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quietmyfearswith · 3 years

Text

suitkovia ; baron zemo x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

warnings — SMUT SO MINORS GO AWAY, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), cursing, cheek and clit slapping, groping(ish)

word count — 3,457 words

pairing — fashion designer!helmut zemo x model!reader

a/n —zemo is such a fucking hot daddy and daniel bruhl is just as hot — and what was i gonna do?? not write about it??? psh no way! also blame the suitkovia video because he was so fucking hot andgoofy there.. enjoy this self-indulgent fic! also idk if you can be a baron and a fashion designer but let’s pretend that that’s possible okay? feedback is appreciated and hope u guys have a lovely day !! :>

also the ones in italics are in sokovian, i just didnt want to translate it into something lmao

tagging @art-estrange

masterlist

“Sir, your newest model has arrived,” Oeznik informed with a smile; and just as he announced it, the mentioned woman walked in and into the line of sight of the famous Sokovian designer.

Putting down the now empty glass of whiskey he earlier downed, he stood up and approached her, “Hello Y/N,” He huskily greeted her as his hands gently landed on her arms which allowed him to lean over and plant tender kisses on both her cheeks, “I am eternally grateful for your endorsement and modelling of our line of clothes.”

The kiss caught her off guard — but in a pleasant way — and she could only smile coyly, “If anything it is my pleasure to be able to wear your masterpiece of garments, Baron; I’m honoured that you thought of me.”

Releasing his grip from her he then held out a hand for her to take, once she did she was being led in front of the racks of clothes that were lined up — waiting for her to be worn. “Did you want a drink? Perhaps a Turkish delight?”

Eyeing the coffee table where a small platter of sweets and food lay along with some refreshments, she shook her head no and politely declined. “You can leave us now, Oeznik. And we are not to be disturbed, yes?”

“Of course, Sir.”

When the two men spoke in Sokovian, it made her quite uneasy but when she watched the designer run his hands along the fabric of the gowns that were hung, she thought that he was talking about one of the dresses. The wooden doors noisily shut behind her as the assistant left the two of the alone in the room.

“Thank you, again, for coming in here a day earlier than the arranged photoshoot,” He grabbed a gown off the rack and carefully carried it in front of her. “Of course, I understand that it was necessary to ensure that the clothes would fit me well.”

Nodding, he then handed her the silk tulle gown with a smile, “May you try this on first?” Taking the soft gown from him she silently complied and headed to the dressing room he pointed at.

While waiting for her to get changed, he sat down and poured himself another glass of whiskey. Perhaps it was due to her training or attributable to her various ramp model gigs, she quickly changed into the gown; there was one setback however, there was a zipper on the back that was too far for her to reach.

Walking out of the dressing room, she cleared her throat — effectively catching the attention of the Sokovian designer, “Baron? I need some help with the zipper.” She turned around and his breath was hitched in his throat as he saw how beautiful she looked.

“Of course I can help, darling,” He snapped out of his adoring gaze and stood up quickly to zip up the dress. Feeling the pad of his fingers along her skin resulted in both of them feeling a rush of electricity run through. “All done, love.”

It was comical how the fabric whirled around in slow motion as she twirled around to face him; he took a few steps back to admire her fully, “You look exactly like the goddess Persephone, darling.”

Walking in front of the the full length mirror that was placed in the far back part of the room, she observed herself in the eloquently-designed gown and smiled, “The gown looks like something straight out of a fairytale; and it fits me well,” She faced him as she remembered the last part of his statement, “Persephone? Is that your inspiration for this new line?”

Finishing off the remaining liquor he had poured out before nodding and explaining, “The recent books that I’ve been reading are about the Greek gods and goddesses.” He then stood behind her and gently touched her waist, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke, “And Persephone stood out to me the most.”

“Not Aphrodite? Is she not the most beautiful goddess in Mount Olympus?”

“Touche,” He smirked and removed his hands from her sides and went back to the racks and fetched the blue, floral gown that was the first design he made for his most current collection, “But the Olympian beauty wasn’t my focus on all, for I was far too intrigued with Persephone.”

A pout formed her lips as she was confused with his reasoning, “Change into this one first then I can answer the questions you have,” He assured her as if he could read her mind.

Thankfully the second gown that was handed for her to try on was easier for her to zip up; but at the same time she was dismayed at the realization that she wouldn’t be able to feel his hot touch on her skin. Upon stepping out of the velvet dressing room, she announced, “I think this is my favorite gown by far. This really makes me feel like a goddess.”

“To be fair, princess, with or without the clothes you would be crowned a goddess.”

The blunt comment had her biting her lip as she felt undeserving of his praise; standing next to him in front of the mirror, she shook her head and replied, “Well I’m not Greek so your argument is invalid, Baron.”

Once again, his hands roamed around her body — but this time his hands settled on her bare shoulders, “Not all goddesses are Greek; there are Nordic, Celtic, Indian — to name a few.” Looking to her right, where he had rested his chin while his hooded eyes took in every inch of her, she gulped down, “Cultured and intelligent all on top of having a great eye and sense of fashion — is there something you’re lacking?”

“Just my Persephone,” He muttered after placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. That piqued her interest, she created some distance between the two of them but she laced her hands with his as she smirked, “You think of yourself as Hades?”

“In a way, I do,” He disconnected himself from her and was skimming through the different dresses he had planned for here to wear, “Are you the king of the underworld?” From her tone it was obvious that she was slightly teasing him, but he decided to give her a serious answer either way.

“Despite how magnificent that would be, I am not,” His eyebrows lifted up in excitement as he picked one of the next gowns that Y/N would try on, “But I do admire his passion; he and I share that same thing, you know?”

Handing it over to her, she got the signal that it was her next frock she was to try on; silently, she nodded and took the dress and headed to the dressing room. As she slid on the crepe gown, she then nodded to herself and smiled.

A low whistle was heard when she stepped out in front of the mirror, with a smile Zemo’s fingers danced around her neck as he fastened the cape in its place, “Now you look like something carved out of marble.”

Trailing down from her neck, his hands settled themselves on top of her breasts, “Is the neckline too much?” Her chest heaved up in anticipation as she shook her head no, “I don’t think it is, Baron.”

Smiling, he nodded and placed a kiss on the intersection of her neck and shoulders, “I’m delighted you feel so, darling. I feel like you have questions regarding my earlier statement.” Her small nod encouraged the designer to explain further, “Hades is often dismissed for he is the king of the dead. But, if anything, I think it is his passion for Persephone that he should be known for.”

