#(if we include Terry)

[stillwaterinc]

i have nowhere to put my batman thoughts so they’re going here

jason comes back as the red hood, planning to take out his little replacement or at least hurt him bad enough that he drops the suit and lets robin die but suddenly, a month before his plan is to start, robin disappears. and so does the joker.

what? jason looks, he scours security cameras and internet forums, even weasels his was into the gcpd’s files and…

nothing. there’s nothing.

no bodies reported, joker’s not in arkham or black gate or any other prison, he hasn’t finally been given the death penalty he just. disappeared.

he can’t find anything on robin either, or tim drake, for months until he stumbles upon a nearly perfect patient file in some hospital records.

nearly. it’d be perfect to anyone else but jason, even years later, can recognize bruce and barbara’s finger prints all over it. it’s a cover. a cover for what though? he reads through the file, tim drake’s file, presumably and finds… well.

someone clearly tortured the kid, and with the meds he was being prescribed it got to him. it would’ve gotten to anyone.

jason shudders reading the initial injury report. electric burns, lots of them, are what catches his eye the most but there’s all kinds of stuff. what catches his eye the most though is the lacerations that had to be stitched either side of the kid’s mouth. shit.

he doesn’t get the full picture, not yet, but pieces are starting to come together. the joker has been missing for a while, just a little longer than jason’s replacement has been in the hospital for some violent injuries.

the joker is missing.

tim drake is in the hospital.

something happened, clearly. the joker did something to tim, something awful, something bad enough that the joker disappeared and the kid’s been in the hospital for weeks.

bruce didn’t make it in time, only this time robin wasn’t dead, he’d been broken.

someone had gotten to robin, to tim drake, before jason could, had gotten to him so badly that even after he was released he wasn’t robin anymore.

not because he didn’t want to be, a few bugs here and there in the manor let him know that much, but because bruce wouldn’t let him.

it comes out, in one of these arguments, that time killed the joker. shot him dead. and jason almost wants to congratulate the kid for it, or wants to strangle bruce and ask him how the hell he let robin, who’s just a kid, tim, who’s just a fucking kid, get anywhere near a position where he had the means and desire to fatally shoot the joker.

because that’s it, isn’t it? the reason jason’s like this, doing this, is because of the joker. jason knows how to use guns because of the joker. he’ll never go to college like a normal kid because of the joker. and now tim.

tim wants to be robin, asks for it, begs bruce to let him back out in the suit and jason nearly finds himself agreeing with bruce. the joker’s gone sure but what if someone else tries the same thing? what if someone tries worse? being in the suit’s already gotten tim this much pain, why risk more?

it hits jason, one night, that he stopped being angry at tim a while ago. a long while. he can’t be angry at bruce either, because the joker is dead. there’s no one to enact vengeance for his death on anymore.

anyways most of my posts are about incest please don’t follow me for batman content

[mister-a-z-fell]

You might already have seen this videograph elsewhere, but I was rather excited to add this particular book to my collection! One of only twenty-four copies, I feel deeply privileged to be able to share it with you all.

Not only is the story itself very special to me (and worryingly accurate in many respects), it is most gloriously and skilfully bound, and contained in a burr oak box with brass fittings, lined with hand-marbled paper of celestial blue, and illustrated by that marvel of portraiture, Mister Paul Kidby.

Within the box are an assortment of ephemera, some of which are pictured below.

(And yes, I can read the alien ‘penalty notice’.)

[hoarder-of-dragons]

Dream Good Omens Movie plot

First 10 mins of obliterating Metatron and saving the World (again).

Next 80 mins is just them, in their South Downs cottage with montages of selecting the furniture and wallpapers with Aziraphale dragging Crowley around, Crowley pretending to be upset but not so subtly giving his two piece of fashion advice. Show me the duo bringing the plants and settling in their home. Give me a long drawn out apology and confessions. Give me the tears and fluff and their happy beginning.

[raemeh]

veronica marlowe ☹️☹️❤️❤️❤️❤️☹️☹️❤️☹️☹️☹️❤️☹️❤️

AUGH SHE LOVES HER DAUGHTER SO MUCH

[aibidil]

Oh!, to be a battleaxe side character in classic lit—

Betsy Trotwood (David Copperfield)

To this hour I don’t know whether my aunt had any lawful right of way over that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind that she had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of her life, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey over that immaculate spot. In whatever occupation she was engaged, however interesting to her the conversation in which she was taking part, a donkey turned the current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight. Jugs of water, and watering-pots, were kept in secret places ready to be discharged on the offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind the door; sallies were made at all hours; and incessant war prevailed. Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhaps the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in coming that way. I only know that there were three alarms before the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of the last and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head against her own gate, before he seemed to comprehend what was the matter. These interruptions were of the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of a table-spoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was actually starving, and must receive nourishment at first in very small quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she would put it back into the basin, cry ‘Janet! Donkeys!’ and go out to the assault.

Mrs. Cadwallader (Middlemarch)

The parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth, descended, as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most companionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know who she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, and would have been less socially uniting.... She would never have disowned anyone on the ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take his dinner in a basin would have seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and I fear his aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But her feeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious hatred: they had probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and Mrs. Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid in kind at the Rectory: such people were no part of God’s design in making the world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. A town where such monsters abounded was hardly more than a sort of low comedy, which could not be taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the universe. Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwallader inquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers.

"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack,” said Mrs. Cadwallader. “You should have proved to him that he loses money by bad management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you put him a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas.

Mrs Rachel Lynde (Anne of Green Gables)

Mrs. Rachel Lynde was a red-hot politician and couldn’t have believed that the political rally could be carried through without her, although she was on the opposite side of politics.

“Well, since you’ve asked my advice, Marilla,” said Mrs. Lynde amiably—Mrs. Lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice—“I’d just humor her a little at first, that’s what I’d do .... That is I wouldn’t say school to her again until she said it herself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she’ll cool off in a week or so and be ready enough to go back of her own accord, that’s what, while, if you were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrum she’d take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made the better, in my opinion. She won’t miss much by not going to school, as far as that goes. Mr. Phillips isn’t any good at all as a teacher.... I declare, I don’t know what education in this Island is coming to.” Mrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at the head of the educational system of the Province things would be much better managed.

Granny Weatherwax (Discworld)

She hadn't ever needed to. Granny Weatherwax was like the prow of a ship. Seas parted when she turned up.

Unlike wizards, who like nothing better than a complicated hierarchy, witches don’t go in much for the structured approach to career progression. It’s up to each individual witch to take on a girl to hand the area over to when she dies. Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least with other witches, and they certainly don’t have leaders. Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn’t have.

It was one of the few sorrows of Granny Weatherwax’s life that, despite all her efforts, she’d arrived at the peak of her career with a complexion like a rosy apple and all her teeth. No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy.

Lady Bruton (Mrs Dalloway)

Lady Bruton had the reputation of being more interested in politics than people; of talking like a man; of having had a finger in some notorious intrigue of the eighties, which was now beginning to be mentioned in memoirs.

She was getting impatient; the whole of her being was setting positively, undeniably, domineeringly brushing aside all this unnecessary trifling (Peter Walsh and his affairs) upon that subject which engaged her attention, and not merely her attention, but that fibre which was the ramrod of her soul, that essential part of her without which Millicent Bruton would not have been Millicent Bruton; that project for emigrating young people of both sexes born of respectable parents and setting them up with a fair prospect of doing well in Canada. She exaggerated. She had perhaps lost her sense of proportion. Emigration was not to others the obvious remedy, the sublime conception. It was not to them (not to Hugh, or Richard, or even to devoted Miss Brush) the liberator of the pent egotism, which a strong martial woman, well nourished, well descended, of direct impulses, downright feelings, and little introspective power (broad and simple — why could not every one be broad and simple? she asked) feels rise within her, once youth is past, and must eject upon some object — it may be Emigration, it may be Emancipation; but whatever it be, this object round which the essence of her soul is daily secreted, becomes inevitably prismatic, lustrous, half looking-glass, half precious stone; now carefully hidden in case people should sneer at it; now proudly displayed. Emigration had become, in short, largely Lady Bruton.

[inamindfarfaraway]

No Longer You

[Shortly before Book Four, faced with committing a new low to revive her father, the desperate, weary, anxious Claudia consults a Xadian oracle about her future. She needs to know if her dark deeds will be worth it. Her hair has more white streaks than in Book Three, but isn’t nearly half-white.]

Oracle: I am the prophet

With the answers you seek

Time, I’ve unlocked it

I see past and future running free

There is a world where your heart can be whole

But that’s not a world I know

Claudia: What?

