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borisbubbles · 4 years ago

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17. CZECH REPUBLIC

Benny Christo - “Kemama”

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So first off, thank you for the nice commens. 😇The past few months haven’t been the happiest time for me, so thank you for your patience as I scraped my bearings together for another post! 😁

So I will now extend that same sympathy to Benny Christo, whom I think I damn fucking underrated. Let’s jump in~

ENTRY ANALYSIS

As one may expect i INSTANTLY liked “Kemama” because you know, it’s a fun, laid-back, tropical afro-breeze, completely different from anything else we would see in NFs and the year. EXACTLY the type of song I was hoping the Czech NF would deliver (and deliver they did, see NF Corner). This level of mild like swung into strong unironic like upon realizing that the title is a contraction of “Okay Mother” 😍 and the song deals with the subject of overcoming racially-tinged discrimination and rising above the hate. That just feels very poetic and apt? “Kemama” felt like the entry that had to overcome the highest odds in order to earn the respect it so fully deserves, and still hasn’t fully reached it.

.In our Western European bubble, comprised mostly of gays and left-liberal straights, we have a very grateful and universal acceptance of many different kinds of [lizard] people that make up Eurovision casts. Yet with “Kemama” we may have reached an unusually grimy undercurrent of coded racism.

Of course nothing I read was outrageously rancid, than Cod for that. The worst statement I read was a double-whammy of “EWW THIS ISN’T CARIBBEANVISION” and “WHY WOULD SOMEONE FROM *KENYA* WANT TO REP CZECHIA IN EUROVISION?”, and yes they first got the continent wrong and then *also* got the country wrong in the follow-up post and then they were torn limb from limb by a pack of aformentioned left-liberals. I’m sorry but i can’t not have any other response than laughter in the face of yet another fucking MORON faceplanting themselves with words like a... racist JK Rowling if you will?

Still, while I never read something outright vile about Benny doesn’t mean I found his deniers really annoying and they were! Think “Ew Solovey is ‘Too Aggressive’ it will NEVER DO WELL IN ESC”, a statement that isn’t coded nor racist (and yet extremely false and misguided), functioned as a similar idea by the same minds. A statement borne from the same breed of narrow-minded stubbornness which has caused elitist morons to be all “there is **SOMETHING** about “Kemama” i do *NOT* like and I cannot lay my finger on it... but I **DO NOT** like it at ALL. It won’t ever qualify because everyone will think the same way I do” -- Eurovision snobs, tiptoeing around racial coda in January 2020.

They would also insist that Benny was “arrogant” because he was seemingly impervious to their (de)constructive criticism. Like, if you were a biracial butterfly living in a slavic country who had to deal with statements such as the above on a regular basis, you WOULD block out the noise. And if you heard them often enough you will start to block them out pre-emptively. DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW COPING MECHANISMS WORK?? (oh wait you’re white-privileged. Nevermind 🙄)

So naturally, when Benny decided that he would revamp “Okay Mother” by adding in MORE African elements it only made me love him even more lol. 😍 Was it a bull-headed, contrarian and possibly really stupid decision? Yes, yes and absolutely yes. Was it worth it? Well he managed to incite even more meltdowns in a group of people I feel nothing but contempt for, so hell yeah? Eurovision was cancelled anyway so who cares how much ‘worse’ “Kemama” actually got.

Okay, so we’ve arrived at the revamp.

Granted, it wasn’t the best ‘vamp, I’d be a fool to deny it. The new elements threw a wrench in the melodic balance of the song. Out went tropical laid-back fun, IN went that fucking guitar oh my god this is some Hotel FM piano levels of overbearing I swear. (nb: this still didn’t stop me from ironically stanning Hotel FM’s lame asses anyway 😍). However, it made the personal backstory that I loved and savoured take a backseat to the now inferior composition. 😭

Regardless, New Kemama was fundamentally the same song, and I fundamentally liked Old Kemama, so whatevs, it made no different to me. In the eyes of many Eurovision diehards we were experiencing WORST PRESHOW SEASON EVER (after three songs... lol) and nothing clinches this brainworm more than a revamp announcement. “OH MY GOD HE WILL RUIN IT! I CAN GUARANTEE YOU I *WON’T* LIKE IT”. Self-fulfilling prophecies, ya know? It certainly didn’t help when the official channel accidentally uploaded a vid with broken soundmixing (‘OMG HORRIBLE LAST IN THE SEMI!!!!’ calm the ever-loving HELL down) and took another FULL WEEK to upload the correct vid. The damage had already been done. Typing "SEE I TOLD YOU THE REVAMP WOULD BE SHITE HA HA HA” in the Kemama comment box really just is the ESC equivalent of reponding with “Actually, *all* lives matter :smug:” to a BLM support pamphlet, isn’t it?

NF CORNER

While not my favourite NF of the bunch, I found the Czech NF to be lowkey epic. Not epic enough to remember its name but regardless Czechvision or whatever marked the end of an era because it was also the last selection spearheaded by Jan Bors :o

I think I’ve made it clear enough in the past that I’m somewhat mixed on Bors Era Czechia - Lake Malawi were a toetapping good, Ickolas was a pockmarked, skin-crawling evil and the other three inhibit a purgatory somewhere between “moderately nice” and “moderate timewaste.”

Still, I have great respect for the man who orchestrated Czech’s comeback after scoring NINE POINTS TOTAL across three years with the mindset of “So what? Why says we can’t win?” so ofc I was all into the idea of the “EIGHT INDIE ANGELS, HAND-PICKED BY BORS HIMSELF” NF that would serve as his swan song.

Naturally things went down the drain the second Bors left, with one of the eight peacing and his successor cancelling the live broadcast (does anyone remember what exactly happened? I vaguely recall one was the cause of the other but lol it’s July can’t be bothered to factscheck (Factsczeck?) anymore, bitches.

Anyway, ON TO THE GOOD STUFF, and yes, there was plenty.

We All Poop - “ All the Blood (Positive Song Actually)”

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Yes, as you can imagine I ofc IMMEDIATELY fell into like when I saw that chyron and invisioned the inevitability of the Czech Rep’s Rep immediately alienating every parent just based on their name alone <3 😍 w/e WAP quickly became that “Good but not great” song you find in every NF that everyone gushes over because it’s the whitest option available. Like, yes, “All the blood” is good, but musically it’s identical to Green Day and Twenty-One Pilots and god name ANY 90s-early00′s American Punk Rock band. For me the enjoyment came from the fact that WAP were openly crazy vegan fundamentalists and the VC clip actively condemns the use ANY animal protein by replacing the cattle and game with LITERAL HUMAN BEINGS. 😍 :fusedmarcintensifies: :kasiamosage:

Pam Rabbit - “Get up”

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Ohhhh YES a glorious experimental Synth-Trap song only I could love and ofc I did. God what is there even to say; the provocative darkness of the verses combined with the swirling amorphousness of the chorus gives me LIFE. LUFF THIS SHIT <3333 Ftr, this was also the fave of Slovene Juror duo / synth angels / Boris faves ZALAGASPER, further proving their pathetic naysayers that they own all things music and the haters can suck a series of-

Barbora Mochowa - “White and Black Holes“

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Lol, yes even with a “Get up” existing, there was a song I liked even more. Barbora proved a very competent Lana del Gay last year, but I was a YUGE fan of this year’s... Kate Bush-Björk blend of ethereal awesome. It is so soothingly beautiful and the rare example of a song that I find completely free of flaws. Were the competition not such a hard place, I’d be pissed she didnt win (at least she won the jury vote MASSIVE KUDOS to every alum on that) but w/e this selection had opions and I’m rather robbed of a “Kemama” than I am of a BRILLIANT IRREPLICABLE AETHERBALLAD. ~Danse balance sûr les white and black holes~

Elis Mraz & Cis T - “Wanna be like”

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I *VERY* strongly felt that if the Czech Republic wanted to win ESC, they should have picked Elis and even now I STILL believe she could have won. That isn’t to say I gushed over “Wanna be like” because I find it kind of annoying lol. Yes, I LOVE an annoying female voice (:Tones&Icackle:) but Elis’s reaches a Camilla Cabello sort of place for me (good lord get Senorita OFF the fucking radio) and the Scat + White Guy Rapping middle-eight. 😬. However, the second I opened up the video clip for this paragraph and was immediately BLASTED by Elis murdering a ukelele and wearing a “schoolgirl” outfit straight from a Japanese tentacle porn movie and OH MY GOD THE AGGRESSIVE TWERKING made me reconsider that hey, this min-sized Meghan Traynor actually kinda highkey owns, yo! Yet, I’m not at all bothered we lost her in the Czech NF because we got UNO DOS QUATRO CINCO SEIS :fatmansplit: fill up the megameme slot instead, so...

Eurovision 2020 vs Eurovision 2021

BENNY RUINED HIS SONG AND NEVER WOULD HAVE QUALIFIED. jk I’m not a moron. Sure, “Kemama” wasn’t an easy sell because you know AFROBEAT in a contest where half of the people watching are fash (ie: all of Eastern Europe, who watch out of ~Nationalistic Sentiment~ 😬), but there are Kemama live renditions out there and he owns them SO hard lol. A few soundmixing issues really would not have stopped Benny from qualifying in that RIDICULOUSLY WEAKSAUCE SEMIFINAL are you fucking kidding me. He probably would’ve bombed in the Grand Final, but I mean it’s Czech and it’s not Ickolas so ofc it would have.

