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abbynx · 3 years ago

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La Squadra Housemate, College AU Part 1

Genre: Platonic

This has been in my drafts in like... forever and i got sick staring at it. Enjoy the culmination of my delirium induced by sleep depravity!

It was one of those days again. The empty feeling settling between your chest, as you resume to your daily activities, head on autopilot because that's just how repetitive your days were, just slaving away in your desk, be faced with things to do such as the essays, the math equations, essay analysis... The lessons and lectures were different everyday, and yet all the same. You didn't even cared to take a break anymore, knowing full-well of the works which awaits you so why delay it? It's not like your homemade snack will make you feel any better.

Another term paper finished, time to pass it tomorrow and have the professor tear it in front of you just in case you had a minimal typographical error, before you resort to picking it up to see where the hell did you go wrong. It ached the first time, but as time goes by, you just simply move on and comply, hurting inside but what's the point of getting it all out? A waste time, that is. You've been over it and quite frankly, it was getting so excessively pointless.

Setting the paper aside, you went to get a hold of another one of the work next in line with a sigh. Exhaustion lingers on with the emptiness within, powered by forced determination to finish everything within your plate and burn yourself out in the process. I mean, isn't this the way to success all of them have been saying? If you resume to do this and go through the route of life, then you'd end up walking everywhere with an IV tube up your arm.

There was a knock at the door you didn't hear and acknowledged, until the person from the other side of the door lets himself in.

"Hey Y/N, I said Illuso made some overcooked crap downstairs. Get your ass down and take a break." Sorbet would usually leave upon relaying the message in mind, but he remained standing by the doorway anticipating for your response, an acknowledging nod would be enough to send him on his way but your unresponsiveness prevailed.

"Y/N! How many times do we have to call you, huh?! Get your ass down or we'll eat without you!!!" Ghiaccio's shrill voice boomed from downstairs, prompting Sorbet to wince and lift a finger up to his ear to plug it up.

"Go ahead, I'll catch up later." Your recent attitude alone has gotten all of your housemates concerned but they let you be because days like these were inevitable amidst the hectic days in university, but it's been weeks since you let your works take a hold of your reigns.

"Oh no, you don't. you're not sneaking in the kitchen at three in the morning to eat cold pasta. Come on now, take a break for once." Sorbet approached you, hand on your shoulder. "It's been weeks since you took your sights off those damns books. Just eat, okay?"

"I don't know, Sorb's... I have things to do and get done-- you know that, right--?"

"I know and it's tiring. Come now, just take a break for a moment. I promise you'll feel better."

For a moment you contemplated and reconsidered rejecting his offer, seeing his point but you were in dire need to be responsive with your work. You took a deep heave of breathe, lifting your palm up to cup your forehead, thumb brushing over your temple pulsing with headache you've yet to soothe. He's right, you haven't eaten anything at the duration of the day, as you've barely left your study desk in your room.

"Okay. Just wait a moment, I'll be there--" Sorbet interjects sharply by pulling you by the wrist before you can touch anything on your desk, knowing full-well you wouldn't leave it alone unless someone were to physically drag you off it.

"Ah Y/N, good to see you out of your cave." Proscuitto remarks with slight scrutiny, setting a plate on your usual spot on the dinner table.

"What's taking you too long anyways? Are you--" Formaggio positions his hand above his crotch, making a jerking off motion, which warrants him a smack from Sorbet.

"They were studying, you perv." The dark haired housemate narrows his glare at Formaggio as he seats himself on his usual spot, beside his boyfriend Gelato.

"Says the one who got caught jacking it off in the hallway." Illuso scoffs, leaning his back against his chair.

"Oh yeah?" Formaggio challenges, leaning on the dinner table, clenching on his fork. Before anything can escalate, Risotto clears his throat.

A small laugh slips from your lips as you pulled yourself a seat between Ghiaccio and Melone. For a moment you forgot about the paperwork waiting for you back in your room, but it can wait. It's not like they'll leave. Sorbet was right, a quick break or two will make you feel better.

~0~

Sorbet bit his lip to fight his anxiety back, his clammy hand hidden at the depths of his shallow pocket to feel around its content whilst Formaggio starts the game. Here's to hoping nothing too terrible happen.

"I'm passing this phone to someone with the shortest temper." Formaggio bites his bottom lip in front of his front camera, rubbing his chin before passing the phone to Ghiaccio.

The cerulean blue haired narrows his gaze at the phone owner, before recording himself. "I'm passing this phone to someone who's too obsessed with themselves."

Illuso raises his brow at the current phone holder, a hand instinctively landing atop his chest, before he gets ahold of the phone and pressed record once again, "First of all, I'm not obsessed with myself and second, I'm passing this phone to someone who planted a fake positive pregnancy test in the bathroom for fun."

"It was for scientific purposes!" Melone exclaims, before claiming the phone. "I'm passing this phone to someone who dropped their cookie but instead of throwing it out, gave it to me and watched me eat it." The lilac head playfully tosses the phone back to its owner, in which he catches it just in time it hits the wall.

"Pfft, it's your fault you fell for it." Formaggio cackles. "I'm passing this phone to someone who belted out G10 in the shower when the lights blacked out."

"You're never gonna let me live that down, aren’t you?" Pesci reaches for the phone with red in his cheeks. "I will be passing the phone to someone who's the sanest in this household—"

"BOOO! BORING!"

"Oh shut it," Sorbet smacks Formaggio, before collecting the phone from Pesci's grasp. "I'm passing this phone to someone who thinks pineapple on pizza is superior." He rolls his eyes, before passing it to his boyfriend.

"Um, sir— it does taste great! You're lucky you're cute, otherwise I would've torn you apart." Gelato snatches the phone from his boyfriend before focusing on the camera. "I'm passing the phone to someone who doesn't know how to cross the road because they're scared."

"Ugh, rude!" You took the phone from the blond with a roll of your eyes. "I'm passing the phone to someone who left me on the other side of the busy highway to cross a busy road."

"You were too slow, that's why. I'm passing the phone to someone who screamed at us for a solid minute, accusing that one of us stole his glasses whilst his glasses rested on his head." Risotto hands the phone to the person who has yet to receive the phone.

"I'm passing the phone to someone who burned the whole kitchen at three in the morning because they left to stove on to cook peanut butter because we ran out of peanut butter." Prosciutto hands you the phone.

"I'm passing the phone to someone who was petting and cooing at a pile of laundry thinking it was a cat." You glared at Prosciutto, before passing the phone to Formaggio.

"What? It was finals and I barely got any sleep!" He whines, before sighing. "I'm passing the phone to someone who has been passed around like this phone."

A choked gasp pried itself away from your throat as soon as he hands you the phone with a grin. "Well I'm passing the phone to someone who accused me for taking their red lacey thong but it turns out we own the same product."

"Wow, you're bold, I like you." Melone chuckles, before taking the phone. "I'm passing the phone to someone who was hungover during finals and managed to pass."

"Pretty impressive if I do say so myself." Sorbet smirks at his achievement, proudly reaching for the phone. "I'm passing this phone to someone who faked smoking at a party to impress a girl."

"Well I don't smoke! I don't like how it tastes!" Pesci insists. "I'm passing the phone to someone who got out of the house with his shirt inside out and backwards and didn't realise it until he was going home."

"I'm passing this phone to someone who cried when I pranked him with a fake electric razor." Melone smirks as he passes the phone to Illuso.

"I'm passing the phone to someone who's first instinct to nonchalantly say 'Nice' before going back to his business after receiving a nude pic from his then girlfriend." Ilusso gives the phone to Ghiaccio.

"I'm passing the phone to someone who doesn't pick their hair clumps in the bathroom after taking a bath, clogging the shower drain."

"Well, I'm passing the phone to someone who screamed at the professor after he said Venice."

"I'M PASSING THE PHONE WHO THINKS IT'S OKAY TO SAY VENICE INSTEAD OF VENEZIA!"

If it weren't for Illuso's quick response, the phone would've crashed against the wall and permanently putting it into a broken state. "Heh, okay then. I'm passing the phone to someone who has been with my man Gelato through thick and thin."

Sorbet gulps, his heart hammering in his chest as he reaches for the phone. His hand that has been hidden in his pocket since the very start of the game finally came out, with a small, black velvet box. Gelato glances at his longtime boyfriend, confused for a moment until the blond saw the little box resting within Sorbet's grasp. In shock, the blond's hands shot up to cover his lips and nose, his onyx gaze watering. Everyone in the room has their thoughts race rapidly with incoherent thoughts.

"I'm passing the phone to whom I want to marry and be with for the rest of my life, because without him I feel so empty and alone." Sorbet hands the phone to his longtime boyfriend, before taking a knee and opening the box. "Will you marry me?"

It would be a miracle Gelato would come to thank later as he didn't know he would still be able to respond despite being so deep in cloud nine. The entirety of the squad stood behind Sorbet at the edge of their seats, watching their carefully crafted plan unfold before them.

"Oh, yes. YES!" With the key word uttered, the once tensed room burst into excitement, jumping and screaming whilst the couple slipped on each others engagement rings before engulfing each other into a passionate embrace.

"WHOOO YEAH! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING 'BOUT!" Formaggio cheers amidst the screams of excitement.

"Oh you guys, c'mere!" Sorbet caught you and Risotto's necks, before pulled in for a hug. Soon the others joined in for a group hug, almost squeezing the couple in the middle but it was all so worth it.

#la squadra x reader #college au #platonic #housemates

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jiminniethemarshmallow · 5 years ago

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Ball of Stress (M)

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: smut, college AU

Word Count: 5,690

Warnings: Jimin watching porn, edging, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating

(A/N): Writing the warnings makes me feel dirtier than writing the actual smut lol. Finally got one of my several drafts complete, so you guys actually have new stuff to read (from me at least)!

Being a college student is stressful, despite it being the “best time” of many people’s lives. Keeping up with the school work, doing well in sports, attending clubs, and having a healthy social and party life are all things that students have to juggle, and Jimin knows the struggle all too well. You both are in your final year and it never really gets any easier, the pressure to graduate and transition into the world of adults almost crushing at this stage in your lives. But you have each other, keeping the both of you afloat, because surely you would sink and drown on your own.

The last few weeks have been hard on Jimin. His sports team is in peak season and practice has been running longer everyday it seems. The work load his professors dump on him doesn’t help and he feels like he’s falling farther and farther behind with every class. Not to mention the strain that’s put on his friendships and social life. He’s had to decline invitation after invitation to parties and group gatherings because of school work. His friends understand and they support him, but one thing that has been becoming unbearable for him is the lack of time he gets to spend with you. Your class and practice schedules don’t line up with his too well so you mostly only get to see each other at night, and even then you don’t talk that much because you’re both consumed with homework and projects. There’s no time for romance anymore, he barely gets the chance to touch you, and when things do start to heat up, you’re both too tired to do anything.

It’s been about 2 and a half weeks since you actually had the time and energy to hang out with Jimin and you vividly remember that last time the two of you got intimate. You had finally gotten the chance to attend your friend Hoseok’s party and you decided to get all dressed up for it, wearing the sexiest and most revealing outfit you could find, hoping to spark something within your boyfriend when he laid eyes on you. You expected him to get jealous from all the looks you were getting that night, but he didn’t— or at least you hadn’t noticed if he did— and instead he was all over you, whispering in your ear how sexy you look, how badly he wants you and exactly what he wants to do to you. When neither of you could take it anymore, you stumbled back to your home and barely made it through the door before your clothes were off, already mingled in a heated embrace. The bedroom seemed too far away in the moment so you both settled for the couch, making love on the love seat until your bodies gave out.

It feels like so long ago but you could never forget that night— in fact, it’s been all you can think about since. You remember the depth of every kiss, the tenderness of every touch as he took his time caressing your body, committing it to memory as if it would be his last time seeing it. You remember the hunger in his eyes once he was finished worshipping you, the softness switching to a predatory gaze that made it look like he wanted to devour you. And he did. There is no middle ground when it comes to you and Jimin in bed. You’re either making love or fucking. One or the other. Nothing in between. That night, although it might have started off soft, turned into one of the best fucks of your life, and Jimin agrees.

That night has been replaying in his head all day today, and no matter how hard he tries to focus, he can’t get the thought of you off of his mind. Today was rough, he practiced hard, stayed up all night studying for the exam he took today, and was just tired in general, but he finally made it home, stepping through the threshold of your shared off-campus house. Even though he knows you’re not home, he’s still a bit disappointed when he finds the house deserted. Your shoes weren’t in front of the door, your purse and bag weren’t laying in a heap on the kitchen counter, and the space around him was filled with unsettling silence. With a huff, Jimin kicks off his shoes and ventures deeper into your home, holding onto the small shred of hope that you somehow had come home before him and were currently in your bedroom waiting to welcome him.

But much to his dismay, your bedroom was empty. And loneliness crept into his heart.

You had once teased Jimin about his need for attention, laughed at how much he beamed at every compliment, constantly looking for approval, but you never once hesitate to feed into his desires for praise. That was your job as a loving girlfriend. But everyone else, however, is not his girlfriend and he knows that they won’t entertain his neediness unless he does something significant that shows he truly deserves it. Well, right now Jimin feels like he deserves some attention. As he walks through the room to your bed, he winces at his sore muscles and creaking joints, tired from the hours of practice he’s just gone through. This season he’s been working double time and playing harder than ever to be successful and lead his teammates like the great captain he is. It’s no wonder he’s so sore, his back must hurt from carrying his team the entire year. But it’s not like he’s frustrated by that fact, he takes pride in being the best player on his team, he just craves to be acknowledged, at the very least.

His coaches and teammates never congratulate him, never comment on how much harder he works than everyone else, and quite frankly, it’s starting to piss him off. You are the only person who ever feeds into his praise kink. You always know just what to say, reminding him that he’s amazing at what he does and that his team is lucky to have him. You are the only one who gets it. And as he falls face first onto your side of the bed, just the scent of you is enough to calm him down a little.

A small smile graces his lips when he remembers the time he plopped onto your side of the bed one day, only to encounter a hard mass instead of the plush surface of the mattress he was expecting.

“Ow! Jimin, you’re crushing me.” You had mumbled from beneath the sheets. He didn’t see you hidden under the cover of the dark room, taking a nap peacefully while waiting for him to return home. He remembers fondly how he showered you with kisses in apology, eventually finding your lips and ending your night in a sweaty mess between the sheets.

Fuck, he really needs you right now. Jimin feels a vein in his forehead throb from the headache that’s plagued him all week. Usually you would run your hands through his hair gently whenever he was in this condition, telling him random anecdotes about your day to take his mind off of the stress. He can’t help but wish you would just come home already.

Burying his face into your pillow, Jimin inhales deeply and his body automatically relaxes, but the relief is short lived because he reaches out for you only to find the cold, empty bedding surrounding him. By this point, your absence is becoming irritating and he can feel his patience running low and sense his frustration bulging against the crotch of his pants. Damn it. Sitting up from his spot, he tries to calm himself. Is he really getting hard right now? It’s shocking to him that just the thought and smell of you can make him this horny. But he can’t afford for that to happen, not when you’re not home. He stands slowly, making his way to his desk chair to sit in front of his laptop. Gaming should take his mind off of you for a while, right? It’s never failed him before.

Opening his laptop, Jimin browses through his games, but nothing captures his attention or interest at the moment, even when he sees that his friends Jungkook and Seokjin are online. After almost a half an hour of scrolling through social media, texting you, and trying to find anything to distract himself, Jimin gives up, and with his surrender emerges that tireless voice from the back of his mind that appears every time he is alone and bored. There’s only a moment’s hesitation on his part before he clicks the browser on his laptop and types, finding himself on the homepage of his favorite porn site. Thumbnails of erotic videos present themselves to him immediately, along with a section of recommended videos based on his search history, even though he hasn’t been here in a while. Through the selection of thousands of videos, nothing really appeals to him, a few catching his eye because of the actress’ resemblance to you, but the women were always with another man and he refused to even imagine you with anyone but him.

