrative formulas absolve the straight male viewer, compositions have a way of ensnaring him. Beyond that omnivorous indulgence of sensation for its own lurid sake one finds in Giallo, there is a more gilded emphasis placed on Beauty (in the Catholic sense), and it is only the women who are mounted upon its pedestal. That these avatars of beauty are to be savored, ravaged, and brutalized — in that order — is what concerns us. But the sex and the suffering that captivates most sadists is never what registers; no, it is the instance of death, the terror that afflicts the dying woman’s face that resonates. Once again, physical interiors become a negative form of emotional interiority, rooms amplified for the sole purpose of grisly annihilations; a kind of heretical, strictly anti-Catholic transcendence through amoral delight in what otherwise falls under trivial headings, either “the visuals” or “color palette” – neither of which touch the essential nerve endings of Giallo.

Swaddled inside an otherwise hyper-masculine castle lies a windowless chamber with feminine, if not psychotic, decor. Before he tortures and stabs her to death, “Lord Alan Cunningham” (fresh from his sojourn in the asylum) brings his first victim to this pageant of off-gassing plastic furniture, the single most obnoxious vision ever imposed on gothic environs. Risibly overblown ’70s chic rules The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave with nods to Edgar Allan Poe, as the modish Lord juggles sports cars and medieval persecution. Laughs escape the viewer’s throat in dry heaves when each new MacGuffin devours itself without warning. Take “Aunt Agatha” (easily two decades younger than her middle-aged nephews) suddenly rising from her motorized wheelchair, clobbered from behind seconds later, her body dragged into a cage where foxes promptly munch her entrails. Nothing comes of this. The phony paralysis, the aunt’s role in a half-dozen mysteries, which include a battalion of sexy maids in miniskirts and blonde Harpo Marx wigs – all gulped, swallowed.

About the only thing we know for certain is that “Aunt Agatha” is gorgeous. Though, in the end, she’s another casualty of the same nihilism that crashes Giallo aesthetics headlong into Poe country. That is into “Lord Alan” and his gaudy room crowded with designer goods to be catalogued in a horror vacui of visual intrusiveness – a trashy shrine to his late wife, the titular Evelyn. If lapses of good taste define The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave, they also reflect Giallo’s abiding obsession with real estate. After all, this Mod hypnagogia has to fill the eye somewhere. Why not bang in the middle of a castle? Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher features a wealthy aristocrat burying his twin sister alive, thereby entombing his own femininity.

Evelyn represents both Usher’s primary theme of the divided self and the obdurate refusal to learn from it. “Alan,” who emerges a moral hero in the end (after his shrink aids and abets his murder spree), remains just as ornery, alienated, and vainglorious as Giallo itself. We’re never told precisely what the film’s fetish objects are supposed to mean. And since the camera seizes upon each one with existential grimness, we’re left with a visual style that begs its own questions.

Function follows form into the abyss. One Ophelia after another dies to satisfy our cruel delectation, even as will-o’-the-wisp light, taken from the bogs and neglected cemeteries of Gothic Horror, finds itself transformed into a crimson-dripping stiletto. Evelyn stands in for all Gialli, a genre which redefines film itself on the narrow front of visual impact: stainless steel cutlery and candy-colored light enact a sentient agenda as color becomes an instrument of hyperbolic misogyny that fills the eye and then some.

As with certain other Italian genres, notably the peplum, smart characterization, solid performances and decent dialogue seem not only unnecessary to the Giallo but unwelcome (the spaghetti western, conversely, in which many of the same directors dabbled, seemed to demand a steady stream of good, cold-blooded wise-cracks). Argento, in pursuit of that “non-Cartesian” quality he admired in Poe, took this to extremes, stringing non-sequiturs together to form absurdist cut-ups, torching his stars’ credibility merely by forcing them to utter such nonsense. And this wasn’t enough: from Suspiria (1977) on, the psychological thriller (which the Giallo is a sub-genre of, only the psychology has to be deliberately nonsensical) was increasingly replaced by the supernatural. So that the laws of nature could be suspended along with the laws of coherent motivation.

In Suspiria and its 1980 quasi-sequel Inferno, the traditional knifings are interspersed with more uncanny events, as when a stone eagle comes to life and somehow makes a seeing-eye dog kill his owner, and there are also grotesque incidents with no relation to story whatever: a shower of maggots, or an attack by voracious rats in Central Park. The Giallo’s quest for a solution, inspired as it was by the old-school whodunits, is all but abandoned, replaced by the search for the next sensational set-piece.

Argento’s villains are now witches, but, abandoning centuries of tradition, these witches show more interest in stabbing their fellow women with kitchen knives than with worshipping Satan or riding broomsticks. Regardless of who they’re meant to be, Argento’s characters must express his desires, enact the atrocities he dreams of. And inhabit places built for his aesthetic pleasure rather than their own. Following Bava’s cue, he saturates his rooms in light blasted through colored gels, making every scene a stained-glass icon, no naturalistic explanation offered for the lurid tinted hues. Just as no explanation is offered for the presence of a room full of coiled razor-wire in a ballet school, or for the behavior of the young woman who throws herself into its midst without looking.

Dario Argento’s true significance, at least with respect to Giallo, was perceiving in the nick of time the almost incandescent obviousness of its limitations; that Italian commercial cinema’s garish, polychromatic spin on the garden-variety psychological thriller – departing from its forebears mainly in the rampant senselessness of its “psychology” – had Dead End written all over it. It could never last. On the other hand, Giallo does take a fresh turn with Argento’s Inferno, thanks in no small measure to a woman screenwriter who sadly remains uncredited. Daria Nicolodi explains that “having fought so hard to see my humble but excellent work in Suspiria recognized (up until a few days before the première I didn’t know if I would see my name in the film credits), I didn’t want to live through that again, so I said, ‘Do as you please, in any case, the story will talk for me because I wrote it.’”

Daria Nicolodi

Nicolodi’s conception humanizes (it would be tempting to say “feminizes”) Argento’s usual sanguinary exercises du style, while at the same time summoning legitimate psychology. This has nothing to do with strong characterization – indeed, the characters barely speak – and everything to do with the elemental power of water, fire, wind.… Inferno rescues Giallo by plunging it into seemingly endless visual interludes, a cinema that draws its strength from absence.

by The Chiselers

Daniel Riccuito, David Cairns, Tom Sutpen, and Richard Chetwynd

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centuryofdean · 4 years

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Of Food and Comfort - Part 2

Author Disclaimer:: Marvel and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. Instead I claim the maybe not so great plot, writing and characteristics of the reader insert character. I am not a die hard Marvel fan, I haven’t read all the comics, but have watched the movies. I may get some things wrong, so please don’t hate me. I also have been incorporating Old Norse as terms of endearment.

Summary:: You worked for Tony Stark as a…mechanic of sorts. Anything around the Avengers compound that needed a technicians touch, you handled. With working and living there, you had grown to be friendly with the super heroes. Of course you had grown to have feelings for one of them. The muscled Thunder God to be exact.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+. At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language

Pairing:: Thor x Reader

That night with the movie was so long ago, you couldn’t remember all the little details. Instead you could only remember how you curled comfortably into Thor’s side. Neither of you had cuddled before, but it is something you will always remember. Especially at times like now, when you wonder how he’s doing.

The next morning after the movie night you spent the day doing your normal work, a little confused when Thor wasn’t following you around like a lost puppy dog. Instead you continued on and prepared a special dinner just for him.

Only to have your small heart break to find out he left in the middle of the night back to Asgard.

You tried to tell yourself it was nothing, don’t feel too bad about it. He had things to do there too. Don’t be like Jane, you told yourself. Be better than that. Support his life, because that is all you can do.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month; still Thor did not return. Even though you worried for the big guy, Steve said Thor had gone for four months once. Things happen within each of the nine realms that he needs to attend to.

After a month into his absence, you met Liam.

Liam worked at the high-end auto store you visited for maintenance of the cars in the garage. You had been visiting that store for almost a year and never ran into him. Once you laid eyes on him though, it was a little breath taking. His hair was dark and thick, just wavy enough to hold a shape a top of his head. Brown eyes the same shade as warm chocolate and full lips you wanted to kiss with every breath in your lungs. Now he was a man you stood a chance with--because he wasn’t a super hero or a God.

“Hello,” he smiled offering a hand, “I’m Liam. How can I assist you today?”

“Air and oil filters,” you breathed a little harder. “For sixteen different cars.”

His eyes widened a little bit before motioning you to follow him to the computer. “It’s for the Tony Stark account, all the vehicles are saved in his database. They usually have them ready for me,” you trailed off.

“Oh! You must be Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he smirked. “I’ve heard a lot about the legendary woman who wrenches for Mr. Stark and hangs out with the Avengers.”

“That’s me,” you wrung your hands nervously. Why did handsome men always make you nervous?

More small talk ensued while he started to ring up all the filters. You grabbed a bundle of blue paper towel and pulled out your wallet. Inside it, was full of Tony Stark’s various cards that you could use for whatever you needed. Anything. At all. It was nice being his somewhat tech assistant. Thankfully you didn’t have to plan out his life, Pepper Potts still handled that on top of Stark Industries.

“Tell me Y/N,” Liam handed you the receipt, “do you date the average Joe auto part’s salesmen?”

Two Months Later

“Tony! We already ran a background check on him four different times. One of which, you handled yourself instead of letting SHIELD do it,” you huffed while putting another pot in the oven.

The genius was propped on the counter, not helping, but watching you prepare different plates and dishes. It was Thanksgiving and Bruce’s birthday. So, you offered to make a Thanksgiving feast to celebrate the holiday with the only family you had now. It was nice to consider them family. Tony was like the older annoying brother you wished you always had.

On second thought, maybe the brother you wished you never had.

“I’m just saying Y/N, he could be HYDRA in disguise,” Tony replied curtly.

“Completely normal auto parts salesman Stark.”

Liam and you had been seeing each other for a few months, and he wanted to invite you to his family’s dinner. You kindly declined, and when you mentioned it to Steve he insisted you invited your boyfriend. Then you had to explain he wasn’t your boyfriend, but Steve wasn’t buying into it.

It must have been the time Steve came to pick you up, and Liam had his hands on your ass and his tongue in your mouth.

It was a pretty strict rule you made ever since you left high school and started college. You could go on dates and see someone, but you refused to get into a relationship with them unless you knew each other for at least three months.

“Miss Y/N, your guest Liam Herrington has arrived. Shall we open the doors,” FRIDAY’s voice called over the intercom.

With a quick glance around the kitchen, you deemed everything okay for a few minutes while you ran down to the entrance to greet Liam. The last thing you wanted was for him to enter a house full of super heroes without someone else at his side. Your blue jeans already had flour on them, but your canvas tan colored blouse was clean for now.