And Czech renewed him for 2021 regardless of the sceptics, woohoo! I think part of it was due the Czech not wanting to re-organize an ENTIRE NF from scratch without Jan Bors, but probably also because Benny owns live when he isn’t engaged in psychological trench warfare with actual human detritus <3 and also because the Czech fucking CARE about their artists and don’t drop them like a sack of rotten potatoes wtfshitprus.

Can’t wait for the moment when he qualifies and Efendi does not, etc, etc.

FREAKY! FRIDAY! FACTOR!

I’d say that the core around which the Ben Drama spun was pretty standard fare: niche fave beats out the concensus fave, meltdowns ensue, people convince themselves it was the WRONG decision because it wasn the result they wanted, try to disown the song and make a fool of themselves because the song slaps, sorry. Even the revamp drama felt more of less generic for me, because yawn fantards melting down over a revamp of a song they don’t even like what else is new.

However, what I do take away that the revamp was ENTIRELY Benny’s idea which he told no one about (cue to JAN BORS having a social media meltdown like he’s Caesar at the Ides of March 💔) added MORE afrobeat just to troll his haters even more <3 God, I’d say it was bad from a musical perspective but this level of in-your-face defiance is fucking iconic and hilarious, sorry. This entire this year is so batshit bonkers that the concept of a someone potentially shooting themselves in the foot and “torpedo’ing” their qualification chances (not rly, he would’ve Q’d anyway lol) JUST to take the moral high ground in a racially coded argument only HE took seriously may not even be the craziest concept in the year! (lol it definitely isn’t. Look at the pics I haven’t greyed out yet)

This and more yield Benny some well-earned Senheads! Yay!!

Score: 3 Senhits out of 5.

#Eurovision #Eurovision 2020 #Eurovision Song Contest #Czech Republic #Czechia #Bohemia #Ben Christovão #Benny Christo

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angstytieflingbard · 5 years ago

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Platonic THB x Child!Reader Request

Request: “Could I request another Adventure zone fic(sorry if this is annoying lol)? If not its okay! Again thank you for the first one! Another platonic fic with the reader being a young kid, and they seem pretty innocent. Until its revealed that they are a antagonist character and like actually a pretty intelligent manipulative person...but gets reformed cause its actually her mom who's the real antagonist? Just them interacting with the main three + Angus? Thank you for your time!” -anon

Summary: You thought you’d always have to do what your mother said. She wasn’t kind by any means, but she was what you knew. However, when a chaotic group of adventurers you had tricked into her grasp not only defeat her, but decide to help you, you start to realize how kind the world really could be.

Warnings: Heavily implied unnamed antagonist death

A/N: Okay taz anon, here it is! Sorry it took so long! It took me a couple tries to be happy with the plot, honestly, but I think it turned out pretty well. If you’re reading this, and you enjoyed it, or you want me to write something else for you, shoot me an ask! My request rules/fandoms are linked in my bio. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

You stared ahead blankly, shock settling into your bones. Your mother was gone. You knew you should feel something, sadness or anger or some mix of the two, but instead you just felt… cold.

She’d been evil, you understood that, and she’d done everything in her power to raise you to be the same way, going as far as to use you as an agent of sorts for her schemes, despite your young age. In fact, that had ended up being the cause of her downfall, using you to lure in a group she called ‘reclaimers’ in her desperate search to find some kind of powerful object. She’d never told you exactly what she was looking for, partially because any time she mentioned it or the organization also looking for it (and similar objects, from what you could glean) all you could hear was static.

You sat on the steps of the old keep your mother had used as a base, and eventually, out of the corner of your eye you saw someone sit down next to you. Magnus, the kind, strange human man with the axe he called ‘Railsplitter.’

“Hey, kid. I’m sorry you had to be in there for that. That was… rough.” You blinked, knocked out of your thoughts by his apology.

He was apologizing? To you?

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have stayed anyway. I knew she’d try to kill you if you didn’t agree to help her. And I knew you’d say no.” You admitted. You pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. Magnus nodded.

“Smart kid. I should’ve guessed, considering you managed to lie in two separate zones of truth.” He said with a small chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled slightly, but before you could say anything the doors of the keep burst open. Taako strode out, flicking a strand of his long blonde hair over his shoulder as his cloak flowed dramatically behind him. His heels clicked on the stone as he approached.

“Alright, we’ve finished up with the, uh…” He paused, glancing over at you.

“You can say that you looted the place.” You said bluntly. Taako laughed, ruffling your hair in an almost fond gesture.

“Yeah, that. I think Merle was checking down some side hallway he saw, he’ll be back in a second.”

“Did you guys find my room?” You asked curiously. Taako tilted his head, thinking.

“The only bedrooms we saw was the little dormitory for your moms’ goblin friends, and your moms’ room obviously.” You nodded, a little disappointed.

“I’m back! And I return with gifts!” Merle called out as he finally came out of the keep, practically waddling with how fast he was walking. He held a small sack in his arms, which he deposited in your arms as soon as he got close enough. You opened it, glad to find a few of your more valued belongings, specifically a plushie shaped like a bat, a few books, and the drider-silk cloak you had gotten as a gift for your birthday earlier in the year. You clutched the sack to your chest, giving Merle a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Merle.” You told him honestly. He waved your thanks off with a small shake of his head.

“Don’t mention it, kid. Really, don’t, I have a reputation to uphold.” He told you, and you couldn’t help but give a small giggle in response.

“Besides, he’s probably gonna sell literally everything valuable that was in your room, so this was really the least he could do.” Taako remarked with a smirk. Merle huffed indignantly, but gave no defense.

“C’mon, the --- should be here soon. I called with the ------ while you were inside.” Magnus said, and you blinked up at him, curious about the static you’d heard.

“You can do the static thing too?” You asked, and all three of them shared a glance.