He’s even more frustrated now, dick half hard and waiting, but Jimin is far too picky to be satisfied with just any old video. Oh, here’s one! A blowjob with the faces cropped out, just a view of all the juicy action, and it’s enough to get him to grow a bit, so he accepts it, pants unzipped and circling his ankles by the time he clicks play, hand already tugging at his length and his dignity thrown into an empty drawer.

Today was a rough day. Back to back exams and strict professors were enough to put you in a mood, but your favorite food place on campus closing right before you reached its doors was what sent you over the edge. Plus the whiny texts you’d received from your boyfriend. Your needy boyfriend, who you’d promised cuddles and kisses as soon as you returned home. You told him that you were on your way back less than 10 minutes ago, but he hasn’t responded yet, something you don’t dwell on long as you rush to your home with the prickling need to shower, slip into your pajamas, and watch the next episode of the newest hit drama over your plate of leftovers.

What you don’t expect when you enter your home is to find it so quiet. You thought for sure that Jimin would be watching tv or making something for himself in the kitchen like usual. Whatever, maybe he’s taking a nap in your room. You take your sweet time in the kitchen, pulling out a container of the food you made a couple days ago, thinking a few minutes before throwing all of its contents onto a pan and stuffing it in the oven because you have a feeling Jimin hasn’t eaten yet, pulling out plates and utensils until you finally make your way toward the bedroom. Initially, the plan was to strip out of your clothes and throw on some sweats— your shower could wait until after you’ve eaten— but those plans come to a halt as soon as you open the door.

Your wide eyes adjust to the dimly lit room fairly quickly, the laptop sitting open on the desk illuminating your slightly sweaty boyfriend and his hand that pumps steadily at his cock. He’s bare from the waist down, his shirt tucked under his chin as he reclines to see the screen. You see the way he flexes his abs every time he twists around his head, bucking up a little, and God, you haven’t seen anything that hot in a long while.

He doesn’t notice you at first, focused intently on the woman deep-throating the man on screen until she drools down her chin, and you have the opportunity to creep forward, knowing he can’t hear you with his noise-cancelling gamer headphones coving his ears. You’re almost at his side when he shuts his eyes and lets out a groan, slowing his pace and biting his lip with an expression you would interpret as pained, squeezing himself with a huff before speeding up.

“(Y/n), please,” He almost whispers, and you start to understand the situation a little better. He can’t quite get himself over the edge, too tense and too eager to let go. Without thinking, you reach for him, your hand wrapping around his own delicately.

“Need help, baby?” Jimin almost leaps out of the chair, snapping his eyes to your face in a look of terror that makes you laugh. He relaxes when he realizes its you, though he is a bit embarrassed that you caught him.

“Babe, I-“

You hush him as you position yourself between his legs, taking over the movement of his hand until he lets go and sinks back into his seat. He moves his headphones to rest around his neck and reaches to stop the video, but you grab his arm before he can do so. “Leave it on.” You watch his throat bob, an excited look glazing his eyes as your tongue slithers out to lick the bead of liquid at his tip. Flicking over the slit a few times, you trace your tongue along the sides of him, loving how hot he feels.

You go straight to work once you sink down on him, starting halfway down his length and bobbing at the same pace his hand was moving earlier. Jimin moans immediately, eyes locked on you as you swallow more of his cock, one hand on what you can’t fit and the other lightly massaging his balls. His hands move to shift your hair away from your face, pulling it to the back of your head in a messy ponytail, and you pull off of him quickly to assist, using the hair tie around your wrist for his convenience. He can barely see you as you sit under the shadows of his desk, but you yank off your shirt anyway and toss it aside. What he can see is the suave grin plastered to your lips and the seductive look in your eyes when you grab him again.

“What’s the girl in the video doing? Guide me.” You can tell he’s almost forgotten about the video because of the way he snaps his head back up to the screen. His legs tense when you push him into your throat, his hands returning to your head to guide you up and down. You let him push you down a little farther, loving how his girth sets in your jaw uncomfortably and makes you drool down your lips and chin.

Jimin moans as his eyes flicker back and forth between the bright screen and your shadowed face, doing his best to help match your movements with the video. When he pulls you up for air, you suck on his tip with your wet lips, gliding over it repeatedly and making his thighs tremble on either side of your head until he hisses.

“Mm, you’re so good at this. Can I..?” His fingers weave firmly in your roots and you know exactly what this means, humming a response and waiting for him with an open mouth. Distantly, you can hear the woman’s erotic gagging coming from Jimin’s forgotten headphones. He pulls you down cautiously before lifting his hips from his seat, sliding easily until his head hits the back of your throat. You don’t gag, though your stomach quivers a little, and his next thrusts are less wary, keeping the pace just quick enough to have him panting. Locking your hands behind your back, you give him full control as he pulls you deeper, his jerking hips struggling to keep rhythm as tears spring to your eyes. But you take him gratefully. Your panties stick to you more when his moans get breathier, and he holds your head in place so he can buck into you deeper, his length slipping down your throat and making you choke hard. The sound you make is obscene, but it’s worth it when he looks so damn good, mouth ajar and eyes screwed shut as he nears the edge.

At the first twitch of his member, he yanks you away, whimpering at the loss and squeezing himself at the base with shaky fingers. You’re confused when you look up at his sweaty form and ask, “What are you doing?”

He sighs through his nose, untangling his other hand from your hair to run through his own. “I can’t cum yet.” A small gasp leaves him at the feel of your tongue on his scrotum, sucking one of the soft sacks into your mouth while giving him the most innocent look you can muster when his length flexes just an inch from your face. “I- I want you to feel good, too. Come here.” Jimin’s fingers delicately hold your chin to lead you up and onto his lap, your pants and underwear discarded on the ascent. Next to go is your bra, and Jimin takes this time to remove his own shirt and the headphones around his neck, your bodies naked and hot and dripping with lust.

“You don’t have to worry about me, clearly you need this more than I do.” You mumble, lips already closing in on his. Your mouth tastes like him as he slips his tongue past your lips and wraps his arms around you, holding you firm against him. One of his hands slips between your bodies to cup your core, the jump of your hips blowing your cover, and you can feel his smile against you.

“Really? You seem pretty needy too, baby.” He grazes your clit with the pads of his fingers just to watch you chew your lip, eyes falling closed in the dimness.

“N-no, I’m fine.” You begin to fidget when his fingers remain soft, and only then does he press into you in earnest, circling the bud just the way you like, burning arousal leaking onto the digits.

He chuckles. “Oh yeah? So you’d be okay if I didn’t fuck you?”

“Yes.” You lie. “But I’ll let you do it anyway since you’re so... mmm... hard right now.” Your mouth moves on its own as you speak, trying to tease him, but it looks like it’s working against you.

“And you wouldn’t need to take care of yourself later because you’re not horny at all, is that right?” He’s breathless, too, at the way you rock against his hand, your arms resting around his shoulders to hold yourself steady.

“Yup.” You strain your answer as his lips and teeth begin to nip at your neck and collarbones, kissing down until one of your nipples is in his mouth and you finally groan. “Minnie~”

“Hmm?” His eyes dance with friskiness. Even if he was on the verge of cumming, he still had the power to make you desperate. Your head rolls back to arch your chest further into him, and you can feel your heart hammering against it when 2 of his plump fingers slip into you. Working you up has always been Jimin’s specialty, but today your patience has run thin with the aching desire to have him deep inside you and you’d really rather skip the second half of foreplay.

Taking matters into your own hands quite literally, you start to stroke him as you lean in to nibble on his earlobe. “Baby, put your cock in me.” You whine, carding your hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers but stays resistant.

“Well, since you don’t need me to fuck you, I was just thinking about how nice it would be to finish in that pretty mouth of yours.” His free hand comes up to thumb your lips, pushing it into your open mouth for you to suck, which you do simply out of habit.

“It woul’ peel nicer if you phinished in my puthy.” The words lisp with his digit pressed to your tongue and you stare at each other for a split second before bursting into giggles.

“What was that?” He laughs, some of the tension breaking with your silliness. You love how you can laugh with your boyfriend during sex. Instead of ruining the mood, it feels like you get closer to him, both of you so comfortable with each other that there’s never any awkwardness in moments like these.

“I said, it would feel nicer if you finished in my pussy.” You clarify when he pulls his thumb from your mouth.

“For you or for me?”

“For you.”

The tsk of his tongue is harsh on your ears like broken glass. One of his shapely eyebrows curves upwards in faux irritation, the hand between your legs skidding to a halt with his palm smashed against your clit. “Still so stubborn, babygirl?” He looks you over with dark eyes, the light of the screen behind you casting dangerous angles on his face. By now your hand on him has also come to a stop, but you can feel just how swollen and hot his is, stiff enough to curb his usual generosity, but also enough to take away the assertive edge you expect his voice to be laced with. “On your knees.”

“Nonono, wait, I was kidding!” You gasp in an outburst, resisting his insistent hands that attempt to push you off of his lap. “I want you, Jimin, let me take care of you. We both need this.” You hold onto him by his handle, tightening your grip and effectively derailing his train of thought. He says nothing further and you reposition yourself above him, looking down into his chocolate eyes as they soften.

You glide his tip gently along your slick folds, enjoying how it brushes your clit and makes you impossibly more wet. It certainly has been a while, you don’t remember the last time you responded to him this well.

“Please don’t tease me,” He breathes, voice barely above a whisper, and you glance up to catch him looking at you with a pleading stare, plump lip caught between his abusive teeth.

You cave in instantly, guiding his tip to finally nudge against your entrance. Leaning forward, you steal a kiss, letting him lick into your mouth, his tongue caressing your own as you slowly slide down his wide length. You suck in a long inhale throughout your lengthy descent, addicted to the feeling of him filling you up. Filling up the hole inside of you made just for him. God, you missed this; and you tell him these words in the small space between your lips.

Jimin’s hands skim up your back, then trail down the lines of your sides, waist, and hips indecisively before settling on your ass, pulling you closer to help you take that last extra inch. When he’s buried to the hilt, you both sigh deeply, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. He releases your lips to lean his forehead against your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bottom tightly as he fights to control the emotions bubbling inside him. It feels like it’s been forever since he was last this close to you, connected to you like this, and it’s almost overwhelming, especially when he’s this sensitive. His cock feels like a comfortable heaviness in the pit of your stomach, your shared warmth heating your passion like a furnace, and you have to anchor yourself around his neck so it doesn’t burn you alive.

Your grip around his hair and around his member are like a vice, keeping him grounded and sane, all of his stress and frustration being sucked out of him and replaced by raging lust for you. You rock your hips experimentally, sparks of pleasure shooting through your bodies.

“Fuck, babe, please move. I can’t take it anymore.” Jimin whines, digging his fingers into your flesh. You swivel your hips as you adjust yourself, smirking down at your boyfriend who is in shambles beneath you.

“Fast or slow?” The seduction dripping from your voice makes him throb and he can barely groan out an answer.

“Ride me fast, (Y/n). Make me cum.” He commands, a hint of dominance tracing his demeanor, and you gladly oblige his request.

With feet hooked around the tops of his thighs to support your bent legs, you use your thigh strength to lift yourself up until just his tip is sheathed within you. Then you drop yourself down completely, impaling yourself on his hard cock and knocking the air from both of your lungs. You brace your hands on his shoulders for stability as you set a quick pace— as fast as your legs can take you— and it’s almost as if you have ignited a hunger inside you that singes your nerves.

“Oh shit,” Jimin whispers, throwing his head back at the return of that special tightness in his belly. You have always been good at riding him, but he never gets used to it. Your own mouth hangs at the catch of his burning red tip prodding all the best places within you, his moans restoring your strength and stamina as they increase in volume.

The chair beneath you squeaks desperately, groaning from your combined weight and movement, but you pay no attention as you focus your energy on making Jimin see stars, clenching purposefully just to hear him gasp and watch his eyes roll back. His fingertips dimple the flesh of your ass, pulling you down on him harshly until his cock is rammed as deep as it can go, only to lift you with ease and reveal the pearly cocktail gathering between you on the base of his shaft. He peeks his eyes open to look at you, transfixed by your bouncing breasts and the shiny quality of your neck, an urge to lick a stripe up the skin overcoming him and gifting you with the sensation of his tongue tracing a ragged line from chest to chin, tiny mountains prickling the skin in pursuit.

“Fuck, I’m close,” He grunts as he brings you forward until you’re leaning over him. Your head hangs over his shoulder and your legs drop back down to the floor, having unraveled with your new shift in weight, and Jimin just keeps sinking lower and lower in his seat with every bounce of your hips. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, whimpering praises and forcing you to go faster with his hands. But your muscles are already starting to fatigue and your legs begin to tingle with pleasure. “Where do you want me, baby?” It’s through the grit of his teeth that he strains this, veins pressing through his skin and sweat gluing your chests together, and you can only think of one answer.

“Inside me, Minnie-“ Before you can even finish the last syllable, his hips snap up into you, the strong muscles in his arms working to hold you above him so he can fuck you relentlessly from underneath. You feel his teeth sink into your shoulder, his breath held tight in his chest as he focuses on reaching that long awaited orgasm, and it’s all you can do to moan and encourage him with your fingers twisted in his scalp. There’ll be bruises on your ass for sure from how he lifts you and from the rapid fire smacks it receives from every thrust. Feet planted, arms tense, you know your boyfriend is ready to crumble.

“Tell me you want it.” He muffles into your skin, voice shaking with effort.

“I want it, baby. Want you!” He huffs at this, stuttering out of rhythm as he brings your body down to meet his, hitting you in a spot that makes you go blind with pleasure for a second. You’ve always known him to be a slut for praise and validation, and this time is no different, your words being the drop that breaks the dam, frenzied moans pouring from him with his last few thrusts, your hips slamming down to cement him inside you while his whole body twitches and rolls. This is the hardest you’ve seen him cum in a long time and you want to pull back and watch the beautiful expression painted all over his face, but he’s busy sculpting indentations of his teeth in the crook of your neck. His hands slide up your back as he begins to calm down, though you can still feel him throbbing inside you. Your walls clench at the feeling, close to their own peak, and it’s then that Jimin removes his mouth from you, collapsing back on the unsteady chair and looking up at you with the most content and satiated look you could imagine. As if he had been suffering a great pain and it had finally been relieved.

You watch him with joy at the sight of his relief, but he can still see the lust and need swimming in your eyes. Not wasting a second, he stands and turns you so that you are now the one in the seat, it’s leather sticking to your skin from his damp adhesive. Jimin lowers himself between your legs, the long forgotten laptop behind him illuminating you as his eyes feast on the sight of your glistening core. His cum hasn’t started leaking yet, but your own wetness stains your lips regardless.

It’s almost a surprise when you’re met with his tongue, half expecting that he’d just use his fingers to avoid tasting his own mess, but Jimin dives in eagerly with his long tongue, sucking your swollen clit between his lips skillfully. You clench at the feeling, returning your hands to his hair, and the rhythmic pulse of your walls pushes out his seed to seep slowly down your lips. He licks it up easily, groaning against you at the combined taste, and honestly, seeing him close his eyes in bliss as he tastes his own cum in you is probably your new favorite thing. Unable to stop yourself, you begin to rock your hips against him, whining and cursing as you near your edge. The feeling of him dipping his long pink muscle into your leaking cavern is what sends you into your orgasm, and he gratefully cleans up everything you have to offer, swirling his tongue a few more times just to watch you jump from sensitivity before pressing kisses along your inner thighs, all the way up until he reaches you lips.