“Oh?” Was the only word that escaped her with a shaky breath; a simple kiss in her skin had reduced her brain into a puddle, but the simple word spurred him to continue, “After finding the woman of his dreams, he did everything in his power to keep her in his arms.” His hands then slid down from her breasts and to her waist, pushing her body closer to his. Taking in her heavenly scent, he smiled upon feeling goosebumps against the skin of her shoulder where his lips were.

“Have you found your Persephone then?”

“I have now,” He gruffly spun her around and latched his lips on hers; she quickly welcomed his soft lips as she opened her mouth and moaned out as his hands nestled themselves on her ass, occasionally squeezing her cheeks. Her hands ran along his bearded cheeks and pushed him closer to her.

She whimpered when he tore off the cloak hastily and sucked on her neck, “You’re so fucking beautiful, darling.” As soon as he unzipped her dress she automatically shrugged it off her shoulders, exposing how she didn’t wear any kind of underwear underneath it. Amused, Zemo smirked as he ran his hand along her stomach, “Do you always go about without any kind of underwear?”

“No, not really,” She denied, “It’s easier to slip in between dresses without underwear holding me back.” Holding onto her waist he then carried her to lay on her back on the velvet couch, “Well that just makes it easier for me to please my goddess.”

He dipped down and licked her clit with his thick, wide tongue; and with just one lick of his tongue she was placing her legs on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. “Fuck, more please,” Hearing her moan out for her, egged him to shove his tongue in her tight canal as he swirled around and tasted her sweet juices.

“What got you this wet, my little goddess?” It was a rhetorical question — which was a good thing for she was so deep in pleasure that she couldn’t process anything in her pleasure-riddled brain. His thumb rubbed her clit vigorously while his other hand inched upward and grabbed onto her nipple, twisting and pulling on it.

“Were you this eager to be fucked, darling?” The vibrations of the filthy words had her locking her legs behind his neck, further nudging his tongue deeper into her pussy. A loud whine erupted from her mouth when he pulled his face away, “Does that disappoint you, love?”

“Please, Baron. I need you,” She moaned out, her eyes blinking as tears of pleasure threatened to spill out. Wordlessly, he slid two of his fingers in her pussy and lowered his mouth so he could lick her clit. He didn’t break eye contact with her as she watched him lap her juices while his fingers were being squeezed by her damp walls.

“Is this what you needed, darling? Wanted my fingers?” She nodded as tangled her hand into his har, “Fuck! How am I going to fit my cock when you are already struggling to take my fingers.”

Her chest was heaving up and down in pleasure as she thrashed around, “Want you, want you so bad.” Her declaration had his chest rumbling with pride as he pulled his fingers away and kissed her hardened nub one last time.

“Is that so? Can you take all of me inside you then?” He lifted his face right in front of hers, she moved to slant their lips together. Dribbling down from his mouth to hers, she got a faint taste of her juices; and in the model’s opinion, it tasted better when it was mixed with his saliva.

“Want to please you first baron,” She clawed at the ends of his sweater, hands loving the feel of his warm back, “Can I taste you first?” The way she pleaded for him had him smirking at the realization that she was just as desperate for him as he was for her. Giving his consent silently, he helped lift off the cashmere sweater he was wearing and toss it on the foot. Switching both their sides so he lay under her posed as a challenge for her kisses went south — from peppering kisses on his beard, she lowered them until her cold mouth met the wide expanse of his chest.

“You really have a way,” He paused his train of thought as her lips gave his nipple a gentle tug; his eyes darkened with desire as he watched her give the opposite nipple the same treatment before kissing her way down his stomach, “With that precious tongue of yours, darling.”

The way her eyes peered up at him innocently contradicted the way her hands expertly unbuckled his pants; and once his pants, along with his underwear, was being moved off of him she licked her lips in anticipation. One hand stroked the entirety of his length while the other rested on his thigh, anchoring herself.

As if to test the waters, she placed kitten licks on the tip of his cock, “Fucking hell, darling,” The designer moaned out once she lowered herself and allowed her mouth to enclose around half of his cock. The way his cock poked around the inside of her mouth was a delightful intrusion for her; soon enough the tip of his cock was poking the back of her throat.

His short nails were digging themselves against her hair as his chest rumbled in pleasure, “You got me so close, love. Want to have a taste of Sokovia?” The chuckle he let out quickly died down when she fondled his balls with one hand as she shook her head a bit as she deepthroated him long enough until she gagged a bit.

It wasn’t long before he spilled all over her mouth, “Fuck, darling,” He moaned out as she milked him. Easing his grip on her head, he smiled upon seeing her lick her lips and open her mouth — showing him how he swallowed every single drop of his cum.

“You taste delicious, Baron,” She said with a smile as she rose up from where she was kneeling and moved to sit on his lap, “Can I please ride you?” Her meek petition had him even harder. Wordlessly, he snaked an arm in his cock, tapping it against her pussy before sliding it in her; in one motion he was already halfway inside her.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” Helmut moaned out when he lifted her by the asscheeks, leaving only his tip inside her; her nails were leaving marks on his shoulders as she mewled out, “Please fuck me, Baron.” Just as she spoke the final syllable, he then rammed his cock all the way in her, causing her to lurch forward, pressing her chest against his. It gave him leverage to fuck her fiercely yet slowly, as if savoring every moment inside her.

With her mouth pressed against his ear, she was moaning out loud for him which sounded like music to the designer’s ears; whereas his mouth was focused on leaving marks of his desire on her shoulder. “Been wanting you for a while, love,” The Baron rasped out as his thrusts sped up when he felt her walls squeezing onto his thickness even more, “Saw you walk down the ramp at Milan and I just knew,” He groaned mid sentence when she moved away from him and leaned down to kiss him tenderly — a juxtaposition from where his cock was now mercilessly and swiftly entering her tight canal, “Just knew I had to have you.”

The declaration of his admiration had her feeling oddly more confident in herself, “Am I like everything you ever wanted, Baron?” He rapidly nodded before moving his head away to get a good look of her — she was biting her lip, yet it couldn’t contain her delicious whimpers from reaching his ears, whereas with every bounce she made resulted in her breasts hypnotizingly moving along. Enclosing a nipple in his mouth, he pulled on it hard enough for her to rake her hands in his hair and shove him harder against her hardened nub.

“I’m so close, Baron,” She moaned out at the absence of his mouth, but was quickly satisfied when he took on the other nipple. Even without her verbal forewarning, he would have known that with the way it was getting more difficult for his cock to slide in and out of her clenched, wet walls. “Are you gonna claim my cock as yours, darling?”