“We’ll explain everything when we get to our… organization. ------------ will be able to explain better than us anyway... “ Magnus told you placatingly. You frowned, but nodded, letting the three of them guide you over to where their apparent rendezvous point was supposed to be.

~~~

Your first few hours on Moon Base Alpha had been chaotic, to say the least. Magnus had helped you out of the pod, and Taako had patted your back comfortingly as you attempted to get over the disorientation, both from flying and from having traveled in a vehicle you apparently couldn’t physically comprehend.

Then, you were ushered into the director’s throne room, where the three explained where they found you and why they brought you up, and she had, after much convincing, given you a vial of voidfish ichor to drink, which you had been quite upset to find tasted like rancid lime go-gurt.

Now, you sat in your newly assigned dorm, waiting for the boy who was apparently going to be your roommate, re-reading one of the books Merle had grabbed from your room before you left. It was a volume of a young adult detective serial, one you’d loved endlessly from the moment you were able to read it. Your mother had disliked it of course, on account of it encouraging general goodness, but she’d eventually relented after you took to practically tearing the keep apart brick by brick to hide the books in the walls and floors in the hall outside your room.

Eventually, the door opened, and a boy about your age came in, eyes already seeking yours out with a pensive stare. He was a little shorter than you, with dark, freckled skin and curly black hair partially hidden by a blueish grey flat-brimmed hat. He was also wearing khaki shorts with a blue argyle patterned sweater vest over a short-sleeved button up, and simple walking shoes.

“Hi.” You said after a long moment of staring each other down.

“Hi. You’re (Y/N), right? Madame Director told me you’d be bunking with me.” He moved to sit on the bed across from yours, the one already personalized with small decorations and posters on the wall.

“Yeah. They didn’t tell me anything about you. Just that you’d be here eventually.” You admitted.

“Oh! Well, I’m Angus Mcdonald, world’s greatest detective.” He introduced himself, holding a hand out for you to shake. You sat up, turning and leaning over the gap between your beds to shake his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Angus. How did you become the world's greatest detective?” You asked curiously.

“You just gotta be good enough at it for people to recognize you. And know when not to shy away from things people say aren’t your business.” He smiled as he talked, obviously proud of his title. You nodded at his words, thoughtful.

“You kind of remind me of a character from a book series I really like. Here,” You commented, grabbing the book you were reading and showing him the cover. He gasped, and you could practically see stars in his eyes.

“Wow, you read the Caleb Cleveland series?” He exclaimed. You felt a smile creep onto your face.

“Yeah, they’re my favorite books ever. My mother never liked them because, you know, Caleb Cleveland is good and all, but that never stopped me from reading them.” You confessed, your voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. He grinned at you.

“That’s so cool! How did you get away with reading them?”

“I started hiding them behind loose stones in the floor and walls so she wouldn’t find them.” You explained with a giggle. He laughed with you.

“I’ve gotta tell you all about some of the cases I’ve been on as a detective. That’s actually how Taako, Magnus, and Merle met me!”

“I’d like that.” You told him honestly, and his grin grew even wider. He started to ramble about one of his favorite cases to solve, the case of the Rockport Slayer, and you felt whatever tension had been in the room when he first came in bleed away in the wake of your newly discovered shared interests.

You liked it here, you decided, settling in to listen to your new friend’s story.

#taz #the adventure zone #taako #taako taaco #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #angus mcdonald #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #probs ooc but this is my third go at this particular one so #*shrug*

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dark-and-kawaii · 6 years ago

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Shinsou x Reader

“Shinsou with an edgy punky fem reader kiwi”

I accidentally deleted this ;-; sorry!!!

Art by Keiid!!

There you were, sitting at your desk listening to Rancid like always. Your black vans tapping to the beat of the music while your head bounces up and down. You were so chill all the time, you never really focused on anyone except yourself and one other girl in class. Shinsou couldn’t help himself but to watch you out of the corner of his eyes.

Your dyed hair, fashion, personality, everything about you was unique actually. You kinda reminded him of himself, the only difference was the class didn’t see your quirk as evil, they saw it being cool. You’re a female though, so of course everyone wouldn’t think anything bad.

He wanted to say something to you, compliment you, tell you how he likes the way your nose ring looks, or how he likes your finger tattoo, something, anything, but all he does is sit and watch.

When you had first arrived Shinsou didn’t think much of you, he thought your appearance was interesting but that was about it. In his mind you were just like everyone else.

It wasn’t until some guy asked you out and you turned them down when he started to find her truly interesting. As the male classmates asked you out you were very straight forward, “I would let you down politely but i don’t want to waste my time, No. You’re not my type and truth be told i find you really annoying, not to mention you smell all the time. Go away.” Pulling out your perfume you sprayed the male whom just asked you out, your friend giggling as you did so. Shinsou smirking at his desk as he watched you spray the guy with your perfume.

Yup, Shinsou was head over heels for you.

It wasn’t until one day he was finally able to talk to you, and sadly it didn’t happen like how he had imagined it in his head. A group of guys surrounded him outside of school, they were teasing Shinsou about his quirk and how he should just give up on being a hero, that he’s just wasting his time. “You’d make a good Villain! You don’t even have the looks to be a hero! Just leave U.A!”

You were standing in front of a shop as you witnessed the scene take place, sipping on your cold coffee you wanted nothing to do with it, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to help Shinsou. As one of the guys shoved Shinsou you went ballistic.

Not even thinking you did what you did best. Throwing your iced coffee at the guy who just shoved Shinsou you start running up to the group with your skateboard in hand. “Hey! Asshole!” When the male turned around you nailed him right in the face with your skateboard.

Shinsou couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed, no really… HE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. The girl he liked just ran up to the guy who shoved him….and she smacked the guy… in the face… with a skateboard.

The rest of the group started to crack their fist, they were ready to fight you after you just did that, but when you lifted up your skateboard hollering, “You want some too!!! Come on!!! Plenty more board to go around!” They backed off, picking up their unconscious friend from the ground they left in a hurry before you could smack anyone else in the face with that thing.

Huffing you threw down your skateboard, irritated that you just wasted your iced coffee, “awh man… seriously?… Why did i throw my coffee…” but you were glad Shinsou was okay.

Shinsou took note that you were looking down at your spilled coffee, “Can i buy you another?”

“Uhm, sure. That would be cool, thanks.”

As he opened the cafe’s door for you he noticed that you had a large blackcraft cult jersey on, rocking it with your black vans and some fishnet socks, on your knee was a bandaid and on you other knee there were a few scratches. He loved it. You weren’t like the other females in school.

Shinsou told you to go sit and he would get you your coffee but you insisted to stand in line with him. It was quiet. Neither of you spoke which was killing you, “Ya know. You don’t have to be so quiet around me. I’m not scared of your brainwashing quirk. I actually think it’s pretty cool, just imagine how many villains you’d be able to capture.”

He was taken aback, what? You liked his quirk?

“You’re just saying that to be nice since i’m buying you a new coffee.” He wasn’t buying it.

A vein popped up on your forehead, “I wouldn’t have just hit a guy in the face with my skateboard if i didn’t like you!! Ya idiot!”

Shit.

“Wh-what.” Shinsou stepped back a little, surprised at what you just said. Did he take it the wrong way?

You were calm and relaxed, minus your one eye that was twitching because you didn’t mean to blurt that last bit out, “I mean, your hair is cool too, it’s all purple and stuff… and messy like mine… I mean ya know.” You shrugged. “Ugh fine! Yeah, I think you’re handsome and i like ya! Happy? Ever since i transfered to U.A.. I always thought you were interesting, Shinsou. I hate how people pick on you, makes me want to hit them in the face.”

He couldn’t believe it, the girl he was interested in… was interested in him. “I like you too, ____.” Shinsou was rubbing the back of his neck. “When you transfered i didn’t think much of you, but as time went on you reminded me of myself… And you were different from everyone else, you don’t follow the cool trend.” He smiled a little, thinking about how you always got in trouble for wearing black fishnets under your skirt.

“That’s because i’m following my own path and joining my own trend!” you told him with a big grin on your face, “we only have one life, might as well live it how we want right?” You messed his hair up a little, “You’ll be able to become a great hero if you keep following your own path! Just don’t worry about anyone else and what they say.”

You were right, and Shinsou appreciated your words and he would hold on to them forever.

As you both left the coffee shop with your new coffee Shinsou carried your skateboard so you could enjoy you drink.

“So you like me huh?” Shinsou was smirking as he walked next to you. He wanted to use his quirk on you right now, he wanted to feel your lips on his.

You nodded peeking up at him, you saw his devilish smile. Your eyebrow arched knowing fully well what he wanted to do but his smirk fell. He stopped himself from thinking like that.

You both were at a park near your house, talking, laughing, explaining unique features about yourselves. It was getting late and you needed to get home though, so it was time to say goodbye till tomorrow.

“Shinsou, if you like me and i like you… Don’t you think we should do something about that?” You stepped closer to him, your head tilting up. Shinsou backed into a tree, he was nervous. No one ever got this close to him and he wasn’t sure what to do, even though he was thinking a big earlier.

Your hands rested on his chest, tilting your head you leaned in placing a gentle kiss on his lips. His lips were smooth, and your hands could feel his heartbeat increase speed. Pulling back you looked him in the eyes before leaving, “Next time you want to use your quirk on me, don’t hesitate. I wouldn’t mind too much, and i told you. It isn’t a bad quirk. I like it just as much as i like you. So please don’t be afraid to use it on the girl you like.” You winked at him before picking up your skateboard. “See ya tomorrow Shinsou!” You waved goodbye and headed off on your board.

Sliding down the tree, Shinsou fell to his ass. Looking up at into the dark sky, Shinsou smiled to himself. He never knew what it felt like to actually be liked by someone, it felt good, and he didn’t want the feeling to disappear. Not when it involved you.

~ Love Kiwi xoxo

#shinso #shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinso hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero

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agonizingjest · 3 years ago

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The Tellstales Heart - E.A. Poe Parody