Sam had already opened the door and invited Liam in. You took two more strides to grasp his hand and start to lead him through the base. “Come on now baby girl,” Sam laughed after you, “introduce us!”

“Dinner is ready,” you called behind you, “we can do introductions at the table.”

Shortly after you said that, FRIDAY made an announcement that went through the base.

The dining room held the largest table you could find on short notice. It should be large enough to seat everyone, but barely large enough to hold all the food you made--and you made a lot of food. It looked like the last supper for an army, although you have seen how they eat. Once everyone entered and started to sit, you motioned Liam to sit at the spot on your right. All you needed to do now was get plates and set them at the seats for everyone. Like always, you loved to play the hostess.

“So, everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is…well almost everyone. I’ll let you introduce yourselves while I get the plates set,” you called over the small talk.

Half of the table was already set with plates, you just needed to get the rest. Then you would pour yourself a very large glass of wine. The cooking had been so stressful you sipped on a glass here and there, but now you could enjoy it.

The noises from the dining room grew for a second, but nothing you could make out over the fan running in the kitchen. With a stack of plates in hand, you emerged and set them on the corner of the table nearest you.

“Lady Y/N!”

Only one person called you that. Every fiber of your body tensed and sung in joy at the sound of your name off his lips. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long, you could feel the heat behind your eyes start to ignite. Before you could take him in, you were lifted off your feet and encased in his warm strong arms and musk.

“Oh, how I have missed you,” Thor’s voice hummed in your ear while he held you tighter. Had he ever hugged you before? You remembered how you both cuddled on the couch months ago.

This was so much better.

Just as quick as it started, he set you back down to correct your ruffled blouse. “What is the occasion of this feast you have prepared,” he questioned aloud. You directed him to a chair, one across from you while trying not to act flustered. With the rest of the plates handed out you grabbed another glass and some wine to pour for him.

“Bruce’s birthday and Thanksgiving,” you smiled at him warmly while you poured the glass. You turned to leave his side and return to your seat, only to be surprised to see his arm closing off the only way out. His hand was rested on Steve’s seat next to him, almost as if he was trapping you in with him. When you opened your mouth to ask him to move it, Thor retreated naturally. You were coming around to your seat as he extended that hand to Liam.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, I am Thor. Are you a new member of our team,” Thor asked while shaking Liam’s hand lightly.

“Erm, no. I’m Liam—uh Y/N’s guest.”

Thor’s electric blue hues rounded on you, eyeing your form with Liam’s arm on your chair, similar to his stance just moments ago. Something in his gaze hardened to indescribable.

Conversation flowed between everyone. It all was a dull blur. The only thing that captured your attention was how Thor’s light seemed to have flickered out. It was almost as if he was put off, like when Jane broke it off with him. Could that be the issue? Was he upset because of Jane still? Did seeing a couple happy before him remind him of his loss?

After the last bites were eaten, everyone chipped in on helping clean up the dishes. It was nice to have a crew to help with the mess of dishes that were used for the dinner. Afterwards, everyone moved to the common room to sit and drink while talking. The mood lightened and soon funny stories were being passed back and forth.

Thor smiled and quickly took a sip from his flask. It contained Asgardian liquor, something to actually get him tipsy or drunk. “Y/N and I went to the market to get food,” he said looking at you.

“Thor you always go with me,” you smirked. The wine had you tipsy and a little red in the face.

“Well we went to the market and purchased Pop-tarts.”

Instantly you burst into laughter, small tears forming in the corners of your eyes at the memory. At the time you were a little embarrassed and somewhat horrified, but now that you thought back on it, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mind you,” you pointed out, “he had twelve boxes of pop-tarts on the belt. Twelve--and the checkout girl was checking him out.”

Thor didn’t roll his eyes when he was playfully annoyed, he would smirk softly and gave you a droll stare. The familiar act was heart warming, causing you to smile radiantly.

“The girl asked how many children I had,” Thor boomed in laughter. There were a few chuckles, here and there from others. “I told her we had four.”

That did get everyone to bubble up in laughter. You downed the rest of your wine and stood, ready to get a refill. “She looked so appalled,” you chuckled out. “But it was even worse when he grabbed my stomach and said the fifth was on the way.”

Liam trailed behind you while you walked to the kitchen, leaving the thunderous laughter behind you. His hands skimmed your waist while you poured more of the delicious drink into your glass. “I think I’m going to head out babe,” he murmured into your neck. After a large sip of your glass, you left it on the counter to walk Liam to the entrance of the base. The walk was a little lengthy, it involved an elevator and trekking across to the other side of the compound. It was somewhat worth it though, because once the elevator doors closed his lips crashed into yours in a deep kiss.

All the wine made it a little surreal for you, but you kissed him back anyway. If everything kept going this smoothly for another month, you would call him your boyfriend happily. So far he had been wonderful.

Liam’s hand was glued to your ass while you walked to the door. His car was parked right next to it thankfully. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to your mouth.

“Please do,” you murmured, smiling softly and watched him get in the truck and leave.

The walk up to the common room was a little difficult to maneuver while tipsy, but you made it after pressing the level three button a few times. Your glass of wine was still on the counter. With a quick grab at it and you back to the common room.

The day had gone well. You made an amazing dinner for everyone, Liam got along well, and Thor was back. Everyone was where you left them in the room, except Thor took Liam’s spot on the love seat. You settled in next to him and continued to drink and talk with everyone.

“I don’t know if I like him,” Tony scoffed and looked directly at you.

“Like who,” you inquired confused.

“You’re boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend Tony,” you huffed.

“Good,” Clint agreed, “I didn’t like him either.”

“Do you kiss guys like that who aren’t your boyfriend,” Steve asked a little confused.

“Whoa! Why don’t you guys like him? Steve, stop analyzing my dating life, please,” you whispered frustrated. The night was going to well until now!

“He left without a goodbye to the rest of us,” Thor rumbled next to you, then drinking from his flask heavily.

“You have no room to talk big guy,” you mutter, “I always find out you left after everyone else did, by word of mouth.”

Tony waved his hands around, looking for words. Clint just shrugged, “He doesn’t seem good enough for you sweetheart.”

A quick roll of your eyes left you dumbfounded. “Then tell me oh Clint my uncle I didn’t know I had, who is good enough for me? I’m not getting any younger, and my bed gets lonely,” you reply.

Sam swept up in a large bow, tipping to the left a little, “At your service ma’am. I make an excellent bed warmer.”

The room erupted in more laughter, soon forgetting about the small bump in conversation over the dislike of your choice in men.

As the darkness took the sky, the night progressed and most of the others had become tipsy. Steve and Thor had been sharing Thor’s flask for the majority of the night. Surprisingly the super solider was glassy eyed and slurring a bit in his words. You had never seen Steve drunk before, or even heard of the man getting drunk—and you had seen him pack away quite a few beers. What was in the flask? Absinthe?

“Come on, it sounds like you guys had fun last time with yanking the hammer,” Sam nudged Thor in the ribs again. The way the words had come out had you burst out laughing, tears threatening to spill over.

Thor thrust his hand out behind your back. Suddenly a gust of wind caressed your shoulders and a slight tingle across your ass, causing you to shiver. The hammer was in his hand as he pulled it around to show Sam. “Only those who are worthy can lift Mjölnir,” he took a few steps to place the hammer on the table in front of everyone.

Sam didn’t hesitate to put both hands on the handle and yank as hard as he could. When the metal weapon didn’t so much as budge, most of the team chuckled. Steve rolled his eyes as he pushed Sam away from the hammer. With both of his hands, muscles straining, he was able to move the hammer about an inch in one direction. Thor’s smile slid off his face for a fraction of a second until the hammer remained still again. Your eyes widened, realizing that the look that crossed his face was mild fear. The alcohol in your veins made you bold in your addled mind.

Your fingers wrapped around Steve’s bicep as you ushered him away from the table and the hammer. Once planted firmly in front of it, your hands rested on your hips.

“So, only those who are worthy can lift Mojior,” you raised a brow at the hunk of blonde and muscle.

Thor crossed his arms across his chest in amusement as he smiled. “It’s name is Mjölnir. If one is worthy enough to rule Asgard and protect the nine realms, they will be able to wield the power of thunder, lightning and Mjölnir.”

“So, if I lift Mahal,” you started again, “what do I get?” It must be a competition, if you lift it, you get a prize.

His deep laugh radiated through the room, tickling your heart. It was a little hard to breathe.

“Tis not some dwarf God from your movies schat. Say it with me, Mjölnir. Myawl-nir.”

You attempted to repeat the words he said but failing miserably due to your loose tongue from drinking.

“So, if I lift Mew-Mew,” you repeated, “what do I get?”

He finally came to sit on the couch that was before the table, snuggling in next to Tony. All the team members were lounging and enjoying the show. From your understanding, the last time this happened, no one picked up the hammer either. Steve was the only one to make any progress, but still was not to lift it. Truly you knew you couldn’t, but it was endearing to see how amused he was from your antics.

“If you can lift Mjölnir, I will take you to Asgard.”

You offered a shrug, saying with your body that the prize was good enough. Ideally you wanted him to take you into his arms and—no, you cannot think of Thor like that anymore. He wasn’t—isn’t—interested. And you had Liam.

Liam didn’t have sky blue eyes that could make you melt into a puddle of goo with one glace though.

With a sigh you forced your brain to turn off while you pressed both hands to the handle of the hammer. It was warm and electrifying at first touch, almost as if you got static shock. It startled you, making your body jerk back with the hammer still in your grasp. The heavy chuck of metal followed you to the floor as you tumbled. “Ow,” you muttered.

There, in your lap was Mjölnir.

“Holy shit,” Steve muttered.

Thor was up in an instant, coming to rest on his knees next to you with wide surprised eyes.

With one hand, you used your slim muscles to lift the hammer up in between your face and his. It wasn’t light by any means, but it was just light enough that you could wield it like a large wrench. Up close you could see the writings and geometric designs on its surface, something you never paid attention to before. Your E/C hues met sky blues over the gleam of the sleek weapon.

“My dróttning,” he murmured in awe.

“Holy shit, Steve said shit,” Tony erupted from behind Thor.

Natasha scoffed, “Fuck that. Y/N has the power of thunder. We can get rid of Thor now.”

Soon the night started to come to an end. You were most certainly drunk, legs wobbling as you teetered down the hallways to stumble to your room. Only Natasha shared the hallway with you, but Thor insisted that you wouldn’t make it to bed by yourself. Maybe he was right, because you almost ate the floor a few times. Oddly he was a little tipsy as well, because every time you almost fell, and he caught you—you both melted into the floor in a fit of giggles.