Oracle: I see a song of love and loss

I see you led as pathways cross

I see portrayals of betrayal

Where you reap and pay the cost

I see you on the brink of death

I see you draw a final breath

I see a mage who gets to save the ones she loves

But it’s no longer you

Claudia: This can’t be

I’ve suffered on spells

Through the toughest of hells

Now you tell me my effort’s for nothing?

Oracle: I see your brother butchered and bled

Your family shattered, your father lying dead

I see your lover ensnared by a dragon

A beast with a trail of bodies

Claudia: No!

Oracle: I see a song of love and loss

I see you lead as pathways cross

I see portrayals of betrayal

Where you reap and pay the cost

I see you on the brink of death (Actions vile, hidden scars)

I see you draw a final breath (Blood of child, fallen stars)

I see a mage who gets to save the ones she loves (Order broken)

(You’ll do whatever it takes)

But it’s no longer you

[amplexadversary]

Well now I want to see Percy duel Domon for the title.

It would be a very one-sided fight because we've seen Domon catch as many bullets as he could put out in a round, but it would look very cool.

Vex can fight Rain and avenge her husband :P

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: The Banker (1.10, LWT, 1972)

"You can't win, can you? Three months with the press screaming at me for results. And when I get results? They start screaming again."

"Ah, forget it, Alan. You've got him well stitched up on the evidence. What do you want now, a medal?"

[ineffectualdemon]

Things baked into Terry Pratchett books that I didn't realise at first but very much needed and benefited from:

Being unpleasant, weird, socially difficult, off-putting, uncomfortable to be around, annoying, obnoxious, etc does not equal being a bad person

And it definitely doesn't mean others don't have a duty of baseline care about you

They don't have to like you but there is a baseline "we live in a society and I care about what happens to the people around me" type of duty that you are owed

They can think you're unpleasant to be around and even stupid and cringe in your presence but there is a duty of care to your existence

And if you are doing bad things you can stop

There are always chances to think about your actions and why you're doing them and if you really believe it's the right thing

There is always an option to stop

And some people do

And some people don't

But if people do that doesn't mean they aren't still maybe unpleasant to be around or awkward or uncomfortable

The "bad guys" in Terry Pratchett tend to

1. Believe they are in the right

2. Never question that belief

3. Have multiple opportunities to not be doing what they are doing but fully commit

4. May have points that at least feel reasonable on a surface level if you don't think about them too deeply

5. Face consequences of their own actions. Which includes the protagonist having to slap them down. If they didn't put the stuff in motion and refuse to back down they wouldn't be getting slapped

They aren't cartoon baddies they are really realised characters with convictions that they believe in and truly tend to believe their actions are the best thing to be doing. That they are doing what others should have already done

But in Terry Pratchett what makes you on the wrong side of the narrative is not your personality or your looks or how sociable you are

It's your continuing actions that define you AND your unwillingness to change

And I think I very much needed that reinforced in my life

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The S1 Bentley is For Sale! 👀

link

from the description :):

Mary is a 1934 Derby Bentley Thrupp & Maberley bodied Coupe. BLE 430 – B 96 BN. Two were made but the other one has not been seen since WW11, so she is unique. She is also the only Bentley in the world to have been blown up twice on screen. She was owned by Speed King Donald Campbell in the early fifties.

I acquired her in 2009, to go with my 1947 Mark VI. Since then the engine has been completely re-built, including a new head and block, with a new clutch put in at the same time. She has also been re-wired, new kingpins, total brake overhaul, new radiator and fuel pump with suspension and one shot lubrication system overhauled. Also had the speedometer and rev.counter serviced in 2018. She runs superbly and has just had her annual service at AB Classics, who specialise in pre-war Bentleys & Rolls Royces. (He also looks after my 1936 25/30 RR ).

She is currently insured for £295,000 and I will be looking for an offer around £265,000.

History

Ordered for Jack Odling in September 1934. One of two 3 ½ lt Coupes made by Thrupp & Maberley. The other one has not been seen for several decades and presumed lost during World War 2. Not much early history but owned by Speed King Donald Campbell in the early 1950’s. We have a photograph of the car at that time being offered for sale, with silver wheel discs. His ownership is acknowledged by all the relevant history available in various publications and agreed with both Bentley Drivers Club & Rolls Royce Enthusiasts Club records. She went through three owners from October 1954 to October 1961. Next piece of history is she was acquired by a Mr Silk of Romford in 1973 and underwent extensive professional restoration up to 1994, with a mechanical overhaul in 1994. She was back on the road in 1998. She was then purchased from P & A Wood by Andrew Smith in August 2001. He kept her until early 2008 when he sold her to Brian Classic as he did not wish to re- wire her. I bought her from Brian Classic in April 2009 with money left to me by my late Mother, Mary. We only just made the 100 miles home with many electrical problems. I am glad to say that Brian Classic eventually made a substantial contribution to the re-wiring by Jeremy Padgett. The following year going into the RREC Concours the heating nearly went into the red so back to Jeremy Padgett to sort out. Result was a complete engine re-build by Ristes, also replaced the radiator core and new clutch plate. Finally back on the road in May 2012. Very expensive period. However, she is now in superb condition, being regularly serviced by AB Classics. More recently the carburettors have been re-built. Following an accident on set in 2017 she was sent to Steve Penny at Penny Vintage to restore the damaged door. Sadly this was one of his last jobs before retiring. What a superb craftsman he is, he made a fabulous job of restoring her. Needless to say she still looks superb. I have owned and enjoyed classic cars since 1969 and Mary must be my ultimate car.

TV & Film work

...

when the call came. Jeremy, I am looking for a 1926 Derby Bentley, preferably black. Can you find me one please. I explained that they were not invented until 1933 and that mine was made in 1934 and is grey and black and has not changed since Endeavour three years earlier. Half an hour later phone goes again, can you bring your car down for production to have a look at in Ealing early next week. Production were delighted with Mary, especially after a bit of a run round Ealing. At this point no-one would tell me what it was all about, apart from the fact that this was “The Big One”. Two days later phone goes again, she is going to be Crowley’s Bentley in “Good Omens” by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. My wife quickly ordered the book and read it. The Bentley was mentioned almost 80 times. Can I please take her to a specialist body maker for her cab to be replicated for studio scenes. Can I find an interior etc. I phoned Hew at The Real Car Company, who was a tremend ous help. A complete set of instruments and a steering wheel duly arrived. Next, I was asked if I could take the car to Wokingham to be copied. Absolutely staggered to discover they wanted the car at Rushton’s Farm, where I lived from 1957 to 1963. Father’s chicken sheds had been converted into industrial units. A half hour drop off turned into four hours, as I took an old photograph album to show the current owners. The farmhouse had been separated from the rest of the farm by this time. A real trip down memory lane for me. Looking for a Derby body, seats etc, Hew recommended talking to Bob Petersen. He was stripping down a Thrupp & Maberley saloon to make one of his famous specials, so that was purchased complete with dash, seats etc so Mary could be well and truly replicated. Even changed the indicator switch so that both were identical. By this time the cast list had leaked out on the Internet. David Tennant and Michael Sheene are the main stars with others being added on a daily basis. I met many people but mainly worked with these two, especially David. He is one of the nicest guys you could ever wish to meet. Very hardworking but happily chats to everyone. I got Mary back from the farm in September, ready to start filming. The first scene was near Marlow for a two day shoot where I started to meet the cast and crew. 

Trying to teach David how to drive Mary was a bit of a struggle. Most people in their forties haven’t a clue about cars without syncromesh on all gears, and David normally drives an automatic! However, Rob, the stunt driver did know how to drive Mary and quickly picked up the fact that the clutch cannot be depressed for any length of time. The main problem with David and Rob changing over was about six inches in height. Don’t think the seat had been moved so much for years, with a gentle application of oil on the runners and avoidance of catching the carpet. During this period Mary used the registration NIATRUC, Curtain spelt backwards (the subject is the end of the world ). The Morris Minor had SID RAT , TARDIS spelt backwards. David was an earlier Dr Who! Being the grandad on set meant that I was well looked after by everyone, who made sure I had Mary in the right place and usually a radio as well. There is a lot of hanging about on set then a burst of activity. Some shots are repeated over a dozen times to get differing angles and eventually sort out which take will be used. Within a few days I was getting the hang of it, meeting the directors, the camera guys, the sound technicians, moving from location to location, usually in or around the M 25 then in central London. Naturally you can watch Good Omens on BBC iplayer and see how much Mary appeared. There are a few pictures of what it is like on set. 

[neil-gaiman]

Hello!!