You kiss like that for an unspecified amount of time, you were so lost in his talented mouth that you have no idea how much time has passed. It could have been seconds, it might have been minutes. You couldn’t care less. When Jimin finally pulls away for air, you loop your arms around his neck, your body lifting with his as he stands to his full height. He closes the porn site that is still displaying the white replay button to the video that now seems repulsive to him. Post-nut clarity at its finest. Once he walks you both to the bed (your legs just drag lazily as he pulls you along), you plop down and simultaneously sigh.

“I needed that, thank you.” He whispers, though you doubt it’s from sleepiness.

“I needed it, too, little vampire. I’m glad I came home to that.” You giggle, the stress of the day effectively replaced by the pleasant buzz of your lingering high.

“Little vampire?” This time you’re giggling from the lift of Jimin’s eyebrow, completely unaware that he has marked you with his teeth. You turn your head to give him a view of it, and he gasps, apologizing profusely with kisses to the darkening bruise.

“Minnie?” You say when it’s quiet again. He hums. “If this whole school thing doesn’t work out, let’s become a cam couple, okay?”

“What?” Not expecting you to ever say anything like that, he is rightfully appalled.

“I’m pretty sure I failed both my exams today, so I’m preparing my plan B for when I get kicked out of school. Plus, I know for a fact that I can give better blowjobs than the girl on that video you were watching, so we’d probably do really well. I hear pornstars make a lot of money.” One look at you and he knows you’re completely serious, which makes the situation that much funnier. You stare at him with a goofy smile as he laughs, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

“You’re not going to fail out of school, silly.” He says between chuckles. You shrug. “Don’t talk like that, you have a brilliant mind and you’re one of the most determined people I know. You’ll succeed for sure.”

“I know, I’m just a bit overwhelmed at the moment. This did help, though.” You look down at your naked bodies for emphasis, cuddling comfortably into him.

“I feel exactly the same way. How about we spend the rest of the night de-stressing. We can eat dinner, take a long bath, have a movie-“

“Dinner!” You gasp, only just realizing that you left your leftovers in the oven before Jimin... distracted you. You hop up and run to the kitchen still buck ass naked, and he follows, rounding the corner to see you pulling out an undistinguishable lump of charcoal from the oven. You look absolutely defeated.

“Well, I guess we’re ordering in tonight.” He stifles a laugh when you pout, dressed in nothing but your mint oven mitts and a frown.

So he orders something greasy and unhealthy, and you spend the night wrapped in each other’s arms binge watching addictive shows and cuddling, erasing the world until it’s just you two in your own bubble inside your shared apartment. And it’s better stress relief than anything you could imagine.

#Jimin smut #jimin scenario #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bts smut

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angelicichor · 5 years ago

Note

Hello happy 2020! How are ya? Can I request some Nsfw Thomas Hewitt content? I love him so much, ❤

I’m kinda okay, just very disorganized lately, too nervous about school stuff and all ♥ But always willing to write for big boi Tommy uwu

N//SF//W

MISSED YA

♥ It has been a goddamn week.

♥ A week with both you and Thomas running errands, his staying at home and yours?

♥ Well, you’ve been forced to stay in the middle of the road for GOD knows how long, trying to catch somebody’s, ANYBODY’S attention to bring them back home for dinner, but you were pretty sure that Hoyt just wanted you to wither and die out there, leaving you with only one big water bottle for the whole day, standing in the hot Texas sun, the sunscreen barely helping your skin not turn into bacon strips as you awaited another group of people to pass you, only to fool them into getting you home.

♥ And the sense that Hoyt could easily pull them over for no reason instead of you standing here, alone, didn’t help.

♥ It also didn’t help that you’ve been standing here, hungry, thirsty, sweating and bored out of your mind, your mind able to go only to a few places before coming back to Thomas, his adorable, expressive eyes, his strong, rough hands, his broad shoulders shifting underneath that shirt he always wore, though in this heat sometimes he’d bless the world with taking it off, revealing his beautiful chest and that monstrous bicep and… that brought you to your last problem.

♥ Being too horny for your own good.

♥ And there being no big-ass thick butcher man to fuck you into the ground.

♥ And yes, that was A HUGE PROBLEM.

♥ Your whole body was being too needy, only adding to your agitation and the need to choke Hoyt’s lights out for making you do this, but you couldn’t do anything about this, the family needed to eat.

♥ You sighed at the sky, eyes watching the moving sun and you guessed it was around 4 o’clock, the old bastard was bound to come for you any time now and maybe finally, FINALLY you could rest.

♥ But your prayer was thrown in the gutter as the loud bass of a guitar rolled towards you, cutting the otherwise quiet ambiance of the drylands you’ve been forced to stay in. Your eyes did their best to tell what was coming, the waves of heat not helping your focus, your vision literally melting, but you could tell what it was just by it’s size, a big ol’ black jeep, full of teens in nothing but tank tops and t-shirts, rocking along in the vehicle to some loud music. Rock n’ roll, you could tell that much, but couldn’t tell what band, a shame, but maybe Hoyt would let you keep their discs with you after they’re fresh meat.

♥ Putting on your sweetest smile you started waving at them and noticed one girl pointing towards you, excited, it seemed, and sure enough once they stopped she was the first to run to you, a tall, dark skinned brunette, beautiful and just shining in this weather, it was really such a shame. “Hiya, babe! Whacha doing here lil’ thing?” She asked you, clearly enjoying some new company and eager to hear your story, and you weren’t gonna disappoint.

♥ “Ah, I live here, sweetie. Well not HERE, ya know, but in these here regions, but my dumbass of a daddy left my ass here so he could go grab some smokes from the city, while I wait here to faint in this damn heat and not tell ma’.” You scoffed and she gave you a long moan of worry, ruffling your hair. “Ah, baby, we’ll get ya home, don’tcha worry!” she cooed, before turning to the group of boy promptly starring at her ass. “Right, y’all?” she asked and they roared in confirmation.

♥ It was really a shame for those guys, but as you walked out towards the porch, catching the glimpse of Thomas’ hair in the window, all the guilt faded to the second plan. Trying to hide the haste in your voice you invited the 5 people inside, for dinner, something cold to drink and so the girl, Hannah, as you’ve learned, could scold your “papa”, something you were willing to see for sure, especially after crying to “mama” that “pa” had left you on the road to get smokes and Luda Mae slammed a tray of full glasses of water onto the table, shaking her head in disbelief, playing around with you. She did that rarely, but if it meant Hoyt getting an earful from a victim for no reason before they’re meat, then she’d be more into the idea. You both somehow loved Hoyt, but God, was he an asshole.

♥ There were no problems with the group, except for the boys getting rowdy with the tools in the shed, but Hanna told you she got them under control, you doubted that, but that let you slid into the basement, the chill of the room sending pleasant shivers down your spine, as did the rhythmic thuds of a cleaver cutting a block of meat clean off, once, again, and on repeat, as you leaned onto a wall, away from the pool of bloodied water right in front of the stairs, starring unashamedly at your dearly beloved’s arm tensing as he lifted the knife, only to lower it with enough power to create a small draft, making the metal tools above the bench clack against each other.

♥ ‘What a beast…’ you thought, a small smirk creeping onto your face, warning the world that you were up to no good.

♥ With another huff the cleaver stopped, getting locked into the wood and you saw his huge body shifting, slowly, cautiously, one brow cocking up at the sight of you, questioning why were you standing there like he didn’t notice you.

♥ His gaze made you shrink back, like a scolded child, but soon enough that deviousness took over, making you shuffle towards him, gently, shyly, coy, and straight away he knew - dangerous, but he stayed still, letting you have your fun. He could always tie you in the corner if things got too wild. He had work to do after all.

♥ With a tiny giggle you closed the distance, running your hand against the width of his covered back, before ducking to escape his grasp, instead jumping before him, your grabby hands clinging onto his apron in a light embrace, unable to circle him fully, joyful eyes focused on his expression, as his head bent slightly down, eyes squinting and brows furrowing with interest, the smirk on his lisp barely visible through the dark leather, asking - What are you doing?

♥ Your cheek nuzzled into his chest, eyes closing, with a happiness painting your face, comfort and he was about to hug you, realizing that you missed him.

♥ But you ducked again, leaving his hands to hang in the air, his head going even lower, air inflating his chest to flow out a second later in a longer, slightly frustrated breath. He had work, (Y/N).

♥ Your smug smile didn’t help his frustration. His hands rested on the workbench, gaze focused on you, watching you giggle and hide under his apron, confusing him completely.

♥ That is, until he felt your hand creep it’s way up from his tights to crotch, squeezing ever so lightly. Oh. OH.

♥ Thomas allowed his shoulders to relax, a warm chuckle rumbling through his body, his eyes closing to better feel your touch, feeling the lingering ghost of your fingers undoing his belt, listening to the small clack of the buckle, the small creak of pulled leather, then the clicking of the zipper coming undone in a slow motion, a deep breath moving through his lungs and out in a huff.

♥ He shuddered, feeling your breath on his boxers, your soft lips pressing onto his hardening length, welcoming it after a long time, trailing up, kiss by kiss, till it reached the tip, pressing a bit harder, a devious chuckle sounding underneath the man as he started breathing just a bit heavier, feeling his underwear becoming more and more uncomfortable.

♥ You let one of your hands slide under his balls, stroking them lightly, while your other worked him up and down, letting you feel his member’s growth and Thomas’ growl above you let you know that he was getting impatient with your teasing. It was a good thing he couldn’t see your eye roll or vicious grin, you’d certainly get in trouble for that.

♥ Deciding it was unwise to test him any further you pulled his boxers down, just enough to free his raging cock, already leaking some pre-cum. It was nice to know he missed you too.

♥ Your tongue trailed a long, slow line from his sack up to the tip, enveloping it with your soft lips and licking it gently, slowly making your way up and down, not taking him fully, while both of your hands trailed the muscle of his tights, firm and thick. The groan above you letting you know that he enjoyed the touch.

♥ Showing him mercy you pushed him down your throat, taking as much as you could, feeling the sting of his spread in your muscles and the slight reflex of his tip touching the back of your throat, then pulling back slowly, letting yourself calm down before setting a nice pace, feeling his body heat up, muscles twitch under your fingers, him trying to hold back, to lean into your touch instead of breaking your rhythm and his temperance lead out a moan from your lips when his tip hit your back again, the man sighing in pleasure as he felt the trail of your tongue pressing on his underside.

♥ With one of your hands massaging your heat now and the other stroking his balls, you knew the time for your control would be running short and Thomas’ hand pressing on the back of your head only confirmed your speculations.

♥ The pressure shifted from your head to you the nape of your neck, gripping around it tighter, a harsh shove, making you gag, the depths of your throat collapsing around him, letting him groan in pleasure before pulling away, and you were forced down in a coughing fit, but not for long as his arms surrounded you, lifting you up and onto his chest, his back bending slightly so your eyes could met his.

♥ With one hand still holding up he trailed the other one to your cheeks, wiping away a single tear that dared come out when your reflex struck.

♥ Gently he placed you atop his work bench, leaning in to allow you the reach to his mask, a silent question if it was okay to go without it and your fingers tangling against it assured him, that it was just fine. There was no worry as it was left on the wood.

♥ And gently your lips touched his, letting him taste the saltiness of your skin, mixed with the bitter taste that he left on them, and both of you were ready for the next part… Except you’d have to wait for that.

♥ “Thomas! Come here boy!” Luda Mae called from upstairs and you could hear the sound of a gunshot soon after, right, the people.

♥ You heard growl against your shoulder, where his head rested, his hands making the wood creak under his annoyed grip.

♥ “It’s fine, go get them, darling. I’ll be waiting.” you laughed, letting your finger trail the scars covering his jaw. He rolled his eyes, an unsatisfied pout crooking his disfigured lips. “Don’t give me that attitude. It wasn’t YOU who had to stand on the sun for a WEEK to get them here! Do your part, Hewitt.” you scolded him and his face was unimpressed to say the least, chest puffing up in an angry sigh, a tongue poking out from his lips to taunt you. And you gasp. “How rude! You kiss your mother with that mouth?!”

♥ He laughed, pressing a soft kiss on your lips - No, but you? Yes.

♥ You blushed at his boldness and watched as he picked up his chainsaw, the loud revving of it filling the otherwise silent basement.

♥ “Good luck.” you hummed and he nodded, leaving for his hunt.

#virgo writes #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #tcm: the beginning #slasher community #I'm so sorry if this is messy I'm having problems focusing lately :'D #Needed to write some good ol' throatfucking with Tommy though... you know he needs the attention #hope that's fine #thank rammstein for this one bc I've been listening to them on repeat while writing this :'D

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rabble-dabble · 4 years ago

Text

It is, as always, just something very simple in his simple minded brain. It is like when the creation of his universe came to be, probably something grand and wavering and a graceful gesture that certainly would encompass along Kanaya’s style, it took one look at your mutated, disgraceful thinkpan overrun with tedious problems, a handful of shortcomings, and your instinct to fuck up whatever you have going on your yourself and made it a core genetic aspect. You’ll admit, though, that sometimes humans were lucky (Jade, for example) and simply had better well thought out genes. But since luck didn’t mean shit to neither you nor coincidentally, reality, it made a whole lot of stupid that took up a bunch of air.

He agrees so easily, to your dismay.

You made him swear, up and down, that he wouldn’t say a word. You made him swear on his friends, on his movie collection hogging up his sylladex stupidly, and you would have made him swear on his fucked-up blood if he didn’t look so panicked by your (obviously fake) suggestion. Or, at least, you didn’t have your sickles on you.

But you did make him swear. And, although your heart (ugh, highblood terms that were apparently given to them too) twitches carefully at his outstretched hand, you still have an unwavering prideful strength in settling your fingers carefully into his own. You do not shake at the thought that you will not be in control of anything at all here, and how that’s probably a terrible idea, but instead bite your lip hard enough to contain what definitely wasn’t an almost whimper of fear at the slow, tugging rise of wind.

It doesn’t whip at you like you’ve seen it do before, back at game constructs and overwhelming green flames. This breeze holding onto you seems gentle, almost caressing, and John doesn’t even show a strain of concentration - a careful glance of curiosity, though, at your face - as the two of you softly lift up above the ground.

Your body has an immense feeling of wanting to drop. Scratch that, your thinkpan is running the only logical line of thinking it has: thinking about any way you can accidentally reach a demise and expose your blood, and, oh shit, according to it, you should probably be falling splat and flat into the metal ground below! Except you’re not, because there’s this gentle but gripping draft edging you into the depth of the room, higher until you don’t quite have the courage to look down anymore.

He hasn’t said a word. That’s probably for the best. If he said something, probably something stupid, you’d tear him a new one (humans say that’s a phrase for some reason) and then you’d just end up doing exactly what the six hundred death scenarios of panic your thinkpan is providing clearly for you. If he said something stupid, like, you don’t know, whatever it is that one John Egbert of windy town could possibly think-

“It’s like dancing!”

Regret has never hit you in an estimated amount of feet off the ground before, and you wonder if the gravity of the world has any effect on it at all.

“Oh stop pouting.”

“Stop suggesting stupid things.”

“I’ll catch you!”

“Don’t even dare to let me go!”

You’re the one to let go of one of his hands, actually, because he cheats and uses a small gust of wind to push you off of him from where you were clinging onto his shoulders. You suck in a small worried breath, but true to his word, the wisps of winds do not lessen on you.

He wonders what you think about it.

You can’t bind enough words together to tell him why it feels like you’ve disconnected from the world in a way you don’t quite understand. So, you tell him instead why his idea is stupid.

“Aw come on! Have you even tried dancing in the air before?

“There’s no way I’ll do something in the air by your control I won’t even do when my two feet are fucking planted firmly into the crotch of every walkable surface!”