Yes, I’m annoyed. Ridiculously annoyed I had been, and still am; but mad, you say? You’d think putting up with those terrible stories would dull my senses to reality, but no -- rather, it has destroyed my imagination. Above all, it destroyed my ability to think about anything decent. As a philosophy major, I have considered heaven and earth. I have thought of hell, but those tales put me through it. Listen! I’m going to tell you what happened, and it’s going to have an actual damn POINT to it.

It’s not easy to put into words how the idea first entered my mind; but once I thought it, I could think of nothing else. There was nothing I wanted, I couldn’t feel anymore. Sure, I loved the old geezer. He had been a nice enough fellow. He’d always been supportive. He didn’t have money, and if he had, I wouldn’t have wanted it. It was his storytelling! Yup, definitely that. He had the wit of a goat -- his stories were drawn out, his characters were flat, his grammar was atrocious, and his plots, oh don’t even get me started on his ambiguous, dry, tangled, boring plots! Whenever he would start telling me a tale, I would have to zone out for hours; and then -- over time -- I decided that I had to kill him, to put an end to his rancid taste in words.

So here’s what I’m getting at. You think I’m crazy. Insane, out of my mind. But you should have heard what I had to put up with. You should have witnessed how well I tuned out that blathering idiot -- how hard I worked to stay awake through his -- how tough--how immensely difficult it was to pull this off. I was so patient with the old fart and his awful stories for the whole week before I finally shut him up. Every night, from around eight until midnight, I’d sit next to his bed and let him disappoint me with his flat works of fiction. Then, after he’d finished his tale of an orphaned boy who lost his parents to a murderous pyromaniac and went on to become the world’s fastest swimmer after having given up at becoming a figure skater, or the tale of a mouse who befriended a cat and travelled across the Great Wall of China in a post-apocalyptic world in search of the last samurai in order to -- well, you get the point. I let him tell me these tales and I pretended, with oh such difficulty, to enjoy them, and over time, I even started to act them out as he told them. Oh, you would have laughed to see how I acted out a little girl who found a lost, rusty bicycle and rode it every day until she was an old, decrepit woman, and was seen by a handsome young prince who claimed it was his when he was a child (which, yes, I already know doesn’t make sense in terms of how time works) and who married her for finding his lost childhood bike and his magic kiss turned her young again. It was awful. Yet, I acted every step out, fooling the old man into thinking I was just so caught up in his tales that I couldn’t help but to react in such a jolly way. It took hours of sweat and misplaced modifiers and lack of originality and gaping plot holes to convince the guy I was actually enjoying it. Ha! Anybody with a mind less keen than my own would have cracked under the pressure, if not the appalling prose. And every night, every night after being afflicted with awful anecdotes, after the old fart talked himself tired, he would take his book (self printed, of course, since not the most desperate of publishers would dare touch his work), tuck it under his pillow, and snore, unaware of his disgrace, his lack of attention to detail or originality, his non sequiturs and nasty narratives. For seven long nights I listened to his crap, and it was impossible to do the work; see, it wasn't the old man himself that vexed me, but his stories, his words, his evil writings.

And so, after every night of this nonsense, as he slept, I crept back into his room and slithered toward his bed. I slid his book out from under the pillow and cautiously, oh so cautiously (for the book sleeve crumpled) -- scribbled out the pages with a marker, one by one, ever so slowly, to seal those lousy words from innocent eyes. I did this for seven long nights -- there were a lot of pages, you see. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into his room, spoke to him in a courageous manner, calling him by name in a tone so hearty, and inquiring as to whether he dreamt any dreams -- boorish cliches of dreams, no doubt, if a mind so simple as his could dream even any dreams. So you see he would have been a very profound old coot, indeed, to suspect that every night, at the witching hour, I looked upon him with hatred while I destroyed his work. But he had committed them all to memory, his horrible stories, and never did see the inside of that hardcover monstrosity.

On the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than mine did. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers -- of my keen mental judgement. I could hardly contain my feelings of triumph. I had rid the world of his book. But in that triumph, I knew, with his book no longer readable, the tales he told existed in but one place, still looming over me. His mind. His dull, dreary mind. To think that there I was, opening his door, bit by bit, and he couldn’t even dream of my secret deeds or thoughts -- no, he definitely wasn’t creative enough for that. Which is why I had to snuff out that mundane mind. I chuckled lightly at the idea; and maybe he heard me, because he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (you see, he had blackout curtains, to block out the bright city lights), and so I knew that he couldn’t see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it, steadily, steadily. I had my head in, and was about to do the deed, when my thumb slipped from the handle and the doorknob clicked and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out -- “whoozit eh what?” I kept quite still, obviously, and said nothing. For a whole hour I didn’t move a muscle, but in the meantime I didn’t hear him lie back down. No, no, he was still sitting up in his bed, listening; just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to his damn crappy stories.

Suddenly I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror, not of pain or of grief. It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. The groan of a total wuss! I knew the sound well. Far too often, just after sunset, when all the world readied for sleep, it has swelled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terror of seeing that old codger walk toward me, book in hand, ready to lay upon he is ill-written words wrecked terror upon my mind. Oh yes, I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him -- although not really. Sorry not sorry and all that. Yes, I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. I knew his fears had been growing and growing ever since then. He’d been trying to imagine them as no cause for concern, but his imagination, weak as it was, could not do so. He was probably trying to say to himself -- “It’s nothing but the wind in the chimney, maybe a mouse on the floor. Or heck, maybe it was just a cricket that chirped, like, one time and one time only, right?” Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these thoughts; but he had found them all in vain. All in vain, because Death, in approaching him, had stalked his black shadow before him; death had enveloped him, the victim. And it was the mournful influence of that unperceived shadow of Death that caused the uncreative old man to feel -- though he had neither seen nor heard -- to feel the presence of my head within his room.

(Typical. Absolutely no skill when it comes to writing, but an acute spatial awareness of his surroundings. Gosh, this man choked me -- not, obviously, literally in the way I planned to choke him, but... well, you get the picture.)

Anyway, after I’d waited a long while, very patiently I might add, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to push open only slightly -- very, very slightly the corner of the curtain next to the door. So I pushed it aside -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until, at length a tiny ray of nighttime light pollution, like the thread of a… I don’t know, neon spider? (Ugh, his inability to create basic similes or metaphors is rubbing off on me.) Anyway, a tiny thread of light, just enough for my eyes to adjust and see his silhouette, fell upon him as he was -- I just cannot believe this -- writing. Yes, apparently I had been waiting there for hours, unmoving, barely breathing, thinking he was all paranoid and attentive, when really he was just night-writing. IN THE DARK! Who even does that? Jotting down ideas for his next incohesive instalment of story-time drudgery -- and I grew furious as I gazed upon the sight. I knew without a doubt he was coming up with a bunch of ridiculous ideas that have nothing to do with each other, his pen scribbling out more and more nonsense onto the page, a dull, blue-ink stream of terrible writing, the idea of which chilled the very marrow in my bones; it was all I could focus on, that damned pen in his damned hand, writing in that damned notebook, his damned awful ideas! And didn’t I mention to you that what you mistake for madness is merely over-awareness of this godawful writing? Yes, I majored in philosophy, but I also minored in creative writing, so it’s not just that I personally didn’t like his writing, but I knew, from a technical standpoint, that it wasn’t merely unenjoyable, but also just… just really, really bad! Now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull sound. Despite its softness, it was not unlike the deafening chirp of spring cicadas, enveloping the entire atmosphere for hours upon hours, in just a few moments of his mumblings. It was the old man muttering his ideas out loud as he wrote them, just as horrid in their first draft dribble dripping monotonously from his mouth as they become in their final draft. This heightened my rage as the dripping of a leaky faucet in an otherwise silent room drives a man’s mind to unrest.

But like, seriously, this guy’s prattling is way worse, because on top of his voice just sounding outright awful, there are the words -- which, by this point, I don’t have to tell you again are just -- oh but I will -- they’re the worst! The absolute worst!

But despite my inner turmoil, I refrained and kept still. I barely breathed. I stood motionless, steadily holding the curtain so as not to draw attention to myself, to burn into memory exactly where his pen was, how it slid on the paper, writing that filth, that garbage, as the hellish hand moved quicker and quicker, and his mumbling grew louder, yet more incomprehensible.

I continued to stay still, though. I didn’t move a muscle. I barely even breathed. Completely motionless. I was completely still. Through all that, the old man kept mumbling. In fact, he started mumbling faster. Like he was hoping writing some crap down on paper would calm him down or something, I guess; and apparently he can’t write without murmuring out loud to himself. His creative muscle, had he even one in his entire body, must have been straining. The scribbling of his pen grew faster. At such a pace, the flow and syntax of his words must have been extremely messy. And yet the ferocity of his writing grew harsher, I say, harsher every moment! -- I told you I was nervous, right? Well, I was. Still am. But seriously, at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of this old house, so annoying the noise that was his scribbling and mumbling excited me to uncontrollable irritation. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the mumbling and scribbling grew louder, louder! I thought he’d rip through the paper with how aggressively he was writing. And suddenly a new fear came up -- the fear of what another of those rancid stories being finished, being fully brought to reality, what it would do to my very soul. I was very much personally offended by how bad these were. Seriously. If you read one, you’d understand. But don’t. No, really, don’t read one. Don’t subject yourself to that type of torture. Trust me.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, the story. I couldn’t have him finish it. So then, I decided, the old man’s hour had come. With a loud yell, I threw open the door and leapt into the room. He shrieked once -- just once. In an instant, I ripped the writing utensils from his hand and dragged him to the floor, then suffocated him with his own pillow, keeping from him the air like he, with his horrid stories, had snuffed the light from my very soul. I smiled, knowing the mumbles I heard through the pillow must not have been the tellings of terrible tales, but the sounds of muffled terror. This didn’t vex me, because I couldn’t make out any poorly-chosen words; and, of course, because that’s totally what he gets for instilling within me the terror of both poetry and prose. For turning fiction into some sort of severe psychological torture. Seriously. Like bad-writing ptsd or something. I just can’t even. But, like all things, it eventually came to an end. The old fart was dead. I removed the pillow and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon his heart and held it there for a while. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His stories would bother me no more.