First of all, THANK YOU!!! The world has been feeling harder and more hopeless to me in recent years, and individuals like yourself help more than I will ever be able to express to bring light and hope back into my world. Loving and obsessing over gems like Good Omens, and American Gods (the novel at least, I must admit I never saw the show 🙈) have always given me motivation, sparked my creativity, and made me feel so much love for this, often unfortunately cruel, world. I can't express the solace it brings to me when the creators of the things I love are thoughtful and decent human beings. So, again, THANK YOU 🫀🫀🫀

I just finished my second viewing of Season 2 and have a question for you (my apologies if it has already been asked and/or answered and I missed it)!! 

How did you select the song "Everyday" by Buddy Holly? It is absolutely perfect on so many different levels, and for so many different threads and characters, all while still encompassing the perfect feelings of this show. I always include playlists with the stories I write, and often agonize over which song is the best choice for certain moments. You had to pick one song to encompass the entirety of it, and it truly blew me away! 

Thank you this Season and for everything you do; it really does mean the world to so many of us 🫀🫀🫀

In February of 1991 (I think) Terry Pratchett and I were staying in the Chateau Marmont hotel in LA. These days it is a very fancy hotel but back then it was pretty manky and run down. We were being put up by a film company and each morning we would fax over an outline for a new version of Good Omens the Movie and each afternoon we'd go to the studio for a meeting and we would realise that nobody had actually read what we had sent over that morning. Then we would go back to the hotel and work on trying to incorporate the studio notes on the outline they hadn't actually read into what we were doing.

We worked up in Terry's room because it had heating, and it was incredibly cold in LA that February, especially cold because I was in a chalet out in the grounds and there weren't heaters or extra blankets or anything in the chalet.

And at some point in there we were talking about music, and I suggested a few scary and ominous songs that might work to signal the end times. And Terry said "What about Buddy Holly's song Everyday? It sounds so upbeat and cheerful. But what if it was about the end of the world?" And I got all excited at the idea of Everyday being the Good Omens theme song.

So it's really just there to make Terry happy.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

HOUSE CALLS.

Professor!Terrence x Aaliyah

Summary: Aaliyh has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student.

Part One.

The combined elements of dark wood and a silver-painted metallic finish gave his desk an exquisite appearance within the lecture hall. The theater–like room was cloaked in silence and a gloomy ambiance from the constant downpour of rain. The occasional clearing of throats or shuffling of papers could be heard, but everyone clung on to his words as he leaned casually against his desk.

He was situated in front of the class, one hand reclined back to brace himself, while the other held a book within his grasp by its withering spine. He crossed his feet at the ankles, rounded, gold–rimmed specs hanging onto the bridge of his nose. His full lips moved in tandem with his educated words, blue–grey eyes flicking from the passage he was reading to the class of over thirty students before him.

“…Brain size in mammals is generally proportional to body size. Relative to body mass, humans have the largest brain. The chimpanzee brain has an approximate volume of 300 cm3; a gorilla’s is slightly larger. The human adult brain is more than three times larger, typically between 1,300 cm3 and 1,400 cm3. The brain is not only larger in humans than in apes but also much more complex. The cerebral cortex, where the higher cognitive functions are processed, is in humans proportionally much greater than the rest of the brain when compared with apes…”

He articulated his words fluently, deep baritone drawing you in like a breath of fresh air.

Aaliyah scribbled across her notepad with her iPad propped up in front of her, occasionally highlighting passages from the same book she’d downloaded. She had one too many books creating an almost mountainous pile within her bedroom. Thank goodness this was her last semester. She’d put off taking this combined Ethics and Psychology course, realizing she needed it to graduate.

The magnetic allure of her gaze blinked away from the Professor, the end of her red, ink pen situated between her heart–shaped lips. Her upturned eyes followed the movement of the Professor licking his thumb to turn a page. She crossed one shapely thigh over the other, the thick material of the navy blue sweats she wore cozy. Her small foot covered in old Vans bounced slightly, a habit she couldn’t control.

“…Humans live in groups that are socially organized, and so do other primates. But primate societies do not approach the complexity of human social organization. A distinctive human social trait is culture, which may be understood here as the set of non-strictly biological human activities and creations. Culture in this sense includes social and political institutions, ways of doing things, religious and ethical traditions, language, common sense and scientific knowledge, art and literature, technology, and in general all of the creations of the human mind. Culture “is a pool of technological and social innovations that people accumulate to help them live their lives…”

His patience, communication, and passion helped her pay attention, even though she couldn’t help but to fantasize and escape to a place where she could dream. It was the intuitive feeling within her. Beyond her squared, black frames, she found herself memorizing the shape of his elongated fingers cupping the book. The way he talked with his hands. So expressive. Voice so even toned and soft at times. She couldn’t be the only one captivated by her handsome Professor.

“I know it’s nearing time for us to leave,” He strolled lazily towards one of the large windows, “It’s really coming down out there. Well…why don’t we pick back up on Friday? Make sure you all submit your midterm papers. I’ve extended the due date…”

The class began to gather their things. Aaliyah didn’t make a fuss to leave just yet. From the Professor’s view, he peeked up at her from behind his desk, still sitting in her seat, chewing on her pouty, bottom lip with so much focus on her IPad. He didn’t bother her, taking that time to check his curriculum. Aaliyah’s silent presence didn’t bother him. So why bother her?

After thirty minutes, she stood, stretching her arms that were drowning in an oversized, graphic hoodie. Her silk pressed hair was styled in a low bun and medium–sized silver hoops decorated her ears. She threw her school bag over her shoulder and slipped from behind her desk, leaving the room. Before she reached the door, she turned back and caught the hypnotic eyes of her Professor. She gave him a silent wave and he returned the gesture with a small smile, watching her disappear from his eyes.

He couldn’t shake the twinge of sadness in her leaving.

——

As Friday rolled around, Aaliyah found herself running late for class. It was her own fault. She’d started a side hustle that earned her more money than what she’d gotten paid working remote for Verizon. It required a lot of her time, and she’d become so obsessed with it that her sleep schedule changed. Dressed in a pair of heather–gray leggings with a matching oversized, slouchy sweatshirt, Aaliyah opened the door to the lecture hall, quickly finding herself scurrying to her usual seat in the middle of the Professor’s speech.

“Excuse me…sorry…”

Aaliyah squeezed into her seat and hastily worked to fall in line, cursing herself internally. Her sleek hair framed her face as she buried herself into her work.

“Aaliyah?”

Her eyes held slight bags beneath them. They connected through her lenses at the Professor. She could feel eyes on her in other parts of the room as well.

“Is everything okay?” He questioned with concern.

“Yes, Professor Richmond. I had a late start today…”

“Okay…do you know where we are or do you need me to fill you in?”

A faint smile graced her shimmering lips.

“I know where we are. Thank you.”

Professor Richmond nodded his head slightly before turning his attention back to the whiteboard. Aaliyah swooped some of her long hair back from her face and behind her ear, reaching for her Stanley cup to quench her thirst.

In the middle of lecture, Aaliyah’s phone vibrated within the front pocket of her school bag. She groaned slightly, distracted by the noise while jotting down notes. After a while she couldn’t ignore it. Professor Terry caught sight of her reaching for her phone, and he took note of the stress lining her pretty face.

Meanwhile, Aaliyah’s eyes scanned two texts from a friend and former coworker of hers, asking if she was free to meet up after class. Aaliyah had an inclination of what it was about, but ultimately she agreed to meet up for lunch. After settling that distraction, she pulled herself back into her work, not aware of Professor Richmond’s eyes on her.

“Class dismissed. See you all on Wednesday…”

And as expected, Aaliyah held her spot. Professor Richmond had his back facing her while using an Expo eraser to clear the board. He wore a black sweater that molded into his sinewy upper body in all the right places. The black slacks he wore to match accentuated his ass and strapping thighs.

After recapping the marker, he gave Aaliyah a once–over. He studied her for another minute before placing his hands within the pockets of his slacks, making his way towards her. Aaliyah looked up at him, her posture straightening. He settled next to her, a soft smile on his face. Aaliyah waited for him to say something, an arched brow raised in question.

It just dawned on her that she’d never been this close to him.

Professor Richmond was thinking the same thing.

“How are your studies coming along?”

The deep vibrato of his voice was so smooth she found herself smirking. Aaliyah blinked away from his overwhelmingly handsome face, trying her best to focus on the text before her instead of the man that occupied her space with a fragrance so utterly charismatic with a blend of basil notes, bewitching lavender, and sandalwood accords.

“As well as it can to pass this class, Professor.” She responded.