Feeling the presence of his cock surpass her sweet spot and hit her cervix was too much for her as she weakly nodded, “Want you so bad,” She moaned out as she was starting to feel overwhelmed. The designer could feel his own cock pulse upon seeing her current state; he unwillingly removed his mouth from her now swollen nipples — much to both of their dismay — yet he tried to make up for it by lowering a hand to the front of her pussy, alternating between rubbing and pinching her clit. “I want you to cum for me, love,” He rasped out as his other hand was on her cheek, urging him to focus on him. “Your juices should be running down on my cock, okay?”

Slightly turning her head, she sucked on his thumb as she continued to rock herself harder on his cock — the thought of an impending orgasm sounding wonderful. A gasp escaped her lips when the Baron slapped both her cheek and clit when he did not receive affirmation from her, “I need your answer, darling, will you cum for me like the good girl I know you can be?”

Whether it was her desire to be his or the fact that she just didn’t want that added stimulation, she nodded her head vigorously as she indistinctly muttered, “Gonna cum for you, Baron. Want your cock all for myself.”

Pleased with her response, he then drove his cock in her deeper and harder while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as her lips were quivering right under his thumb was tucked in safely. With one particular harsh thrust, she came and bit on his thumb too hard; despite feeling a sharp pain, Zemo smirked and continued to ram his cock in and out of her as he too was on the brink of another orgasm.

As she was placing kitten lick on his thumb as an attempt to calm herself down, she allowed him to take control; it was incredible how much strength he had because with one hand latched on her hips, he was matching the way her body rose and fall matched the pace in which he was fucking her. “I’m never gonna let you go now, darling. You’re all mine now.”

Delighted with that, she removed his thumb in her mouth and looked at him — fondness and lust portrayed through her eyes — and said, “Cum in me, Baron.” As if her words set off a trigger, he came load after load of his cum, painting her walls as his. Panting heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers, taking in the glow that encompassed her entire body.

Lovingly stroking both her cheeks they both smiled at each other; she spoke up first, “I hope you don’t always sleep with your models.” Despite the overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced, she couldn't prevent her from feeling insecure about the repercussions of their little rendezvous. The hairs at the nape of his neck was something she distracted herself with since she was too nervous for his response; tilting her head to get her to meet him eye to eye so he could reassure her, “No, my love, I don’t make it a habit to go and sleep around. Truth be told, from now on I only plan on sleeping with you.”

His line had her chuckling and lightly shoving his shoulder, still in disbelief with the words that left his mouth. “You’re my Persephone, the one I have been searching for; and I have no plans of letting you go,” He spoke and looked at her wholeheartedly and genuinely, hoping that he would solidify his claim and hopefully get her to believe him.

As her lip quivered and eyes watered, she hugged him close and showered every inch of skin of his that she could reach with kisses, “You don’t know how much that means to me, Baron. I, too, would not do the foolish thing of letting you go, ever.”

It was only then that the designer knew what true happiness was as he rubbed her back gently, pushing her body even more closer to him, “You’re with me now, darling, for life. I’ll treat you like the goddess that you are.”

#helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x fem!reader #baron zemo x fem!reader #baron helmut zemo x fem!reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x fem!reader #its not living if its not with queue

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dragaoel · 5 years

Text

Jun'ichirō, aka Jun (- Silverdell)

the volume of the radio slowly dwindles down and only static noise is left to be heard

"those are dangerous words"

"not for him " Anja replies, her head laying on her outstretched arm that's on the table , her whole posture the embodiment of laziness. "loved ones always have it easier here"

"Not always" Jun says grimly and glances out of the window" it's because he's an outsider that he's allowed more freedom than any of us"

"aren't you a loved one too?"

Jun sighs deeply and turns towards the albino girl. For a second ,pain , frustration and a hint of panic can be seen in his eyes before it vanishes. He lets out a bitter laugh.

"and you saw where that lead me to,half dead in a ditch"

INTRODUCTION JUN :

half japanese half black

has waist long black thick hair and brown skin

has a ‘’prince in anguish’’ aura but masks it with him being over the top ridiculous and dramatic

is 5′11

born 12th october (libra)

‘‘the risk i took was calculated, but man, am i bad at math’‘

Jun is my favourite character, i made him on a whim as a side character in a old story and then i started using him more and more as a background character until i realized the potential he had. He's also one of the character whom i put into a lot of different aus, the most favourite one was where he was a vampire who loved laying in the garden and eat roses all day

Rukiya (-Though the god’s have left)

‘‘i have dreams about them’‘ Rukiya says and plucks a string on her bass. The deep note rumbles through the room and her short curls moves along as she drops her head lower

‘‘i'm high in the sky, looking down onto a land that seems oh so familiar, with people screaming at me asking me to help them’‘

‘’do you understand them? ‘’ a band member asks

‘‘weirdly i do’‘ Rukiya answers ‘‘ it seems to be in my native language but also not, as if it was way before everything happened, you know, the ancient time’‘

INTRODUCTION RUKIYA :

Out of the both of them Rukiya is the older twin by 4 minutes

she’s also the artsy one than her sister whos into sports

wears black literally 24/7 and has dark circles despite sleeping enough

is 5′9

is black (kenyan)

mole on the left side of her cheek

fluent in her native tongue kiswahili

Majors in Film

loves anything that has to do with space nd aliens

born 24th january (aquarius)

has a sweet tooth

*cocks gun* ‘’basements haunted’’

i like the idea of twins that are completely the opposite of each other. Rukiya just like Imara have a big chunk of my personality in them, it's just that i lean more towards Rukiya than Imara.

Akiho (-Though the god’s have left)

Kneeling down, she cocks her head to the side, her eyes cold and her lips pressed into a thin line ‘’ dont think your actions won't have consequences’’ she sneers ‘’ the next time i see you harassing another girl again i'll make you wish you were never born’’

Akiho dusts herself , picks up the bat , glances one last time at the boy laying on the floor and walks away, the echoes of her shoes the only noise to be heard

INTRODUCTION AKIHO :

is 5′4

majors in theater

her fashion style is y2k

is the other one of the dumbass duo

has freckles on her nose

is japanese

doesn't like sweet things usually eats traditional sweets made by her mom or things that are sour/bitter, but salty food has to be spicy asf

born, 14th april (aries)

her side teeth are really pointy

has long peach colored straight hair

‘‘I’d sell you to satan for one corn chip’‘

Akiho comes from a family of 3, she's the youngest sibling and she has that energy. She likes to play with her oldest brother children, doesn't want any on her own though. will fight anyone who is disrespectful, esp towards women

Hyunjin (-Though the god’s have left)

The tall girl slumps her body onto her girlfriend shoulder, watching her fry the fish in the pan into charcoal. Hyunjin wrinkles her nose in a attempt to push the glasses up without having to actually touch them, before she sighs deeply.