Look, if you still think I’m mad, you won’t think so after I tell you about all the wise precautions I took in concealing the body. The night went on, and I worked quickly, but silently. First things first, I dismembered the corpse. I removed the head and arms and legs. And to top it all off, I cut out his heart and stuffed it into his blabbering mouth. Eat your heart old, oh man. Hah! Then I took the book, that bloody awful book, and stuffed it into a bag with the head. Even with its pages unreadable, I wanted the damn thing out of my sight. Anyway, then I took up a few floorboards -- they’re mahogany, you know -- and stuff his, uh, parts, right under there. Then I replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatsoever. What, you think I don’t know how to lay out a tarp? Not to mention I used the tub. Anyway, when I was done all that, it was about four o’clock. Still dark. But then, right on the dot, just as the old grandfather clock chimed, there was a knocking at the door. Pretty coincidental timing, eh? I knew I was in the clear, so I went down and opened it with a light heart. Three cops. Apparently someone heard the old bugger’s shriek and called it in. Annoying. But hey, I had nothing to fear; like I said before, they couldn’t have found anything. I let them in, even though they didn’t have a warrant. No need to raise suspicion. I smiled and told them the shriek was mine -- night terrors. The old man, I said, was out of town. I gave them a once-over of the whole apartment, told them to check out whatever they wanted. Eventually, we got to the old man’s room. I showed them that all his stuff was undisturbed. Being a little overly enthusiastic, I must admit, in my confidence, I dragged in some chairs and told them to take a load off. I had the audacity of my perfect triumph to actually sit right on top of where I hid the old victim’s corpse. Yup, right there.

The cops were satisfied. I’d convinced them with my manners. I was completely at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted openly. But before long, I felt myself getting pale, and wanted them gone (ACAB, after all). I had a headache, and there was a ringing in my ears. Yet, still they sat and chatted away. The ringing got worse. It went on and one, louder and more distinct. I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling, but it continued and gained definiteness -- until, at length, I realized that the noise wasn’t in my ears. Now I was getting really pale -- I talked more fluently, and slightly louder. But the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was a low, dull, aggravating sound -- like the sound of neighbours chatting through poorly insulated walls. No, no, not neighbours chatting. That old man, telling his stories, reading them out from beyond the grave, through the floor. I gasped, but the officers didn’t hear it. I spoke more quickly -- more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I got up and started ranting about trifling things, high pitched and with passionate gestures; but the noise kept increasing. Why the heck wouldn’t it stop? I walked back and forth quickly, almost as if I was getting frustrated by the cops’ observations -- and that noise still kept getting louder. Oh gods! I could almost make out the words. I could almost visualize him writing out poorly planned passages right there in the space under us. What could I do? I ranted, raved, swore! I flipped over the damn chair I’d been sitting on, and grated it along the floor, but the noise was everywhere, continually getting louder and faster. Louder and louder and louder! And still, the cops chatted pleasantly, and smiled. How the heck couldn’t they hear it? No, wait. Yeah, of course they heard it! --They suspected! --They knew! --They were mocking me, making fun of my horror. I thought so and I still think so. But honestly, anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this mockery! I couldn’t take it anymore, those hypocritical smiles! I knew I had to say something or die! And now -- again! --listen! Louder! Louder! Louder!

“Villains!”I I shrieked, “enough of this sham! I admit it! --Tear up the planks! Here, here! --It is the bothersome blabbering of his hideous head!”

#edgar allan poe #poe #short story #fanfic #fan fiction #story #literature #creative writing #writing #writing community #telltale heart #fiction #short fiction #parody #storytelling #comedy #dark comedy #murder

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witching-by-the-willow · 3 years ago

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Okay...so I may or may not have spent the last 4 hours cooped up in bed and reading this book.

Here's the thing. I think it's one of those books that just keep you turning pages even when nothing is happening because you want to know more. I don't think I was ever really creeper out as people told me I would, but that's fine. I still kept turning and turning the pages.

Up until chapter 15 or something, it was looking very promising, I was sure it would be at least a 4-star read. But then I just started getting a bit annoyed...I just could not bring myself to like anyone. For Verity, I know we aren't supposed to like her, but really, she was such an interesting, psychotic character to read about. The manuscript was horrifying and disturbing, yes. But so gripping. And everytime one of the So Be It chapters ended, I was like "ugh, more boiled potato chapters before I get more of the manuscript again" because Lowen was a piece of cardboard and Jeremy was too good to be true, alongwith also being a piece of cardboard. I simply couldn't root for them. Hell, I made faces everytime they had one of their "moments".

I absolutely loathed Verity with every chapter of her manuscript that was revealed, BUT I couldn't help but be intrigued about what she does next. Ironically, she was both the villain and the most interesting character in the book for me.

And after the letter? I don't know what to think right now. Maybe it's because I don't care for Lowen and Jeremy that I am inclined to believe the only interesting character and think of the letter as true. But then again, if the manuscript is the truth, then Verity is extremely manipulative and could have written the letter to sow seeds of doubt and pull a final evil genius move and haunt Lowen for the rest of her life, even if Jeremy doesn't read it.

However, and I know I'm in the minority here, I am still leaning toward the letter for now, with maybe some parts of the manuscript being true, because for one, Verity would have known that if her letter contained false information (like him having read the manuscript befroe), Jeremy would know she was bullshitting her way through. And I can't think of any way she could have made sure that it was Lowen who found the letter or that Jeremy never read it. That leads me to believe that she was telling the truth in her letter. And the other reason is that honestly, I just get really rancid vibes from Jeremy and Lowen.

One example would be having sex in the same bed that he and his wife used to. That seems like a real shitty move for a man who is unaware of things or devoted to his wife. And I don't know about you, but it would be a huge red flag if some man did that with me. And I would most definitely not bite the same spot on the headboard that his wife left marks on. Oh, and the fact that she flushed the letter? Even if I believe that they both are the good ones here, she only showed him the document that helped her case, and not the one that presented a different story. Plus this line made me so queasy: "He deserves to be with someone who will put her love for his children before anything else. I pull the pillow off my face and I place it under my hips, lifting them so that everything he just left inside me doesn’t seep out." Like...WTF? They've known each other for maybe a month at this point, I-

It just seems like she is as obsessed with Jeremy as Verity is in the manuscript. And while, we're on him, what even is it about that man? He ain't that special.

Idk, I can't explain why I have such distaste for them, it's more like a mental "ew" everytime I think of these two.

Another thing is that I just cannot see the psychotic, sex-crazed woman from the manuscript faking injuries like this for months. I can, however, see her doing it out of fear that Jeremy might try killing her again, if the letter is true. Also, when he and Lowen really did kill her, he came up with a cover-up story way too easily, and also, one would expect such a goody-two-shoes man to lose his mind over having killer someone, if not immediately, then after a few ninute once the shock has gone away. No matter how furious, I can't see a person like he's supposed to be not being devastated at having killed someone.

Plus, she kept pictures of the girls and the drawings Crew made in the floorboard. Why would she go and do that? Why would she even risk interacting with Crew in that situation, unless she cared?

But this person on Goodreads said it really well:

Also, another thing: what the hell did Lowen being a sleep-walker do for the story? Like, aside from that creepy ass moment of her waking up in Verity's bed, why was it even in there?

Anyway, now I am thinking I might lower it to 3 stars, because it definitely had me hooked, but god, the characters that I should have rooted for got on my nerves. Although...I can't decide if that was intentional or not on CH's part.

I see Colleen Hoover all over BookTok and BookTube, but for some reason, I just have this rrally strong feeling that her books would not be my cup of tea, not her romances at least...so to dip my toes in, I am thinking of picking up Verity which looks more like a thriller with less romance...I've heard people find it really creepy and I am curious to see for myself. 👀

If any of you have read it, did you like the book? Is it good as a thriller?

#verity #colleen hoover

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swanqueenislove · 7 years ago

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Just decided I’ll post this whole one-shot here. It contains lots of smut. You’ve been warned! ;)

Emma’s eyes slid open to pure darkness. She sighed into the unfamiliar room of the castle, unable to find sleep. Granted, she was the Dark One now, and Dark Ones didn’t need sleep. But that didn’t stop her from trying. The whispers in her own mind grew stronger and she clamped her hands over her ears.

The action caused Hook to pull her closer into his suffocating embrace. Emma stiffened against him but didn’t try to move.

“Long night, Dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin’s demented giggle cut through the air. Even in the pitch blackness, Emma could see him clearly. It must be some connection between Dark Ones. Either that, or it was because he was a delusion created by her own fucked up subconscious. Only she could make him disappear.

“What do you want?” Emma asked with a touch of annoyance in her tone. “Do you hear that?” Rumple asked.

Emma grit her teeth and glowered at him. She knew exactly what he was talking about. The man stepped forward and smiled, baring his yellow teeth. “How sweet. The Dark One turns to a one-handed cocky pirate to protect her from the darkness within. Her True Love.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” Emma snapped, freeing herself from the man’s arms. “Is he everything you ever dreamed of, Dearie? Does he hold you close and keep away the monsters? Cherish your body when he jabs you with his mighty sword?” Rumple snarls.

“Stop!” Emma cries, magic lighting up the palms of her hands.

The feeling is intoxicating, the dark magic flowing through her veins soothes her like a twisted lullaby. She craves more of it, needs more. But the need to protect Hook overpowers it, and the magic fades away.