“You haven’t ever danced?”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because there was nothing to dance to, as if the world could be bright and beautiful like Earth. Alternia, and its haze of destruction, did not stop to dance towards any sense of constructed peace. Dancing was something mystically undone, or unseen, such as magic flying trolls or silly wishes on night stars. Still, this does not stop him from guiding you back into his grip, but this time something different, something changed, where the glint in his eyes is more determined than amused.

He sways in a way that you deem similar to the way he plays piano. There is a rhythm, you think, and there is a coordinated firmness to it that he knows to do just like how he knows what key to pluck to a song. And yet, even with this swaying, he is not just simply bribing you away from the keyboard in the hopes that you won’t attempt to accidentally break the keys when you slam down your hands in an attempt to play too. His gentle guiding is not one that is meant to make you follow, but rather, a thoughtful invitation that has you looking into his settling blue eyes and perked smile.

You don’t know how to dance. You don’t even know what more you can do than copy what he does and hope it is something better than amateurish, even though you know it most likely isn’t. You think on the ground you would definitely have fucked up by now, like accidentally leaning too far into him and stepping on his toes. But, in the air, you’re given a sense of relief from a worry that still persists, proving you wrong with each twirl, each guiding hand, each motion of the both of you. You suppose, really, that it is actually kind of hard to mess anything up when you have nothing to really mess up in the first place.

A fragile disconnection that, in the beginning, you hadn’t been sure if it was yet good or bad. As always, your mind echoes what fears are wrapped around like a chain in your cavity chest.

Doubt and fear that is really hard to feel when he dips you back, and brings you forward, and looks so happy that you come to the realization that you may be smiling.

You despise the way you trust him so much.

"Isn't this fun?"

You despise how John can simply see past what you had tried so carefully to build up tall and surround you, a careful brick wall which he knocks down with a smile, and his strife specibus of his heart (in the shape of a hammer).

"Aw come on, you can say it is!"

You despise his big heart, you despise his blue eyes, you despise that he thinks he can camp out cheerfully in the swell of your heart of hearts, you…you...

You want to curl up in a ball, but you also want to stay adrift in the air forever.

Softly, he says into your ear, "I knew you'd like it."

You try to convince yourself the feasible grip of his shoulder is only to make sure you won't fall.

But you already know you won't.

Uninvited, the flutters of your heart swell and sway alongside his rhythm, flustering and blooming against your every wish. Even if you had the will to hide it, which you don't ever, your heart would never give in to such demands as to stop like you sometimes want it to. In an ironic twist of fate, you think it is John giving you each breath that keeps your heart beating, alive, the dance of your heartbeat and the constant stream oxygen of going in and out and in and out and in-

He chuckles as he tries to hide the motion of clasping his hand tightly in your own.

-and out.

You're the heartbeat, and he's the lungs, and there's a rhythm you feel just a bit stupid for not seeing there before. A rhythm unnoticed until you had thought about it. Of course, it makes sense now that your thinkpan isn't waltzing into stupidity but rather his arms, and you think about how pathetic you must've looked as you asked him cautiously because you trusted him, how you made him swear to a closed-lipped smile, how he asks you if you're having fun because you're an open book and he knows because he's not an idiot.

If you let yourself have a small smile as you bury your head into his neck, he gives no notice except for the release of a small breath.

And when he lingers in the air, almost completely stranded in motion, you squeeze his hand and try to pay no attention to how breathless he sounds when he laughs.

Your feet meet the ground before you’re aware you’ve stopped flying, and you have to wish that your face isn’t betraying you as you turn to look at his eyes with nervousness. He hasn’t said anything yet, which makes you worry, but he hasn’t let go of your hand either, so it makes you hopeful.

“That was,” you stumble and grasp for words that are too quick to appear, too much to be prepared, too heavy that you don’t want to mess this up before there’s a second time. “actually nice,” you settle on, because the light churning in your stomach wants to say so much more but you’re not ready to admit you have so much more to say, yet.

His face relaxes into a familiar smile, and he hums along in agreement.

“I’m glad you think so,” he breathes, and you don’t understand how you were able to be alive all this time without this very moment. “Karkat.”

Then his eyes meet yours, and no, no, this moment is the one that makes you breathe deeply. “When do you want to do this again?”

When, he asks, when, not if, when, and you want to do it forever, actually.

“Tomorrow,” you reply instead.

He nods, and then he’s breaking your stance by walking towards the exit of the room babbling about how the two of you should probably go watch a movie, or something, in his room or whatever, something about he wants to show you a new one, and you can also show him another alternian one if you want to, but all you’re focused on is how his hand is still in yours. You’re letting him lead you, and he doesn’t stop talking and isn’t facing towards you, but you can make out the flushed pinkish-red of the tip of his ears. You can hear the slightly pitched, pleased tone of his voice, and his hand is warm in yours, and your mind is thinking but it is entirely empty of anything meaningful.

Tomorrow he will show you again.

So you pick up your pace and stand beside him, telling him you will get two romcoms for being forced to suffer through whatever he has to show you, trying not to let your step fumble when he catches the too-gentle tone of your own voice. And, you pray, again, that he won’t let go of you for an entirely different reason.

#doodleart #homestuck #john egbert #karkat vantas #johnkat #long post #story #ayyyyyeeeeee #i have been working on this literally ALL day #its #its a lot #its cute and im proud of it and please give it lots of love for it needs sunshine and water to grow and bloom #AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT SJKDFL;AKJSDF;JASDF #i just think maybe people falling in love without ever having to say it is love is cute #o////o #i hope i wrote this right....#AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!#<3333

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cumulohimbus · 5 years ago

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Eclose - draft 1, formless

A Poem About Transitioning from Female to Male

Somewhere in my mother's troves of photographs, there's a water-stained picture of a soft-faced girl holding a Monarch butterfly on her finger.

I know it well.

The girl has her hair up in a long fluffy ponytail or two, plush and wavy like a cocker spaniel's ears, the color of melted caramel, but toned softer. Her skin is pale like the alabaster cookies her family makes for Christmas every year, dappled with faint freckles beneath twin cobalt eyes.

And there's the orangey-vermillion of the butterfly's open wings, and the mahogany of the table in the background, and everything else is blue: sky blue, gently green-tinted, navy...

Her smile is infinite.

She is weak, from an exterior perspective. Age has not yet fully hardened her easily damaged skin, the nerves are youthfully vulnerable...

...but the mind between her ears is still relatively sharp, fierce - caring is reserved only for the things in life that really matter before society sets in.

She is called "pearl", in hopes that she will remain sturdily beautiful for the rest of her life.

A decade and a half later, give or take, there's a photo saved in my cell phone's gallery:

An androgynous human...

If you heard the depth of their voice while relaxed they might be clocked as male;

Their chin and shoulders are speckled with acne, and their cheeks are round, their eyelashes long.

They could be a prepubescent boy, but one that just so happens to be able to legally purchase alcohol because they're actually 21 years old.

Perhaps the slight roundness of the chest, or the flat crotch of their pants is telling. Perhaps the feminine inflection they still speak with frequently...

Most importantly though is the Monarch butterfly hanging inverted from the person's index finger, wings drying. That, and the lop-sided grin creasing their face, the curves of their plump lips a parabolic path always pointing infinitely up to the cool gray, lantern-like irises and dilated pupils.

I stare closely at their face from time to time.

That smile is the most genuine one I've seen from them in a while.

And closer yet:

The flesh of their arms and face are marked with dozens upon dozens of scars, now-bitten nails had been asteroids once, carving into real and perceived impurities.

Their fingers were peeling, dry from the dehydration of peroxide trying to draw out infection caused by ripping out chunks of cuticle.

And faintly, down the length of their left forearm, lay the rose-colored memory of burns that spelled out "BAD DOG".

Still...

The last they'd looked this genuine was before metamorphosis.

Years had hardened the skin, physical wounds stung less, scabbed over too quickly. Their joints always dully ached from an intense and uncompromising burnout, one that fully intended to kill the human creature in its prime. But as the pain became chronic, so their tolerance of it was forced with time.

On the outside, things began to hurt less.

It was on the inside where they were most weak.

Caterpillars split their flesh down the seam of their backs to pupate. They dissolve themselves inside a little shell flecked with metallic gold.

When they're ready, the stronghold cracks, and out bursts a completely different creature, winged with gossamer, as deeply scarlet as the most vibrant of autumn leaves. Their wings are spattered with contrasting spots and stripes, dwarfing the more angular body, making themselves appear larger and less appetizing.

I, too, ripped myself open, boiled in a pool of my own molecules, reformed myself properly.

Look bigger; look stronger; look fiercer.

And yet my wings can be disintegrated with even the slightest of touch.

#this has been in my drafts for awhile #silver writes #trans stuff #poetry

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 6 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: As ever, y’all continue to render me speechless with your kind words and messages of support and encouragement regarding this fic. There’s no end in sight; I have the next few chapters mapped out and will keep going as long as Duncan and Kenzie drag me along behind them, telling me their story. I still plan on continuing to make vague allusions to Michael and Mallory as the fic goes on, as I consider Duncan and Kenzie to be the parallel universe versions of them here; whether or not I’ll tie it into something bigger remains to be seen, the allusions/easter eggs might be just that and nothing more. I just had to use Billie’s nickname for her mother (Momby) here, I just love it so much and I wanted to nod again to the fact that I’ve modeled Madeline after Carrie Fisher entirely. I based her house, the Cape Cod-style on Fenwick Street, on a real house I found listed for sale in Arlington. Candice, Kenzie’s EIC, is the AU version of Cordelia. I may or may not add other AU versions of AHS characters, it depends on where the story goes. Kenzie’s ex Tyler is an AU version of Taylor Lautner, Billie’s ex in real life, and I made him a pediatrician as a nod to his SCREAM QUEENS character. He may show up again later, he may not. The gossip website I made up, buzzpopfeed.com (lol), will probably show up again as Duncan and Kenzie’s relationship gains attention and becomes more public. I made a masterpost for this fic where I’ll update chapters as I finish them; please use it as your main reference point for the complete work going forward. Shoutout to @nat-de-lioncourt who made the moodboard edit that’s featured on it, and she also made this gorgeous moodboard for Part 5, which I love so much I could cry; go give her some love. Shoutout to @impiorumrequies who coined the shorthand DUCKENZIE for Duncan/Mackenzie yesterday when she sent me a message. You’re encouraged to use it as a tag if you reblog the fic. My laptop insisted it was time to update right in the middle of my editing this part and I forgot I needed to save what I’d formatted so far as a draft on Tumblr, so it took a lot longer than it should have to get it up on the site because I had to start from scratch once my laptop rebooted; I appreciate every comment, like and reblog if you’re enjoying the fic. And as ever: THANK YOU, Millory fans. You are truly the greatest of all time. There’s so much more to come.

Mackenzie sighed herself awake, out of a vague dream (fire and candles blazing, an angry, powerful man in black with long hair...it slipped away from her). For the second morning in a row, she woke in Duncan Shepherd’s black-sheeted bed, but this time she was really in it, not just on top of it; her sleep-dizzy head was buried in one of Duncan’s black pillows of organic Egyptian cotton and duck feather, and she could feel pressing weight around the rise of her bare hip under the duvet, a stubbled cheek pressed into the space between her bare breasts, skin pressed into the space between her legs, the incline of his thigh, the pressure of his cock, stiff with daylight. She looked down a little, moving her hand into the brown, sun-kissed curls against her body, gazed, in no small wonder, at Duncan’s wildly beautiful face in his deep sleep, arm thrown around her, his breath soft and slow, turning his head a little in his dreamstate so his lips hovered close to her nipple. He calls me angel, but I think he’s like an angel, too. More of an angel than me, because he doesn’t seem real; Claire was right, it’s like he’s living in a different universe. She imagined a halo around his head, great wings extending from his back, his blue eyes gazing on her, laying her bare again and again, kissing her secrets from her lips. He seemed otherworldly to her; he seemed impossibly perfect, especially this way. She felt tears gather at the corner of her vision; the emotion deep inside her thoughts frightened her. The feeling that gathered in the core of her body when she looked at him this way made her ache terribly, an almost physical pain building up in her. She thought of the roses in the bath and his cries of euphoria, the way he’d pressed into her in the bed again later, blurring her vision with his fingers and his mouth. Duncan. Will you be mine? His words from last night, achingly sincere, echoed down from the back of her mind. Yes I will yes she whispered again in her heart, fingers threading his hair as he slept. Yes I’m yours yes.

With a searing moment of disappointment, she remembered: it was Monday. She would have to go to work eventually. She tried to turn her body away from him carefully, so as not to disturb him (god he’s too beautiful, I just want to let him sleep, I just want to look at him and thank my stars for how wonderful he is she thought deep within herself), but he moaned a little, his arm tightening around her waist and sliding up, his face turning up, his hair in the light over his bed, his eyes touched with sleep. God, I could look at him all day. His eyes opened; sapphire, shadow, sky.

“Baby,” he murmured into her. “Baby. What time is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder, resigned to his waking. “7:46. I have to be at work in an hour. It’s Monday,” and she moved her hand through his curls and ached to go back to an hour ago, when they were asleep and in each other’s embrace, the world slipped away, moonlight on the bed.

“No, baby, no,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to the soft skin above her heart.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she smiled into him, hiding her own disappointment. He lifted his face, still half-awake, pressing his mouth into her chin, his hands reaching up to her nipples, his thigh pressing up into the space between her legs, questioning, hungry.

“Baby, I can’t…” she pulled away from him, full of regret.

Another little moan fell from his lips (those lips, on me always, oh my god, mine) and she whispered “I’m sorry,” and he pouted, and her heart shook, her body tingling. “I want you,” he said, looking up into her face, and she shook her head again, frowning, matching his discontent. She lifted herself away from him, sadly, resigned. He tried to come after her, reaching toward her, but she was good at skittering away; she had always had a talent for it, useful when she was young and shy and worried about everything, always running away. She slipped out of the bed, her naked back to him, shaking out her tangled hair. She didn’t look back at him, not right away; she felt determined to be bold after last night, cast in the haze of amazement and adoration as it all had been, determined to see the reality of everything clearly, determined to not be blindsided by his beauty yet again.

“Kenzie,” she heard him whisper from where he still lay in bed, staring at her.

“What,” and she turned, stretching, her hands lifting to the high ceiling, pressing the impulse to be shy about her nakedness away. Get used to it, Kenzie, she thought. Duncan Shepherd is your boyfriend now. Or, at least, he was last night.

“I meant everything I said last night.”

Duncan let the words hang in the air; he regarded her, and she thought in frustration that he was so blindly lovely she might never know what he really thought about anything; she’d be too distracted to decipher him, lost in his eyes.

“We’re together. That’s what I want. Is that what you want?”

She pressed her face into the incline of her shoulder; towards him.

“Yes. We’re together.”

“Okay.”

She looked at him again. He was still staring at her; eyes roving over her naked body, the fall of golden-brown hair down her back, the incline of her ass, the outline of her in the light streaming in.

“You are so beautiful.”

She smiled; she tried to hide the way her limbs shivered as his words fell over her. She blinked, turned her head, looked to the floor, disoriented, for her things.

“Fuck, I have to go. I have to change. I can’t wear that dress to work.”

“Okay.” The edge in his voice. Sadness. Longing.

She bit her lip. “What are your plans today?”

She heard the rustle of the sheets; heard his groan, his restlessness.

“Gardner Analytics press. Charity supplements for the Foundation. Dinner with mom tonight.”

“That’s...a lot.”

“It sure fucking is. Come back to bed.”

She blew air from her nose. “Duncan, I can’t.”

“I know. But it’s what I want.”

She lifted her head, glancing his way. He had come to a sitting position on the edge of his big bed, legs resting on the floor, hair tossed in sleep, a scant corner of sheet over his crotch; she could see the edge of his erection peeking from the corner of the fabric. She looked away, smiling. His eyes gazed and gazed and he bit his lip at her, blinking slowly, hunger shining out of their depth.