The sound of her melodic voice, the way it lulled him into a trance. He couldn’t shake it. His long fingers drummed against the desk, the ability to control the urge to catch a more…invading whiff of her sweet perfume paining him. And was that…a tongue ring?

He had the biggest crush on Aaliyah.

“You sound put out. I hope that paper is coming along.”

Aaliyah cut her tantalizing eyes at him and those sinful lips parted to speak, “I’m finished. Mostly. Just need to do a bit of editing.”

“Good…good. Hey,” Professor Richmond leaned in closer, removing his glasses, “Can I ask you a question?”

Aaliyah focused on him with a steady gaze. Never wavering. She turned her curvy body in her chair to face him fully. Professor Richmond’s blue–gray eyes did a quick sweep of her frame.

“Depends on the question…then I’ll determine if it warrants a response…”

Sassy.

“Ha, okay,” Professor Richmond exhaled, “I would like to take you to lunch sometime. Away from campus…my treat.”

He pressed his large hand against his solid chest and tilted his head at her. Aaliyah blinked at him slowly.

“Today if you’re free…how does that sound?”

Aaliyah twisted her lips to fight a smile. It didn’t work however. That smile of hers broke through and it was beautiful. It was one of those smiles that captivated you. So sexy. Oh so sexy.

She was just…sexy.

“I can’t,” Aaliyah turned away, her hair sweeping her back, “I’m meeting a friend for lunch already…”

Professor Richmond’s thick brows flicked up and he groaned softly. He was hoping for a yes.

“Then…we can plan a lunch next week?” He persisted.

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled softly. It was a sight to behold. He wasn’t going to back down.

“Next week…hmm…maybe. I have a lot going on.”

Her dismissive tone didn’t stop him. Maybe it was because he was her Professor. She probably didn’t want to get caught up in that. Probably didn’t have time for that mess. A beautiful woman such as herself probably gets approached every damn day by men. What makes him any different?

“Whenever you’re free then,” Professor Richmond widened his thighs to appear more relaxed, “I hope I’m not being too forward…”

Aaliyah trailed her eyes from his thighs to his face. He caught that. He knew she found him attractive. He knew his potential. Felt her eyes on him plenty of times.

“I’m not looking for anything right now. I appreciate the gesture though,” Aaliyah turned those beautiful eyes away, “I’m sorry.”

Professor Richmond looked away from her, trying his best to hide his disappointment. He clenched his sculpted jaw, accepting defeat. A slight smile graced his lips as he stood, fixing the hem of his sweater.

Better luck next time. And there will be a next time.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Aaliyah…enjoy the rest of your day, beautiful.”

The way he called her beautiful…the bounce of her foot stilled.

“You do the same, Professor,” She replied, eyes never leaving her iPad, although a smirk graced her succulent lips.

He paused in his descend, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Her eyes connected with his again, dark brown meeting bluish–grey. The way her hip sat, jutted out from her thigh crossed over the other. She was doing things to his psyche. Her feet in flat, black sandals. Those pretty toes. That beautiful hair. It was all too consuming.

“I’m Terry by the way.”

He felt he needed her to know him on a first named basis. Aaliyah blinked at him with those curled lashes. She smiled again, smaller this time, but it still held a seductive quality.

“I know.” She responded impertinently.

He shook his head and released a soft chuckle. Sassy indeed.

Terry returned to his desk, gathering his things. He shut his laptop and the sound of Aaliyah walking down the steps towards the exit brought his attention back. Although she always wore loosely fitting tops and occasionally bottoms, the sway of her hips didn’t go unnoticed. No matter how hard she tried to cover it all up. He knew she was shielding a body beneath those layers.

Her dainty hand grasped the handle to the door. Aaliyah glanced over her shoulder at him one final time. Terry waited, hands finding its way into his pockets.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, Professor.”

A slow, half smirk crept up his face.

“Same as well, Miss Aaliyah. Enjoy your weekend.”

She waved goodbye with a flutter of her fingers in a flirty manner before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was taunting him.

——

Aaliyah climbed the short, concrete steps leading her inside Elsie’s Plate and Pie. Home to legendary pies and authentic taste in Baton Rouge. It wasn’t far from her Shotgun House. She removed her shades, spotting her friend, Keisha, sitting near a window. Keisha is a tall, thick woman. Her hazel eyes ignited when she spotted Aaliyah, one hand with long, red acrylic nails waving her over. Aaliyah scooted past a crowded table, holding her arms out to accept a hug from her longtime friend.

They did the squeeze and sway motion, big smiles on their faces.

“Y’at?! Girl it’s been forever. Baby, you look fucking good. How’s school and shit?” Keisha questioned boisterously.

“It’s going, girl. Almost done. You?”

“Still doing my thing at Crazy Horse. We miss you there,” Keisha gave Aaliyah sad eyes and a pout.

“You know I miss ya’ll too,” Aaliyah grabbed her glass of water, opening a straw, “What you finna get?”

“I don’t know…”

They scanned the menu, both settling on crawfish queso as a starter when their waiter sauntered over.

“Brittany still sleeping with Mack?” Aaliyah asked while sipping from her straw.

“Girl…” Keisha rolled her eyes, “He still breaking that down. She ain’t hopping off that dick…”

“Ugh,” Aaliyah scrunched her face up in disgust, “Mack though? That’s why I had to go. How do you do it? That nigga irks me.”

Keisha laughed, “I have my ways. I do what I gotta do to survive.”

Their appetizer arrived. Aaliyah didn’t hesitate to dig in. She was starving. The turkey bacon, fried eggs, and croissant breakfast she had earlier didn’t stick to her stomach.

“Li–Li, I wanna know if you’d be down for this new thang I got goin’ on.”

And here it comes…

“Keisha…” Aaliyah rolled her eyes.

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I want to, but then I’m like…Keisha a wild girl. Whatever it is, I know it ain’t simple.”

They both laughed.

“Let me fill you in, bitch!”

“Go ‘head,” Aaliyah cackled, “I’m waiting.”

“Awrite, so…We both know working at Crazy Horse ain’t shit. Half the money we earned went to Mack ass…”

“True…”

“So, I do this side gig. House calls.”

Aaliyah have a half shrug before crossing one leg over the other beneath the table, “Okay?”

“Andddd…I want you to join me.”

Before Aaliyah could respond, they placed their orders. Seafood pot pies.

“Keisha, I got this online content thing lined up and it’s hittin’ off. I made 350 dollars in one night,” Aaliyah scooped up the last bit of dip.

“What’s 350 to two grand?”

Aaliyah snorted, “Two grand? Serious?”

She sat up straighter in her seat. Aaliyah inclined her head towards Keisha for her to continue. That two grand sounded promising…

“Tell me what you do for these house calls.”

“It depends. It could be an all woman thang…a little toy party situation…most of the time it’s bachelor parties and believe it or not, men in uniform…”

“Men in uniform?” Aaliyah gawked at Keisha, “Like, military men?”

“Military men, policemen…tomorrow it’s firefighters. They pay good money for you to show up and perform. You don’t gotta go further than that unless you want to. That’s where the real bandz come from.”

Aaliyah let Keisha’s words sink in while she swirled the ice in her glass around with her straw. Aaliyah couldn’t deny that she missed dancing on the pole. It was exciting. Made her feel sexy. The best full body workout. She often craved the neon colors against her skin beneath the black lights. Her gravity-defying moves around the dance pole, sky-high heels and perfect hair, it was nothing short of magical.

Part acrobat, part athlete, part artist.

“I can see the wheels in your head turning…sounds good, huh?” Keisha asked with a knowing grin.

Aaliyah hummed, her eyes scanning Keisha’s face, “Almost too good…”

“Like I said, tomorrow night I have a gig at the fire house. I was bringing this other girl, she go by Diamond. She was cool…but I feel like me and you are a dynamic duo. Miss Dark Angel…”

Excitement tickled her nerves.

“So? You wanna go?”

“…I don’t know, Keisha…”

Aaliyah hung her head, deep in thought. She crossed her arms over her chest, breasts sitting up invitingly.

“Just…think it over tonight. Hit me up and let me know.”

Aaliyah dragged her tongue over her upper teeth. Keisha giggled at her, causing Aaliyah to snap out of her deep thoughts. She only had tonight to decide. Stripping was such a hard hustle for her. She had just found her niche. But, if what Keisha was saying is true, she could make the most money she’d ever made as an exotic dancer. Tempting…

Their food arrived and they fell into gossip, laughing about wild shit, falling into their usual routine. Aaliyah finished her entire pot pie while Keisha packed hers to go.