Once your door loomed up, you ran to it and slammed into the knob with a breath of air. “We made it,” you sang quietly. “Thank you Thor, what a gallant gentle-sir of you.”

“Yes, of course. You would have fallen on the ground and slept in the kitchen if I had not brought you,” he replied.

Once the door was opened, you stumbled to the bed where you sighed in relief. Now all you needed to do to finish the night is to get your pants and bra off. Your hand flicked the button open easily, then used your thumbs to push the waist down. “Thor,” you grumbled, will you take my pants off for me?”

Almost as if he was waiting for instruction, you felt his large fingers work to find the cuff of your pant legs and pull each off with little effort.

“Again,” you sigh again, “thank you.”

“Anything else I can assist you with Y/N? Do you need a…. bed warmer,” his voice was soft and murmured, almost a little gruff.

“No,” you yawned, “it’s too hot as it is… Goodnight Thor.”

If you weren’t so drunk out of your mind, you would have thought for a moment Thor offered to have sex with you.

Previous Chapter << Part 1: Potato Soup

Next Chapter >> Part 3: Soft Pretzels

Tag List:

@lancsnerd

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor fanfiction #thor fanfic #y/n #thor #thor x y/n #reader insert #of food and comfort

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postcards-from-the-future · 3 years

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The Ecological Impacts of Poor Urban Planning and Urban Sprawl

Blog Post #1

The need for sustainable infrastructure in our growing societies is an important issue of our time. In North America a pressing matter in regards to building and planning urban living spaces is poor urban planning and rampant urban sprawl.

Along with negative effects on the psyche, health, and mental well-being of the people who inhabit these poorly designed spaces there is also ecological and environment devastation as a direct result of such practices.

Urban planning is the act of planning the structure of a city which includes its policies, infrastructure, neighbourhoods, building codes, and regulations.

Urban sprawl is the uncontrolled expansion of urban areas. The Oxford Dictionary gives the detailed definition of urban sprawl as “the disorganized and unattractive expansion of an urban or industrial area into the adjoining countryside.”

It can be logically assumed given these definitions that urban sprawl is a direct result of poor or failed urban planning seeing as good city planning makes for intelligently designed and cohesive living spaces that do not unnecessarily encroach upon the surrounding landscapes.

To begin, urban sprawl affects the areas it directly encroaches upon. It overtakes forests, wooded meadows, farmland, and prairies that surround an existing city. Old growth forests, fields, and meadows are habitats with thriving ecosystems. These areas are disrupted for development, and as a result the habitants such as insects, birds, and animals are forced to relocated and plants and trees are cleared. Nearby water sources are polluted by runoff from construction sites and expanded human presence.

Statistically Speaking

According to the Sierra Club more than one million acres of parks, farms, and open spaces are lost to urban sprawl in the United States each year.

In Canada according to a Statistics Canada study urban uses and needs have eaten away more than 7,400 square kilometers of dependable farmland in the past few decades. This is particularly troubling considering that Canada has a very small amount of land that is suitable for food production. Every year there appear to be new development projects that are questionably approved that continue the assault on wildlife habitats for short-term profits.

A recent and local example of this lack of consideration towards habitat preservation is the South Cameron woodlot in Windsor, Ontario that was stripped of its “significant wetland” designation opening it up to urban development by the city’s mayor, Drew Dilkens.

Dilkens personally lobbied Ontario’s premier, Doug Ford, to fast-track the destruction of a pristine wildlife habitat and greenspace for luxury residential units that will only consume resources and release carbon emissions.

Windsor is a municipality that only has 8 percent tree cover and a municipal city plan that prioritizes the need for more green space. There is no logic in opening up a green space that has been untouched by urbanization in an urban zone and losing the precious and inimitable benefits that space provides.

Unfortunately this is a scenario that plays out numerous times all over the North American continent year after year, unnecessarily eating away at wildlife habitats and greenspaces.

Who is Affected and Effects Over Time

The main ecological effects of urban sprawl are air pollution, water pollution, unsustainable water consumption, and loss of greenspace and wildlife habitats. The ecological impact of sprawl is devastating and impacts humans as well as the animals that dwell in the once pristine areas.

Sprawl is directly responsible for increased uses of personal vehicles and makes it difficult to get around a city efficiently. This created dependence on vehicles, directly contributes to air pollution, traffic fatalities of both people and animals, as well as poorer human health due to lack of physical mobility. Sprawl shapes life as moving from box to box to box. One’s home is in a box, one’s method of transportation is a box, and one’s destinations are boxes. This removed manner of living allows for citizens to turn a blind eye when city planners and developers begin destruction of yet another plot of land to expand the ever growing and cheap builds.

Over time what was once a city may become a conglomerate of suburbs with no natural reprieve or cohesive and pleasurable way of living, much like the Greater Toronto Area. With more humans there is more waste, and a greater need for landfills. Instead of containing the waste in a dense city and controlling the distribution of waste-producing products and materials sprawl allows for more space to consume and produce waste.

Since everything is connected it is only a matter of time before urban sprawl consumes a natural area once thought to be safe. With the passing years as more and more unchecked and poorly regulated development is approved more and more animals lose their habitats, more bodies of water are polluted and/or depleted faster than they can replenish, and the more the air quality decreases due to massive car use.

Sources:

https://vault.sierraclub.org/sprawl/factsheet.asp

https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/jul/12/urban-sprawl-how-cities-grow-change-sustainability-urban-age

https://www.britannica.com/explore/savingearth/urban-sprawl

https://www.thestar.com/opinion/editorialopinion/2013/02/21/urban_sprawl_is_destroying_ontarios_farmland.html#:~:text=According%20to%20a%20study%20by,what%20once%20was%20mostly%20farmland.&text=At%20the%20same%20time%2C%20urban,size%20of%20Prince%20Edward%20Island.

(https://www.theglobeandmail.com/canada/article-biodiversity-doesnt-stop-at-the-city-limits-and-conservation-needs/)

https://www.everythingconnects.org/urban-sprawl.html

#urbansprawl #urbanjungle #urbanism

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bardic-inspo · 4 years

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Innocent or Guilty

Tagged by @pchberrytea. Thanks pch, I love these meme/ask things! :)

Tagging these fine fellas if you feel like doing this. No pressure if you don’t! @third-rail-vip, @starrypawz, @heromaggie, @randomwordsandstormydays, @electricshoebox and whoever else wants to do this!

This is for Nat Sokolova, my SoSu featured in my Mac x SoSu WIP, Bring the Gasoline. No chapters out yet, but you can learn more about Nat here.

I don’t have any pics of this lady because I’m horrible with screenshots :( Maybe someday!

Asked someone to marry you? - Innocent

Kissed one of your friends? - Very guilty.

Danced on a table in a bar or tavern? - Guilty. This activity may or may not have resulted in moderate injury...

Ever told a lie? - Guilty, guilty, guilty. She’s usually pretty good at it, too.

Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? - Guilty. Sort of. Nothing was really stopping her and Nate from being a couple, but circumstances did keep them apart for very long lengths of time.

Ever kissed someone of the opposite sex? - Guilty.

Ever kissed someone of the same sex? - Guilty.

Kissed a picture? - Innocent. She has talked to the picture, though.

Slept in until 5pm? - Guilty, but only due to extreme injury.

Fallen asleep at work or school? - Innocent.

Held a snake? - Innocent.

Been suspended from school? - Innocent

Stolen something? - Big fat guilty on this one. You can blame Mac for fostering her pickpocketing habit.

Done something you regret? - Guilty, sort of. Nat doesn’t regret a lot of her choices/actions in a black and white sense, but she wishes she had gone about some of them differently, or maybe paused to listen to others before going through with them. It’s strained a lot of her relationships.

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? - Innoccent.

Laughed until liquid came out of your nose? - Guilty. Alcohol was involved in that one.

Kissed in the rain? - Guilty, though it wasn’t all that romantic since Mac hates the rain.

Sat on a roof top? - Guilty! It becomes a go-to for her and Mac when they want a moment to themselves. Makes her feel calmer, to be able to see everything around her. (Also, I too have a thing for writing rooftop things?)

Kissed someone you shouldn’t? - I’m gonna say innocent on this one. There was nothing really wrong about her kissing the people she’s kissed. Ill-advised, maybe.

Sang in the shower? - Guilty.

Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? - Innocent.

Shaved your head? - Innocent, but she does chop quite a bit of her hair off when she comes out of the vault. It used to be mid-back level, and now it just brushes her shoulders.

Slept naked? - Guilty, but it’s not a regular thing.

Made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? - Guilty. Nat is one to lash out a bit when she’s hurting, at least initially. Nate was always the more stoic or collected one. Mac is the same as Nat in this way.

Donated blood? - Innocent. She’d do it, though.

Eaten alligator meat? - Innocent.

Eaten cheesecake? - Guilty, though that was definitely pre-war.

Still loved someone you shouldn’t? - Hm, maybe guilty. Shaun comes to mind.

Have/had a tattoo? - Innocent. She would like some, though, to cover up some of her scars that she’s self-conscious of. Probably flowers, which sounds kinda bland/unoriginal. Her parents owned a flower shop when she was little, so it would actually be quite meaningful to her.

Liked someone, but will never tell who? - Innocent. There was a period of time that lasted all of a few days where she realized she had a little crush on Mac, and was pretty dedicated to keeping it under wraps. She’s too big of a flirt to keep that to herself for very long, though.

Been too honest? - Guilty. In the heat of an argument, she starts throwing some pretty harsh truth bombs.

Ruined a surprise? - Innocent, I think?

Eaten so much that you can’t walk after? - Innocent based on pure volume, but adapting to a wasteland diet was not pleasant initially.

Dressed in a man’s clothes? - Guilty.

Dressed in a woman’s clothes? - Guilty.

Joined a pageant? - Innocent.

Still have communication with your ex? - Guilty, she was friends with the people she dated in college after she started dating Nate.

Been told that you’re beautiful by someone who meant it? - Guilty.

Cheated on someone? - Innocent.

Gotten totally drunk and missed an exam? - Innocent.

A total stranger treated you by paying your fare? - Innocent? I mean, strangers have bought her drinks before.

Got so angry that you cried? - Guilty, and Nat hates this. When she gets fired up and she’s arguing with someone she really cares about (Nate, MacCready, Valentine), she’ll almost always start crying.

Tried to stay away from someone for their own good? - Guilty, but she fails at it pretty spectacularly.

Thought about suicide? - Guilty, but she never really puts that word to it. All the same, those self-destructive actions/behaviors are harmful to herself (and others).

Thought about murder? - Guilty. Nat’s always had a vengeful streak to her.

Actually murdered someone? - Guilty, I suppose? It depends on how you define the term, but objectively, yes, she’s killed dozens of raiders, she blew up Kellogg, etc.