‘‘Just-’‘ she starts and softly takes ‘‘let me do it, otherwise you'll burn the kitchen down like last time’‘

Praveena puffs her cheeks up ‘’that actually wasn't my fault, it was the gasherd-’’

‘‘i know i know’‘ Hyunjin chuckles and kisses her cheek ‘‘but i have a exam tomorrow and i would like not not have an indigestion’‘ she frowns and flips the fish over and sighs. It seems the fish can’t be saved anymore.

INTRODUCTION HYUNJIN :

korean

has short dyed blue hair, but the back part is longer than the front part.

is ‘5′10

majors in engineering technology

born 14th may (taurus)

has literally no sense of style and wears glasses cause she has a slight astigmatism that you can't really see

has a mole next to her right eye

‘‘a financially unstable mess but at the liquor store they call me ma’am’‘

honestly out of all the characters i draw hyunjin the most. In the beginning she had shoulder length but then i shortened it because i liked it more. She's an only child and her mother runs a bakery while her father works in a office. She's the calm type that's constantly tired because she never sleeps

Praveena (-Though the god’s have left)

She shuffles the cards and lays them out on the table. The customers sees the fool, the moon and the star. Praveena touches them with her fingertips ‘’ you seem to be either at the beginning or at the end of a new journey ’’ she pauses and thinks ‘’but either way you're prepared for what is to come’’

The customers nods ‘’i'm soon moving away from this city’’

‘‘I see’‘ Praveena counters and points at the next card ‘‘the moon indicates that you’re hesitant and fearful in your decision, there might be something from the past that is holding you back and influencing you in the present and possibly the future

the customer tenses up, her eyes fixed on the card and her lips tight

‘‘though’‘ Praveena continues ‘‘at the end you’ll be at peace and glad that you pushed through all the turbulences

INTRODUCTION PRAVEENA :

tamil ,dark skin with long wavy violet dyed hair

Hyunjin’s girlfriend

has calm energy but is also very erratic

loves astrology & tarot

majors in psychology

5′5

born 20 july (cancer)

has droopy eyes

‘‘god cant help you now’‘

i made praveena cause i wanted a harmonious wlw couple, that have that ‘’old married pair’’ plus out of all the ocs those two are the ones that i drew first. Praveena has the tendency to blow things up how though is a mystery and hyunjin always has to clean up everything.

Imara (-Though the god’s have left)

‘‘no listen, it doesn't make sense why would you wear a bra and some tight ass pants knowing you’re about to fight people who have knives and GUNS?’’ Imara asks perturbed.

‘‘Cause men are horny’‘ Rukiya retorts and raises an eyebrow

‘‘still doesn't make sense like wow!, some fucking boobs, like really? really? is that what gets you going? just some breast pressed up in a bra that is too damn tight and a flat stomach on a skinny ass girl that has absolute no muscles despite the training she went through?

Rukiya sighs ‘’ is this about-’’

‘‘lara croft yes’‘ Imara interrupts and slams her finger on the table ‘‘and im going to die on this hill that men shouldn't be allowed to create games!’‘

INTRODUCTION IMARA:

plays games a lot, esp the loz series

has curly dyed blonde hair that's mostly tied in a ponytail or a bun because she cant be bothered with it, though rukiya helps her all the time cause she never really learned how to deal with curly hair.

Is on a baseball sponsorship because she's that good (she's a pitcher)

is totally tone deaf unlike her twin

isnt good with crows ie: strangers crowding around her after her team won a game

is kenyan

5′9

has a mole next to her upper lips on the left side

loves 90's rnb & hip hop music

‘‘he proclaimed his undying love and asked me to do the same, i had to overcome my desire to laugh’‘

Imara does have a slight complex about being a twin because she feels like Rukiya is the cooler one despite people loving her too. She's loud and boisterous basically a chad, but better. She's dorky and literally spends her free time gaming but she doesn't just play any game shes v specific when it comes to that. Her mom always has a headache because of her but thats okay but in the end her mom loves her to death.

Ava (-Though the god’s have left)

‘’do you you know how much it's sucks that at the end of all of this , i'm the one waiting for them?’’ Ava exclaims ‘’that i'm the one who will have to watch them go through the door to be evaluated? that i'm ultimately the end?

‘‘you’re not all alone-’‘

‘‘you don't understand’’ Ava interrupts, as she points at the short girl ‘’ i will have to watch my mom, my family that raised me go through that door and know that that will be the last time i will see them in that body!’’

INTRODUCTION AVA:

She’s haitian

keeps her hair in a short chin length dark blue bob

majors in sociology

she and akiho are the ‘’comedy duo’’ of the group

is 5′6

born 4th november (scorpio)

‘‘my only crime was that i was down to clown’‘

When i make akiho i felt like she needed a companion so i made ava, both of them were inspired by the early 2000 shows characters. Although Ava likes to goof around she's also very studious and serious about her future. She comes from a family of 6 and she’s the second oldest. She and her older sister fight constantly

Nïrnaya (Dawn over the horizon)

‘‘Magic’‘ the elf stars, her tall stature hunched over the herbs ‘’ is in the nature we’re surrounded in, in the mountains that stand high and the rivers that flow into the deep sea’’

she straightens up and walks over to Nïrnaya ‘’ we might lose everything.’’ She pokes the girl on the forehead ‘’but magic will forever stay with you because its the core of your being‘’

INTRODUCTION NÏRNAYA :

shes a mischievous 15 year old

has black curly long hair that are mostly braided

does not want to do this whole adventure thing because of how it reminds her too much of the ‘’chosen one trope’’ and thats too much responsibilities

born during the year of the earth dragon

‘‘snacking between meals is the least, but tastiest, of my problems’‘

i came up with this story and character because i wanted a book where a black girl for once was the main character, where she could experience the same thing as other mc (ie eragon etc) basically i wanted black representation in a medieval-esque world but with my own spin because the world itself is not very western like

#writeblr #character introduction #original character #writer #hua's word #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #character intro post #oc moodboard

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scato006-blog · 4 years

Text

Searching for a title and feedback.

New to this, would appreciate any feedback.

My mother’s hand squeezes around my infantile one, small, petite, and plump even for a 12-year-old. I feel the cold, hard shaft of the metal handle, the gun weighty in my hand. My mother’s breath, laced with Bacardi rum and stale Marlboro lights, coaches me to squeeze harder, my tiny fingertips biting under the pressure and turning light purple at the tips from being held so forcefully.