“He doesn’t satisfy you and he never will. He wasn’t your first choice, you didn’t want him. But you force yourself to be with him because you’re afraid that if you don’t, you’ll be alone forever. Because who could ever love a sad little orphan, especially now that she’s the holder of all evil?”

Emma looked down at his sleeping form, tears filling her eyes. It upsets her to know that this is herself thinking these things, to know that some part of her believes them. She wants Hook to be good enough, she wants to feel like he fills her broken edges, but he just doesn’t.

“No, Dearie. The pirate gives you too much control. You’re in charge of everything. He dotes on you hand and foot, day and night, without a complaint. Even in bed you top him. Pathetic. And your parents, well they just want to please their perfect little princess. A little second-child guilt phase they’re still working through. Only one person has the audacity to defy you, to make you second-guess yourself, make you feel small.”

Emma closed her eyes, willing the demon out of her mind. She jumped as she felt his hot, rancid breath on her ear.

“You know exactly who that is. And you know exactly what to do. So do it. Give into your darkness.”

Before Emma can think, she’s up on her feet and creeping down the hall. The whispers lead her on, the only light coming from a flickering candle held in front of her.

She pushed on the heavy wooden doors, wincing slightly at the loud creak emitting. Rumpelstiltskin had beaten her inside and was now holding the box that undoubtedly held her precious dagger. The blonde stepped forward and swallowed thickly as the whispers stopped.

“Take it,” Rumple hissed, lifting the lid.

Emma’s hands shook as she reached forward to grab the dagger, eyes glued to her name glinting on the shiny metal. As soon as she touched it, a shock ran up her arm, paralyzing her. The box clattered to the stone floor, echoing in the large room. Rumpelstiltskin had disappeared, leaving her alone with dirtied hands like a child that had stuck his hand in the cookie jar.

Magic. Regina had protected the box with magic. Of course. Rumpelstiltskin knew that; he set me up.

“Emma?” Regina’s voice rang through the darkened room.

The spell wore off, allowing Emma to turn and face her friend. Guilt shone on her face, and as she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. Regina’s eyes flicked downwards to the box then up at the blonde.

“It’s late.”

The observation surprised Emma. She expected Regina to yell at her, chastise her for sneaking around and trying to take back the dagger. She almost felt disappointed.

Her disappointment was short-lived, however, when Regina strode over and picked up the box, snapping it shut and poofing it away. She was pissed; she could see it in her eyes. That got her heart racing.

“I can’t believe I trusted you to keep your word. You gave me this dagger to protect you, to reign in your darkness. And here you are, waking me up in the dead of night because the temptation was too much. I thought you could behave long enough for us to get back home. Apparently not!” Regina said, her voice rising with each word.

Emma bit her lip, staring down at the floor. Oh, how Regina’s words affected her. And not just her words; the woman herself affected Emma in such a way that had her purposefully getting into trouble with the Mayor just so she could lie in bed each night and touch herself whilst thinking of the argument they had had earlier in the day.

Regina didn’t put up with Emma’s shit, and that turned her on to no end. When Emma had first come to Storybrooke and Regina had screamed at her underneath her apple trees, Emma had run back to her motel room and well, it was the hardest she had cum in her life. Emma just craved negative attention, simple as that. It was practically the only attention she was given growing up alone in the foster system.

Unfortunately for her, now that dear Emma had a family, she didn’t get that kind of attention anymore. Even when she was a straight up brat, everyone treated her like a freaking saint when all she wanted was for someone to smack some sense into her, tell her to straighten up. Except for Regina, of course. But Regina was happy with Robin, she had found her happy ending without giving Emma the time of day. And that hurt. So Emma had made it her personal mission to annoy the woman as much as possible. Turn in her paperwork a few days late, return Henry home full of sugar and caffeine, ‘accidentally’ order her green tea instead of chamomile, borrow a shirt and never give it back. She had at least 5 shirts she had ‘forgot’ to give back.

It seems that Regina had turned into a mushy, love-sick fool though, because the woman didn’t utter a peep about any of those things. She simply gave Emma a pat on the head or a friendly smile and invited her and Hook to dinner or offered to buy lunch. It was so god damn infuriating that Emma had resorted to trying to cause drama between her and Robin. And it worked, until Emma felt bad seeing Regina so unhappy.

“Look at me.” Emma’s eyes widened as Regina grabbed her chin and roughly yanked it up so she was forced to look at the woman. “Do you not think I’ve noticed what you’ve been doing this past month? Do you think I’m so naïve that I don’t see what’s been going on?”

Emma tried yanking her chin free, but the older woman held it tighter. “Answer me. Now.”

The blonde refused; instead making her stare distant and her mind blank. Regina sighed and let go of her.

“Do you not see I’m trying to be a good friend and protect you? I’m trying to be supportive, but when you act out you- you infuriate me and- “Regina’s fists clenched and her eyes slid closed.

“That’s the problem,” Emma finally spoke up.

Regina’s eyes opened a crack. Emma began pacing, faster and faster as she worked herself up.

“Everyone acts so fucking nice all the time. You were the only person who put me in my place and told me when I was being stupid. But now that you’re with Mr. Fucking Forest Hobo you’ve become like a fucking garden fairy or a Disney princess or something. You don’t get angry anymore and- “

Tears sprang to the blonde’s eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. “It’s like you don’t care.”

Emma yelped as Regina latched her hand onto her arm, holding it in an iron grip. She stumbled along as the woman pulled her towards the small loveseat and positioned herself on it before forcing Emma over her lap.

“If I didn’t care would I have woken in the middle of the night to check on you and make sure you were okay?” Regina demanded.

Emma cried out as a hand came down on her ass.

“If I didn’t care would I have come to Camelot to save you?!” Regina yelled, bringing her hand down once more.

“If I didn’t care would I have taken that dagger for safe-keeping?” Two smacks. Emma wiggled over Regina’s lap, her skin burning yet feeling that familiar dull throb in between her legs.

“I’m sorry, Princess, that I don’t have time to deal with your temper tantrums and petty jealousy. I’m sorry I’m trying to keep you happy, that I’m trying to be a better person for our son!” Regina yelled, punctuating each word with a smack. Emma took a ragged breath, lungs feeling like they were on fire. She hadn’t realized she had been screaming quite so loudly. Tears stained the front of her gown, her hair was a mess, her lip was bleeding, yet she felt… satisfied. This was the first time in a long time she had Regina’s undivided attention.

“I meant- “Emma panted, trying to catch her breath, “cared about me like I do you. You don’t love me, you love Robin.”

“You love Hook,” Regina pointed out.

Emma scrambled off the woman’s lap, standing on her feet and whirling around to face her. “No I fucking don’t! I love you! You are the only one that can keep me under control, that corrects me when I’m wrong, makes me feel small and weak but safe and comforted all at the same time.”

The blonde looked at the ground, tears spilling down her cheeks. “When I’m with you and Henry… I feel like I’m home. It’s like there’s no place I’d rather be. Even when you act like a complete bitch- “

Regina’s eyebrows raised at that statement.

“Which you can be, I love it. I love your dark side and your caring side, and just you,” Emma finished, tentatively looking up at the woman.

“Are you finished?” Regina asked, speaking to Emma as if she was a small child.

To be fair, she kinda was acting like it. Emma nodded, and her heart lifted as Regina held her arms out to her. She crawled into them, wincing as she put pressure on her reddened and sore ass.

“We are going to have a long discussion about what we are going to do. Because believe it or not Emma, I love you too. I just chose to be with Robin because you were acting all doey-eyed and bushy tailed with Hook, which I’m beginning to think you were doing to make me jealous,” Regina chided her with a boop on the nose, making Emma blush.

“And you should have told me your feelings sooner, Miss Swan. Instead of throwing your childish tantrum and causing me to injure myself disciplining you.” Regina held up her red hand to which Emma placed a soft kiss on before healing it.

That earned her another smack, and a soft groan escaped the blonde’s throat. “You know you’re not supposed to be using your powers… ah, I see what’s going on now,” Regina said with a knowing grin. “You just need someone who can punish you properly. Give you a firm hand now and then. That’s why you gave me the dagger. You want me to control you.”

“And give me kisses sometimes,” Emma said in a whiny voice. “And let me sleep in your bed. And maybe sex?”

“Emma Swan!” Regina gasped, fighting to hide a smile. Emma noticed the woman’s playful demeanor fade a bit.

“We do need to sort things out, Emma. I know Robin cares about me a lot, and Hook does you too. Even if you don’t believe so, he was adamant on coming to Camelot to save you,” Regina said. “I can steal some of that memory dust from Arthur’s study and solve our problems,” Emma said with a cheeky grin.

“You do that and I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week,” Regina threatened. “Promise?” Emma dared to ask.

A yawn broke the playful mood, and Emma was quite surprised to feel her eyes growing heavy.

“I thought Dark Ones didn’t sleep,” Regina said. “They don’t need to… I’ve been trying to for days. Guess I found myself a pair of arms I feel comfortable in,” Emma said with a sated smile.

“Well, I think I have just the thing to make sure you get a good night’s rest,” Regina whispered in her ear before pulling her to her feet.

Emma followed along blindly, grasping at the older woman’s hand as they made their way past winding corridors and drafty rooms. Regina finally stopped and pulled Emma into what looked like a bathroom. Emma immediately looked around in confusion. The bathing area looked more or less the same as they did back home, but she had no idea how it would work without running water. Regina must have taken her confusion as disgust however, as she placed a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow. “What? Is the royal treatment not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just, how am I supposed to take a bath without running water? Won’t it be cold? I mean, it’s better than a river I guess, but...” Emma asked cluelessly.

And for the first time since getting to know Regina, she actually heard her giggle. Like a 12-year-old laughing over the word ‘butt’.

Emma looked so crestfallen that Regina laid a hand on her arm. “Oh, Emma. I forgot you don’t know much about the old world. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun, but you are just so…” Regina broke down into a fit of laughter just as a servant arrived with a bucket of steaming water.

Emma rolled her eyes and tried to play off her stupidity as best she could. It’s not like she didn’t make fun of Regina for modern things that the woman didn’t know about. Like just last week, Regina had called her in a huff because every time she texted ‘I love you’ to someone it would auto-correct to ‘I like big butts and I cannot lie.’

Okay, so maybe that had been Emma’s fault. It had been one of many ways to piss Regina off and hopefully come between her and the forest fairy just a little bit. Luckily, Regina had just thought it was a phone malfunction. It was still funny to see her reaction though. Totally worth it.

The servant came forward and attempted to pull off Emma’s gown. The blonde stepped back, a sudden wariness coming over her. The servant glanced over at Regina in confusion, and the Mayor stepped forward to explain.