“We gotta do this more often, Li–Li,” Keisha slapped some money down, paying the tab, “You got your nose in ‘dem books! You’ve always been so smart…I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Keisha. We definitely have to link more. This last semester is kicking my ass. It’ll all pay off.”

“Seeing anybody?”

“Fuck no,” Aaliyah’s shoulders bounced with her laughter, “My professor did ask me on a lunch date today…”

“Oh?” Keisha’s eyes widened with interest, “Do tell.”

“Nothing to tell,” Aaliyah replied, “He’s very handsome. Sweet…I’m not tryna get tangled in that. I know how that can go…”

“I hear ya. Best to keep focused. Men come and go, girl. I ain’t got time either.”

They both stood, walking out together. Aaliyah had parked her Jeep behind Keisha’s all black Hellcat. They hugged again, giving each other a kiss on the cheek.

“Let me know!” Keisha shouted at Aaliyah’s retreating frame.

“I will!”

She waved goodbye, climbing into her Jeep and revving it up.

——

Aaliyah moved across her cramped kitchen with a swiftness, standing in her naked glory, body mimicking a glazed delight with how shiny and glistening her honey skin looked beneath the lights. She’d just finished filming some content, nothing too wild, just twerking and nasty talk.

“Don’t forget to tip, baby…”

“You gonna pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy, daddy?”

“I need some company, can’t stand looking edible alone…”

She used her same stage name. Liyah Allure. The Dark Angel. She used a video shot from a long angle, the white wall as her back drop. Lil Wayne–She Will instrumental playing in the background. Her sleek hair fell down her back and she would turn her head ever so slightly, giving teasing glances up and down while making that ass bounce and clap. She could move it with little no effort. Her hands glided over her sultry body, showing her viewers just how edible she is. And they wanted to take a bite.

Aaliyah racked up five hundred dollars. Friday’s were Freaky Friday. She showed more skin. You had to pay extra for a pussy shot. Aaliyah took pictures and videos for that as well. She spent a pretty penny on equipment. An elongated tripod held her camera in many angles. Her favorite shot was always from behind with her juicy thighs spread and shaking that big ass. Her wet, hairless pussy popped in the camera white those siren eyes looked back at it.

It was time for a bath. She wanted to spend the rest of her evening finishing up editing for her paper before submitting to Professor Richmond. Her Ethics and Psychology Professor. Aaliyah blew steam that wafted from her ceramic coffee mug as her slipper–clad feet shuffled towards her room. Placing the mug on her side table, she made her way towards her dresser and began wrapping her hair. She hated doing it, but she wanted a straighter look this time around so pin curling it wouldn’t work.

After securing her hair with three silk scarves to ensure she didn’t sweat it out, Aaliyah grabbed her mug and headed to her bathroom. She’d already prepared the bath with her bubble bath and essential oils. She loved using lavender and vanilla. There is a rack across her tub that she could place a book or even a drink on while enjoying her bath. The glow of the candles created a beautiful and relaxing environment.

Aaliyah listened to her Neo Soul playlist while reclining her head back and resting her eyes. She had her timer set for thirty minutes, making sure she didn’t fall asleep in her tub for longer than that like she’d done many times before. Her head went limp on its side, the tiredness of her body finally succumbing to sleep. As she slept, the eyes of her Professor appeared.

Intense. His gaze is intense.

It’s also attentive. By now, she was sure he’d memorized every subtle detail of her face. Images from earlier appeared. She took note of the way he leaned in towards her, like he wanted to smell her perfume. Juicy Rose, Black Cherry Liquor, Moss Accord. He wanted to be swept up in it. The tops of her breasts peeking through the soapy surface moved up and down with her sleeping breath.

For a while, Aaliyah caught on to the Professor checking her out. It wasn’t obvious to her at first, but she caught on to how he would position himself directly in front of his desk, exactly within her line of vision. If he focused forward, she would meet his gaze straight away. He made it a point to allow those striking eyes to linger on her for a beat longer. She’d walk out of that classroom on Wednesdays and Fridays knowing he was watching her. She’d caught him staring at her ass through the reflective glass of the lecture hall door.

She honestly hadn’t expected him to approach her. For a while, he’d just admired from afar. Most men do. The boldest a man ever got with Aaliyah was when she’d worked at Crazy Horse. Plenty of men there would ask her out. She’d even received flowers and gifts. At one point she had a stalker. Professor Richmond; Terry was different. She’d read many smutty stories about forbidden flings with a Professor. She’d save her fantasies for that.

Ding Ding Ding

Aaliyah’s eyes snapped open and with a long yawn she stopped the timer on her phone. She reached out for her mug and gulped down the warm tea. It should help put her to sleep. After bathing, she did all her necessary nightly routines before slipping on an oversized T-shirt that dangled from one shoulder. Aaliyah put on YouTube for background noise while opening her laptop to finish editing. Her eyes took note of the time.

11:30 pm.

She pushed her laptop forward and positioned herself onto her stomach, moving her hips from side to side and absentmindedly swinging her legs. Why couldn’t she shake the Professor from her mind?

Sent!

One assignment down, more to go.

Curiosity got the best of her. She started doing some digging. Aaliyah took to social media to find him. It wasn’t hard. She studied his LinkedIn.

PhD in Psychology. Fluent in French. Ex Marine.

From her place in class, he appeared shorter. Today however, when he walked up to her, he was massive. The same smirk he held in the picture she was currently staring at is the same he gave her before taking a seat.

Her body hummed with desire. This man is FIONE.

It wasn’t just the eyes. His entire face was just…

Aaliyah went down a rabbit hole of stalking. She found his Facebook and his Instagram both accounts were private, and she wasn’t about to follow him. That was a big no–no. This man could be hiding a wife. He could have kids. He could be crazy. All three of which she experienced with previous men. Aaliyah stopped herself before she could even go further.

But those lips…his voice…that body…

She wanted to see it…

Buzz Buzz

“Keisha…shit.”

Keisha: 👀👀

Fuck it. She already had her mind made up earlier. If she could leave that gig tomorrow night with two grand or more…she wasn’t going to pass up on that.

Aaliyah: I’m in 😈

Now, it was just a matter of figuring out what she was going to wear.

——

“Why is it so cold out here…”

Aaliyah followed closely behind Keisha inside of the Fire Station. She could hear the distant voices of the riled up men below. They entered a locker room, the lingering smell of smoke wafting from uniforms that hung from compartments burning her nose. Aaliyah cast wary eyes around her, making sure it was safe to take off her black, body con dress.

Keisha didn’t waste time stripping down to her very revealing monokini. The thin straps failed to hide her wide, brown areolas. That ass was rotund and sitting up like a shelf. You could sit a cup on that ass. Keisha wore her hair in two space buns with bangs. Her deep brown skin shimmered with gold–tinted body glow. The eight–inch heels on her feet made her six feet tall.

“They’re already in rare form and we ain’t even get started yet.” Keisha spoke with excitement.

“How many we expecting?” Aaliyah asked.

“About twenty. Why? You nervous?”

“No. I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

Aaliyah slipped out of her dress, the Wonder Woman two–piece she wore making her look edible. She wore gold six–inch pleasure heels to match. The low ambience of the locker room made the glitter on her skin stand out. She did a slow turn, Keisha nodding her head in approval.

“Looking real good. They’re gonna love you. Tip you off real good, bitch.”

“They better,” Aaliyah flashed Keisha a lustrous smile, “When do we go?”

Petey Pablo Freek–A–Leek started playing. The deep base of the southern banger from the early 00s vibrated the floors. Aaliyah locked eyes with Keisha.

“That’s our queue. You ready?”

Aaliyah flipped her hair over her shoulders and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Let’s do this shit.”

“Well already then…”

Keisha slipped past Aaliyah to lead the way, popping her on the ass for good measure. Something they did often back at Crazy Horse before working the floor and the pole. It was a way of saying, ‘break a leg’.

Aaliyah strutted towards a set of red spiral stairs. She allowed the music to flood her mind, putting her in the proper head space. She could do this. She’d done this many times before. A wolf whistle from a firefighter below gave her stomach a little flutter.

“Wooooweeeee!”

“Dayum! This what we got tonight, boys?!”

“Keisha!”

Keisha worked her way down the spiral staircase. She held a big smile on her face, teasing the men with a wink and a bounce of her big titties. They cheered and didn’t waste time throwing cash.

“Take your time wit’ it motherfucka’s we got all night!”

She looked up at Aaliyah and elevated a brow, her way of saying, Bitch! Let’s get to it!

Aaliyah shook off her nerves and descended the staircase, another massive uproar filling the room.

“Holy shit…”

“Fuck! She’s a baddie!”

