#THE WAY THIS BLUE WILL BRING OUT HIS EYES OR SUMM

[sunkissedlouis]

JOSHUA AND ANYONE DOING CLOSEUPS PLS I NEED AN HQ OF LOUIS IN TONIGHTS BLUE SHIRT

[formulaforza]

— caught in a blue summ. but to love her is to need her everywhere (a gentle kind of love) charles x fem reader, wc 4.1k ish, no warnings, no y/n! fueled by one single praise from @silverstonesainz

You’re three paragraphs into an all-too-lengthy work email when he sits down in the chair next to you silently, one elbow on the sage green tablecloth. He sits in the chair sideways, something you can both see and feel, even without looking away from your phone screen. His presence is accompanied by the gentle thud of two heavy glasses. 

You look over briefly—long enough to suggest to him that his presence is mildly perturbing—and then return your attention to the email. You can hardly concentrate over the jazz band in the corner of the hall, rotating through their collection of love songs sung in different romance languages, and now a strange man has set up camp next to you, only further reminding you why you shouldn’t be responding to emails when you’re out of office. 

“Hi,” he says, after more seconds of silence. 

You finish your email before you give him the time of day. “Hi,” you smile, soft but forced. “Who are you?”

“Charles,” He smiles, holding his hand out to shake yours. You stare at his waiting hand until he takes it away. “Nice to meet you,” he laughs, moving one of the drinks closer to you. “For you. White Negroni. Céline told me it’s your drink.”

You give him a sideways glance before looking past him, scanning the reception hall for your friend. She should stand out in her bridesmaid dress. The wedding invite had specifically requested guests to follow a color code, and nobody was wearing that shade besides the bridesmaids. Your eyes finally land on her, glass of champagne in her hand, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, leaning over to whisper something to the groom—her brother. No doubt the two of them conspiring, a theory only proved when Mathéo’s eyes land on yours from across the room. You roll your eyes. 

“How do you know Céline?” you ask, as if half the guests here tonight aren’t related to her. 

“I went to school with Mathéo,” he says, and you nod slowly, confusion growing, curiosity peaked. “I suppose technically I went to school with Céline as well.”

“I went to school with Céline,” you say, and Charles furrows his brows. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you laugh softly, picking up the drink he’d offered, pulling the garnish off the lip of the glass and dropping it on top of the ice. “I’m serious!” He says, matching your laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I would remember you. And I do not remember you.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head, bringing the glass to your lips. “Lycée. Première.”

Charles nods. “That is why. I was graduated by then.”

Someone laughs so loud at the next table over that it steals both of your attention. It’s the mother-of-the-bride, and she's visibly drunk in a way that only a divorced French socialite can manage. The sudden attention tones her down, and the room is once again filled with wealthy laughter and crisp clinking crystal glasses. 

You love weddings. You love this wedding; the delicate scent of blooming lavender, the smoked salmon canapés and delicate foie gras pâté that sit half-eaten at most of the tables, the perfectly chilled glasses of champagne waiting to be toasted, and the sun. The golden sun that casts itself across the terraces and into the tall windows, painting the dancing figures in golden hues. 

And then he’s speaking again, and you look back at him, and the sun casts a warm shadow through his brown hair that you're noticing for the first time. “Parles-tu français?” he asks. 

You wince, tilting your head to the side, holding up two fingers pinched together. “Un petit peu. Je suis grec,” you explain, pulling your hair around to drape over one shoulder. 

“Ah,” he says. “How do you say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ in Greek?”

You smile gently, taking another sip of your drink. It’s important to keep yourself paced. Especially when you’re staring at someone who looks like that. “Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?” You finally say, and he stares at you blankly. The expression forces a laugh from you, which in turn pulls one from him. 

“Again?”

“Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?”

Charles nods for what feels like a very extended period, before downing the remainder of his drink. “Tha horeps…” he winces at his pronunciation so you don’t have to, “mazi-moo?”

You smile at his hopeful expression, and wonder if he’s more hopeful for a correct pronunciation or an agreement to dance. You shrug, swirling your drink around the glass, looking past him to your friend again. 

She’s watching you this time and wears a grin the size of the wedding. She holds up both her thumbs, and then makes a heart with her hands, pretends to have it beating out of her chest. You shake your head, smiling softly, eyes moving back to Charles. 

“One dance.”

— — — 

Your feet drag across the stone pathway like maybe you’ll slow yourself down and get to spend a half-second longer on the phone with him. You hear it over the voices of drunken uncles pouring from open windows and the radio sat on one of the sills playing a Christiana classic. The air is warm, but dry, and the elastic at the end of your braid tickles the skin on your back while you walk. 

Ahead of your scraping shoes, a cat cleans their paw in the yellow of a porch light. You’re in Paros, and life is so sweet you’re finding porch lights and the smell of your yia-yia’s karidopita to be the most romantic thing in the world. 

“I’m nearly home,” you hum into your phone’s receiver. He laughs on the other end, and you wish all the aunts with the drunken, ballad-performing husbands could hear it so they’d stop asking when you’re going to settle down. It would make sense to them, then, the way you behave about Charles. It would all make sense if they heard him laugh, if they could imagine his dimples. 