“Kenzie,” he said again.

“Yes?” She moved toward the bathroom, where she knew her dress lay in a heap.

“I want to tell my mother about you tonight.”

She turned to him, her heart in her mouth suddenly, sickness sinking into her guts.

“Duncan...are you sure?”

“I have this feeling, like...I want everyone to know. Especially her. But I don’t want you to worry. No matter what she says, or what she thinks, I’m with you. It’s what I want more than anything; to be with you. To know you.”

She had retrieved her dress; she slipped it over her shoulders, pulling her arms through the sleeves, pulling her hair free, easing it over her shoulder. She padded over to him on sleepy feet. “Zip me up,” she asked, softly, sitting there beside him, on the edge. He eagerly grasped her waist, turning to her, leaning his head to the incline of the nape of her neck, his fingers (oh, those hands) grasping the zipper, pulling it up with aching slowness as his mouth pressed into the soft skin along her spine, between her shoulder blades. She gasped a little, arching her back, the intensity of the act pushing a pool of warmth into her abdomen, her arms breaking out immediately into goosebumps. He moved his head slowly, achingly slow, lips lingering, trailing up to the nape of her neck where she felt his hot breath on the baby hairs there, and her whole body kindled a low fire, stoked by his mouth, his fingers. His hands reached the end of the zipper, one gently rising and seeking the incline of her neck, and she gasped a little again at the weight of his fingers there; they snaked softly around the dip below her ear and his index finger, long and languid and so obscenely beautiful, probed the corner of her mouth which ached open at the feeling of his touch, almost involuntary, sliding along her bottom lip, his other fingers at her throat. She felt the weight of his forehead press into the back of her hair, breathing deeply into it, as if it was the air; as if it was oxygen to him.

“Kenzie, is it okay? I want to tell her about you because--you are both so important to me. My mother was the most important person in my life, but now there’s you. There’s you. And I can’t keep it to myself. I need the people in my life to know...that you’re....” She could hear the whisper of his voice against her, the hand still playing at her neck and her little mouth, teasing her, aching for her.

“Your girlfriend?”

She bit the finger still playing softly at her bottom lip, and it pressed into the sharpness of her teeth, as if he liked the pain.

“Yes. My girlfriend.”

The One, she thought, and shivered. He hadn’t said that, why had she thought it? Why had it probed into her mind as though it came from him? That was odd, disorienting. Maybe I’m just imagining what I want him to say, she thought. We’ve known each other for two days, Kenzie, slow down. The feeling of his hand at her neck that way was wiping her mind of all coherency, bringing flashing memories bathed in gold light of him fucking her in the shower, his hand pressed there insistently, his eyes full of desirous abandon, storms. His eyes, a galaxy to lose herself in.

“Okay, baby,” she said. She turned to him, turned her head into his hand so it came to her cheek, clutching her, and gazed into those stormy eyes. “It’s okay.”

“Do you think you’ll tell Madeline?” He asked, his eyes clouding with concern, brow furrowing just a little, the sleep clearing from his features.

“I guess I have to.”

He was quiet at that, his hand falling down her arm, grasping her hand, tightly, as if to give her his strength, channel it through their bodies, into her heart. She felt as though it did somehow; somehow, he had given her some of his energy, and her body felt tingly, full of light.

“No matter what, we’re together. That’s what I want, Kenzie.”

“It’s what I want too.” And she knew it was true, she knew it was the only truth that mattered in this moment, the only one she could fathom. Now that he was here, now that her hand was clasped in his, the way it fit against his, as if it belonged there, the thought of being without him was like a knife in her belly. Life had changed. Everything was different. The colors of the world had burst into radiance; the glow of this reality was blinding.

“Two days ago I would not have believed any of this,” she said, sharing her thought with him. “If someone had told me I’d be dating Duncan Shepherd, I would have laughed in their face.”

He smiled (that smile, a dancing ray of sunlight on water, that smile), pulling her body into his naked one, pressing his face into her neck. “I can’t believe it either,” he whispered. “I feel...blessed. I feel like--everything has been building up to this. To you. Fortune is smiling on us. On me. And I’m so grateful.”

His words brought a lump of emotion into her throat, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her little face into his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, hovering on the edge of her tears, knowing that he was right. Fortune is smiling on us.

-------

Kenzie stepped through the glass door to the main floor of the Post building, eyeing her little desk in the south corner, biting her lip, her thoughts seeped in Duncan. She was still thinking about the way he’d looked, standing there in his black briefs, pulling the sleeves of a high-collared black Oxford shirt through his long arms, hands pulling sleepily through his hair (I love his hair, she thought), watching her pull on her boots as she sat on the edge of his bed, smiling at her with a dreamy expression, and she had thought I could die in that gaze, die and be happy to die. Her subconscious painted the word Prince onto him again, reminding her of her dreams when she was a little girl pining over her fairy tale books, and she didn’t realize it, but a smile fell over her face, her cheeks blushing. My very own Prince, he really is.

She made it to her desk, setting down her black satchel atop it, pulling out her Macbook and the little recorder she’d taken secretly to the party (the party that changed my fucking life). She’d taken a Lyft home, changed in a frenzy into the saddle-colored turtleneck dress she now wore, hem hitting at the bottom of her thigh (need to be more subtle about all the marks on my neck, she’d thought, achingly) and knee-high black thigh socks, slipping on one of several pairs of comfortable black kitten heels that she often wore to work (it was usually them or ballet flats), grabbing a stick of mascara and another of brow gel from her makeup bag and smearing on a rosy-nude lipstain (good enough, she thought, resigned) and thrown herself out the door, half-walking, half-running to the Dupont Circle Station platform, a black triple-moon pendant with a round obsidian stone in the center bumping and twisting against the space between her breasts, her hair floating around her face, strands falling into her eyes, pressing her earbuds in, lost in her thoughts. I had a dream of a ship that we sailed in the night, a soft masculine voice floated into her ears from her phone, and she thought of Duncan’s hair, his hands. Ooooh / the fortune said / flowers bloom with no regret and she thought of the roses woven together around the bath, the candles, the look in his eyes when he’d pushed the velvet dress from her body, the ache in his eyes. Surround me body and soul / pull me into your glow, make me blush and she blushed at the thought of his hands and his lips and his beautiful cock exploring every corner of her body, his ardent, insistent touch, the glowing sincerity in his eyes, unbound me, spin me in gold / as the story unfolds in your touch, she remembered staring in wonder at the gargantuan painting that spread along the wall of his study, how it had dazed her, shaken her, the feeling of his mouth pressed into her sex and her vision blurring, lost in him and in it, in the beauty of it all, how could life be so beautiful, suddenly, ooooh, who can breathe me into life? / just one more look at you, my heart has been hypnotized��

She came back to her desk, from the memory within the memory, as Candice’s sincere, lovely, earnest, and right now, concerned face appeared in front of her, her golden hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her pink lips giving Kenzie a friendly smile.

“Good morning, Mackenzie,” she said, hands coming together in front of her pastel, chrysanthemum-covered wrap dress. “So, how’d it go?”

“Morning, Candice.” Candice was her Editor-in-Chief, and everyone at the Post adored her; she’d worked long and hard for the position, for over fifteen years, and Kenzie’s mother, Madeline, had advocated for her ability. Madeline was now almost entirely retired, but she would use her leverage at the Post when she felt it would do some good; helping to get Candice in as the EIC was one of her proudest achievements in her later years. Many believed Candice was the best thing that had ever happened to the Post, as she had pushed to champion the voices of women and people of color on her staff, bringing them in consistently on breaking stories and important editorials. Mackenzie loved working for her, but she was consistently intimidated by Candice’s poise, and longed to prove herself to Candice; prove that she hadn’t been hired at the Post just because her mother was a veteran.

“I think I got what I was aiming for,” Kenzie went on, thumbing her recorder. “There was an open bar at that party and tongues were flowing freely, and of course, nobody paid tiny ol’ me in a little babydoll dress any mind unless they were trying to hit on me. Which also happened,” she included, making a face. Candice made a face in return, sympathetically. “I know I can always count on you to weather the shitty stuff,” Candice replied. “You remind me so much of your mother sometimes.” Kenzie smiled brightly at that; to be compared to her mother was always a source of pride for her.

Candice was quiet for a moment, eyeing her with a strange expression. “You look absolutely radiant today, Kenzie. Did something happen?” Kenzie balked; was it that obvious? She thought she’d been hiding the glow she felt inside carefully, but the smile seemed to have pushed it out of her, made it stark. Candice continued to gaze at her with that strange expression, as if she was probing into Kenzie’s mind, searching for the source of Kenzie’s smile, the truth behind it.

“Just thrilled I got the info I wanted,” she replied, looking down at her Macbook, pressing it open, anxious to escape from the observant eye of her boss.

“Uh huh,” Candice she, eyebrows raising, grinning at her suspiciously. “Good work, Kenz.”

Kenzie sat down, blowing out a quiet, relieved breath as Candice walked away. Safe for now. She opened her laptop, finding the word document she’d started for her article, which she’d last worked on hours before the party, anxiously hoping she’d be ballsy enough to go. I sure fucking was, she thought, ballsy enough to go, ballsy enough to talk to Duncan Shepherd, gazing at me like I was made of chocolate, ballsy enough to let him buy me a drink, ballsy enough to let him kiss me, god, what a kiss, ballsy enough to go home with him, ballsy enough to fuck him again and again, ballsy enough to think I’m girlfriend material for a guy who has a Black AmEx, a private car with a driver, a penthouse, and more money than I could hope to earn in my entire life. A shiver touched the back of her neck despite the turtleneck. She remembered Duncan’s words this morning; remembered she’d agreed that it was okay for him to tell his mother about her. His mother was Annette fucking Shepherd. Her stomach dropped again. How will that ever go over well, she thought, biting her lip, clacking on the smooth keyboard of her Macbook, sticking her earbuds into the aux jack of her recorder, playing back the tidbits of conversation she’d quietly been recording as she sidled up, unnoticed, next to prominent Republican Senators and Congressmen. They’d all assumed she was a call girl (there were other call girls there, indeed) and that was fine; that was what made her unnoticeable to men who were busy talking about something that wasn’t sex. She imagined Annette Shepherd’s head spinning on her shoulders a la The Exorcist at Duncan’s admission and a laugh snorted out of her nose. She glanced over at her phone, having noticed its screen light up from the corner of her eye; Clairebear.

Clairebear: Kenzie, details!!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING

Kenzie paused in writing her article (sources tell the Post that Senator Howell did indeed receive PAC funding from private donors for two consecutive election cycles, despite his repeated insistence to the contrary--), snatching up her phone and typing quickly, holding her breath.

Clairebear, it was the most perfect night I’ve ever had. He’d booked a private room for dinner, he looked so gorgeous, he ordered a $250 bottle of wine, I ate the most delicious duck I’ve ever had, HE HAS A FUCKING BOUGUEREAU ORIGINAL IN HIS STUDY, he ate me out on his desk!!!!!!!!!!!!!, he had put all these roses around his clawfoot bathtub and these candles and it was like a DREAM and I am REELING and I can’t even believe it was all real. Clairebear, he wants me to be with him. Be his girlfriend. I said yes.

Clairebear: Whoaaaaa whoa whoa, you said yes???? Already??? It’s been two days, Kenzie!!!

Clairebear, he wants to tell his mother about me. I told him yes. He said he wants to tell her because she was the most important person in his life until he met me, and now we both are. He’s going to tell her tonight.

Clairebear: His mother, you mean ANNETTE FUCKING SHEPHERD KENZIEEEEEE

Claire!!!!!!!! I have to do this. I have never felt this way about anyone before. I was thinking about Tyler and I never felt this way with him. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone, honestly. This is different. You said you trusted me, please trust me.

Kenzie sat back, setting the phone down, lost in thought for a moment. She hadn’t really thought about Tyler until that moment, but now that she had, she felt what she’d said to Claire was the truth. She and Tyler had been together for three years until she had graduated from Georgetown, and he was her first love; she’d lost her virginity to him, had thought she would marry him. He was going to medical school to become a pediatrician, and she had thought, for awhile, that she could be happy with him. But then she’d been hired at the Post, and he’d started a Residency, and they saw each other less and less, and eventually she felt like she didn’t know anything about him anymore; didn’t know what he liked to eat or what he looked like when he slept, didn’t know what he’d done on any given day. He’d wanted kids, too; that made sense, since he was going to be a children’s doctor. But she didn’t. Kenzie didn’t want kids, and she knew that, she had decided that a long time ago; she wanted to be a writer, she wanted to be a good journalist, she wanted to help people, but she didn’t want to be a mother. And so, they’’d broken up. Tyler had been tall and tan, with a soft face and dark hair, and he had been sweet to her when they held each other at night, and she was sure that someday, someone would make him very happy. But it wouldn’t be her.

But Duncan. Duncan was different. Her affection for Tyler had always been warm, even when she knew, finally, that he wasn’t the man she’d grow old with. But that firey feeling Duncan ignited in the center of her soul; that feeling was new, and it thrilled her and terrified her. I said I loved him while we fucked, lost in him, but I think it was true. I think I’m in love with him. Already. I love him. I love him so much it fucking hurts.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you know I do. I just want you to be happy and safe. You know I’m here for you no matter what. I’m here to help you weather the storm. Be the brave bitch I know you are, and don’t let Annette Shepherd give you any shit. And WHEN DO I GET TO MEET HIM The end of Claire’s text was accompanied by three steam-angry face emojis.

I won’t. I’ll pretend to be as brave as you think I am. Kenzie added the smiling face with waving hands emoji and the emoji with a closed eyes and downwards, exasperated expression. And I promise, you’ll meet him soon.

She set the phone down, turning it over. She had to finish this article. She’d spent the whole weekend in a dream, a daze of ecstasy the likes of which she’d never imagined, but dammit, she needed to fucking write this fucking article. She certainly had no plans to give up her writing career to be Duncan Shepherd’s housewife, no fucking way. Anyone who really loves you will always nurture your hopes and dreams for yourself, her mother said into her ear.

Shit, I have to tell Momby, she thought. If Annette Shepherd finds out, it’s only fair that Mom knows too. Come what may. But this is going to suck. She turned back to her keyboard, took another deep breath, and got back to writing.

-------

Kenzie was sitting on one of the long stone steps of the John Barry statue in Franklin Square, a spot where she often ate her lunch. She had a salad with strips of chicken with some balsamic dressing on her lap, with a little container of vegan dumplings sitting beside her can of lemon La Croix on the step, all of which she’d gotten from one of the lunch shops nearby that she frequented when she forgot (or didn’t have time, too busy wrapped in Duncan’s arms, she thought, biting her lip) to pack a lunch herself. Her black Kate Spade Margaux satchel (a gift from her mother when she’d gotten her position at the Post) sat on the step above, her phone in its gold case next to it, its face blank for now. Duncan hadn’t texted her yet since she’d left his penthouse five hours ago, his lips kissing her again and again, clutching her as she half-heartedly tried to break away (she hadn’t wanted to), and she was determined to wait until he did, even though her fingers itched to send him a message. She tore at one of the dumplings with her little fingers, tossing morsels to a fat pigeon who cooed around her feet, lost in thoughts of Duncan again, apprehension at telling her mother or imagining the cold eyes of Annette Shepherd’s judgement, Duncan again, his bright blue jeweled eyes, his hands, his finger on her clit, his black Oxford shirts, his kisses, his voice in her ear, low and sweet. Her phone trumpeted.

Mom: That should work for me, sweets. Is spaghetti and meatballs okay? I’ve been craving it. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face. Is everything at work okay?

She’d texted Madeline in line at the corner store, after she’d made it to a break point regarding her article; Mom, can we have dinner tonight? I need to talk to you about something. Everything’s fine, but it’s important to me. I get off around 5, I could take the train to you.