“You have to hold it like you mean it, steady.” She coaches.

“I don’t want to,” I whine, almost silently.

The wind kept biting my plump cheeks, and I felt my legs, bare in the November air, tingling and pocking with cold bumps.

This has become a routine, my mother getting intoxicated or high, and taking a sudden interest in her children and choosing the worst time to suddenly teach us some life skills. My brother, with his autism, is too heady a project to undertake. So, it is me, who at 11 pm is hauled from my kitten covered sheets and dragged outside for an impromptu lesson on protecting myself, undoubtably due to some loosely based on a true story Lifetime network film where a girl, most likely Tori Spelling, is victimized.

Thankfully, she loses interest surprisingly fast this time, and when she loosens her grip on my hand, I am able to wrestle past her, knocking her to one knee as she curses and I bolt back into my bed and lock the door. She staggers in and pounds for several moments, calling me names, before I hear her door shut and know she has passed out.

My mother hasn’t been quite right since my father died. I see her leaving often to doctors’ offices, complaining of ailments ranging from pains to depression and anxiety disorders. Her pills litter the tops of our 80’s style maroon kitchen counters; every consistency you can imagine from syringes to tiny multicolored capsules. In the mornings, we see her guzzling down the liquid medications, never using the tiny, clear ridged top that is supposed to serve as a barbie sized measuring cup. Instead, she uses that as a pseudo lid when she gets too inebriated to remember where she put the child proof cap the pharmacist carefully clicks into place. Her arms are littered with pock marks from needles. Some self-inflicted and some from all the blood draws ordered by her physicians. She has become obsessed with this idea of teaching us how to protect ourselves since my father passed. Which later I will realize is terribly contradictory, since the basis of most our inflictions come from her blatant negligence.

It isn’t until I start having sleepovers with girls outside my neighborhood that I will realize this isn’t a normal occurrence. I spend time with girls whose parents bake them cinnamon buns in the morning slathered with extra crystalline icing, whose mothers collect little figurines cased in glass cabinets without fingertips smeared on them and father figures who go off to work, kissing cheeks instead of backhanding them like the other dads in my neighborhood would do. It’s a foreign world to me, and oddly, it makes me surprisingly uncomfortable to be in such a serene environment. Almost mundane as wild as that may seem to some. Beige. I always notice this common color scheme in these safety net homes, everything was always varying shades of beige from the carpets to the placemats to the sheets. Beige everywhere.

In the morning, it’s as if nothing has happened, as she bustles around the kitchen getting my brother’s routine down to match the Velcro pictured descriptions that are supposed to help with his over stimulation. I can tell there is something tangible and tense in the air, the blatant ostracizing of me from our tiny family unit. I will learn later that it is due to embarrassment over her own actions, but in the moment from my young perspective, I have somehow failed her.

I gather my things, my teal Jansport backpack smeared with pen marks and patches, and dig in the back cabinet, shoving expired bags of chips and soup out of the way to find a long lost granola bar and walk out the door, pausing before turning the silver knob to look back slightly out of my peripheral at my mother to see if she pauses at the sound of me leaving. She doesn’t.

The bus stop holds a sense of comfort for me, knowing that I will be headed to the one safe institution I have in my young life, school. There are rules, teachers, consistency, and scheduled mealtimes. I know what is coming and when. I know what is expected of me and it isn’t laced with alcohol and substances, or parties in my home with strange men who grab in places they shouldn’t and burn your arms with their cigarettes when you try to yell in protest for someone who is too inebriated to come to your rescue.

Teacher’s take special interest in me, I must exude some sense of chaos at home, my behavior is mildly disruptive with chattering to my fellow neighboring classmates, often causing my desk to be moved adjacent to the teachers to curve my “social butterfly” antics.

Years later, I will run into my favorite English teacher, Ms. Mueller, and she will subtly hint at the signs of abuse she saw from my rumpled clothes to my bruised arms and vacant expression from exhaustion. She will tell me of a time she went to my mother’s store, at the height of our home tsunami during my high school years, and the words heatedly exchanged between them. From that point on, in school, before I have this knowledge, I will choose to spend an hour every day after school with her and be exposed to various forms of literature. She will bring books with her and give me deadlines throughout the year, hoping to keep me driven and expand this world I escape to through books.

Oddly enough, my thirst for books came from the very person I was trying to escape.

In fifth grade I had a teacher I absolutely loathed. It was truly, the first person I had a deep hatred and resentment for. I remember the feelings of rage and a craving for the demolition of our high-ceilinged classroom. Ms. Symzick was a small, petite woman who would prance around her classroom in various shades of loud pinks and magenta, shouting in her irritatingly shrill, chalkboard scraping screeching voice. She had a serious inclination to class favorites, and those favorites tended to be the children of affluent parents she co-vacationed with in the Bahamas and Jamaica, frequently referencing scuba diving explorations and inside jokes she had created with the kids poolside while they showed off their attempts at underwater hand stands. She accused my indifferent attitude towards her and my inability to pay attention to her reading “out loud” to the class on comprehension issues. My mother responded, in typical Tammy fashion, and greeted me that afternoon with a stack of VC Andrews books. Her philosophy was that I needed something to read that could hold my attention in a mildly traumatizing way. Make the book risqué enough for me to care, and it would cure my non attentive approach to active listening. It certainly worked.

While my classmates were reading books about bridges crossing into Terabithia to conquer exciting pretend lands, I was obsessed with mentally trying to connect the incest family trees of wealthy families stuck in attics, toiling away pasting together paper flowers to create gardens. I craved reading about these fucked up families, and was elated to find that not only where the books thick with small font which meant they lasted longer than my classmates small flirtations with literature, but they also were in series so I could follow these families for generations. I would blow through a book a day if it was the weekend, absorbing finally, every comma and black small printed letter flowing into my mind through an osmosis of obsessive reading.

I sit next to Holly and hold her hand under our jackets in solidarity. Holly has the same house as I do, which is baffling and comforting for my young mind. Her brothers shout and throw things in their drunken rages, blaming their parents for their adult failures and losses of custody over children. Her father sits on the couch, sleeps on the couch, drinks on the couch, argues from the couch, he exists on the couch, never intervening. When he would winded from yelling, he would clutch a small, metal vile necklace he always wore. I would learn later it contained a single pill that would melt under his tongue because he was prone to panic attacks from his time in the military.