“Look at that ass…”

“Hey, baby!”

Aaliyah scanned the room full of rowdy men pumped with testosterone and arousal. They each wore Baton Rouge Fire Emblems across their navy blue t-shirts. Black and white men. She could smell beer and liquor in the air with a hint of cigarette smoke. She noticed parked fire trucks and two gold poles. The poles they used to swing down during an emergency.

She worked her charm, flicking her jeweled tongue and biting her lip.

“Hi, boys…”

The seductive power she possessed put them all in a trance. The sound of heels against the concrete floor added to the desire. She moved around the men with confidence, eyeing them up and down while touching her body, focusing on her assets that earned her cash.

“Big fine woman…”

She looked up into the eyes of a carob–skinned man with a burly body. He looked like those men from the Jabari Tribe in Black Panther.

Aaliyah took advantage of that, arching her back and bouncing her ass on his crotch. Shouts and grunts filled the room.

“Damn…look at that pussy from the back…look at the way it’s sitting…”

“You like the way this pussy look, huh, baby?”

Aaliyah folded herself forward, trailing a finger over her covered pussy through her bikini bottom. A hefty chunk of cash smacked against her cheeks before raining down on her from above. She took it up a notch, grabbing her ankles and making that ass move from left to right.

Keisha was already on the pole, the straps to her monokini down and her titties bared for them all to see. Aaliyah felt a few bills being slipped into her blinki, and she looked back at the man that did it with low, wanton eyes.

“Gorgeous baby…what they call you?”

“Liyah Allure…”

“I want you.”

“You know to pay for what you want, right?”

Aaliyah flashed her titties before covering herself back up. That had them losing their damn minds. She slithered her way towards the second pole. It wasn’t exactly the pole she remembered, but it would do for this occasion. She did a back hook spin into a fireman spin. Some Three Six Mafia song started playing and Aaliyah went harder.

Green cascaded over her body while she popped ass and showed out. She locked eyes with Keisha, the exhilaration flowing between them like electricity.

Aerial Invert

Fan Kick

Drop Into A Split.

Aaliyah pulled out all her tricks and worked up a sweat. After doing her thing on the pole, she gave personal lap dances and even entertained face sitting on a timid firefighter while he was on his back. She crouched down over his face and started bouncing over him like she was riding a dick. She laughed and her eyes noticed a large wet spot in the front of his pants.

This man came on himself.

“I can smell her pussy! So good!” He shouted weakly.

Aaliyah missed the thrill.

They wouldn’t stop giving her money.

“Can I smell your perfume?”

*Tip*

“Show me those perfect, brown titties.”

*Tip*

“Put my face in it!”

*Tip*

They worked that room for two hours and then called it a night. After getting dressed, Aaliyah pinned up her sweated–out tresses and secured her bag. She’d just finished rubber banning the last of her money she’d split with Keisha. Keisha dropped her off, both of them cracking up and doubling over with laughter in her Hellcat.

“Bitch! That was so much damn fun!” Aaliyah said.

“I told you! This is where it’s at, girl. They loved you. I knew they would love you.”

“It felt so good being on the pole again.” Aaliyah smiled.

“Make sure you count that cash and let me know how much you made tonight. Until next time?”

Keisha wagged her brows at Aaliyah playfully. She giggled at her friend, opening her door to leave.

“When is next time?”

Keisha grinned.

“Next week. I got a bachelor party lined up. A fine ass groom. I got Diamond and Precious coming too. That’s gonna be wild…all black men…so you know…”

Keisha twirled a bottle of water in her lap to mimick a well–hung dick. Aaliyah threw her head back and laughed hard.

“Bitch! I’m not playing with you.” Aaliyah spoke between giggles.

“You down? We both know you want to…might as well say yes.”

“FUCK. YES. I’m in there. You picking me up?”

“Yeah I gotchu, Li–Li. Listen, we can’t be late for this, okay? You gotta be ready by eight. No later.”

“Okay. I’ll be in my best and ready to shake ass. I promise.”

Keisha pulled Aaliyah into a tight embrace and watched her enter her home before pulling off.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[noirandchocolate]

RICE Alzheimer's Research Institute

Terry died on 12 March 2015, having given his PCA a run for its money.  Open about his diagnosis, he has helped to unlock the secrecy and stigma that often surrounds dementia.  His legion of fans is undoubtedly grateful that despite the inevitable progression of the PCA he was able to fight his ‘embuggerance’ and continue to produce a number of both well-received and well-reviewed books.  Terry was also a great example to me in emphasizing how important it is that, in caring for people with any type of dementia, we always look for what people with a condition like PCA can still do, rather than what they can’t: by maximizing what is possible, a person can still live well with dementia for a significant time.

–Professor Roy Jones, Director of RICE (taken from “Terry Pratchett: His World”)

I wanted to post something for the Glorious 25th about the Research Institute for the Care of Older People (RICE) in Bath, where Sir Terry Pratchett received treatment for Post-Cortical Atrophy, the type of Alzheimer’s disease that eventually took his life. From the organization’s website:

RICE established one of the first memory clinic services in the UK in 1987 – a service which has since been widely replicated and is now considered standard and best practice by the NHS. In fact, RICE now runs the NHS Memory Clinic in Bath and North East Somerset on behalf of the local clinical commissioning group and local authority through a sub-contract with HCRG Care Group. To date, we’ve assessed, diagnosed, treated and advised 12,000 people with memory problems and their families in our memory clinic. 

Most of RICE’s clinical services and research activities take place in our own purpose built, specialist centre located on the Royal United Hospital site. The building of the RICE Centre was possible as a result of generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations, and members of the public. RICE moved into the ground and first floor of the centre in 2008. Following the success of the DementiaPlus Appeal and further generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations and members of the public, RICE converted the attic floor in 2019 to create more office space. This has given us access to much needed additional rooms and offices which will enable us to grow and run more services and activities. We’ve worked hard to ensure that the areas of the centre visited by our patients meets their needs and we regularly receive feedback on how much our patients enjoy their visit to our centre.

RICE not only provides clinical services to patients, but also conducts research into aging and dementia, including performing clinical trials for new drug treatments for memory-related diseases and developing other “techniques for diagnosing, managing, treating and understanding dementia and memory changes in older adults.”

Lady Lyn Pratchett is the patron of the organization, and the website includes a page about how people can donate funds or volunteer at the clinic and participate in fundraising events.

SO, if you’d like to help fund Alzheimer’s research on this Glorious 25th of May–or at any time–in honor of the Man in the Hat, take a look!

[adarkrainbow]

You might have noticed my posts have recently been centered around a same specific... wave? Circle? I don't know how to call this exactly, and I am not an expert of it all...

But there is this wave of authors and editors, a sort of loose group focusing on retelling, rewriting and twisting fairytales and folktales for a modern, adult audience, and that had their era from the 70s to the 90s. Angela Carter, Terri Windling and Tanith Lee, and all the others that came along (Jane Yolen, Charles de Lint, Neil Gaiman, Robin McKinley, Steven Brust)...

And what is truly fascinating, at least for me, is that this is where the thing we call today the "Grimmification" seems to come from. (At least within the English-speaking world)

Today the process of "Grmmification" (as TV Tropes named it) has earned a certain reputation for being a cheap and gratuitous way of offering in a superficial way an edgy, pseudo-anti-conformism, with just a desire to oppose Disney and not true appreciation and care for the original fairytales. You know, a reputation that was gathered by big blockbusters like "Snow White and the Huntsman" or "Hansel and Gretel Witch Hunters", or by B-horror movies (the Asylum's fairytale horrors), or by massive pin-up comic publications (Grimm Fairy Tales)... Of course there's a lot of "grimmified" pieces that nuance this a lot by showing a lot of poetry, beauty and art in their harshness, trauma and gore (Pan's Labyrinth, Changeling the Lost) or by just being embraced by the Internet (Gretel and Hansel, Neverafter, The Grimm Variations). But still, you know what I am talking about. We are in an era re-embracing the romance, the humor and the epic within fairytales, a time of re-evaluating positively classic Disney movies and other childhood productions, a much more colorful, optimistic, un-edgy time compared to the boom of dark, edgy, "grimmification" of the 2000s and 2010s. Ended is the generation of McFarlane's Twisted Fairy Tales or of DeviantArt's Twisted Disney Princesses (sorry I forgot who the creator of this series was).