“She’s new to this world,” the brunette said to the servant. “Would you mind making us some tea?”

“Yes, Miss.” The servant curtsied before leaving the two alone.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbled, watching Regina pour in some scented oils and light a few candles.

The older woman beckoned her forward, and Emma was surprised to find herself shedding her clothing without the faintest feeling of embarrassment. She was usually very self-conscious about her body since her whole life people constantly cut her down. As she got older and grew into her body, men started looking at her like a piece of meat. Even some of her foster fathers and brothers acted inappropriately towards her despite her being underage. She never quite shook off the feeling of being worthless.

“Emma? Emma dear, wake up.”

The blonde opened her eyes to find she had fallen asleep in the bathtub. Odd, since she didn’t even remember getting in. Regina handed her a soft towel, respectfully turning her head away as she exposed her body.

“I’m so tired… you sure know how to draw a good bath,” Emma complimented her friend as she followed her back to her room. “Yes, well the tea had fairy dust. That helped you a bit I’m sure,” Regina answered quietly.

Emma slowed her footsteps until she was standing still in front of the room she was sharing with Hook. “What? I don’t remember drinking any tea.”

Now it was Regina’s turn to stop and stare. “You don’t remember the bath? Or the conversation we had just a few minutes ago?”

Emma slowly shook her head. “I remember taking off my gown, then the next thing I knew you were waking me up.” Her cheeks flushed as she forced her eyes to meet her friend’s. “I didn’t try to come onto you or anything like that, did I?”

“No, dear.” Regina came forward and rested the back of her hand against her forehead. “How long have you been having these blackouts?”

“Since I arrived here. Maybe it’s a Dark One thing.” Emma shrugged and looked down at the ground. Regina gently lifted her chin up. “What aren’t you telling me, Emma?”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes, and she found herself wrapping Regina in a tight embrace. “I’m seeing things, and hearing voices. I feel like I’m going crazy. I only went after that dagger because he wanted me to... because he knew it would upset you. He knew you were my weakness.”

Regina gently pulled back, and a tight smile appeared on her face. “Well, I’m sure we can fix all this when we return home. Now, try to get some rest.”

Emma didn’t move as her friend turned to go. She bit her lip and shuffled her feet, not wanting to go back into the room and pretend with a man that she didn’t love. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep without Regina.

The older woman turned back as she realized Emma wasn’t intending on going back to bed. “Emma…” she groaned, her eyes betraying her own exhaustion. “I told you we can’t do this.”

“But- “Tears filled Emma’s soft, green eyes as her lower lip began to tremble. Regina pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare, Emma.”

Emma blinked, causing a few tears to sneak out and roll down her cheeks. Henry used to do the same to both of his mothers when he wanted something. Emma saw through his charade, but it always worked on the Mayor. She shrugged and turned towards the hallway.

“I guess I’ll go spin straw into gold or rip out the servants’ hearts then. I’m not gonna be able to sleep anyway.”

Before she could take a step, the blonde found herself being embraced tightly by Regina once more. “I’m sorry, Emma,” the brunette whispered.

Then she was being forced into her room by the familiar pulse of light magic coming from Regina’s hands. Emma tried the door to find it had been locked. She tried to use her magic to open it, only to have an invisible wall block her. She growled and stamped her foot as she saw the magic-restraining cuff adorning her right wrist.

“Get some sleep, Em.” Regina’s muffled voice came through the door. “That’s not fair! You can’t just lock me in my room!” Emma whined back.

A pause. Then, “My job is to get you home safe. I promised your parents, and I promised our son. I won’t have you beheaded or hung by these royals because you decided to play Operation with their people.”

Emma tried the door again. When the door didn’t budge, she began to cry out loud like a child denied candy. She wailed and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees.

“Poor little baby…” Rumpelstiltskin interrupted her little tantrum. He loomed over her, seemingly pleased with her actions. “Get the hell away from me!” Emma snarled, raising her hand to attack him.

An irritated growl escaped from her throat as she realized her predicament. “We both know what you want,” Rumple said casually, examining his grotesque fingernails as if he had just left the spa. “And you’re the Dark One. So do it.”

The door to Emma’s new house slammed open, nearly ripping off its hinges. Emma waited in the kitchen with a knowing smile and a bottle of strawberry cream tequila, one of Regina’s favorites. She took a swig as the Queen rounded the corner, her eyes burning with rage.

“Regina, glad you could join me. Don’t you know it’s customary for you to bring a housewarming gift when coming to visit someone’s new home?” Emma said, her ruby red lips curling into a smirk as the older woman’s eyes darkened. Regina stepped forward, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You know what I said I would do if you went through with that smart ass comment.”

Emma widened her eyes in an act of mock innocence. “What did I do?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Refresh my memory.”

Emma gasped as Regina slammed her against the fridge. The woman’s hand squeezed her throat, digging her nails into her soft skin. Even though the blonde was taller, Regina still managed to intimidate her and make her heart race.

“Robin doesn’t remember me. Nobody remembers him besides Roland. And judging by the pirate shoving his tongue down Ruby’s throat behind the bar, he’s a blank slate as well. Zelena is pregnant and she doesn’t know how nor does she remember who impregnated her. I am the only one who remembers anything that happened in Camelot, and the poor inhabitants there got dragged into Storybrooke!" Regina yelled.

“It sounds like you’ve got a full plate as the new Savior,” Emma commented. Regina removed her hand from her throat and slapped her so hard across the face that the blonde’s lip split open. Emma watched in silence as the woman grabbed the tequila from the table and chugged it until it was halfway gone. “You ruined my life. Again.”

Those words hit Emma directly in the heart harder than Regina’s hand had struck her. She was only trying to make things easier. Regina wanted Emma, and Emma wanted her, or so that was how it seemed. She thought that by erasing the obstacles in the way, it would give them a straight shot to happiness. “Leave.” Emma stepped forward, feeling her heart break even as she spoke. She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes.

Regina’s head whipped around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Emma ripped the bottle from her hand and threw it against the wall. The bottle exploded, causing liquid to fizz out and run down the cupboards and glass to embed itself in Emma’s exposed skin. She didn’t even flinch. “No,” Regina said, her eyes glinting dangerously. It reminded the blonde of when she had traveled to the Enchanted Forest of the past and had the pleasure of meeting her evil counterpart. It caused a familiar heat to settle in between her thighs.

“No?” Emma asked carefully.

“No.” Regina grabbed her wrist and slapped the magic-restraining cuff onto it before poofing them to her house.

Emma glanced around her to see they were in Regina’s bedroom. “When I told you to leave, I didn’t mean take you with me.”

“Shut up, Miss Swan,” Regina growled, tearing off the blonde’s no longer white ball gown that was now stained with her blood. The brunette sighed as she examined the little nicks in the blonde’s skin from the tequila bottle.

She then led her to the bathroom and sat her down on the edge of the tub before grabbing the first-aid kit. Emma winced and tried to pull away as she took after the glass with tweezers.

“Stop squirming.”

“It hurts!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have thrown a fit like an insubordinate 3-year-old. You’re worse than Henry was, I swear.”

Emma shoved Regina away from her, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her exposed body. “Just leave me alone. You obviously don’t care about me.” Regina rolled her eyes and plucked another few pieces of glass out. Emma shoved her so hard this time, the brunette landed on the floor with a hard thud.

“Leave me alone!” Emma yelled, tears beginning to spill out of her eyes. Regina’s mouth fell open at her outspokenness. No one dared to treat her like that. Never had she felt so enthralled. Not since she and Emma had fought in the graveyard years ago. Her heart broke at the look on the blonde’s face, however. She looked so… lost.

Regina crawled over to her and began dabbing her bleeding legs with hydrogen peroxide. Emma sniffled but didn’t fight. When the brunette was finished, she placed a soft kiss on her knee. “All better.” She flashed up a smile. Emma didn’t return one.

“Hey.” Regina gently cupped her face in her hand. “I- “

“Please,” Emma interrupted her.

Regina cocked her head in confusion. “What?”

“Control me,” the Dark One answered in a near whisper. She spotted a flash of movement in the corner of her eye and glanced up to see Rumpelstiltskin leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied smile on his lips. She blinked hard, willing him away. For once, he was gone when she opened her eyes again.

Excited at her newfound freedom and regaining her confidence, the blonde leaned down and captured Regina’s lips within her own. They fit together perfectly, like the very last piece of a puzzle. As soon as Emma attempted to be bold and slip her tongue into the older woman’s mouth, Regina broke the kiss. “Bedroom. Now,” the new Savior commanded in a stern tone.

Emma was all too happy to comply. “On your back,” Regina commanded, pointing to the bed.

The blonde fidgeted and shuffled her feet, suddenly nervous. She jumped as she felt Regina’s hand on her shoulder.

“Do I need to use the dagger, Dark One? Or are you going to listen?”

The brunette’s eyes glittered maliciously. Emma found herself obeying, sinking into the soft bedding beneath her bare skin. Regina grinned and sauntered toward her closet. She returned with a black leather flogger in hand.

“You have caused me an awful lot of trouble, Miss Swan,” Regina purred, lightly trailing the strips of leather over the younger woman’s body.

Emma’s back arched and her nipples hardened. Regina’s response to that was to flick the flogger down hard. The blonde yelped in pain.

“I seem to remember that I am punishing you, Em-ma,” Regina spoke, accenting the woman’s name with two hard flicks of the weapon.

“Fuck me,” Emma boldly demanded, feeling her arousal drip down her thighs and stain the bedding.

Regina flicked the leather weapon down right on her pussy, eliciting a scream from the younger woman and turning it a nice shade of red. While Emma gasped in pain and tried to reign herself in, Regina slid a slender finger beneath slick folds, ghosting over her clit.

“What a mess you’re making, Miss Swan. I never knew you were such a slut. I seem to forget that you’re not much older than our son.”

Emma lifted her head up off the mattress and glared at her friend. “When I get my magic back- “

“You’ll what?” Regina taunted, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Punish me? Force me to fuck you like you need it?” The brunette proved her point by twisting a hardened nipple beneath her fingers.

Emma bit back a groan of pleasure. It had been so worth it, using that memory dust. She could tell her reaction was affecting Regina; her pupils were dilated, her nipples were hardened beneath her tight pantsuit, and from the way she kept biting on her lip… well, it was obvious. Regina wanted to fuck her, too.