Holly will sneak into my room, late in the night, when things get bad and she climbs into my bed, cold hands and feet pressed against my calves for warmth. She rustles under my sheets and presses her perfect little bud lips against my cheek and snuggles into my neck and falls asleep fast, just as our thermostat registers the drop in temperature from the window being pried open for her to come in and the furnace clicks on, as always, I fling my leg out from under the blankets, so as to not wake Holly and soak in some cool air as her body heat radiates against my own. I love her and want to protect her, as she is the only one who has ever expressed a kindred likeliness to what I experience behind closed doors. She protects me as well, when my mother opens the door slightly to see if I am awake or when she is under the influence ready for another “life lesson,” she will always close the door and slither away when she sees Holly’s body next to mine.

Holly knew about these moments, in the dead of night when my mother would make her way into the room. She was the one who saw the handprint makes in shades of black and blue, purple then fading to yellows and lime greens. She would take my arm, and lay her hot, brown palm slowly and softly on top of the blue and purple marks so gently, brushing the tops of the soft baby arm hair then would turn over, as if nothing had happened. It was the act of acknowledging, that would transition into acts of protection. She knew if she was there, those marks wouldn’t appear. Holly became an ever-present staple in my life, it was truly as if she was holding me together, fastening my frayed edges to keep them from being burned by my mother and faceless men’s lighters.

This is my day to day, and night to night. The seeking of comfort in concrete things and people outside my home and struggling to find a purpose outside of myself.

Years pass, the same abuses remain constant, even after the school nurse contacts my mother over concerns she has when she sees my bandaged fingers from a screaming hot iron. The difference is the older I get, the more I learn to fight back, slick mouthed and learning to block hands quickly with forearms. I develop the internal switch, for numbing and hardening emotions to dispel any sense of misery or hopelessness, I don’t allow myself to be vulnerable around her and show any form of pain or exaggerated anger. I treat her with complete indifference, which in her drunken, high moments causes absolute meltdowns. Her emotional levels skyrocketing due to inebriation, and my disconnect growing more profound with each outburst. I start to want more, more than these walls and house. I want to sleep peacefully, quietly, and safely. A concept I had never visualized for myself that I thought was coveted for children with two parents and yards without brown spots and littered with dog feces.

I sit, at 15, in my English class, the scared space I have carved out for myself. Ms. Mueller, walks past, having just kicked Gary out of class for shouting at her.

“Dyke gave me a F,” he rages after we are returned our midterm grades.

“Out!” Ms. Mueller declares, stunning me at how she so gracefully and passively dismisses him and his hate slurred words.

As she passes back to her desk, I feel a blue piece of paper get slid under the flesh of my forearm. I slide it under my notebook, I can tell through its delivery, she doesn’t want me to attract any attention through receiving it. She looks pointedly at me, and when the bell rings I rush out to see what it is she has slipped me.

She knows I am not happy with her today. Ms. Mueller detests Holly. There is this just under the surface acknowledgement that they don’t address one another, ever. Holly feels Ms. Mueller is trying to come between us and take time I should be spending time with her and instead am choosing to spend it reading, which is the most boring thing in Holly’s mind. Oddly enough, Holly has detention or make up tests almost every day after school, so her time wouldn’t be spent with me regardless. Holly is known to have her behavioral issues, shouting at teachers and authority figures much in the same fashion as her older brothers do to her and her parents. It is a cycle that has already began its inheritable rotation.

“She’s not good for you, you have too much inside you for that one.” Ms. Mueller had told me suddenly, interrupting me reading silently beside her while she worked on the summer reading list for the class, and my own which had easily an extra fifteen books added to it. At the time, I didn’t really understand what it was she meant.

“Too much inside me? What the hell?” I thought. I glared defiantly at the top of her head, wishing I had the nerve to reach out and rustle her short, cropped hair out of its artfully tousled with hair paste landscape just out of spite. She didn’t look up, nor acknowledge my anger filled face, and after some time I set my mouth in a taught line and kept reading. Leaving that day without saying a word when our hour was up.

I open it up and see it’s a flyer, for some summer program called Upward Bound and kids interested in colleges. I had never imagined myself being on some pristine collegiate campus. That was also reserved for the cinnamon bun kids whose parents showed up to every sporting event, cheering them on from the sidelines and pumping their fists in the air, visualizing college scouts coming with hefty scholarships and grants. Not for me, who begged for rides to and from practices, relying on my grandparents for transportation sparsely, so they wouldn’t see the state of our house. My mother would always get angry when her parents came to drop us off, always insisting on coming in to survey the

damage in the house from holes in walls to dirty dishes crawling with critters and cats licking dirty pans for burned egg pieces.

I folded the flyer in half and hastily shoved in under my stack of books on the bottom self in the locker I share with Holly. I am always the bottom shelf, to take my lacking height into consideration. She can’t see it; she will lose her mind. I know this, our codependency has blossomed into a full relationship of unhealthy proportions, two emotionally crippled humans attempting at something far too adult.

I wait, as always, for her to come meet me briefly, and she does. Angry brown eyes, jet black hair, browned skin from her native American heritage, and slanted eyebrows. I forgot she was angry with me from this morning when I pulled my hand away from hers when Kim snatched the jacket up that hid our weaved fingertips.

“Mr. Mason is such an asshole,” she huffs slamming her books in the locker, standing on her tip toes to launch them to the back where we hear them ding as they hit the metal back.

“What happened?” I ask, gauging her temperance to see where we are at. Holly drives the emotional state of our relationship; she being the more volatile of the two of us.

“He gave me detention for missing all that homework,” she huffed as she slammed the locker shut. “I just want school to be done already, I hate it.”

I watched her stalk off, wordless, now definitely wasn’t the time to broach the subject of an academic summer camp that focuses on colleges. Holly was not interested in anything remotely studious, let alone something that would separate us for an entire summer.

I watch her turn the corner of the light seafoam green colored hallways, waiting until I can be sure she is completely out of sight before slamming my elbow into the door right above the turn lock, causing it to pop open, a little trick Tommy showed me last year when he had this locker. I hop up on the toes of my sneakers and grab the flyer out from my Roman History classes textbook.

It is in that moment; I realize I don’t want to stay closeted with Holly and hide holding hands. I don’t want to stay in a home I feel constantly threatened in, showing all the scars on my skin and inside of my flesh. I don’t want to be stuck slinging burgers at the diner down the street, or as a cashier at the grocers. I don’t want to struggle against the New England seasonal depression of grey skies to salt crusted and frost heaved roads. I don’t want to be tied to this place where I feel like a hamster on a spinning wheel, never moving forward and back, just in one constant place.

The flyer announces the meeting is today, in Ms. Mueller’s classroom of course, but an hour after we usually meet. I know Holly has detention, so if there was ever a time I could go and take a glance at what this whole thing is about, it is today when she will be occupied for a definite set amount of time.