You know I love your spaghetti, Momby, she typed, using the special nickname she’d called her mother since she was barely old enough to speak. Work is fine, it’s not about work. See you around 6ish.

She set her phone down again, reaching for her can of seltzer; but the familiar trumpety text sound rang out from it again, startling her. Must be Momby again, she thought. She stared at her phone, pushing a forkful of chicken into her mouth. Duncan.

She dropped her plastic fork, grabbing at her phone, holding it up to her face, breathless.

Hi baby. Hope your day is going okay. I’m nervous about tonight, but I know when Mom meets you she’ll love you. Everything will be okay.

A pause, and another text appeared behind the first. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, I can’t concentrate at all today, I fucked up my taped interview three times.

One more pause. Wish I could go back to last night, looking at you in the candlelight. Wish I could wake up again with you in my arms, over and over. Want you on my desk again, looking down at me that way with my mouth on your clit…

Kenzie swallowed, heat rising at the back of her neck, and she pressed a hand against her mouth, unknowingly. Fuck. Duncan. She typed back.

I’m nervous too, I’m going to see my mom on the train after work. But everything will be okay, because we have each other now. And we’ll have so many days to wake up together, baby. My day’s okay, I’m almost finished with my article.

She hit send, hesitated, and typed again. I can’t stop thinking about you either. Last night was perfect, like a beautiful dream. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping without you tonight.

Duncan: Baby. I can’t stand it either.

Mackenzie blood was singing. The way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her, his gentleness, his strong beautiful hands all over her. How would she ever think clearly again? How would she ever be able to concentrate on anything else again? She felt wildly high, like she’d smoked an entire bowl in a few minutes. The endorphins in her brain were coursing through her, filling her with a euphoric daze. Her appetite slid away, her body buzzing with too much nervous energy to eat anymore.

Duncan: No matter how these conversations go tonight, please promise me I can see you tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait longer than that. I want to leave this fucking meeting right now and come to where you are and kiss you until I can’t breathe. I want to make you writhe with pleasure. I wanna make you feel so fucking good, angel…

Mackenzie typed quickly, her breath hitching, her stomach in knots.

Yes, I promise, tomorrow. I get off around 5. Maybe you could come to my place this time. I want you so much, I miss your mouth all over me, I miss your hands on me…

With a grin she imagined Duncan’s pants growing tight around his length in the middle of a meeting, and she couldn’t stifle the giggle that rose out of her. She liked the idea of him getting bothered and distracted in a professional place like that; it thrilled her that he was thinking of her, thinking of fucking her, while he was supposed to be poised and reserved. She wanted to make him feel like that all the time; she wanted him to want her like crazy. And that was the thing; he did. It was too wonderful to be true, too intoxicating to be real. She still couldn’t believe any of it. She couldn’t believe he was hers.

Duncan: Fuck, baby, yes. All over you. I can’t wait to see you, fuck. I feel like I can’t breathe now that you’re not here.

She sent him three kissy face emojis. Just try to be patient, baby, I’ll be in your arms again soon.

Duncan: Tomorrow I wanna give you a card to use for things you need. It’ll be in my name, but it’s yours to use whenever you want. I want you to use it to get some things to leave at my place for when you stay with me. I already made room in my closet for you. Is that okay? Will you, please? I want you to feel safe and comfortable and at home there. Get whatever you want. Get some beautiful things so I can admire you in them. Please?

Her breath shuddered again. Oh my fucking god, she thought. “I already made room in my closet for you.” That gorgeous walk-in closet; he made room for her to put her clothes there. Kenzie gripped her phone tightly, fingers white and bloodless. “Fuck,” she said. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

Okay, baby, she typed. That sounds so wonderful. She felt wildly nervous at the idea of having a credit card from Duncan Shepherd that he wanted her to use, but she remembered what he’d said to her when she balked at the wine; Don’t be afraid. This is my life. The endorphins were still coursing through her and she felt positively faint with their intensity. Duncan wanted her to leave things at his penthouse. The reality of the fact that Duncan Shepherd was her fucking boyfriend now was starting to sink in and she felt absolutely drunk on the realization.

Duncan: Good. I’ll text you later after I talk with Mom. I can’t wait to see you. I’m aching for you, angel.

Good luck, baby. I’m aching for you, too. She sent a broken heart emoji with the red lipstick stain emoji beside it.

Kenzie stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs from the front of the saddle-colored dress and her knee-high stockings. She tucked her phone carefully back into her satchel, gathering the food items in the plastic bag the store clerk had given her, and walked back to the Post building, her nerves on fire with thoughts of the magick that was falling all around her, like rain made of gold, since two nights ago.

------

Kenzie had hopped on the Metro at 5:16, now wearing the oversized Brooks Brothers wool cardigan (Duncan’s cardigan) over her turtleneck dress, wisps of hair around her cheeks again from the wind that had pushed her down the stairs to the underground platform at Metro Center Station. She held the sleeve to her nose, breathing in, earbuds pushing sound into her as the Blue Line train traveled toward Arlington, where her mother now lived alone in a warm brick Cape Cod style house on Fenwick Street, a house that Kenzie thought looked like a bed-n-breakfast and had encouraged her mom to make into one several times, now that she was retired with time on her hands. Kenzie’s thoughts were hazy and drifting, thinking of Duncan’s hands and eyes and lips again, the smell of his woodsy cologne, the music pressing into her--all the roses in the garden fade to black, oooh / oooh--when that familiar trumpet-y sound emanated into her ears. Text message.

Clairebear: Kenzie, oh my god. Did you see this? Take a deep breath. It’s on like four other sites now.

A link accompanied Claire’s text; buzzpopfeed.com. Oh, fuck, Kenzie though, blood freezing. A gossip website.

She clicked the link, her stomach turning over. SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT HIP DC FRENCH BISTRO WITH MYSTERY BEAUTY, the headline read. OH, FUCK, Kenzie thought, heart ramming up into her throat, scrolling down rapidly to the photos, eyes wide. Oh fuck, fucking shit fuck oh no.

There were three photos; the first one was of the two of them walking through the closely-set tables of the main dining room of Le Diplomate, towards where their private room was tucked towards the back; in it, Kenzie looked at Duncan shyly and he looked back at her, his expression casual, at least, it appeared that way, and their hands were tightly clasped; her face was totally visible, as if someone had taken the photo from the back of the room while they walked forward--a photo from a phone, no doubt. The plunging neckline of her dress was clearly visible too; her waves of long hair over one shoulder. I look really nice, she thought, with strange, removed relief. I guess if I have to show up on a gossip site, it’s better if the pictures aren’t terrible. Duncan, of course, looked wonderful; wildly handsome, his hair tossed perfectly back, his blue eyes shining out of the photo strikingly, his velvet jacket falling just-so despite the candid nature of the shot. God, he’s so beautiful. She felt absurdly distant from the photo, as if there were some other girl in it with him; it was all still so surreal.

She scrolled down a little more; the second photo was clearly their backs to the camera, wherever it had come from, moving out the front door; obviously taken as they were leaving in a dizzy rush, wrapped up in each other. Duncan’s hand was visible along the bottom of Kenzie’s back in it, pressing against her long wavy hair, his face leaning down to her; her face was turned up to him, and her smile, though only partially visible, was radiant. I look so happy, she thought. I am happy. I’m in love.

The last photo made her gasp; in it, she and Duncan were clearly embracing, and his lips were pressed to the incline of her neck, her eyes closed, her face serene; she remembered the moment as clearly as if it was happening again now, despite the wine having settled into her by then; he’d grasped her to him as he’d opened the car door for her, and pressed a kiss, like the immediate passion of Klimt’s painting of the same name, into her. She couldn’t imagine any onlooker mistaking the kiss for one of platonic affection; there was an aching sensitivity to it, a passionate depth of feeling that was never present for the embraces of friendship. It was a Kiss; running over with emotion, gold and glittering and weaved of transparent desire. You only kiss someone like that if you want them terribly, she thought, and knew it was obvious; that it would be obvious to anyone who saw the photo, including their mothers. Looking at the photo filled her body with electricity; god, his kisses. Knowing they were all for her now was a dream too precious to fully grasp.

She blew air carefully from her nose, willing herself out of the dizziness that washed over her; at least you were about to tell your mother anyway, she reasoned with herself. But a stone settled into the pit of her stomach, one made of a heavy sourness, comprised of apprehension; I’m not sure I was ready for literally everyone else to know, too, that’s all.

Too late now, I guess.

She replied to Claire. No. I hadn’t seen that. I’m literally on the train to Arlington to tell my mother about him, though. I was already. Good timing, I guess.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you look BEAUTIFUL in these photos. Stunning. No wonder he asked you to be his girlfriend. At least now I know he isn’t an idiot, at least, not entirely. He better hire you a bodyguard now.

Kenzie bit her lip nervously, reading Claire’s message a few times. She glanced up, noticing they were a stop away from Arlington Cemetery. Momby, I’m about five minutes from the Station, she sent to her mother. Her mother replied almost right away with a thumbs-up emoji and “ok” emoji, which meant “on my way!” in Kenzie/Momby speak.

Thanks for letting me know, Clairebear. I love you. He’s telling his mom soon too, over dinner.

Clairebear: You know I gotchu, bb. God, I’d love to see the look on Annette Shepherd’s face tonight. He better have nerves of steel. I love you too.

Kenzie tucked her phone into the long pocket of Duncan’s wool cardigan as the train rolled to a stop at the Arlington Cemetery Station; she stepped out onto the platform, spotting her Momby’s old beat-up Jeep Cherokee, waving to her and smiling. Madeline waved back, her rectangular glasses glinting in the low evening light; the ones she wore tonight were black, but she had ten different pairs, all the same style but in different colors. Kenzie hitched the straps of her satchel over her shoulder, sighing. Here goes fucking nothing, please be understanding tonight, Momby.

She slid into the beat-up passenger’s seat of the Jeep, fingers immediately finding the place where the seam had ripped out along the side, pressing into it; she had worked her fingers there for years, and it was her fault the orange-y stuffing was poking out. Her mother’s warm scent, like clean sheets dried in sunny air and a vague sweetness (it always made Kenzie think of wine), enveloped Kenzie as it always did as she leaned over and kissed the crow’s-foot at the corner of her mother’s eye. “Hi Momby,” she said, settling back into her seat, hand grasping around her mother’s resting on the steering wheel for a moment before putting it back into her lap.

“Hi sweet pea,” he mother said, putting her foot on the gas gently, pulling out of the parking lot behind a few other cars; she wore plum-dark lipstick and a dark indigo sweater, a black scarf around her neck; she had on her little gold hoop earrings, the ones she wore most often these days. The Platters’ Only You drifted soothingly from the stereo as she pulled onto the road, towards home. “I made the meatballs with extra garlic; most recipes call for a clove of garlic, which I find unbelievable, you need at least five for any savory food to taste decent. And you need to ward off the vampires, of course.”

Kenzie grinned at her mother. “Of course.”

“So what’s with you, Kenzie Lou.” Her mother yanked on the stick shift, the old Jeep rumbling at her. She didn’t look at her daughter, keeping her eyes on the road, but Kenzie could tell by the edge in her voice she wasn’t going to let her daughter stall for long.

“Ummmmm.” Kenzie hummed for a moment, flicking imaginary dirt from under her nails. “The past few days have been...really overwhelming. I went to that party and it was awful, Momby, the men there were terrible, their conversations, ugh, just horrible. But I did manage to record some incriminating stuff. But--” She hesitated. Madeline glanced at her, pressing her lips together in that familiar way.

“But what, sweet pea. Spit it out.”

“I...Momby. I met someone there.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, eyes staying on the road for a few beats. She glanced over at her daughter, her eyes peering over her squarish glasses, and Kenzie saw her eyebrows fall; saw a shadow falling over her mother’s face.

“Okay.”

“Ummm.”

Now that the moment seemed to be here, Kenzie felt unable to continue. It was one thing to imagine telling her mother about Duncan; it was another thing entirely to stare her mother in the face in person and tell her she was Annette Shepherd’s son’s fucking girlfriend.

“Please promise you won’t get upset.”

“Mackenzie. What are you talking about? You met someone. What does that mean?” Her mother’s tone was even, but hid a gaining hint of annoyance that only the well-trained ear of her daughter could pick up on. Kenzie had grown up having conversations like this with her mother; matter-of-fact and even, but tinged with a complete lack of tolerance for falsehood. “Promise I won’t get upset? I don’t even understand what I’m theoretically supposed to be upset about. You met a Democrat there? What are the odds.” She laughed a little at her own joke.

“I met Duncan Shepherd there.”

Her mother said nothing. The air seemed to go thick with the heaviness of the silence that settled between them. Her mother was thinking.

“Okay. And?”

“Momby. Don’t be mad. I wanted to tell you because...it’s important to me.” She mirrored Duncan’s words without fully realizing it.

“Tell me what? He has six fingers? He has horns?” Her mother mirrored Duncan’s words now, and it unnerved her. A strong wave of deja vu washed over her; time falling in on itself.

“I--we went out together,” she said, lamely, fumbling for words.

“‘Went out together’?” Her mother’s tone was rising very slightly, the edge becoming more apparent. “Went out? To where, their fucking chemical plant?”

“Momby.”

“Mackenzie.” Her mother turned onto Fenwick Street with a jerk, pressed the foot more firmly onto the gas pedal, the Jeep stuttering forward, the warm light of the house visible down the block. Kenzie fumbled her hands together again, reaching down to her pocket, fingers closing around her phone, as if Duncan could send strength through it to her hand. She knew inherently her mother understood already what she was trying to say, but she also knew her mother was going to force her to say it outloud. Madeline Stone was like that. You said what you meant, or you fucked off.

Her mother turned into the slender driveway paved with red bricks along either side of a stretch of blacktop. She turned the Jeep’s ignition off, yanking the key out with a measured amount of anger. Mackenzie listened to her mother let out a colossal sigh, a sort of exasperated groan.

“Mackenzie Louise. Just spit it the fuck out.”

“We’re together. Momby. I’m dating him. I thought you should know.”

“Jesus, Mackenzie!” Her mother spit the words out, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Her mother slapped the door of the Jeep open, stepped down, purse clutched tightly in her hand, and slammed it behind her, making the old car shudder. Kenzie winced. Her mother stormed into the house, the big wood door swinging shut with a slight crash.

Kenzie sucked air into her lungs, holding her breath in, puffing out her cheeks. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and stared down at it, noticing it was blank of messages, wondering if Duncan was having as great a time as she was so far (haha). She copied the link from the text from Claire and pasted it into the message box under Duncan’s name in her texting app. She pressed send, and typed after it: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know. She chewed her lip, hit send again, lowered her phone into her lap, took a deep breath. Kenzie opened the car door, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and trudged into her mother’s warm brick house, determined to convince the notoriously stubborn Madeline Stone that Duncan Shepherd was indeed good enough for her daughter.

#millory #body and soul #duckenzie #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #millory au #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan x mallory #michael x mallory #collie #cody x billie #cody fern #billie lourd #ahs apocalypse #house of cards #house of cards au #my fic

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3sportsguns · 5 years ago

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Fantasy Football Headset 2020; Post-Draft Value Massacre

The 32 NFL teams drafted like they hate Fantasy Football owners. The first ever virtual draft should actually only be remembered as the Value Massacre of 2020. Nothing captures the kick in the crotch more than the very deep running back class proving more panic than hope for those at the top of their drafts.

Matthew Berry put out his Love/Hate List for the post-draft, which is of course always great material to check out as he is the God of Fantasy Football. At this point it would be pretty safe to say you know how much your team has cratered because of the draft. In fact, the way the draft went has clearly altered strategies in our Dynasty League.