And so, in front of the... I'll say "soft backlash" against the Grimmification process, it is quite fascinating for me to see that the root of this unofficial movement, or the first modern manifestation of this "phenomenon" was the previously described wave/circle of authors. This women-driven wave of authors (Carter, Lee, Windling and Datlow clearly led the dance) who were the first to truly bring all of what we associate with "Grimmification" (making things darker, more violent, the tales more frightening or bloody, bringing Gothic horror or harsh realism to fairytales, sliding in more sexuality and eroticism, openly standing in opposition and rejection of Disney's pop culture version of fairytales)... But out of a movement that...

... stood up for the perpetuation of the art of fairytales ("modern fairytales")

... defended feminist principles (putting the female characters at the heart of the story, highlighting the trauma they had to go through, deconstructing harmful fairytale stereotypes and cliches for women)

... embraced the idea of fairytale as a product for adults (they were the leaders of complexifying and deepening fairytales into a true "fairytale fantasy")

... stood up with queerness (part of the eroticism and sexuality of these tales was also to include lesbianism, homosexuality and a much more open and honest look at sexuality)

... and encouraged research and exploration of the history of fairytales (exploration of Perrault's text versus Disney ; presentation of the alternate versions and uncensored versions of the Grimm's stories) and of other cultural folktales than those traditionally known (exploration of Asian, Russian, African tales...).

And all of these things, that are still thinks people are looking for today in fairytale retellings, came hand in hand with the blood and the gore, the vile and the rape, the dark and the disturbing. The "Grimmification".

I am not at all an expert on this time era or those publications, mind you - I am just beginning to dig into all this, and I speak from the point of view of a casual enjoyer and a researcher of "vintage" books and half-forgotten fictions. I am here doing broad generalizations and I might be dead wrong. But it is just the feeling I got - that the "Grimmification" process took root within these things... Somewhere in the dark psycho-sexual and folk-horror Gothic of the 70s, was the beginning of our modern "Grimmification".

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Tequila Temptations | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

warnings: smut (18+), power dynamics, oral (m+f receiving), teasing, light choking, overstimulation, squirting } lmk if you think i missed anything else !

summary: in a fiery clash of power and desire, they engage in a competitive battle of dominance and submission; a game no-one can win.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: ngl i kinda hate this one 😭 but take a shot for every time i wrote 'tequila' (yes the title and a/n are included) 🤭

They should have never been friends—never even been in the same circle. She didn’t know how the hell he got along with the people she loved, and Terry was convinced she was merely tolerated, not liked. Every group outing, every game night, every holiday trip—it was a cycle. They bickered. They argued. They ruined the vibe just enough for someone to sigh and say, “Can you two behave for once?”

She thought he was self-absorbed, cocky, arrogant as hell. He thought she was stuck-up, too chipper, fake as fuck. And yet—somehow—they always ended up in the same damn rooms, at the same damn events, circling each other like two predators who hadn’t decided who was prey yet.

Tonight was no different.

Terry’s place. A small gathering—good music, good drinks, a little too much tequila. The group thinned out as the night stretched on. Before long, it was just the two of them.

She could have left. Should have left. But there was something smug in the way he leaned against the counter, glass in hand, watching her like he had already won something she hadn’t figured out yet.

Terry took a slow sip of tequila, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know, you could go. But there’s still a lot of tequila left, and I’m not finishing it by myself.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “So?”

His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather get home early than stoop as low as entertaining me, your greatness.”

She knew it was a trap. She should have just rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and left. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Little-known fact,” she said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Tequila, aka the Devil’s Juice, will land me in one of three places.” Her voice dropped just enough to make him pay attention. “On top of someone, underneath them, or simply in jail.”

She leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

That was when Terry knew.

Knew he was about to test fate. Knew they were both about to cross a line they’d never be able to uncross. And he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He poured another shot, licking his lips as he met her gaze. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The tequila burned warm in her throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat crackling between them.

She sat opposite Terry, legs crossed, back straight, one arm draped over the chair like she had all the time in the world. The rest of their friends were long gone, leaving behind empty glasses, a lingering rnb playlist, and the kind of silence that made every glance feel weighted.

He rolled the dice between his fingers, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Dare.”

Terry leaned back, slow, deliberate, gaze flicking from her lips to her throat before settling on her eyes. “Take a shot without using your hands.”

A soft scoff left her lips, but she reached for the lime wedge, dragging it between her teeth before knocking the shot back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down. She didn’t break eye contact, even as she sucked the juice from the lime, tongue flicking against the rind just to make a point.

Terry’s smirk didn’t falter, but something darkened in his gaze.

Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said easily, licking the salt from his thumb.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Who’s the best you’ve had?”

Terry’s smirk twitched, just barely, but she caught it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice dropping lower. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her nails tapped against the glass, watching him over the rim. “You don’t have an answer or you don’t want to say it out loud?”

His chuckle was quiet, almost amused. “Cute. You think you’d make the list?”

She didn’t blink. “I think I’d top it.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, so thick it nearly swallowed the air in the room.

Terry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he poured them both another round. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who still has all their clothes on.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?”

He slid a deck of cards across the table. “It’s my way of saying you won’t win a single round.”

They played. Each hand was a battle, not just against the cards, but against the tension threading tighter between them. He lost first, dragging his shirt over his head like it was nothing. She refused to look—refused to give him the satisfaction—but when he sat back, flexing like it was second nature, she felt the tequila settle deep in her stomach.

Then she lost.

Terry drummed his fingers on the table, watching as she peeled off her sweater, revealing smooth, bare shoulders and the strap of a lace-trimmed bralette. His eyes dragged over her like he was committing her to memory.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. “Something wrong?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted. “You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The air between them was electric, pulsing with something that wasn’t quite hostility anymore.

Terry leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice smooth as sin. “If I win the next round, you do whatever I say.”

She mirrored his movement, their faces a breath apart. “And if I win?”

His gaze flicked to her lips before dragging back up. “Then I do whatever you say.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”

He poured another shot, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of tequila before he spoke.

“You'll love it, trust me"

The next hand played out in slow motion.

She had him cornered—a queen of hearts against his king of spades, her victory sealed before he even flipped his card. He let out a low hum, jaw flexing, before exhaling through his nose.

She tapped the table, smug. “Looks like you’re all mine.”

Terry’s gaze flicked up, slow and heavy. “That so?”

She nodded, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “And since I won, you have to do whatever I say.”

He licked his lips, the remnants of salt and tequila making his tongue drag slow. “What’s it gonna be?”

She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Maybe she expected him to call it quits, maybe she thought she’d be the one to break first, but the way he was looking at her—like he was already three moves ahead, waiting for her to catch up—had her pulse kicking up a notch.

A slow smirk lifted her lips. “Take another shot.”

Terry arched a brow but reached for the bottle anyway. He poured, the liquid sloshing slightly, before tilting the glass back. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed, the heat in her stomach curling tighter.

His glass hit the table with a soft clink. “That it?”

She rolled her eyes. “For now.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing. “Scared?”

That did it.

She slid her chair back, moving around the table until she stood in front of him. He watched her, amused, eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the strap of her bralette slipping slightly. She leaned down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, caging him in.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Bold move, sweetheart.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she murmured, head tilting.

Terry’s fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. “You tell me.”

She leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost against his lips.

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her waist as he pulled her down—onto his lap, against his chest, into him. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could think, before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was messy, reckless, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once. His lips were hot and insistent, his grip firm as he held her in place. She wasn’t passive—never that—fingernails digging into his shoulders, pressing closer, daring him to give in completely.

Terry groaned, low and deep, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her head just so, before deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping past her lips in a way that made her stomach tighten.

She hated him. She hated him.

So why was she still kissing him like she never wanted to stop?

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “Admit it.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “Admit what?”

His grip tightened. “That you want this.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, lips still wet from his. “Not if my life depended on it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his fingers brushing over her thigh, warm and possessive. “Liar.”

She exhaled sharply, but before she could form a retort, his lips were on hers again, stealing the words right from her mouth.

And this time?

She didn’t stop him.

The aftermath of the kiss left an electric hum in the air, their lips barely parted, still tasting each other like the heat was a living thing between them. But this wasn’t just about the kiss. It wasn’t just about the brief collision of mouths, the hard press of bodies that came before. No, this was the point of no return. Their breaths came fast, erratic, as if they both realized in the same instant what they were about to do.

There wasn’t time for careful calculations. There wasn’t room to weigh the consequences, not when every nerve in their bodies was set alight by the undeniable pull of temptation. Terry’s hands, rough and demanding, slid down her back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, steadying her against him. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, and when his lips grazed the sensitive spot on her neck, a soft moan escaped her throat—one that she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

It was all moving too fast, but neither of them cared anymore. They were already on the edge.