I watch the clock anxiously for the last two periods, bouncing my leg in anticipation, choosing to focus more on the seconds hand than the other two since it moves at such a faster pace. Holly isn’t in my last two classes; they are AP and she is sequestered into the more remedial ones where they mostly watch movies instead of getting lectures from young teachers who still feel they can make a difference and impact our lives.

Ms. Mueller is at the door, leaning against it with her arms crossed, her cuffs folded up at the elbow, creased slacks and pointed shiny ebony dress shoes, almost as if she was waiting for me. Now that I look back, I think she was.

“Well here she is, take a seat.” She gestures to the open door.

I look in and see every seat is filled mostly with kids from other schools and a couple familiar faces of girls I have barely exchanged two words with. I slide into a seat near the door, resolving that if I need to make a quick getaway, I will at least have an easy shot to the door. Ms. Mueller positions her chair in the doorway; it’s like she can sense what I am thinking and gives me another one of her pointed stares.

A young man with a lot of vigor and energy and radiant brilliantly white smile bounds up to the front of the room. I will learn almost immediately that his name is Craig when he finally stops bounding around and announces who he is, that he went to Bates College, and dives into a lengthy description of what Upward Bound really is. There are other individuals up there as well, all standing in a line with various colleges strewn on their tee shirts and sweatshirts: Colby-Sawyer, Keene State, UNH, Plymouth State, are some of the names I spot.

The program is a six-week summer session that focuses on preparing students for college and even offers opportunities to take college level classes that can be accredited. Six weeks on a college campus, right in my hometown, sleeping in the dorms, going to classes, they even offer sporting events and excursions to local spots for day trips. It sounded too good to be true.

I looked around the room and saw most of the kids had that same look as I did, clinging to every word. “Give me an escape, please. Tell me I won’t fall through the cracks and be left right here where I started.” Their faces all seemed to say.

Craig took the basic Q&A after his dialogue of wonderous academia enchantment and promise, everyone asking the same things I was wondering. I wouldn’t raise my hand and attract attention to myself, no way.

I saw her then, Jodie, sitting with her hand up to ask more about the sporting opportunities offered, field hockey specifically. She sat with her blonde hairspray scrunched hair, long eyelashes and friendly, wide open blue eyes. I was amazed at how drawn I was to her instantly, like she was the bright glinting Christmas tree of hope in contrast to Holly’s darkness and shadowing pessimistic outlook on life and humanity. There was also this underlying feeling emanating from her. She was wearing adidas snap pants and her field hockey jacket, I knew without knowing, I knew she had the same attraction to females as I did. When Craig answered her question to her satisfaction, Jodie thanked him, and I saw her sign the sheet to enroll and receive more information. I watched that sheet for the rest of the presentation and when we were wrapping up, Ms. Mueller caught me at the door, the sign sheet in her fingertips.

“You forgot something,” she stated, a black pen in her other hand, held out to me.

I stepped aside, opening my mouth to let out a string of excuses, all based in fear and simultaneously worried that if I failed at this camp, I would disappoint her.

“Don’t.” She held up her palm that held the pen. “Sign the paper.”

I realized in that moment; this was my chance. I was on the edge of something, a choice. I knew what I would lose, and I quickly sobered to the reality that what I stood to lose, didn’t outweigh what I had to gain.

So I made the choice, to take a chance, put the pen to that blue paper, and signed my name, choosing to take that chance, choosing something so much bigger for myself than I could have ever imagined and taking the first step to end the cycle that would have ensnared me just as it did many others. It even would claim Holly in the end, leaving her to browning pine trees, closeted and affairs in secrecy, the shame and impending alcoholism, cursing from her couch just as her father did.

#feedback writer nonfiction

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thebachelordiaries · 7 years

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Getting Out The Campzone: The Bachelorette Season Premiere Recap

Sweet. Sour. Sassy. Classy.

That’s our girl, Rachel.

Rachel is more beautiful than Cinderella. She smells like pine needles and has a face like sunshine.

The journey for Rachel to find a mate is officially underway and even though these men were hand-picked for her, she will still need to weed through the losers to find the love of her life.

And there are losers galore: a ticklemonster, a Whaboom! guy, an aspiring drummer and a dude named Jamey who hates women.

Some of these aforementioned were among the lucky few to get their own video packages.

-Kenny is a father to his beautiful 10-year-old daughter by day, and a professional wrestler called the “prettyboy pitbull” by night. So essentially, he barks, he bites and he’s good at cuddling.

-Jack Stone is a lawyer from Texas who has the potential to be the world’s most boring speaker right behind Ben Stein. His mother passed away from cancer when he was in high school, so he has a tragic story. The best part about him is that he has a labradoodle.

-Alex is a self-described beefy nerd. He says he likes to hit the weights at the gym but also code on the computer. He grilled some kebobs with his Russian mother, who said in Russian that he is only allowed to kiss Rachel on the cheek.

-Mohit is a startup guy, so I am assuming he must be really good at ping pong. He likes to bollywood dance with his family, and they all seemed like a fun family to be around.

-Lucas, aka Whaboom! I respect his dedication to the brand, but he’s going to have an aneurysm shaking his head that aggressively one day, and I don’t want to witness it on my television screen.

-Blake says he’s a personal trainer but his bio says drummer boy, so I already can’t trust him. Blake claims that since working out increases his testosterone, he is great at sex. I’m sorry but I don’t care about his (probably small) penis.

-Diggy is a nickname this man (I don’t know his real name) received after someone complimented his style. “Hey, I like your digs,” they said. Some may say having 500 pairs of shoes is materialistic, but Carrie Bradshaw would say it’s a lifestyle.

-Josiah probably had the most heartbreaking story. At age seven he cut his dead brother down from the rope he used to hang himself. As a troubled youth, he decided to get into crime and was arrested at age 12 for burglary. He was inspired by the people who helped him turn his life around, so he became just like them. Now he is a prosecuting attorney at the same center that helped him. How can that story not warm up your heart?

The Squad Gets Back Together

Usually the show brings in former Bachelorettes to give advice to the new one. Instead, they brought in some of Rachel’s friends from The Bachelor like Whitney, who tried to convince us that she actually knows how to speak. I for one am not buyin’ it.

The robot pretending to be Whitney said she heard the second guy Rachel met on After The Final Rose has bad intentions. It was either Blake or Greg. I am unsure.

This is Raven adorably getting emotional when discussing Rachel’s journey to find love.

Imagine Rachel did get to meet the former Bachelorettes, though? Her, Andi and Kaitlyn could all go into a corner and talk shit about Nick Viall. I would love to be a fly on that wall.