Thought about mass murder? - If we follow the trajectory of the Fallout 4 plot....eventually, guilty.

Actually committed a mass murder? - Hm. Sort of guilty, I guess? She wiped out a pretty big cell of Gunners. It was provoked. Other than that, innocent.

Rode in a stranger’s vehicle? - Guilty.

Stalked someone? - Innocent.

Had a girlfriend? - Guilty.

Had a boyfriend? - Guilty.

Gotten totally drunk during a holiday? - Guilty.

#natasha sokolova #sokolova #my oc #fallout fanfic #fanfic #bring the gasoline #tag meme

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clenbuterolforsale2-blog · 4 years

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Weight-loss Methods - How often Must You Weigh On your own?

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Clever Scale Use

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starryshawn · 5 years

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snowcaps + nightcaps: chp 1

series masterlist - full masterlist

summary: you take a job as a chalet girl for the mendes family for the winter. over late nights and various nighttime beverages on a balcony, you fall in love with the boss’s son despite your best efforts. the two of you yearn for each other even though impossible circumstances keep you apart.

warnings: none for this chapter!

a/n: this first chapter is mostly intro for characters and plot setup; promise there will be much more shawn in the coming chapters!

~*~

“Okay,” you say while clicking the tupperware lid closed, “what’s in the fridge should last you a week, and the freezer should last you around a month.”

“Thank you, darlin’. You know you didn’t have to do all this-- I’m a grown man who can make his own food,” your dad says from across the kitchen island, sitting on one of the bar stools.

You scoff. “Right, a grown man who can make his own honey on toast.”

“Hey now, don’t knock honey on toast! That’s a timeless classic.”

“Timeless, but you can’t live on it forever.” Your smile recedes slightly as you open the refrigerator door, back turned to your dad. You were joking, but you were painfully aware that honey on toast was the only meal he even had the energy to make anymore.

“Don’t worry, hon,” a middle-aged woman assures, walking into the kitchen area, “I’m here to help out.” She jingles a key.

You walk over to give her a hug. “Thank you Justine.” Your voice is smaller than you expected.

“What are neighbors for, hm?” She rubs your back. “Besides,” she pulls away, “I’m stuck in that big ol’ house alone all day. This old geezer will give me some company.”

Your dad laughs, hearty and full. Tears blur your vision without permission. You’re not sure you can go months without hearing that sound in person.

You sniffle. “You know, maybe I don’t need to go. I can just pick up some extra shifts at the diner, or--”

“Darlin’, no. Come here,” your dad says, arms outstretched. You place your hands in his and he squeezes as hard as he can, his left hand trembling. “You need to go out and explore the world while you still can. You’re young. An opportunity like this doesn’t come so often.”

You look up at the ceiling to let the tears flow back to where they came from. “Okay,” you sigh shakily, “it is a lot of money.”

“Hey,” his voice is stern. “Look at me.” You obey, hoping your eyes aren’t red. “Make the most of this winter. You deserve to get to know the beautiful person you are.”

The tears you pushed in return with a vengeance, spilling out before you can catch them. All you can do is nod as your dad pulls you into an embrace. You breathe in his woodsy cologne. Somehow, you feel like you’re going to be alright.

~*~

The grip on your suitcase is tight as you look around the train station. The email from Nina, the girl you’d be working with, said that she’d be waiting at the west terminal. Excited to spend the season with you! Nina, she signed. You were relieved to read the message; at the very least, you would have a nice colleague.

Amongst the herd of brightly-colored puffer jackets, you spot your name in black lettering on a piece of cardboard. As you get closer, you realize that it’s scratchily applied black nail polish.

The young woman holding the sign doesn’t notice you, busy talking to someone on her phone. “God, babes, and did you see that guy who was staring at my arse the whole night? He had the hairiest chest I’d ever seen-- like love, sorry, this isn’t happening, you’re such a perv,” she laughs and continues, “yeah, I know! And I-- oh, I gotta call you back, babes.”

She ends the call and lowers her sunglasses, taking a good look at you. “Seriously?” She seems amused more than anything else.

“Yup,” you respond. There’s nothing you can do to stop the awkward tight-lipped chipmunk smile that appears on your face.

She sighs, pulling her sparkly keychain from her jacket pocket. “Alright, get your things in the trunk and let’s get going, then.”

The drive is quiet despite your multiple attempts at conversation. Nina maneuvers the car through winding roads with a strangely disinterested expression while you hold the seatbelt close to your chest.

You must have been staring, because she shoots you a frown. “What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?” She gasps. “No, have I got a spot?” Nina twists the rearview mirror and leans close in a frenzy, pulling at her face. The car lurches into the opposite lane, earning a blaring honk from an oncoming vehicle and a squeal from you.

“Oh, cool it! I was barely over the line!” Nina shouts out the window. She settles back in her seat. “Ugh these tires make the worst noise. I’ll have to get Jeremy to look at those later.”

“Right, the tires,” you say, too embarrassed to admit that you were the source of the sound.

After the near-accident, you decide not to distract Nina. Your eyes focus on a raindrop stain on the window as you allow your thoughts to swirl. What would your dad be doing now? Hopefully he’s doing okay. It’s barely been a day… but then again, what if he’s worried about you? What if he hasn’t eaten yet? What if he faints or has a heart attack and he’s all alone in the house because you’re not there and--

Your gaze shifts past the stain and onto the scenery unfolding outside the window. The muddied slush has been replaced by majestic snowcaps, the scraggly bare trees by towering evergreens. The air even looks crisper. “Oh my god, it’s so…”

“White?” Nina looks over at you, raising an eyebrow.

“The mountains, they’re so… tall,” you breathe.

“Right, as opposed to short mountains.” Nina shakes her head. “You clearly don’t ski. Why are you even here?”

“Well, I need the money and this job pays really well, so…”

“What do you mean you need the money?” Nina glances at you again. “Oh, wait, that makes sense.

You scoff and shake your head. “Well, why are you here, then, if not for the money?”

“Are you kidding me? Wow, the agency must have really been desperate for a Jenny replacement if they picked someone from the middle of nowhere like you.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

Nina clicks her tongue. “Why wouldn’t I be here? Everyone wants this job. The Mendeses are only at the chalet for two weeks at the maximum for ‘family bonding time.’ We have the rest of the winter all to ourselves. We literally get paid to stay in a chalet right next to the best slopes in the world and use their killer hot tub for an entire season.”

“Oh… funny thing is, I almost turned this down,” you say.

Nina looks at you like you’re crazy.

“Okay, maybe not that fun--”

“I had literally twenty girls texting me about this job when they heard about Jenny’s leg. Twenty! But the agency said they had to see the candidates before sending them in.” She rolls her eyes.

The car pulls into the driveway of the chalet and you can’t help but gasp at the sight, Nina’s words forgotten. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Alright, don’t cream yourself, now. We’ve got to get you trained,” Nina says while unbuckling the seatbelt.

“What floor are we on?” You ask.

Nina flashes you a now-familiar look of incredulity. “What do you-- oh, for god’s sake, the entire building is ours!”

You take a deep breath. Seems like Nina’s got her work cut out for her.

~*~

The twin bed creaks when you collapse face-first onto it.

“They’re coming in tomorrow around 5, so remember what I told you about dinner; I’m the actor, and you’re back--”

“Backstage, got it,” you complete, your voice muffled by the pillow.

“After all, I’ve practically grown up with them. God, I remember this one time…”

Nina continues to talk as she folds various articles of clothing strewn about the other side of your shared room. In a chalet this big, you wonder, it’s rather interesting how the two of you are forced to cohabitate. Your eyelids grow heavier and you’re just about to welcome a dreamless slumber when something hits your head.

You sit up and remove what you now recognize as a white lace thong from your line of vision. “What the hell?”

“Are you listening to me? We’re not done yet,” Nina says, now facing you. “Three rules for being a chalet girl. One: no friends in the chalet. Two: you can party as much as you want, as long as breakfast is on the table at 8.

“Three: no sleeping with the clients, even from neighboring chalets,” she considers herself, “unless they’re fit.”

“No sleeping with the clients? Damn, what am I supposed to do with my industrial pack of condoms now?” you joke, slingshotting the thong at Nina, causing her brown hair to flitter behind her shoulders.

“Oh, hush.” Nina throws it onto a pile of clothes. “I’m getting into the hot tub one last time before the family arrives tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”

“No need to worry about that.”

The door closes and you flip backwards onto the bed. You shut your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come as easily as it did before. As if by fate, your leg starts to vibrate. You fish out your phone from your pocket and check the glowing screen. Your dad.

“Hello?” you pick up the phone.

“Hi darlin’, how was your first day?” It’s barely been 24 hours since you left him, but his voice makes your eyes misty.

“It was good, good… everything’s going really well,” you lie, choosing to omit the number of plates you dropped and the misplaced utensils. “I made a new friend, too.”

“That’s my girl!” You can hear his smile through the phone and it’s enough to put a small one on your face.

“What about you, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was the usual! Just got some reading done, and, oh! Justine was kind enough to drop by with some paella.”

“Lucky, you know how much I love her paella,” you whine. “Did you remember to--”

“Take my meds? Yes I did; I’m not so old that I’m losing my memory just yet.”

The mere mention of memory loss has you choked up. The doctors said that although it was a possibility, dementia wasn’t something to worry about yet. Still, you’re wishing now more than ever that you were on the couch with your dad instead of on a creaky bed in the middle of the Alps.

“I have a busy day tomorrow,” you manage through the ball in your throat, “so I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Of course, darlin’. I love you.”

“I love you,” you say quickly before ending the call.

After rolling over to switch off the bedside lamp, you burrow under the covers. You’re too ashamed to see yourself cry yourself to sleep.

~*~

“So what do I call them? Sir and ma’am or by their names?” you whisper to Nina as the two of you stand to the side of the landing strip.

“Call them? I thought we discussed this. I’m the one who talks to them, you’re backstage.”

“Right…”

The Mendes family steps off their private plane, laughing among themselves. Immediately, you’re drawn to the head of brown curls peeking out through the group. It belongs to a tall young man in a leather jacket.

Nina notices your gaze and leans towards you. “Rule number three?”

“I thought there were exceptions for ‘fit’ guys?” you ask, only partly joking. You’re determined for this job to work out, but goddamn is he attractive.

“He’s taken, anyway,” Nina says.

You hum, grateful for a reason to stay focused on the job. Cook and clean for a rich family for three months and go home with a fat check; should be easy enough.

Tall Handsome Boy starts walking toward the two of you. You have to remind yourself to breathe. The evening sun sews golden thread through his hair and embroiders swirls across his face. You resist the urge to search him for angel wings.

“Is it just me, or is he walking in slow motion?” you say to Nina.