Terry’s hands, large and possessive, slid behind her back, undoing the bralette and pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving her exposed to him. He took a moment to study her, eyes dark with lust, before his fingers traced the curve of her ribs, dragging his touch down to her hips. “You really think you can control this, huh?” His voice was low, husky with barely contained desire.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Maybe I don’t want to control it,” she shot back, smirking, her fingers working the button of his pants with practiced ease. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can last.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound almost menacing. “Sweetheart, I’ve been handling you this whole time.” His lips pressed against hers again, urgent, demanding. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasantries now. There was no civility, no holding back. His mouth was a declaration, a promise—I will have you, no matter what it takes.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, smirking at the frustration that flickered across her face. “Let’s see if you can walk,” he challenged, voice dripping with arrogance.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not the one who needs to be carried.”

Before she could react, Terry’s hands were on her again, this time lifting her off her feet effortlessly, his grip firm around her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he made his way to the stairs. The tension between them thickened, both of them trying to outdo the other, but neither willing to break.

She kissed his neck, biting it lightly as he carried her up the stairs, her breath hot and unsteady. “You’re not the only one who’s in control,” she teased, but the words were heavy with lust, her hips grinding into him in an instinctive act of defiance.

Terry’s hand tightened around her waist, and he pushed her gently against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips crashing into hers again with the force of a storm. His hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, demanding. And still, they both played the game, each trying to push the other into submission.

The couch—where it all started—was forgotten now. They were past the point of no return. No more teasing, no more games. He flipped her onto the bed with such precision that it was clear he knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, it wasn’t her fighting for control.

It was him.

Her back hit the mattress with a satisfying thud, but she didn’t lie still for long. She tugged at his beltloops, drawing him closer, her nails raking down his body, marking him as her own. The electricity between them crackled, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You really think you’re in charge here?” she challenged again, her voice breathless, desperate to break him.

He smirked, hovering above her, his breath heavy on her skin. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, before leaning down to claim her mouth again.

The control—the teasing, the simmering heat—they both fought for it, one pushing the other further into the depths of desire until neither of them could hold on any longer. Terry’s mouth trailed down her neck, his hands tearing at her remaining clothes with an intensity that matched the desperation in her own touch. She moaned, but it was a challenge, a dare for him to do more.

And so, he did.

His fingers slid between her legs, pushing her further into the bed as he tested the waters, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him, her body a wreck of frustration and need. “You want me to break, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing against her with just enough pressure to make her want more.

“I want you to try,” she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

She took control next, leaning over and wrapping her lips around him, giving him no room to breathe as she sucked with relentless precision. He gripped her hair, groaning at the sheer effort she was putting into it. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t done yet.

Even as Terry’s body trembled beneath her, she didn’t stop. She kept sucking, savouring the feeling of him twitching in her mouth, fully aware that he was drained but too prideful to pull her away. The whimper that escaped him was drowned by her steady movements, her lips drawing him closer, until the overwhelming sensation forced a breathless moan from him.

“Terry,” she murmured, licking her lips, “You really think you’ve won?”

But instead of answering, his hands found their way into her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. The smirk on his face was one of both satisfaction and challenge. “You may think you have control, sweetheart... but not for long.”

Now it was her turn. She was already gasping, her body betraying her as his mouth descended on her, devouring her with the same brutal hunger she’d just shown him.

She tried to hold it back, to control the inevitable release, but it was useless. His tongue, his lips, his hands—they had her shaking with pleasure, unable to stop the wave of her orgasm as it crashed over her. She bit her lip, struggling to keep quiet, but the obscene sound of her wetness, the gush of her squirt, only seemed to drive him harder.

“Go on, then,” he coaxed in a low, teasing tone. “Say it.”

Her legs trembled, her body on the edge of climax, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him know just how badly she needed him, not yet. But the words that slipped from her lips—raw and unfiltered—were nothing but lies. “You’d have to fuck me better,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, already surrendering to the storm building within her.

Terry flipped her over once more, making sure she was pinned beneath him, before he drove into her again, claiming her completely. She had no choice but to take it, her body a mere vessel for his pleasure and power.

She would never forget this. Neither of them would.

Terry’s grip on her tightened in response, his hands running down her body as he thrust deeper, more desperate, trying to push her past her breaking point. He knew she wasn’t ready to admit she was losing—he wasn’t ready to either. But everything was becoming harder to deny. The way they both moved, the way they fought for control—it was all leading them to the same conclusion.

But then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she pushed further. “That all you got?” she taunted, voice dripping with defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Terry froze for a moment, chest rising and falling as he took in her words. She was playing with fire, pushing him with that fucking smirk of hers. “You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” he growled, his jaw clenching. He was about to give her what she wanted—only, this time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“I’ve made myself come harder than this,” she threw out, casual as ever, eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

His breath caught in his throat. A fire ignited in him, something darker, possessive, and raw. “From who, huh?” he rasped, his tone dangerously calm as he leaned over her, locking her in place.

She tilted her head, smirking, maybe unaware of the danger she’d unlocked. “Or from other guys.” The words slipped out like nothing, too easy, but the second they left her mouth, she could feel the shift.

Terry’s eyes darkened. His fingers closed around her throat, not in a gentle way, but firm, enough to remind her who had the power now. “Other guys, huh?” His voice was low, threaded with menace. “Bet they didn’t fuck you like this.”

And before she could respond, his hands were on her again, dragging another orgasm out of her, harder, deeper, relentless. She gasped, trying to hold on to some shred of control, but he wasn’t giving her any space to breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening as he pinned her against the bed. “Tell me who fucks you better.”

Her body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, her entire being in the grip of his power. She tried to fight it, to hold back the admission, but the words spilled from her anyway, a whisper of surrender. “You,” she gasped, breathless, barely able to get the words out. “You fuck me better.”

Terry smirked, the victory written all over his face. He wasn’t done yet, though. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, driving into her again, hard and fast, forcing her to take it, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

The rest of her words died in her throat, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed to the edge until she had nothing left to give. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her off easy. They were both drowning in the competition of who would break first, but by now, she knew—it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

And Terry? He would make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

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[hotvintagepoll]

Vintage movie recommendations for getting through these dark times? 🙏 Looking specifically for anything joyous, especially if it's queer/progressive for its time. Thanks!!

ooh ok! that's a big ask, because queer/progressive doesn't always show in the ways we expect in older movies. still, joyous i can do, and as poly as I can I'll try for:

the talk of the town (you knew i would say this). jean arthur, cary grant, ronald colman are all tangled up in all sorts of ways, legally but also including in each other's pajamas. it's free on youtube and tubi last time i checked!

singin' in the rain (you also knew i would say this). cosmo brown, weird little third wheeling queerplatonic ideal that you are. gene kelly, debbie reynolds, and donald o'connor have fire chemistry and all three of their characters love the other ones so truly and with such joy they break all of hollywood with the power of song. (it is gorgeous and sublime that the story is built so only these three ever actually engage with the musical format—the format that is, in universe, the way of the future—structurally equating music and musicals with love. no one else gets a song or a villain number or a little ditty that's not a literal musical number. only these three break the story and heal it at the same time.)

the adventures of robin hood—i swear to god will scarlett is good for nothing else besides being robin's hot little friend. will alone makes this movie queer for me. also, watching a movie about a socialist uprising against a cruel and unjust government sure feels apt! for no particular reason! (this one is also on tubi.)

the philadelphia story—jimmy katharine and cary are absolutely a threesome in this movie and it's a crime they didn't just make more of this movie, again and again, forever. is there a plot? they're all by a swimming pool, it's hot, there's champagne. what else do you need for a film. oh yeah there's some discussion of autonomy and women's rights and wealth and class and marriage, some of which i disagree with, but i think mostly it's katharine hepburn in an evening gown and jimmy stewart in a white terry cloth robe and cary grant standing there not minding in the least. (content warning: there is one instance of a racial slur [not directed at anyone but still there], and one shove. also on tubi.)

the lady vanishes—i love this movie, so much, couldn't tell you why (i can: michael redgrave is here being hot). there are two bit characters who read as queer coded (they are also obsessed with cricket and are mocked for being english by the narrative, which is nice), and there's a weird plucky joy in michael redgrave's performance that feels like a departure from your usual Solid Very Serious Male Heroic Main Character. this movie does trend mildly xenophobic in a very England-in-the-30s type of way—there are shady "foreign" characters and other batshit stereotypes—but nothing I think that would cause direct offense. (let me know if I'm wrong on this though and I'll tag accordingly). this one is free anywhere and can be watched on youtube.

the wizard of oz—i know you've probably seen this before but it's worth seeing again. yes you're allowed to cry at the end i always do