Right now the clear number one draft pick for rookie drafts is CEH. Shocker, the very first back that went to the most potent offense should be the top pick in the rookie draft. The way it normally goes in our league is the top tier of backs are drafted, then the top WR crop and then crap hits the fan. However, after pick one it's a bit up in the air and that has caused top teams to look to punch out of the top of the draft.

Pick number three has been already traded and is on the block again, pick number one is on the block and post-draft has led to a lot more chatter in the group thread as teams are definitely not as happy about things as they were last week. Don't get me wrong, as the pick number two owner I was expecting to get an impact back to help me compete for my first playoff spot in 2020 and things are up in the air.

However, if you find yourself at the end of the first round or early second I would be pretty excited because the uncertainties of the running back position means they're inevitably going to slide. In my Dynasty League once there start to be questions about running backs they slide, Derrius Guice fell to the end of the first round because of his injury. While normally you wouldn't expect to get a solid RB if you're picking outside of the top five-ish, this year you may get someone you have to wait on but solid nonetheless.

ESPN's rookie rankings have J. K. Dobbins #11, Cam Akers #12, Zack Moss #17 and Ke'Shawn Vaugh #19. In a 12 team draft like ours those are some solid RBs that COULD be available in round two. While the top of the first round may be bailing out that may be reason to be aggressive in moving up to those picks because of the post-draft value massacre.

I made a trade for Noah Fant which cost me two 2nd round picks so I have four 3rd round picks (30, 31, 33 and 36). Projected at those picks are Jordan Love (pass at this point with Wentz and Jackson), Tyler Johnson at Tampa (pass because of where the Tampa receiving depth chart is), La'Mical Perine for the Jets (could be interesting with his speed) and Joshua Kelly for the Chargers (who I think is interesting with Melvin Gordon leaving town). In that area as well is WR Antonio Gandy-Golden who went to a depleted Washington depth chart and has been talked about to potentially be this year's Scary Terry and TE Adam Trautman who would be a very interesting long term TE with the Saints.

Look no further at what the value massacre has done to alter strategies then one of the bottom teams in the league. The original owner of third overall pick traded that, a 2nd this year, a 1st and 2nd in 2021 as he has gone all in to try and trade his way to contention. Now, the first thought may be that's not smart as you should use those premiere picks to try and slowly build a young core but that hasn't exactly worked out.

There have really only be two teams that have hit on enough young players to dig themselves out of the bottom and one is because he got Dalvin Cook and Saquon Barkley along with a shrewd pick up of Darren Waller before cuts last season. The other team took a major hit since he owns Phillip Lindsay, Devin Singeltary, Royce Freeman and Marlon Mack. That's the Value Massacre of 2020.

The bottom team traded for Kenyan Drake, James Connor, Matt Brieda and Deshaun Watson to go with Courtland Sutton, A.J. Brown, Will Fuller, N'Keal Harry and Mark Andrews. He still has what should be an early 2nd in 2021, but he has firmly put himself in conetntion for a playoff spot. In the league riddled with the uncertainty, and now the draft, it's a bold strategy but a direction. What has put teams in tough spots has been not choosing a direction. The team that took a hit on all their running backs has avoided big trades and now will be in a tough spot without a trade.

One team traded away James Connor for a future first and Guice but then flipped another 1st for Leveon Bell. Is that competiting or retooling? There are plenty of teams that will sit still, be relatively competitive but not move up the ladder and this year's value massacre will highlight again those so make sure you pick a direction and stick with it.

Conventional thinking is you can build a young core through draft picks, but it doesn't necessarily work that way. One of the best teams in the league has had great luck picking at the end of the 1st round getting Corey Brown, Mike Williams, Derrius Guice and other's, but has ended flipping them as they haven't panned out. While you hope you can get contributing young players, this year especially, ought to make the though process simple; young players are assets just like draft picks.

While the bottom team trying to buy his roster may give you initial pause the strategy may actually be the way to go. Get young proven players, still a gamble, and bite the bullet for a few drafts to get in to contention so that you don't have to depend on those draft picks as much. Most importantly, standing pat isn't the way you win a championship.

#FantasyFootball #NFL #NFLDraft #ValueMassacre2020

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rlikerefashion-blog · 3 months ago

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Crotch Depth Drafting: Beginner’s Guide to Perfect Fit

#diy #youtube #sew #sewing #tutorial #free pattern #pattern #sewing pattern #pattern making #pattern drafting #sparrowrefashion

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years ago

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Shakespeare for Feminists: An Oral History of 10 Things I Hate About You

20 years ago in the shadow of Y2K anxiety, an unassuming movie set at a high school in Tacoma, Washington opened the same day as “The Matrix.” This was an era before e-mail, when alt-rock was a thing, riot grrls haunted record stores and, pace John Hughes, getting into college was more important than getting a prom date. The film’s rookie screenwriters—one in Los Angeles, the other in Denver—collaborated via snail mail on a feminist refresh of a Shakespeare play considered problematic for its misogyny.

Inspired by The Taming of the Shrew, “10 Things I Hate About You” featured an ensemble of mostly teen-age actors. It was the big-screen breakthrough for TV stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Larisa Oleynik, and Gabrielle Union, not to mention relative newcomer Julia Stiles and relative unknown Australian TV actor Heath Ledger. The dialogue was fresh as their faces, likewise the soundtrack featuring Semisonic, Letters to Cleo and Ledger’s rendition of Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” backed by a high-school marching band. The film had edge, but also heart.

This story about two sisters (Stiles, Oleynik) and two transfer students (Ledger, Gordon-Levitt), boasted fully realized conformist and nonconformist characters rather than the preppy versus punk archetypes then in currency. Given its gender balance and story, the film couldn’t be pigeonholed as a chick flick or bro-pic. It struck a nerve and the funnybone of a broad spectrum of moviegoers, from 13-year-old teens to tenured literature professors to theater parodists currently performing an unauthorized tribute in LA.

Beginner’s luck

Kirsten Smith, screenwriter: In 1996 I was in Los Angeles working at CineTel, reading scripts and query letters. I answered a query from Karen McCullah, requesting sample scripts.

Karen McCullah, screenwriter: I was in Denver, writing scripts and working as a freelance publicist for an environmental nonprofit. I came out to LA and had drinks with Kirsten. We started writing an unproduced screenplay on cocktail napkins. We were both fans of Amy Heckerling’s "Clueless," based on Jane Austen’s Emma.

Smith: We wanted to find a fairytale or fable or novel on which we could base a modern story. Someone suggested The Taming of the Shrew. In our version, of course, the shrew wouldn’t be tamed, she was too shrewd.

McCullah: We considered a gender-reversal, making the male lead the shrew before we concluded that all high school guys are shrews. We sent each other drafts by mail. It took about a year. We wrote Kat as the kind of character we wanted to see, an indie rock riot grrl. I was into that at the time.

Smith: We went to Sundance in 1997 and circulated the script, but it didn’t take flight.

McCullah: It landed at Disney, which wanted to make one teen movie that year. Its choice was between "10 Things" and a script called "School Slut." We did another rewrite, then they greenlit the movie. Still, Disney asked why Kat was so angry.

Smith: All teenagers are angry.

Julia Stiles and Larisa Oleynik

Aligning the stars

Gil Junger Emmy-nominated TV director who made his feature debut with "10 Things": I was very much taken with the script. Its tone was smart, uniquely intelligent and funny. Casting wasn’t an easy process.

Disney executives “gently” encouraged Junger to cast "Dawson's Creek" stars James Van Der Beek and Katie Holmes in the roles of Patrick and Kat that eventually went to Ledger and Stiles.

Smith: The casting people sent us audition tapes. I remember Josh Hartnett and Ashton Kutcher read for Patrick and Katie Holmes, Kate Hudson and Rachael Leigh Cook for Kat.

Andrew Keegan, star of "Camp Nowhere" and TV’s "Party of Five," cast as Joey: As a young actor, I was so thrilled by the prospect of playing Shakespeare! I remember Joseph Gordon-Levitt (star of NBC’s "Third Rock from the Sun") and I were among the first people cast.

Julia Stiles, Kat: I had been reading The Taming of the Shrew in exactly that year. So, yes, the adaptation really appealed to me. "10 Things" was my first big role. After a few years of auditioning but always being told I was too serious, getting hired to play Kat was a thrilling affirmation that maybe my seriousness was okay.

Larisa Oleynik, Bianca: There were many rounds of auditioning. I really wanted the part of Kat. Then I was asked to do a “chemistry” audition as Bianca opposite Julia Stiles’ Kat. Something felt right about it.

Junger: Most of the girls came in to audition wearing sexy clothes. Julia came in wearing baggy pants and a t-shirt, hair up in a bun. She wasn’t working the ‘look-how-pretty-I-am’ angle. When she shook my hand and looked into my eyes, I was struck by a depth and maturity. This, combined with her poise, was formidable.

Stiles: Kat was the first role I had read for a young woman that was so refreshingly feisty. I loved the script, especially because it had a healthy bite to it. For a romantic comedy to have a cynical sense of humor, but also be truly romantic, stood out at the time.

The director was close to the start of shoot and still didn’t have a male lead.

Junger: Marcia Ross, our casting guru, and her associates looked at about a thousand candidates. But I wasn’t going to cast the guy until I saw the guy. There were five casting women and me in the room when the next one walked in. It was Heath Ledger [then 18], and I felt as soon as he walked in, ‘If this guy can speak English I’ll cast him.’ Already he had the energy and that soulful sexuality of a movie star. I wanted to see how nimble he could be if I asked him to change tone with a few lines from the script. He was great. When he walked out the instant the door closed, we all knew.

Heath Ledger and Andrew Keegan

Ready, set, go

By the time the magnificent seven arrived in Seattle in the summer of 1998, Gabrielle Union and David Krumholtz, respectively 25 and 20, eased into the roles of big sister and brother of the group; Ledger and Keegan were 19; Gordon-Levitt, Oleynik and Stiles were all 17, between their high school junior and senior years.

Junger: My mantra was, I’m not gonna to shoot a high school movie. I’m gonna shoot a movie about people in relationships who happen to be in high school.

Smith: Heath arrived a little later than the rest of the principal cast. When he did, he instantly became the group’s galvanizing leader.

Keegan: When Keith arrived at the hotel he was carrying a didgeridoo. Classic Australian.

Oleynik: The group had begun to gel by the time Heath came and became our ringleader. We didn’t want to be apart. It was like art camp. We were together both as a group and one-on-one. Julia was so cool and confident. David and Joey (Gordon-Levitt) got close right away. Joey, Julia and I talked about college. On lazy Saturdays I would go to Gabrielle’s room and we’d watch music videos. Andrew and I knew each other from the teen actor beat.

Keegan: It’s interesting to look back on this time before social media. We just hung out together. What happened on "10 Things" set, carried over to our off-screen relationships. You could talk to Heath about anything: He was wise beyond his years. David, Joey and Julia were all crazy Beastie Boys fans. Gabrielle was just the coolest. David and Joseph supplied the comic relief. Larisa was a delight. It sounds corny, but it was a magical experience.

Stiles: It was such a special summer and we were all so open-hearted. Each actor was excited to be there and not jaded or closed-off yet.

Smith: Andrew Keegan had all these eight-year olds who knew him from TV, begging for his autograph.

Junger: When I shot the scene with David and Heath in the cafeteria, Heath fluffed a line. I took him aside and asked him if he was getting wasted. He replied, 'No. It’s just that they come knocking at the door at two in the morning." "Who?," I asked. “You know. Girls.” I’m telling you, there was a magnet in that kid. Another time, I said to him, you don’t know what’s going to hit you when this is released. He said, "Let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about how I could be my best self today."

While many moviegoers might point to the moment at the prom when Bianca protects her date, Cameron (Gordon-Levitt), decking the conceited Joey with a wicked right hook before kneeing him in the crotch as a high point, the actress who played Bianca begs to disagree.

Oleynik: The best day on set had to be Heath singing “I Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” while dancing in the stadium bleachers. It could have been so cheesy, but it was sincere. I think all of us knew then that we had something special.

Junger: A high point was Julia’s recitation of the “10 Things” sonnet in front of her English class. She delivered it with such depth and pain—in just one take.

Coda

There are many reasons that "10 Things" enjoys such a robust afterlife. One is that it’s a coming-of-age movie in which not only the characters but also the actors playing them seem to be coming of age before our eyes. Another is that many high school and college professors use the film as a tool to better understand the Bard. Some say the movie eliminates the misogyny of the play.

Junger: It has aged well, largely because the script hits the truth of human emotions. Like Shakespeare.

Oleynik: These Shakespeare updates give students a way into the story.

Rebecca Munson, Shakespeare scholar, Project Manager for Princeton Center for Digital Humanities: The underlying question—can an independent-minded woman still pursue her own path if she’s romantically engaged—remains vital to today’s students. The tension between ambition and assertiveness, on the one hand, and the compromises required by romantic engagement, on the other, still apply, regardless of gender.

Katherine’s speech closing the Shakespeare play advocates, often with a wink, that wives obey husbands. Kat’s sonnet in the movie says, “I like you in spite of myself,” which isn’t incompatible with her pursuing her own goals and desires.

from All Content http://bit.ly/2Igs0gr

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a-h-arts · 6 years ago

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A quick note for longtime McGinnis fans If readers have been followers of this remarkable illustrator for some time, they may already have a copy of "Tapestry: The Paintings of Robert McGinnis" published back in the year 2000. Such readers may be wondering if that book is entirely redundant with this one and if this one is worth having. Well, I think it is. Any career overview of this type has certain highlights that need to be acknowledged, and those images are present in both books, but this volume seems determined not to present them in the same way. Images that appeared as quarter-page reproductions in "Tapestry," the front cover illustration, for example, may be a full page here. One image that appeared as a page and a half in the older book is cropped much closer to the figure and is reproduced as a double page spread in this volume. This book also reproduces dozens of illustrations that are not present in the older book. This one includes some sketches and photo-reference. It also features an interview with McGinnis that offers some insight into what the illustration game was like back when scarcely a week went by without the appearance of a McGinnis illustration somewhere. Go to Amazon

Fantastic artbook for an amazing artist Go to Amazon

Stupendous. Brilliant. Shockingly good (and that's just the first twenty pages...) I was a casual admirer of McGinnis' art from his Hard Case Crime covers and rolled the dice and picked this book up. As soon as I was twenty or so pages in I realized that I previously had had NO IDEA of the depth of this man's talent! This is a truly INCREDIBLE book, and one recommend to ANY fan of American art and illustration. It's a seemingly comprehensive overview of McGinnis' career, from hippie-dippie sleaze PBO covers to Mike Shayne series art, Guideposts illustrations to late-career Hard Case masterworks. Excellent reproductions (many full page) throughout, with sketches, roughs, and preliminaries accompanying brief biographical text. TRULY ESSENTIAL. Go to Amazon

Like stepping back in time, to a glorious era I'm sure I read numerous novels with McGinnis covers back in my teen years without ever making the connection. Viewing this collection took me back to those days, suddenly linking all those covers in my retro mind. Best of all, not only is the art just as terrific as in its day but the book offers fascinating insights such as McGinnis' repeated use of a hero who was a ringer for James Coburn, or a cover McGinnis illustrated with a naked woman (her breasts and crotch blocked from view by arms and other items) which the publisher made him repaint a bikini top and bottom on the woman; after publication, once McGinnis had his painting back, he repainted the bikini back out. Fun stuff! Go to Amazon

The text is excellent and informative Superbly reproduced artwork in a large format, which allows you to really appreciate art (most of which McGuiness made in surprisingly small formats to begin with). The text is excellent and informative, with many insights provided by the artist himself as the result of the author's interviews with him. I know I'm showing my age, but it really takes me back in time whenever I look at it. Go to Amazon

The Art of Robert E. McGinnis Great book. Does not have every piece of artwork McGinnis ever painted but it has some nice examples. I wish there was a comprehensive book available with ALL the paperback and magazine art he painted, with large enough images that one would not have to squint at the smaller images. Such a book would cost the earth though. In the meantime this is a worthwhile buy. Highly recommended. Go to Amazon

High quality volume spanning an important career Even if you don’t recognize his name, you’ve probably seen some of his art. McGinnis is a key figure in the history of movie and paperback promotions. This book is packed with examples of his commercial work, as well as his landscapes. Some drafts are also included. Thoughtful text provides information about his career and creative process. This is a beautiful volume – would make an excellent gift. Go to Amazon

Excellent! Five Stars Great book but it's missing some iconic McGinnis illustrations! Stunning images! Five Stars I love it. Fun to peruse Five Stars Five Stars Book itself is well done and traces a very great career in art

#Historical #art #book

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junker-town · 7 years ago

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9 things that made Baker Mayfield the most likeable villain in the NFL draft

Mayfield kept things interesting during his college years.