She chuckles. “It’s just you. Now, don’t gawk too much, you’ll embarrass me.”

“Wow, I’ve finally gotten a laugh out of yo--”

“Hello, needledick!” Nina is engulfed in a hug.

“Long time no see, fungus!” Tall Handsome Boy steps back from Nina and turns to you. “Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Shawn.” He offers his hand.

“Y/N,” you say and shake his hand, still a little stunned by the interaction that just played out.

“I don’t have a needle dick, by the way.”

“He did when he was eleven!”

Shawn shoots Nina a playful glare and opens his mouth to respond when someone pounces on him from behind, causing your hands to disconnect.

“Oh, baby, it’s even more beautiful than it was last year,” muses the blonde offender, linking her arm with Shawn’s. She notices you and grabs hold of your hand. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there! I’m Kaye.”

Her warm energy softens your expression. You give her your name. The sparkle in her eyes gives you hope that it won’t be too difficult to take care of these people.

“Ooh, it’s chilly! Let’s get inside, I’m about to become a popsicle!” Kaye ushers Shawn to one of the black cars waiting for them.

A teenage girl follows, dragging a suitcase behind her as if it’s merely an extension of her arm. “You’d think that after two winters here she’d know how to dress for the cold,” she says, wrapping an arm around Nina’s torso.

Nina embraces the girl lightly. “Hi love.” She gestures to you and says, “this is the new Jenny.”

“Oh, rad. I’m Aaliyah.”

Two more figures appear while you introduce yourself. A man in a black peacoat has his hand on the waist of a sunglasses-clad woman.

The man extends a hand to you. “Hey, call me Manny. Thanks for stepping in.” Meanwhile, the woman envelops Nina in a hug and kisses her head. “Just, uh, do whatever Nina does, I guess. You can’t go wrong.”

Manny reaches for the woman and continues, “This is my wife, Karen.” She regards you wordlessly, simply adjusting her sunglasses. “Who apparently has a sore throat. We’ll see you at the chalet, then, eh?” He guides his wife and daughter to the cars, leaving you alone with Nina.

Or at least, you thought he left you with Nina. When you look to ask her about wardrobe for the night, you see she’s already at least fifteen steps to the car.

She turns around, frustration evident. “Keep up!”

“Whoops.” This is going to be an interesting winter.

~*~

and that’s it for chapter 1! expect chapter 2 sometime next week. i’m really excited for this series, so feel free to send me asks about it!

join my taglist! :)

tags:

@enchantingbrowneyedgirl @thesaragomez @ruinhoney @shawnvvmendes

#shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #snowcaps + nightcaps #writing

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babygirlofwakanda · 6 years

Text

Not Gon Cry | Chapter 5

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS — Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

CHARACTERS — Black! Reader X M’Baku X T’Challa

CONTENT — Trials Of Black Love, Adultery, Broken Vows and Marriage, Humiliation and Manipulation

PLOT — Based off of the song, “Not Gon Cry” by Mary J. Blige on her Share My World album. This is strictly based off of the lyrics, but a little twist. In addition, I STRONGLY suggest listening to this song on REPLAY while reading to get further feels, but hey..

NARRATIVE — “Oh, girl! What happened next?” You heard your friend Giana, wife of the Merchant Tribe’s warrior exclaim. Giggling, “Well, I didn’t even get to answer his question because the man dived in cutting off my use of vocal cords!” You yelled.

Feeling an abrupt sting on your arm, “—Trick, you didn’t tell me this!” Your best friend Saleem shouted. Swiftly turning your head, “I was gonna tell your ass, but you were too worried asking me if I saw his dick!” You clapped back, before returning the pinch.

“Well did you?” The country’s lawyer questioned, with a slight raise in her eyebrow. “Yes, bitch. You happy now?” You deadpanned, as you rolled your eyes before you inherently scrunched your head down at the sudden squeals echoing throughout your living room. “Ah! How did it look?”

“Fuck that, how big is it?” You heard the hairstylist of the Royal Family and your friend Ramla ask, as she peeked her head around Giana’s frame.

It has been twenty-four hours since T’Challa had you sprawled out on your couch with tears springing to your eyes as he ate you out and not containing your disbelief of what y’all did you called over your three closest friends before spilling the beans.

Rushing over within an hour with drinks and snacks at hand you invited them in. Finding yourself sitting down on the floor with y’all backs against the couch y’all began to gossip like middle school girls before they interrogated you on your blissful night.

Feeling your cheeks temporarily ache up from the big grin plastered on your face, “C’mon tell us Y/N!”

Using that as an excuse to drink the sparkling cider resting on your table you took a gulp. Releasing the glass from your lips you sighed, “After he got done eating me out he stood up and adjusted his pants and maaan..” You dragged, as you dramatically fanned a hand infront of your face.

“Quit teasing us!” Giana yelled, as she anxiously took a sip of her drink before slamming it down. Laughing, “I didn’t see his bare dick, Saleem. However, ya girl did peep the print and damn talk about a eggplant.” You squealed, as your memory flashed of his penis prominently bulging against his slacks.

“It was that damn big Y/N!” Ramla asked, with her eyes damn near popping out of her socket. Fiercely nodding your head you spoke, “Yes, girl! He had to be atleast eight or nine inches.” You detailed.

Saleem loudly cleared her throat before she took a sip of her water before she spoke up, “Well, I think we’ve tipped toed around this burning topic enough but who has the biggest dick?” She questioned.

Now feeling your eyes popping out you placed a hand on your temple before gently rubbing them.

“Um, shit Saleem.” You rolled your eyes. “Imma just say M’Baku has the biggest dick because of his body mass, height and weight.” You mumbled, causing the girls to erupt into squeals and gasps.

“—Wait! Wait, a second. Not to say that I don’t think T’Challa doesn’t have a big dick. It’s just that M’Baku is working with that Jabari wood, but it doesn’t mean that I’m counting T’Challa out because he’s an inch or three off.” You shrugged, before you abruptly drowned your sparkling drink.

“Well, aren’t you just one lucky girl. Got T’Challa on his knees eating your pussy. Ah, I taught you well.” Saleem grinned, as she proudly dusted her shoulder.

“Aside from Saleem’s antics and you eaten out, how are things with the separation?” Giana questioned. A smile crossing your face, “Well he agreed to all my demands and to pay them.” You said, before doing a little dance in your seat.

“—Ugh, I still can’t believe that monkey ass nigga cheated on you and hurt my little babies hearts!” Ramla exclaimed, before loudly scoffing.

Sighing, “I know, me either.” You said, before you reached for the table opening up another bottle of flavored water pouring yourself another glass.

“I gave that man everything I had, but it still wasn’t good enough for him after marrying him, giving birth to our children he turns around and pulls this shit.” You stated, before desperately attempting to hide the tears welling up by the rims of your eyes.

Taking a sip, “Six months! He cheated on me for six months!” You exclaimed, before you abruptly stood up. “Here I was thinking it was just a bunch of petty arguments and innocent business trips overseas!” You spat, as you started pacing.

Tears now blinding your vision you continued, “For six months he was fucking a broad behind my back! For six months I didn’t know another bitch was out here sucking his dick making him call to Hanuman!” You shouted, before you instantly threw the glass against the closest wall.

Stopping your tracks you watched the glass shatter on the wall causing you to briefly have a flashback from the glass breaking against the wall in Paris.

With your heart now beating vigorously against your rib cage as the flashbacks started clashing against each other in a rapid manner.

Blinking rapidly you felt the tears burn your eyes as they slowly cascaded down your cheeks. Seeing your friends rush up from their seated position they came and embrace your trembling figure. “Fuck M’Baku.” You spat, as the tears finally blinded your vision.

You finally had a good and sober cry as it was only a matter of time before your walls would crumble. You were trying to be so strong for your children that you subconsciously pushed your feelings aside until now.

Furthermore, a week had passed since you were cradled into the arms of your three closest friends and the day had finally approached when you would be taking your last trip to the Gorilla City. The day were you would finally get to sign on the printed papers thus far ending your marriage.

Getting up at the crack of dawn you stretched out your arms above your head as you released a yawn before you threw your feet on the floor as you got up and out of your bed and went into your bathroom and completed your morning routine.

Walking back into your bedroom you tossed your bonnet and scarf off; since we must protect our edges and lock in that moisture.

Freeing your hair you took down your large plaits before walking back into your bathroom. Grabbing ahold of your spray bottle you dampened your hair before racking your fingers through your hair with moisturizer, castor oil and shea butter.

Content with your large curly mane framing your face you exited the bathroom before traveling down the stairs and going into your kitchen.

Quickly fixing yourself a bowl of cereal with bananas and raspberries you poured the fresh milk into your bowl before grabbing yourself a spoon. Getting the bowl you went in your living room tucking your legs underneath you once you switched on the television.

With a hour flying by you got off of the couch and headed upstairs after dropping your bowl off in the kitchen. Reaching your bedroom you went into the closet before you changed into the climate friendly clothing. With your fur boots and coat on you called up your driver before heading downstairs to wait.

As the television was still on you were about to sit down when a ring echoed through your house from the front door. “Ugh.” You mumbled, before you lifted up from your squat position and headed to the door.

Peeking your head through the hole you spotted a Dora Mijae on your porch. Opening the door you said, “Hey Ayo!” as you greeted her and gave her a smile.

“Greetings Y/N, King T’Challa sent me here to deliver this to you.” She stated, before revealing the gift bag hidden behind her back. Furrowing your eyebrows you gave her a questionable look before steadily taking the bag out of her hand.

“What is it?” You asked, while stepping into the kitchen placing it on the table. Shrugging she closed the door before following you inside the house.

Sighing you dug your hand in the bag while pulling apart the unnecessary tissue before you pulled out a wrapped box. “This nigga.” You smacked your lips, before rolling your eyes as you heard Ayo giggling.

Shaking your head you started pulling at the paper before it revealed a Christian Louboutin box. A smile crossed your face as you opened the box to reveal yellow colored high heels.

Your jaw quickly dropping at the gift you picked up the shoe gazing at the colored red bottoms.

However, your view was soon distracted by a note that was taped to the inside of the lid. Placing the shoe back in the box you picked up the lid before you started reading the note.

Dear Y/N,

As you know these shoes are a gift from me to you. I thought the least I could do was gift you with some shoes after I made your toes curl up so much the last time I saw you. Speaking of which, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to stop by since that night lately I’ve been dealing with issues that the council couldn’t seem to handle by themselves. Anyways, I hope to see those lovely shoes tonight at the kingdom as we dine with one another over a delicious dish. Will you join me tonight?

Love, T’Challa

Feeling a goofy grin on your face as you put the lid down to turned around to face Ayo. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” You questioned, as you viewed her weak attempt to hide her smile from spreading.