“Maybe I’ll never take that cuff off. I’ll use that pretty little dagger locked up in my vault that you purposefully allowed me to have and keep you under my thumb until I feel you’ve learned your lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” Emma hissed. “That Hook is a man whore and will fuck anything in sight? That Robin was too much of a coward to give you what you really want?” The blonde leaped forward and gripped the brunette by the collar of her shirt, smashing their lips together and causing her to drop the flogger.

She felt Regina’s heart race beneath her fingertips as she lightly grasped the woman’s throat. “The lesson here, Regina, is you’re not the one who is truly in control, and you know it.” That was a lie, and Regina saw through it right away. “Alright, Miss Swan. I think you just answered my next question.” Regina’s chocolate eyes smoldered with rage despite her level tone.

Emma found herself pinned on her stomach with magic, the scent of it hanging in the air. Her hands gripped the headboard and her legs were bent so her pussy was on full display. Without warning, Regina plunged two fingers in and pumped them furiously. A yelp mixed with both pain and pleasure came from the blonde’s mouth. She would have collapsed had her body not been held in place by the more experienced holder of magic.

“What’s wrong, Dear? Don’t you want me to control you?” Regina crooned. Emma’s hips rocked backward to meet Regina’s thrusts. The woman curled her fingers upwards, hitting her g-spot just so that it caused the younger woman’s body to quiver beneath her. The blonde wanted to beg her to stop, yet the words that came out of her mouth were just the opposite.

“More. Harder, Regina. Fuck me. Control me. Own me!”

That was when all movement stopped. Emma growled in frustration, turning her head back to look at the woman. The reward for her insolence was sharp teeth biting down on her ass followed by a sharp smack. Regina’s eyes glittered mischievously as they flicked up to meet hers.

“I think it’s time we had ourselves a true conversation, Emma.”

The magic restraining her released its hold and with one more hard smack to her cheek, Regina flipped her over onto her back. She smirked at the silky wetness in between the blonde’s thighs. Emma’s breathing hitched as the woman crawled up her body and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Why do you feel the need to be controlled?” Regina asked.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Gee, Regina, I didn’t realize you were the new host of Dr. Phil.”

Leave it to Regina to bring up real issues in the middle of having hardcore, kinky sex. Her next sarcastic retort was swallowed as the woman slid two fingers within her as deep as she could. Her eyes widened as the brunette’s thumb pressed against her ass.

“What’s wrong, Emma? Never had anything in your ass before?” Regina remarked.

“Well excuse me, your majesty, that I’m not a kinky sex god who has done everyone under the sun.”

“I think you mean everything.”

“I know what I meant.”

A gasp escaped Emma’s mouth as Regina pressed into her ass. “No- Regina please…”

Regina paused long enough to leave a noticeable bruise on her neck. “Then answer my question. Please.”

Emma fought not to tense up as she fought to think. “I’m just tired of people being so nice.”

The brunette’s thumb pressed in even further, and the woman shook her head at the squeak that filled the electrified air between them. “Wrong answer. We’re going to work out some of your problems, Emma.”

“It’s just- no one ever bothered to give me rules growing up. I was my own boss. And I just wanted someone to care enough to tell me what to do. Of course my parents won’t do that, they’re still guilty about the baby… and Hook didn’t worry about problems like that. He solved everything with sex.” Emma refused to look at Regina.

The reward for her honesty was Regina’s thumb pulled out of her ass. Immediately she felt empty. The feeling didn’t last long however, as another finger joined the two pressed into her dripping cunt.

“Why do you need me to control you?” Regina asked, gently rubbing her inner walls now.

Even so, it caused fireworks to explode behind her eyelids. “More,” the blonde whimpered.

Regina leaned down and nipped on her bottom lip hard enough to leave indentations. “Answer.”

“Because you know how to make me feel small. And you’re not afraid to tell me when I fuck up,” Emma obeyed. “I mean, look at Henry. He’s a good kid. Because of how you raised him.”

Regina chuckled at that. “Do you really want me to treat you like I do our son? Eat your vegetables Emma, brush your teeth Emma, go to bed Emma.”

The blonde hissed in pain as Regina squeezed in a fourth finger. “I think I’d much rather have you under my thumb this way,” the older woman hummed. “And I think as part of this punishment, I’m going to push you since you have done nothing but to me this last month.”

Regina’s magic pinned her down again as she pushed her thumb in and began to fist her. Emma tried to bring her thighs together to no avail.

“I’ll answer another question Regina just please I can’t take this!” Emma pleaded.

“What happened to ‘more, harder, fuck me, control me, own me!’” Regina teased.

Angry tears filled Emma’s eyes. “What happened to ‘You ruined my life. Again.’?”

Knuckle-deep with Emma’s muscles contracting around her fingers, Regina stopped. Emma sighed in relief as she pulled her fingers out before hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Regina kissed them away.

“I didn’t mean what I said. I was just… I would have preferred it if you would have been courteous and patient enough to talk it out like a mature adult,” Regina said softly. “It’s not fair to them. Or my sister.

Emma couldn’t help but chuckle at that. It served Zelena right. The bitch shouldn’t have gone after Regina’s man in the first place. Although she did do her a favor in the long run, she supposed.

Regina slapped her in the breast hard. “Not funny.”

“Hey, at least we now get what we both wanted in the first place.” It was a weak argument, but it was the truth. She gave the woman her best pouty look. “I’m sorry. Now please fuck me?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Regina kissed her hard, tongue claiming every inch of her mouth while one hand pressed into her pussy.

Emma broke the kiss and gasped for air. “I thought- “

“Just because you apologized doesn’t mean you get away Scott-free, Miss Swan,” Regina scolded.

Emma whimpered and grit her teeth as her pussy was stretched well past its limit. Regina nipped and sucked wherever she pleased to try and add some pleasure into the mix, but unfortunately for Emma it wasn’t working.

“I can’t,” the young woman admitted defeat.

Regina released the nipple in her mouth with an audible pop and slid upwards to meet the blonde’s eyes. The whine that filled the space between them was like music to her ears. Emma may not think she was aroused and gaining any pleasure from this, but Regina knew the true answer.

The brunette whispered words of encouragement as her hand slid in just past the knuckles. Tears streamed down Emma’s face, and the older woman knew this part was the most uncomfortable. She wasn’t a stranger to fisting and remembered her first time had been particularly difficult as well, mainly because she was with a drunken King who worshipped her body only for his pleasure. Although Emma was hurting, she could feel her muscles contracting around Regina’s fingers, silently urging her to push in further. If she would move forward just an inch, it wouldn’t be so painful. And then, it clicked. This was how she was controlling her. Keeping her on the precipice, on the brink of free-fall. A low moan of arousal escaped the blonde’s throat. Just a little bit further…

“One last question, Em-ma,” Regina spoke softly, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “Who controls you?”

“You,” Emma answered immediately.

Regina knew the younger woman was answering simply because she was at the height of her peak. “So, if I were to demand you to move in here, always be on my schedule and at my will, what would you say?”

Emma shut her eyes. Regina leaned down to whisper in her ear. “if I were to buy you a pretty little necklace engraved with my initials and forced you to wear it every day, made you come work for me at my office and leave the police work to your father, fuck you and punish you as I see fit… would you give in? Would you worship the ground I stand on?”

“I would do anything! Just please- “Emma cut off with a cry of pleasure, unaware that she had screamed Regina’s name until she had come down from her high. Regina removed her fingers and forced them into Emma’s mouth, which she sucked like it was the only thing keeping her alive. The woman then climbed off her and went to the bathroom, coming back with lotion and a damp washcloth. Emma sighed as the woman cleaned off the insides of her thighs before rubbing the lotion into the red marks on her skin like a personal massage therapist. She was so gentle with her body compared to just a few minutes ago. She almost felt like she could drift off. Of course Regina wasn’t going to allow that.

“Now that you have taken your punishment and your reward for being honest, how about you show me how much you are going to worship me?” Regina spoke, slowly taking off her clothes. Emma licked her lips.

First came the heels. Then the top of her pantsuit. Then the silk shirt underneath it until only her bra remained. She shimmed out of her tight black pants and slid the dark, nylon stockings from her legs, revealing gloriously tan skin.

“I think you can do the rest,” the Queen whispered, stepping to the blonde’s side and canting her hips forward.

Emma stared up at her pitifully, finding her arms still pinned to the bed. Regina graced her with a knowing smile. “Your mouth still works, doesn’t it, dear? You didn’t pull a muscle screaming my name when I made you cum?”

Emma stupidly shook her head. “Then get to work.” Regina tilted her hips upwards toward the blonde’s mouth.

Emma finally got the hint and tilted her head down to grasp the black, silk underwear between her teeth. A pang of arousal shocked her body as she smelled just how much her punishment had affected the Mayor. She was about to comment on it, but bit back a retort.

The brunette smiled proudly at the speed at which her panties were removed. She slowly stepped out of them before straddling the young woman’s waist. She grinded against her exposed skin for a minute, biting back a moan at how her wetness seeped out and coated the pale tummy beneath her.

Emma’s eyes flashed fear as Regina climbed even further so she was above her face. “Take a deep breath, Miss Swan,” the Queen ordered before lowering herself down onto the blonde’s face.

Immediately, a moan broke the silence. Emma hadn’t been prepared and had awkwardly held her tongue out, which then slid deep within Regina’s soaked pussy. She had never eaten a woman out before, but judging by Regina’s movements, it was pretty simple.

She dipped her tongue in a few more times before pulling back, savoring the musky flavor of the other woman coating her taste buds. She then lapped at the liquid on each side of her labia, giving a slight tug to her lips with her teeth. “No biting,” Regina hissed, her hand curling into the blonde’s tresses and nails digging into her scalp.

Emma moaned which in turn caused the woman above her to do the same as it vibrated through her body. She finally found the tiny, pink pearl nestled within its hood, just barely exposed. She sucked on it hard, and a coat of juices ran down her chin.

The wet sounds of tongue against pussy caused Emma’s pussy to clench in want. She gasped against Regina as she felt the woman dip a finger inside of her. It was gone before she could blink, however, and the brunette began rocking against her face in earnest.

“Cum for me,” Emma mumbled against her.

Regina immediately pulled back, yanking her hair and tilting her chin. “You don’t give me orders, Miss Swan. I own you, not the other way around.”

Emma’s mouth fell open but no words came out as Regina stood and plunged three fingers inside of herself, the other hand twisting and squeezing her hardened nipples beneath her black bra. She came with a ragged cry, panting and only looking at Emma once she was fully recovered.

Then she left without a word, leaving Emma helpless. Aching. Wanting. Owned. Controlled. As Emma looked down at her wrist to see Regina had removed the cuff a while ago, she realized that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

#swan queen #swanqueenoneshot #swan queen fanfic #once upon a time fanfiction #ouat

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