Baker Mayfield may not be the consensus top quarterback in this draft class, but he is someone who people have very strong opinions about. And whether you love him or hate him, you can’t deny that Mayfield made college football more interesting during his time at Texas Tech and Oklahoma.

Mayfield’s performance at Oklahoma was impressive enough to earn him the Heisman Trophy following the 2017 season. He also pissed off a lot of folks and issued a handful of apologies along the way. Here are Mayfield’s most memorable antics.

That time he taunted Kansas mercilessly

There’s no love lost between Mayfield and his Big 12 rivals, the Kansas Jayhawks. To be fair, they started it when they refused to shake Mayfield’s hand before the coin flip when the two teams met in Week 12 of last season.

This turned into Mayfield and a Kansas player going toe to toe after the coin toss. They had to be separated by an official. Mayfield taunted players with a crotch grab that earned him a partial-game suspension the following week against West Virginia, and he taunted Kansas fans by telling them to stick to basketball.

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Mayfield later apologized. But he also dropped 257 passing yards and three touchdowns on the Jayhawks in Oklahoma’s 41-3 win, which was the biggest troll job of all.

That time he planted Oklahoma’s flag in Ohio Stadium

As an Ohio State fan, this was not my favorite Baker Mayfield moment. But it was a quintessentially Mayfield thing to do. After the Sooners’ 31-16 road win over the Buckeyes, Mayfield did the unthinkable: He planted an Oklahoma flag on Ohio Stadium’s 50-yard line.

Baker Mayfield plants the OU flag in the Ohio State logo at midfield pic.twitter.com/Ovas203PqP

— Bryan Fischer (@BryanDFischer) September 10, 2017

Mayfield was still salty toward the Buckeyes for singing Carmen Ohio on the Sooners’ field after Ohio State’s 45-24 win in Norman in Week 2 of the 2016 season, which is a thing they do after each game. Mayfield apologized after the fact for the flag-planting incident, but it’s one that Buckeyes fans won’t soon forget.

That time he sonned the hell out of Baylor

Who’s Baylor’s daddy? Why, it’s Baker Mayfield, according to Baker Mayfield.

Before Oklahoma’s 49-41 win over the Bears last season, there was a skirmish of sorts between players. Mayfield intervened with an admonition.

“You forgot who daddy is,” Mayfield said. “I’m going to have to spank you today.”

Teams getting acquainted with one another. pic.twitter.com/1HzdyAQfGz

— Eddie Radosevich (@Eddie_Rado) September 23, 2017

It ended up being one of Oklahoma’s closer wins of the season, but Mayfield kept his promise with 283 yards, three touchdowns, and no picks.

That time he caught a trick play TD

And it was a beauty. Just before halftime in the Rose Bowl College Football Playoff semifinal, Mayfield caught this wide open score to give the Sooners a 31-17 lead going into the half.

That wouldn’t hold. Georgia went on to win 54-48 in a double overtime thriller. But that doesn’t change anything about the fact that this was a dope-ass play.

And oh, yeah, about that ...

That time he played in the Rose Bowl after battling the flu all week

This flu season was brutal. I had it and the most strenuous thing I did for a solid week was take my dog outside, which aggressively pushed me beyond my flu-imposed physical limits. Baker Mayfield had flu-like symptoms in the week leading up to the Rose Bowl. He had 287 yards, two passing touchdowns, one receiving touchdown, and a pick in the loss.

That time he had a messy divorce with Texas Tech

In 2013, Mayfield became the first true freshman walk-on to open a season as an FBS team’s starting QB. He had a good year, but he slipped down the depth chart after getting hurt a couple of prolific games in. He wound up transferring and walking on at Oklahoma, and his camp and the Texas Tech community traded plenty of barbs in the aftermath. While Mayfield was in Lubbock with Oklahoma in 2014, he got kicked out of a local restaurant.

That time he made a list of media members who doubted him

Everyone has a take about Baker Mayfield. He’s been compared to Ryan Leaf (by Ryan Leaf) and Johnny Manziel, and at least one team had a private investigator following him around.

Mayfield won’t forget. He’s got a list of media members who have doubted him and a collection of screen caps on his phone to remind him of the disrespect and to motivate him. He’s basically the Arya Stark of this draft class.

That time he got drunk and was tackled by a cop

Who among us doesn’t have some kind of embarrassing story about drinking too much and having some kind of run-in with the cops during our college years? Baker Mayfield: He’s just like us, except for his run-in with the cops was especially rough.

Mayfield tried to run from the cops, and it went poorly for him.

Here's the Baker Mayfield arrest video. Nice wrap up by the wall. pic.twitter.com/VOEFZj0D88

— Bunkie Perkins (@BunkiePerkins) March 10, 2017

He was charged with public intoxication and disorderly conduct, and it led to yet another Mayfield apology.

That’s quite a list. Now we’ll get to see if Mayfield will also make the NFL more interesting in his rookie season.

Oh, and jorts ...

“There are those people who are in your corner no matter what, you can’t do any wrong, even when you do wrong. And then there are those people that no matter what you do they’re going to dislike you and that’s not going to change.” - Brett Favre #DraftEve #MMO pic.twitter.com/6bCE9SxqI6

— Baker Mayfield (@bakermayfield) April 26, 2018

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dizisports · 7 years ago

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Baker Mayfield Screen-shotting Tweets to Motivate Himself is Not a Bad Thing

Baker Mayfield has a big chip on his shoulder. You might see this within the infamous Oklahoma recreation towards Kansas, when he responded to taunts by grabbing his crotch. And you may see it in how he has reacted to criticism within the pre-draft course of. MMQB has an in-depth piece about his go to with Russell Wilson, and contrasted the 2 types. Immediately, Mayfield is protecting a listing of the media members who've crossed a line, he says, and he shops screenshots of offending tweets in his telephone. All of it serves as motivation when he’s understanding alone, he informed Wilson. And sure, because the piece notes, if he spends all his time obsessing about criticism and never dealing with failure, will probably be a dangerous factor. However being skinny-skinned and having a huge chip on the shoulder isn’t precisely a damaging quarterback trait. Most of the most profitable quarterbacks have a lengthy reminiscence on slights. We’ve heard Aaron Rodgers recall a p

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READ MORE HERE: http://www.dizisports.com/baker-mayfield-screen-shotting-tweets-to-motivate-himself-is-not-a-bad-thing

#Baker Mayfield #Commentary #News #NFL #Russell Wilson

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aiikko · 7 years ago

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Saleem’s Lot (first draft)

Note: this is a very, very rough draft of this story. I’m only posting drafts of my stories on this blog, as the final product will be published as a hard copy.

Simone wanted the cojones of that bull because it reminded her of hard-boiled eggs. Soft, white eggs that unwittingly have the power to exude eroticism given the right amount of perversity possessed by the subject in question. When she sat on it the metaphor was not lost on us— however inappropriate the act may be. But what of the matador whose eye was pierced by the bull? Does he not play a singular part in the same metaphor? When executed by a graceful matador, bull-fighting becomes a fluid show of an intricate dance between the teaser and the teased, which culminates in the final movement of stabbing the by now spent bull— the triumph of man over beast.

In the case of this particular story, it was an eye for an eye with the matador at the mercy of the angry brute; all metaphors aside, I find myself in the shoes of that same matador as the bull was fast approaching, its horn inches away from my eyes. Would I have the presence of mind to close my eyes? Or would I stare back head on, resigned to my fate? The art of bullfighting is never in need of cowards so the option of running with my tail between my legs is out of the question.

Where the sun shines high up in the heavens and giving out its rays like trinkets to mollify its children after a period of absence, somewhere in Madrid, the matador, me, by the name of Saleem, prepares for battle. My cape swooshes with every move, slicing into the humid air like shards of glass. The bull is still raging in spite of the daggers already stabbed on its back. I am confident of victory. A few more movements and the final blow will be dealt. But in an unforeseen misfortune, the bull seems to have gathered all its rage to channel it upon me. With renewed strength, the beast surged forward with the tip of its horns jutted out, aiming for what I imagine is my eye.

Time stopped. The sweat trickling down my forehead stalled, mid-roll and I could feel its beads hovering on my burning flesh. The sun seemed to have stopped shining as well, with a glaze of ugly bright yellow covering the skies like a filter. It is at this point that I closed my eyes. My brain curled up and took a nap but not without commanding the nerves to go on autopilot. What was left in me was the sensation of a breeze and a quiet lullaby playing on loop in my ears and creeping in on my flesh.

That was when I decided that if I want to stall the bull’s horn from piercing my eye, along with the lullaby in my ears, I had to make the decision to never again open my eyes.

Chronos is a despot lashing away on the horses at his chariot. I am as with the bull, at his mercy. My prayers, like a sieve, filters only the most crucial, and that is, so long as the bull is ready to pierce my eye, let my eyes be as closed for how many aeons it may take.

My vision has always been 20/20 on the things it wanted to see, and blurry on the things it refuses to. I traverse through life with no difficulty as long as my goal is in sight. The bigger the goal, the clearer my vision gets. But when it comes to anything I’d like to escape from, darkness becomes a respite from all of my troubles. The latest of which, is the bull’s horn ready to pierce my eye. From the murmurings around me, I could tell that I was at school. It’s been only about last night since I decided to fully close my eyes, and have instinct guide my way. I could hear their whispers wondering about me, but I don’t mind, my purpose far outweighs any prattle.

I half-heartedly listened to the teacher drone on about stories from the Bible until one detail caught my ear. It was the story of Lot who disobeyed God’s order to not look behind her, and subsequently became a boulder of salt. Once again, the eye as a metaphor. Lot dared to look and was punished. The same thing, I conclude, is happening to me.

“Saleem, why are your eyes closed?” -they ask.

“Saleem, is there anything wrong with your eyes?” -they ask.

“Saleem, is this a prank?” -they ask.

I silently let these comments roll off my back, vindicated in the thought that as long as my eyes are closed, I won’t suffer the same fate as Lot, and especially, I’ll be able to avoid the sharp point of the bull’s horn.

For days I lost glimpse of the moon, the moon that I romanticize as the abode of the gods and goddesses, and which shines every night for me and for me alone. The paeans I dedicated to this silver enchantress lie at the bottom of my drawer, with me being afraid that I might open my eyes in the process of trying to write about the moon again.

The eye is an egg, and the egg is an eye. This unfaithful quotation from Simone brings out the poet in me for I could enumerate lots of white, orb-shaped objects that could be compared to an eye. Although the question that needs to be answered is what is so erotic with an eye? Great thinkers have tried to answer this riddle only to submerge it back into the bottom of murky waters. What is an eye? In layman's definition, it is the organ used by the human body to be able to see. Physically, it is located below our forehead and is made up of many parts that I won’t waste time enumerating here. The eyes (and eggs) which Simone was hopelessly fascinated with were metaphors for the all-seeing eye of God. Sex is an intimate act which is supposed to be between two consenting adults and should be done behind locked doors. By making use of the “eye” in their escapades, they are welcoming the presence of God in their otherwise bleak world. Their intimacy is grounded upon violence, perversity, and death, and I suppose these “eyes” are a desperate plea to God almighty to intervene; to show Him the filth they both had come down to and their subconscious hope for a savior.

The God possessing omnipotence and an all-seeing capability, is the very same God who told Lot never to look behind her lest she be turned to a pillar of salt. This God, and this God alone shall be the only one able to re-open my eyes. When Simone killed the priest in the denouement of a bizarre adventures of lust, she made sure that no god could ever save her soul. The priest, as God’s representative of his dominion here on earth, was violated and brutally murdered. The eye ceased to be a metaphor, it has now become a tired symbol of the intrusive nature of that all-seeing eye. Simone, an independent woman, sealed her own conviction of it. By letting the egg enter the most sensitive parts of her body, she declared war against everything holy. The egg as an eye is the all-seeing eye of God. If God refuses to get down from his pedestal, I shall introduce him to my filth. This, at least, is my interpretation of the whole thing. The weeks have passed since I last opened my eyes. Immobile in bed, I resort to counting the hours by the seconds, regretting nothing, and with joy in my heart, I dedicate this sacrifice to God. The matador in me wanted to open my eyes and face the bull’s horn without fear. To be an example of bravery in a world of cowardice. However this too, is not a good enough incentive to disobey God.

When a new day came, they helped me wash and dress up with I believe to be trepidation present in their voices. I wondered what could be wrong but dared not speak aloud. My mother told me, sobbing, that there’s something wrong with my head. She sobbed as she told me to remove my boxer shorts and let it all hang out.

It was here that I remember going for a visit at the psychiatrist’s a few days ago— I remember the sound of paper on pen as she wrote down what years of experience taught her to be as that which is wrong with me. Poor creature! I may respect science and medicine a lot, but it doesn’t mean I’ll mindlessly absorb their drivel hook, line, and sinker.

I could feel my mother guiding me to the living room, and from the sound of heavy breathing, I knew that my father was awaiting me. My father is a stout, beefy man, with a strong built, at least that’s what he was from the last time I saw him before I closed my eyes. Every second is an eternity, it is said, and who knows if my father hadn’t shrunk down since then? After a few more minutes of silence, my father cleared his throat and began to speak. The timbre of his voice could have been heard on that bull about to pierce me. It shook heavily with pent up anger and a hint of sadness. From where I was located, I could hear my father sobbing in quick little snorts, like a defeated man pleading his case.

“Why won’t you open your eyes, Saleem?” He asked.

I gave him my explanation as succinctly as possible. “Only God’s divine command can make me open up my eyes again.” I declared.

My father, despite his tough constitution, has always been a man given to persuasion. I know in my heart that he will be able to understand me, and even support me on my cause.

Unfortunately, the subsequent strings of events would prove that theory wrong. I wasn’t able to see it, but I felt it reverberating to the depths of my core. I fell back on the carpet nursing my crotch. My father, with the conspiracy of my mother who told me not to were boxer briefs under my night shirt, has kicked me in the groin.

“See, now your eyes are open!”

I failed. That raging bull has pierced my eye, and as Lot, I’ve turned into a pillar of salt. That’s what’s supposed to happen, at least.

I looked around my surroundings. Like a new born babe, everything became fairly new after weeks of self-imposed darkness The books neatly stacked on the shelves, the curtains swaying softly in the wind, up to my parents— all was fresh again in my sight.

The terrible thoughts of turning into salt, or being pierced in the eye by a bull’s horn, all of these faded away with the light of the moon. I became a free man the moment my father performed his heroic deed.

The moon, I must insist, is also an eye. It watches over us at night, and is able to see all our dark secrets from a distance. I welcome the moon in my being through my eyes: which could now see clearly the things that matter most. The bull’s horn and Lot’s fate are distractions, eclipsing the bigger picture of the moon illuminating an otherwise bleak life.

#first draft #short story #fiction

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