Ignoring your question she spoke, “Will you join him for dinner Y/N?” She asked. Shifting your mouth as you thought about it, “Tell him, I will think about it.” You smiled, as you viewed her confused face.

“—but tell him I will enjoy the shoes.” You confessed, before you sent her a wink, confirming your answer.

Nodding her head, you trailed behind Ayo and out of your house before you parted ways as you hopped in the vehicle. The drive to Gorilla City was quick as you found yourself through the hallway for one last time as you approached the throne room.

Walking inside you spotted your advisor and lawyer, M’Baku’s team and the elders of council and politely greeted everyone before taking a seat as you waited for M’Baku to invade your peaceful presence.

Seeming that your thoughts were on high alert you heard the pounding of his footsteps vibrate against the hefty wood. “—I am here, the Leader of the Jabari Tribe has arrived.” He announced.

Shamelessly rolling your eyes at his arrogant antics you finally shifted your eyes up to view his large frame when you were thrown for a loop.

There he was proudly standing at his throne with his hands clutching onto the fingers of another woman.

However, this wasn’t just any woman, this was the hand that belonged to the trick who’s ass you gave a pass to in the hotel room. With a fraudulent smile on her cherry colored lips, she cuddled up to M’Baku’s warm fur as if she was utterly in love with him.

Anybody with eyes could see that she was only doing this for the attention of others around her.

Shaking your head in a weak attempt to stop the laugh you tucked your lips inside your mouth making your jaw to hurt. The couple looked so phony on the throne as the almost made a mockery on how you used to stand beside M’Baku in the same manner with the hand holding before council meetings.

Sighing at the image of the two clowns standing together you took the time to scan the appearance of the woman. As the last time you saw her she had her makeup running from the tears of pleasure from your husband, hair sticking up in every direction and she was half-naked with only her bra around her frame while she was thrown carelessly on the floor.

Taking in her facial features you realized that she was actually a pretty decent woman. However, that was something you wouldn’t dare to admit outloud, but you could tell that she kept up her appearance.

Grazing your eyes over her coconut complexion you found your emotions in a whirlwind. Looking at the women your husband cheated on you with for six months had you temporarily questioning your appearance and self-esteem.

However, you quickly regained your confidence by remembering the bad bitch you are. No matter how much shit you endured from M’Baku you managed to always keep up with your looks.

“—Are y’all ready to get this started? I have other business to attend to.” The masculine voice stated, as you watched him take his seat on the throne with the unknown trick sitting on his lap.

Standing up the elders motioned for the advisor to give the papers to you and M’Baku sign. Taking the papers in his hand the Great Gorilla spoke up, “You know I never thought I’d see the day that I would be signing these papers. It’s funny how things change.”

Instantly frowning your face you finished writing your signature before lifting up your face, “Don’t do this with me, it’s to early to hear your bullshit.”

The elders and lawyers briefly exchanged looks before M’Baku continued talking, “You always did have a dirty mouth, mnandi. It’s just a shame that you didn’t always know how to put it to use the right way, luckily I have found someone who does.”

Doing a double-take you blinked rapidly before you abruptly stood up. “Nigga what, run that shit by me again? Have you lost your rabbit ass mind? She can have your dirty green giant ass!” You exclaimed.

“They always wanna get upset when you express your feelings, when that’s all they beg you to do.” He said, towards his team of lawyers with a cocky smirk.

Quickly approaching the throne with your blood boiling you spat out, “I hope you catch something from this fucking broad, nigga. I hope you get the use out of the free clinic in Golden City since you seem to like sticking your dick in trash, nigga.”

Instead of getting the reaction you were hoping for he laughed with pure enjoyment before he leaned over in the trick’s ear whispering into it before she started to obnoxiously cackle. “What the hell is so fucking funny?” You questioned, with a strong neckroll and a prominent bat of your lashes.

“You are so angry, sithandwa sa. All because you are jealous of her area in talented skills in which you lack in.” He declared, before another round of laughter erupted.

Squinting your eyes you licked your lips something you often did when you knew you were about to light someone’s ass up. “Don’t make me out you infront of your people, but since you wanna show your ass to everybody let me show mine.” You suggested.

“While you up here laughing with Ms. Thang over here let’s be clear. You weren’t saying all that shit when you know I had your toes curling, your fists balled up and had you praising Hanuman.”

Directing your eyes over to the unknown woman you spoke, “Don’t believe me, mnandi? Because I have it on video.” You deadpanned, as you lifted up your kimoyo beads with your finger hovering over your video gallery.

“—but that’s beside the point. Since you wanna be all big and bad make sure you tell this bitch that you will beg to have your ass played with and let’s not forget that you have a tramp stamp with my name on it, so I hope she enjoys seeing the reflection in the mirror on the ceiling when y’all fuck.” You shrugged.

Watching his features contour in embarrassment as you finished airing out his dirty laundry. Now you was the one laughing as you whipped your head around to see the shameful looks around the room.

Smirking, you turned around before dropping the papers you had signed in his lap not before saying one last time, “—I hope you suffer from the bullshit you caused, but have fun with your sloppy seconds. She will never the half the woman I was to your ass.”

Reaching the door you flicked your head back peeking at the shook M’Baku before you called out, “I’m taking the kids tomorrow, so please enjoy your night with them. Oh, and please explain to them why umama will not be returning. I’m sure Mandla, would be happy to find out the truth on his utata’s affairs.”

Turning on your heels you walked towards your team of advisors and lawyers and embraced them as you continue your journey out of the room.

Sending a wink back at the trick, elders and his advisors you walked out of the room with the click of your heels sounding off your disappearance.

Traveling back down the snowy mountains of Gorilla City and into the humid temperatures of Golden City you entered the foyer of your home. Closing the door behind you, you pressed your back against the wood before taking a deep breath and releasing the stress of today’s events out of your memory.

However, as much as you wanted to peace the Great Gorilla out of your life you knew you had to deal with him until Cebisa turned eighteen and maybe longer.

Snapping out of your thoughts you walked into the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water before your gaze fell onto the shoe box laying on the table. Chewing on the inside of cheek you sighed as you began to debate on attending dinner with T’Challa.

What could go wrong? Nothing.

What could happen after dinner? That’s where your mind started to run rapidly as you started thinking of every possible result of this simple dinner request.

You didn’t want to jump right into a relationship if even that? All you ever did to him was tongue him down and thrust your dripping core into his face while he lapped at it like a thirsty puppy.

Completely normal? Just two friends helping each other’s sexual tendencies and frustrations out.

Rolling your eyes at your chaotic thoughts you stared at the box before you exhaled loudly allowing your shoulder to rise and fall drastically.

Walking out the kitchen and traveling up the stairs you reached your bedroom before you strolled over to your closet. Searching through your dresses with only the sound of metal sliding against each other as the hangers created friction with metal rack before the sound ceased once you pulled out a plum, pineapple and berry multicolored dress.

Swiftly discarding your fur dress now clinging onto your moist, sweaty skin you quickly hopped into the shower. Stepping back out with only a towel secured around your frame you put on complexion colored undergarments before you went back into the bathroom.

Pulling out your bag of makeup you leaned over the counter as you lightly filled in your eyebrows, applied concealer around them before and color correcting under your eyes, forehead and bridge of your nose.

Eventually, you blending out the product you aapplying powder to your face and after letting it soak up your extra moisture you grabbed a fan brush as you started to highlight the high points of your face before spraying your face with setting mist.

More than satisfied with your appearance you walked back into your bedroom before you went over to your bed. Lifting up the dress from the hanger you detached it before slipping on the dress.

Half an hour later you were clacking your heels against the vibranium infused floor of your foyer as you rushed out the door. Stepping foot on the stone pathway in the thick greenery around your house you traveled into your surroundings. Almost reaching the kingdom you abruptly heard the rustling above the path before you took your eyes off of the scenery.

Goosebumps rising on the moisturized surface of your skin you flicked your eyes up to investigate the sounds when your orbs connected with T’Challa’s.

Your expression drastically changing into a buoyant one as well as his once you felt your cheeks rise as a grin appeared. As you gazed at the T’Challa’s mocha skin as the tangerine sun rays cascaded over him like a warm blanket.

“—Glory to Bast.” The King of Wakanda muttered, as he took in your stunning appearance as the same colored rays reflected over your flawless skin.

TRANSLATIONS —

“Mnandi.” means sweetheart “Usana.” means baby “Sithandwa sa.” means my love “Umama.” means mother “Utata.” means father “Giana.” means god is gracious “Saleem.” means peaceful “Ramla.” means prophetess

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I’m sorry it took so long y’all this chapter just wouldn’t come out for nothing..

Fun fact, I hate fruit and only wrote reader with fruit on her cereal because I assumed y’all like that shit.

Anyways, reader was spilling the teaaaaa, hunty!

However, do y’all think she should have stopped? Let me know should she have done that or what point do you think it went to far if she went to far to you.

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#brwnsugababe #Black Panther #Black Panther Fanfiction #Chadwick Boseman #Winston Duke #T’Challa #M’Baku #T’Challa X Reader #T’Challa X Black Reader #T’Challa X Black! Reader #M’Baku X Reader #M’Baku X Black Reader #M’Baku X Black! Reader #T’Challa Fanfiction #M’Baku Fanfiction #Not Gon Cry #BabygirlOfWakanda

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winterbuckytho · 5 years

Text

Steve & Bucky Go To White Castle

Pairing : Stucky

Wordcount : 3016

Plot : Steve and Bucky now living in a state with completely legal marijuana laws decide to get weird

Warning : NSFW, M|M, Legal recreational drug use, Public Masturbation, Fluff & LOLs

A/N : You already are aware I am a little shit so of course I had to write this.

"So since no one has ever over dosed on the stuff, we apparently can do say double the amount and maybe see some sort of results." Bucky explained to Steve who made dubious faces at the glass object in Bucky's hand.

"Do we smoke all of what's there or..?" Steve asks. It's not that he hasn't because he has smoked it before. Just not a lot of it and not for a long time. With the stuff being entirely legal for medical or recreational use, there was nothing stopping them doing it. What could go wrong?

Bucky had gotten curious after consuming some with his friend from dance class and thought he and Steve could use it in their lives. It had worn off quickly and wasn't too strong since Bucky didn't smoke that much of it. He had told Steve how different even the most basic stimuli was and begged for them to get use and carry licenses but Steve wasn't sure it would work.

He had to drink a lot for even the lightest of buzzes and wasn't sure he wanted to smoke for hours to figure out how much was needed. But after some research he found that if it did no harm in small amounts one could use caution and other methods of consuming it to get it to work at higher doses.