Limo Entrances

I am going to discuss ones that deserve discussing. Obviously the first person out the limo is typically a big interest of the lead and that person usually (not always) plays a big part in the season. Let’s meet first-out-the-limo guy and everyone else worth talking about:

Peter, aka “Daddy,” was first out the limo. I normally wouldn’t like a guy wearing an outfit that belongs on a waiter in Las Vegas, but Peter can wear anything. I just want to thank him for existing.

He looks like a movie star from the 1940s. Is this love at first sight?

Bryan went up to Rachel and started speaking Spanish. Apparently he’s a Columbian guy who called himself “trouble.” I’m into it, and apparently so is Rachel.

Will came out the limo as Steve Urkel, slipped on the ground and said “Oh, did I do that?” He ran back into the limo and came back out as Stefan Urquelle. It was probably the most creative limo entrance ever. Rachel got the reference right away because she’s Rachel. Will is probably already in love.

Fred had the most hilarious entrance I’ve ever seen. Rachel was his camp counselor 15 years ago, so he brought out a yearbook and showed old pictures of him and Rachel. Rachel said Fred was a bad kid growing up. Most people get friendzoned at some point in their lives. Some even get sexzoned. Fred, however, got campzoned. What will it take to get Fred out of the camp zone? Stay tuned...

Jonathan, in typical ticklemonster fashion, tickled Rachel. Apparently he is a doctor in real life. I feel like tickling someone is some sort of violation. Like I said earlier, we will see this guy on the sex offender registry in due time.

Alex came in with a vacuum and I literally JUST understood his reference as I am typing it out. His entrance was an homage to Rachel dancing while vacuuming in her video package on The Bachelor. Well played, sir, well played.

Matt wore a penguin outfit and was quite adorable. He explained that penguins mate for life, which is what he says he wants to do. He said he’s gonna “waddle right into her heart.”

Mohit used the most basic best man wedding speech in existence as his opening line. If you didn’t work at a wedding hall for three years and haven’t heard this at basically every wedding ever, let me explain. Almost every best man at a wedding has the groom put his hand over his wife’s hand. He then says “This is the last time you will ever have the upper hand in the relationship. Enjoy it.” Negative 10 points for originality.

Lucas, the Whaboom! guy, was all sorts of extra. First he rolled down the window with a megaphone and did his best Bruce Buffer impression. I didn’t want to know that Lucas has one testicle bigger than the other, but now I do. What will I do with this source of information? Suppress it, probably. Lucas then shows us what Whaboom! really means, and it’s not pretty. Let’s just say there’s a reason why Lucas looks like he is recovering from a stoke. Whabooming! is a violent activity.

My reaction after witnessing what a Whaboom! is.

The Goings On In The Mansion

Some worthwhile observations...

Blake is clearly this season’s villain and Whaboom! guy is the token weirdo for the first few episodes. Blake’s presence already annoys me. He’s no Chad. Chad was at least funny.

Mohit took one for the team and was the one who got completely hammered on night one. He was so drunk that he grabbed someone else's drink out of their hand and started drinking it.

Josiah, Alex and DeMario have already developed a friendship. I hereby name them the “Goon Squad” for being a bunch of clowns. DeMario keept calling Rachel his future wife and Josiah was announcing that he probably will get the first impression rose. I believe at one point Josiah asked, “Who has had time with my wife?” Alex is just guilty by association.

Fred by far had the best interaction with Rachel:

Rachel: “Frederick. I can’t”

Fred: “Yeah, you can.”

Rachel says she knew Fred as a third grader and can’t get past that memory. If the guy is hot enough, I think she could do it. If she can’t get past it, that probably means she’s not interested and Fred will remain forever in the Campzone.

Bryan pulled Rachel to the side to have a private talk. Right out the bat, Bryan tells her he is 37 years old, wants something serious and doesn’t want to waste her time. Oh, he also says “I’m good with my hands.” Ya know, because he’s a chiropractor.

Just showing some appreciation for Bryan’s face.

The two were flirting back and forth. It felt really genuine like they met at a bar or something. Bryan just went for it and grabbed her face to give her an aggressive face readjustment. A+ for grabbing her face like that. You go, Glen Coco.

Peter said in an ITM that he likes Rachel because they both have a gap in their teeth and honestly that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. He brought chocolate from Wisconsin for her and she confessed that she didn’t like chocolate but said she would eat it anyway. Why? Because Peter is fine as hell so you gotta do what you gotta do.

I also observed that Kenny is hilarious. For example, this line: “If she chooses Whaboom! guy, we need to re-examine what we think is fly.”

When the time comes for Rachel to give out her first impression rose, she doesn’t give it to the over-confident Josiah, she gives it to Bryan. They kiss again with a hammered Mohit accidentally witnessing the entire thing.

Here’s a shot of them kissing that didn’t look like Bryan’s tongue was searching for the Chamber of Secrets down Rachel’s throat.

Good thing Mohit was blackout drunk so he was likely physically incapable of snitching. Too bad Bryan later snitches on himself on the Ellen date.

Rose Ceremony

The first rose is always super important. That person usually plays a big part in the season.

Peter got the first rose. This, on top of him being first out of the limo, is pretty big. Producers are pushing Peter on us hard.

Will aka Stefan got the second rose. Soft-spoken Jack Stone got the third. I think Anthony, the deep-thinking bald guy, got the fourth rose.

Producers picked Whaboom! guy to stay to 1. entertain us and 2. piss off Blake. I’m just scared Lucas is going to hurt his neck Whabooming! At least Bryan will be there to work his chiropractor magic if need be. Imagine getting adjusted by Bryan? There is no way I’d be able to relax.

By the time several of the guys get eliminated, it’s daylight outside. It looks like it’s around noon.

Blake K. the hot asian went home. Apparently he asked to leave early because his grandfather is sick. Dammit, ABC, put him on Paradise. He might be too good for the show, but I still need to see more of him.

Grant, the ugly Dan Humphrey also went home.

Follow me on twitter, @thebachdiaries

Another eliminated guy cried about how he spent so much money on outfits and now no one will be able to see them. It was kind of funny but, I hate that I was able to relate to this so much.

So there you have it folks. The real fun starts on Monday once the group dates are underway. I also promise the upcoming recaps won’t be the length of a short novel. I need to get back into my blogging groove.

Prediction Corner: Top 5

Peter

Bryan

Kenny

Will

Jack Stone

Who do you think will get the 1-on-1 next week?

#the bachelorette #rachel lindsay #chris harrison #abc #photo credit: ABC

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