Now curious himself he watched Bucky flick the lighter and inhale. Smoke shot up into the 'spoon' as the budtender had called it and into Bucky's mouth. He exhaled the smoke out over their bed and handed the still lit glass smoking pipe to Steve. The fragrant smoke smelled of citrus like grapefruit and there was something sexy about watching Bucky smoke again. Oh the many times Steve had spent watching Bucky's lips as he smoked wondering what they felt like. Now smoke itself was kinda hot so there was already something pleasant about using marijuana. Steve saw the ember was still lit so pressing the back of the pipe to his lips took a drag. It wasn't what he expected. After having not smoked cigarettes or anything else for so long he found it was not like riding a bike. It had not come back to him that a person can't breath smoke in as densely as they do air. He handed it back with a sputtering cough covering his mouth with the back of his arm. Steve's tongue had a cool numbing sensation like some kind of mint had been in his mouth. he realized his gums and cheeks felt the same.

this was their third experiment with the marijuana flower and having eaten two 50 mg cookies each 4 hours ago they concluded that maybe smoking a little could put them over the edge where they might feel it. But just the one bowl pack. Steve didn't know he liked smoking much anymore now knowing how dangerous frequent smoking really was.

And hadn't finding that out been a kick in the balls? He had once spent all of his money for on cigarettes his doctor swore would have him right as rain after one day of smoking every two to four hours. Steve now understood he had felt better from that because his breathing passages had been coated with a stiff layer of particles that made it seem as if he was having less trouble breathing.

Speaking of...Was there some warm pressure building in his chest?? Steve hadn't felt asthma in a long time but this was a bit different and he thought maybe it was from coughing.

"Oh hey now..." Bucky said "I think I'm getting something. My limbs even the cybernetic one feels...distant." He handed the spoon back to Steve who took it figuring after all the research and purchasing new items it wold be with it to try to do what he could to give it a shot.

Steve took another drag and found it not so bad this time now that he had drawn on it differently. He took several drags and noted that he was starting to feel something. It was more of a mind thing for him. Color and light were beginning to take on dream like qualities he could not explain. "Bucky, do you feel like your sight is changing or something?" he asked.

"Yeah, a little. Hey, if things pan out wanna watch something funny? I've heard people say a laugh you have while effected by reefer feels pretty good. Maybe we could watch the documentary about Thor and his roommate." Bucky was beginning to babble a bit and Steve found himself in a flow of smoking a little then passing it back to Bucky and vice versa. "I think the mental aspect is hitting a little harder. I think I like this. The relaxation thing is doing wonders for me. I can see myself changing one of my seriously bad days into something better. Ooo, I wonder if I can figure out edibles a bit better. I want to put oil in something savory..."

Steve had gone unusually quiet as he examined his own body and mind. The warm feeling in his chest was deepening and he didn't like it. He realized the traffic out side and people playing music was disturbing him. "Uht oh." he breathed handing the glass device back to Buck.

"Babe?" asked Bucky taking the bowl and putting it down on the night table.

"Somethings... not right. I feel like it's hard to breath but not really and all the noise, urgh, I think I'm getting dizzy." Steve said laying down. That made him feel worse so he moaned like a helpless kitten.

"Shit, fuck, shit, ok ok...Everything is gonna be ok, Stevie baby. I know what to do. Sometimes marijuana triggers...fuck oh my God, your lips are blue! But that's ok you're just low of oxygen right now. This is a physical anxiety response and should pass. We just need to get you outside. NAT!!!" Bucky was nervous but he had read about all the possible negative outcomes and knew this one he just hadn't counting on anything going wrong but he had prepared any way. Surprisingly the marijuana was allowing him to keep cooler under the stress, it had that going for it.

As Nat came into the bedroom she saw that Bucky was trying to get Steve on his feet as he explained "Try not to focus on what feels uncomfortable about it, anxiety is a little monster that gets bigger if you feed it your fear. I know that is hard and complicated but just focus on me, baby, look at me. We're gonna go in the car for a ride and if you don't feel better in the next ten minutes we will go to the doctor."

So off the three went down a few floors on the elevator to the car park. Once outside, Steve felt a little better with the cool air. but the smells of vehicles was strong here and he got sick to his stomach. For whatever reason Nat had rented a station wagon to tool around in so quite close to the elevator their ride waited. As Steve doubled over she unlocked the back and pushed something to lay the seat down. Bucky picked up Steve squirreled them both into the back hatch and shut it.

"Uhg, the smell..." Moaned Steve. That warm feeling int the chest was feeling not so good but Steve kept his eyes on Bucky. He was so proud of how far Bucky had come from when he first came home with Steve. Here he is walking Steve through a panic attack the same way Steve does for him when he needs it. And god, isn't he just flat-the-fuck-out gorgeous with that thick head of chestnut hair and those eyes that look like the water in Fiji?? Fucking so beautiful, an angel. Steve's angel.

"It's ok Stevie, you're gonna be ok. Let's just roll the windows down..." Nat had made the streets and Bucky was saying to her, "Ok his lips aren't blue anymore, nut he still looks woozy. I think the air is doing him good."

Nat replied "Wanna take a lap around Goddard Park?" She rolled down all the windows for a few minutes to get the rubber and gasoline smell out then left the back to half up.

"Yeah, he said something about noise maybe somewhere quieter will be good."

Nat was driving very smoothly and at just meeting speed limit through the neighborhood to the state park which was quite big and she felt if he was unwell still they'd be right by the hospital. I f he felt better there was a white castle they could go to for some drinks.

Steve starting feel more high and less sick wiggled his muscular frame around so he could rest his head on Bucky's lap. "Mmm...Bucky your so good to me. I'm gonna eat you all up...delicious husband..." Steve said trying to share an idea h was too high to say all of.

"Yep bae. That's me, 101 year old tasty thot. How you feeling, babyboy?"

Steve laughed a silly guffaw and said "Ah! Stupid, I feel stupid!!" and began to laugh again. Bucky who had felt nearly sober during the initial complication, how felt kinda hammered and laughed when Steve did. In between his laughing Steve was trying to say "There was a waste bin back there and I thought it was a really short bear till we were almost on top of it!! Promise guys, no one can find out cannabis makes me a fucking dumbass!"

Nat peeped in the rearveiw at them and turned on the radio to a station called 1970s road trip. "Glad your felling better buddy. hey Steve, I've heard a lot of people used to listen to this kind of music while using pot or reefer as you guys call it. Have a listen and I'll take us for drinks an burgers. Later you an tell me what your first impression of this is." she turned it up a little and long groovy riffs began pumping out on the cool leaf smelling breeze.

In quieter tones Bucky said "So you gonna be ok, sweetie?"

Following suit Steve said "Oh yeah. Sure. That thing at the beginning wasn't the worst just unexpected at that moment. Wow, my mouth is so dry!! Bucky I fee so weird but it feels really good. I suspect I'll get great sleep later. All sort of stuff might be nice to experience like this..."

"Yeah, I know. I've never done but I suspect sex under the influence would be fantastic." Bucky sat up and leaned from the front of the car to the back and laid down next to Steve their legs hanging off the back of the seat into the footwell there.

"Hoh, fuuu..."

"What? You ok?"

"You said the word and now I'm having all these sensations...you're not even touching me, what the fuuu-uhn!-..."

Bucky got a clever grin and took off his jacket throwing it over Steve. He slipped his hand underneath and rubbed Stev's nipple between his fingers "Oh? Well, then here, let me..."

"Oh, my god -why'd yo-...fuuuck, that feels so good."

"Relax, chief. I'll take care of you."

Then quietly Steve breathed "But Nat's right there!"

"No, no she's not. She's driving herself to the burger joint and not paying any attention to the other things happening in the car. And we aren't in a back seat we're...laying on the deck of my uncle's boat. See if you lay like this you can watch the trees and sun and clouds go by and feel the breeze... and me." He said as he looked up out the back window. When Steve looked up too he rolled towards Steve and put his right arm under the coat. His hand drifted down o Steve's dick. It was already hard as nails."Ooomph, baby... you don't know how bad I want every inch of you inside me..." Bucky said quietly into Steve's ear as he gently caressed Steve with his palm.

Steve's eyes had gone a bit bloodshot but he otherwise looked fine if not for his almost mesmerized expression. He seemed to remember his endurance though, he breathed in and out in smooth long breaths so as to keep from getting too aroused just yet. Bucky shook his head and slipped his hand down Steve's pants. Steve gasped and rocked his hips up into Bucky's touch. His eyes drifted back from the window to Bucky and as White Room by Cream came on watched Bucky's lips as he mouthed sweet nothings.

Steve perfectly able to make out what he was saying saw him say "...that's it. Ride my hand. Ride these sensations. Ride these melodies. It's ok. Everything will always be ok when we are together. Just look at me, baby... I love you so much. So so much. And I can always feel your love around me, keeping me safe and helping me understand the world again. Thank you for so many things I can't begin to count. If only my hands could say the things I don't know how to word and express to you..."

Quietly Steve began to answer back without noticing it. "Yes, like a current and waves. Darling, that's right. That's our precious secret. Me & You. I love you. I love you like I've never loved anyone ever. And you inside me, you are why I push on, why I never give up, why I never forget what is right, you are in my heart always. Thank you for just you. Thank you more than I can ever say. Yes, just like that, dollface... let your hands do the talking, babe, I understand, I feel...aaah uuhmph!"

Jacket over Steve's lap and hiding the front of Bucky's Steve clutched Bucky's other hand with his own right hand as he stared up and out at the clouds and sky once more. he slipped his left hand down the front of Bucky's jeans and with just a few strokes Bucky was cumming, biting down on his lip he came in total silence his eyelashes fluttering as he did. Bucky was so aroused he was strait up getting more out of giving Steve a hand job ever before. Steve looked back at Bucky, at his eyes which seemed to be shifting like prisms. Bucky looked back unblinking drawing Steve in until he found himself closing his eyes and leaning toward Steve even further resting his forehead on Steve's. They stayed that way for a second and then Bucky was head first under the jacket. When Steve removed his wet hand Bucky began to eat his cum off Steve's fingers. When he was done he somehow got into the footwell and had his head between Steve's legs without it looking like a nearly 300 pound soldier was trying to play hide and seek wrong.

BUcky's hot mouth enveloped him and he was dropped into a world of sensation and sounds. Steve began to whimper and moan as quietly as possible. He struggled to keep his voice low, he felt the sensations swirl through him like a drop of ink in water as his brain processed what Bucky's tongue was doing and the dips and rises on the road the traveled, the percussion on Heartbreaker by Aguaturbia.

With his other hand he lifted and looked down under the jacket to see Bucky. His eyes were closed and he had the same look on his face as he does when he dances: concentration and bliss in equal measurement. He was working in time with the rhythm of the song playing seeming unconsciously. Steve remembered Buck was feeling the high still too. He watched for a very long time. All through Nights In White Satin and Mind Flowers, lyrics sometimes making perfect sense and sometimes quite uniquely mystifying. He thought perhaps he would be unable to cum but the moment came very suddenly and He cried out quite loud having forgotten where he really was.

Bucky's other hand shot up to his mouth covering it as he cried out. Bucky rubbed Steve's belly with the other as Steve regained control of himself, his cries winding down and quieting. Bucky maneuvered out from under the jacket and leaned over Steve kissing him. They were deep slow kissings and were so satisfying Steve kissed back and when Buck began to pull away Steve hooked a finger into the front of his top holding him a second until he settled into the kis once more. It was only when the kiss started to heat up and get noisy did they remember Nat and the fact she might not need to hear that. They parted and cooled their jets while laid together looking up into the sky.

The rest of the ride went by in a slow haze and when the car stopped Steve and Bucky became more lucid though still stoned to hell and back. They got out both blushing like little boys caught red handed. But Nat made as if she had no idea what had taken place in the backseat. Bucky and Steve loved her all the more for it.

They went inside, the two men now feeling everyone who saw them knew them and knew they were high. They began whispering to each other "Please don't kill my vibe..." and "Oh, god, don't say anything funny, I don't know if I can stop myself going on another laughing fit... "

Nat ordered them each a large drink and two burgers. Bucky and Steve wolfed them down. "I need ten more of those. Steve?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, ditto. They are so tasty even if they aren't that good for you."

Bucky went up to order and came back with twenty burgers stacked neatly on a tray.

"Well, now that this little adventure is done and you guys know a little bit of the experience we have to go back to your place and watch Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle." Said Nat completely deadpan.

@wxnters-amxrica @felixkp @usadisgracee @bugmenotfailedme@the-surviving-revolutionist kryptonstar18@vivienneblom @world-of-nature @gaywitchboi@sautperilleux@skelekitty42@natcad@babydollbucky@grimmlytimelord@salty9winter9adult@wyntersouljah@buckys-islandgirl@hellyeahbottombucky@propertyofcastiel@devildears@buckysinthesinbin@lady-thor-foster@buckybirbs @spam-ocean@baaaaaaaaaaaarnes@jaded-scorpio@doyouknowme-welliknowyou@bucky-senpai @cry-me-a-fkin-river@love-buckybarnes@marveldcmistress @starstar1012

#Winter Soldier #Steve Rogers #captain america #Stucky #bucky smut

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thelittlestspider · 5 years

Note

💜👻

@mvcreates

💜- top 3 favorite lines

hmmmm. okay forewarning: this is gonna be long. also spoilery.

1. sage “kills” owen.

[warning(s): car accident, violence, torture, blood, guns, gunshots, and crying.]

sageis driving when the tires are shot out, causing them to spin out andflip over a bridge. Sage is hella pissed. Like burn the world downpissed. She drags violet and carter out of the vehicle, laying themdown safely out of sight, and then goes to hunt down the fucker thatdared to try and kill them.

Shegoes up to the bridge to see a boy and a girl who she thinks might besiblings, holding guns in their hands. Sage holds up her hands tomake them feel safe.

“whoare you” asks sage, slowly edging closer to them.

Theboy smirks. There’s a look in his eyes sage dislikes immediately,something evil. “hm, nobody you need to worry about.”

sage’smouth quirks. “i doubt that.” she glances at the girl, then atthe gun aimed at her. They are fools, the both of them. She wouldhave thought they were trained better than this.

Sagegrabs the gun out of the girl’s hand, punching her hard enough todaze her. She spins lightning fast to hit the boy with the butt ofthe gun, then slams her hand against his chest with enough force tobreak ribs, dropping him to the ground. When he holds the gun up,wheezing for breath, sage wrenches it from his grasp. He glares ather with a hatred that would be frightening if he wasn’t so pathetic.

“thiswas your idea, wasn’t it?” she asks, voice low, soft. “i hopeyou’re satisfied with what happens to you now.” his sister screamsat the first gunshot, tears streaking her face, her handoutstretched. Sage glances at her. “get out of here while you stillcan. I might not feel so charitable once i’m done with your brother.”

theboy gurgles as blood fills his lungs. His sister cries. Sage watchesthe scene, unmoved by their pain.

“what’syour name?” the girl looks up at her with frightened eyes, lipsquivering against her sobs.

“w-what?”

“yourname.”

thegirl opens her mouth and closes it again, struggling to draw breathinto her lungs. “bella. My name is bella.”

“thankyou. I just wanted to know who i’m dealing with.” sage walks aroundthe boy’s legs to stand next to his side. He gives her that glareagain. She narrows her eyes at him, places her foot on his gunshotwound, and presses down. “Now i’m going to offer you a way out ofthis. You leave him here, I spare your life, you live the life you’vealways wanted free of this cancer.” he screams as she presses downharder, grinding her heel into his wound. “he made you do this,didn’t he? He’s always making you do things you hate.”

“yes,”whispers bella. More tears fall down her face. Bella’s guilt ispalpable.

“go.”

bellastands on shaky legs and walks away. She doesn’t look back.

i mean. it’s gonna have to be rewritten but like sage is so fucking raw in this scene i had to put it here.

2. nina tells carter about her abusive ex kyle. i really like bc it was one of the scenes i wrote that solidified the bromance between them.

[warning(s): talk of emotional abuse and gaslighting.]

the party has been going approximately an hour, when they realize nina is nowhere to be found. Violet sends carter to make sure nina hasn’t been kidnapped or eaten, or boarded herself up in the bedroom to avoid an awkward conversation.

Eventually carter finds her sitting in one of the lawn chairs in the backyard, gazing up at the night sky. She looks so serious sitting there, knees pulled up to her chest. Carter wonders if the void would give him the answers to life’s mysteries if he asked, or if it would stare back at him with its vast coldness, as unknowable and everchanging as time itself.

He plops himself into the chair next to nina, deciding nina’s troubles are more important than the void.

“are you alright?” asks carter, copying nina’s sitting position.

“yeah, i’m fine. I get overwhelmed when it’s a big crowd of people. So sometimes I have to go hide away somewhere when it gets too much.”

“um, ever since I was a kid, i’ve always liked going out at night and talking to the moon. I’d tell her about my day, or about the books I was reading.” nina smiles jewel bright in the faint moonlight. “kyle always told me I was weird for doing that.”

“was kyle nice to you?”

“most of the time. I guess.” nina looks down at her hands, fiddling with a thread on the sleeve of her cardigan.

Carter waits for her to speak.

“kyle could be really mean sometimes. He would tell me I was weird and that’s why I had to have the moon as my friend, because I couldn’t get anyone to be friends with me.” nina’s eyes become shiny as she talks, reliving an open wound. “and when i’d cry because it hurt so bad, he told me he was sorry. Then he would um,” nina sniffles, wiping tears away with her sleeve. “he would buy me gifts, take me out to dinner; that kind of thing. He was so sweet that I forgave him, and I’d start to wonder if I had overreacted, like maybe I just blew it out of proportion.”

“but I wasn’t carter, I wasn’t.” nina’s face scrunches up. “he didn’t care about me at all. When the ghosts hurt me, he didn’t believe me. He said I was just making it up for attention.” carter wraps his arms around nina, rubbing her back as she cries. “tiffany was the only person who believed me.”

“i’m going to set him on fire,” says carter, deadly calm. “and then i’m going to use him to light my cigarette.”

“please don’t do that,” nina hugs carter tight, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “but thank you.”

some of this is gonna be rewritten bc of plot related stuff, but i still really like the lines in this.

3. carter confides in nina about a one night stand gone wrong and about his past. nina is heartbroken.

warning(s): mentioned slutshaming, implied domestic violence and sexual assault. it’s not graphic or anything like that, but still heed the warnings just in case.

nina hears carter take gasping breaths behind the door as he cries, and holds her clasped hands to her chest, a terrible ache in her gut. She recognizes that kind of crying; the kind of sound you make when you try so hard to stop, but you can’t because it’s pouring out of you. All of the hurt comes out in these kinds of moments. Nina closes her eyes, bracing herself for the fallout.

She raps her knuckles on the door. “carter, can I come in?”

“come in.”

carter’s sitting on the toilet seat, lips pressed together against another sob. His face and eyes are red and his nose is dripping. He grabs a handful of toilet paper and wipes his face, trying to look brave for Nina and utterly failing in the attempt. Nina looks back at him, thinking Who did this. Nina sits on the floor next to him, back resting against the cabinet, arms draped around her knees. She waits there looking down at her nails to stop herself from looking directly at carter’s downturned face. The trick to getting carter to open up is to let him talk first. She tried to force it once and saw that naked look in his eyes, before he flew away like a startled bird. Out of the corner of her eye, carter sniffs wetly, tears clinging to his lashes.

“i’m sorry,” rasps carter. “i didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

nina chances a look at him. “what happened?” carter opens his mouth, then closes it. More tears fall.

“some guy I went out with, we– we were having fun. And um, he asked if i’d go back to his place. So I said, “okay.” but once we got there…” carter blinks, eyes distant. “he started getting mean. He called me a, a slut, and he sounded so much like him, I just couldn’t–” he puts a hand against his mouth, lips trembling. “i left.”

I’m so sorry, Nina thinks, blinking back the warm pinpricks behind her eyes. She clenches her hands into fists, feeling her palms itch with the urge to hurt whoever gave carter these wounds.

“if I ever find him, he’s a goner,” says nina, jaw set.

“bella beat you to it,” replies carter with a watery smile.

i can’t spoil what’s gonna happen, but nina sort of plays a part in owen’s eventual downfall.

👻- 2 or 3 sentences from something you haven’t posted yet

tiffanysees carter grinning down at his phone during break and it takeseverything in her not to lean over his shoulder to find out who he’stexting. The curiousity is killing her.

“so…”she settles onto the stool next to carter, trying to be cool andfailing miserably. “okay you know I can’t be chill about anything.Who are you texting?”

“there’sthis girl. Her name is nina. She likes ballet and horror andantiques. She’s really cool.”

“likebuddy cool or girlfriend cool?” carter looks at her with such blankconfusion – like the thought of nina being anything more than afriend had never occurred to him – tiffany almost laughs out ofreflex. Luckily she doesn’t. She’d hate to put that red tinged,shamed look on his face he wears when he feels he’s done somethingwrong, only he doesn’t know what and he’s being laughed at for it.It’s a look she’s seen him wear too often.

“well,i’m glad you made a friend. I know how hard it is for you.” tiffanyprobably knows better than anyone how hard it is to find a friend.Especially when everyone knows you’re different.

It’sone of the loneliest things in the world.

#mvcreates #paper heart tag

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