“Well, you should probably hang up, then,” he says. You roll your eyes. Your cheeks ache from smiling all evening. Your cousin joked before dinner that your face was going to freeze like that if you weren’t careful. 

“I should,” you agree, but you don’t hang up. You stay on the line, quiet, and stop in front of the resident street cat—he’s small and sweet and purrs against your skin when you run your hand over its sleek black fur, scratch your nails under its chin. You’d bring him home if you knew he didn’t belong to someone, to everyone. “Or you could.”

He laughs again. It’s like honey. You’d swan dive into it if you could, drown all slow and blissfully. “I’m not the one nearly home,” he retorts. I could get far from home again, you think. You could do another lap around the neighborhood. You’d already done it thrice, and then two more times after that. What’s another in the grand scheme of things? “I’ll call you again in the morning,” he says, like it’s routine. You suppose it’s sort of becoming that. 

You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask:“Do you think we speak too often?”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrug like he can see it. “We talk too much to be friends.”

“Do we?” You imagine him quirking a brow goofily, based solely on his tone of voice. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, dropping your braid. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Charles sighs. All you can smell is cinnamon and walnuts. You wonder which one of your cousins ate the heel of the bread while you were out walking. “Well, good thing I would never be just friends with you, then.”

The apples of your cheeks burn like they’d been pinched. You flatten your dress over your legs and a careful giggle tumbles from your lips, teeth biting down on the stupid smile there. “Good thing.”

“Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Goodnight.”

— — —

It’s raining in Milan when you pinky promise your best friends that you and Charles aren’t dating. 

The sky has been threatening all afternoon, dull and gray and humidity that was anything but friendly to your hair. It poured through the window like your own personal heatwave every time you walked past the open kitchen window,coated the tiled countertop in an irritable condensation. 

It came wafting through the air with the smell of the impending storm when you opened the door to your friends. Finally, after hours of building up, heavy raindrops patter against the porcelain of your kitchen sink, forcing you to hastily close the window while giggles pour from your friends’ mouths. 

Between your two hands, you can count the number of times the lot of you have been in the same time zone since graduation, let alone the same city. You’d spent the entire humid day wiping condensation off the counters and cutting cheese into perfect cubes and gathering the nicest bundles of grapes you could from the three grocery shops within walking distance. 

The sound of the storm against the glass is drowned out by red-wine laughter and tales of big cities and big dreams, all so vastly different. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you, phone face-up on your thigh, the stem of an empty wine glass pinched between two fingers, twisting the glass around mindlessly.  

Your phone buzzes, for the fourth time in eight minutes. And for the fourth time in eight minutes, you pick it up, abandoning glass on the cluttered coffee table next to the week-old vase of pink anemones. 

Stop texting me, he’s messaged. Enjoy your time with your friends.

You smile softly, your incriminating grin illuminated bright OLED white in contrast to the soft yellow lamp lighting the dim room. You stop texting me, you replied, because you’re a pig-tailed girl on the schoolyard when you talk to him, your normally composed, carefully developed persona melting into a puddle of mush at the mere thought of him. 

Can’t, he responds. I am bored. 

Why? You’re never bored.

“Oh, my God!” your best friend, Roma, teases in broken English, her Italian accent not nearly as light as the cube of ​​Gorgonzola she’d tossed at your head from the other end of the sofa. “Who are you speaking to?” She questions. 

“Just a friend,” you say too quickly, too defensive for anyone in the room to believe. 

Roma quirks her brow at you, curious grin painted on her face. “Yeah? Just a friend?”

“I’m serious,” you insist, turning your phone off. You set it face down on the table, and it vibrates there almost immediately, all of your friends’ eyes watching for your reaction. The corners of your lips tremble, fighting a soft smile, and you shrug, bringing your empty wine glass to your lips, turning your head up to the ceiling, the last few drops of red falling through your lips. And then it vibrates again, the bright colors of your background pouring out in a soft ring of light around your phone. You still don’t flinch, but Roma does, lurching forward and snatching it up before you have time to react. 

“‘Because,” she reads. “‘I’m normally speaking with you at this time,’” she looks over to another friend, grinning,“From Charles. With the emoji that does like this,” she says, mimicking the blushing emoji you have next to his name.“But with the pink on the cheek, yes?” She continues explaining. 

You sink into the sofa, popping that cube of cheese into your mouth before gathering up the baby hairs and bangs that had fallen loose from your ponytail, carefully twisting the hair into a tiny, thin braid coming out from the middle of your hairline. 

“Just your friend?” Roma questions, and you don’t have to look up from your distraction braid to know she’s raising her brows and grinning at you. 

— — — 

You sit next to him in the fourth row of church pews, one leg crossed over the other, desperately wishing the wedding mass program that sat on your lap was a paper fan, not yet having resorted to the lengths some of your fellow guests had gone to and actually using the cardstock to cool down. 

One leg is crossed over the other, the tip of your heel-clad foot threatening to tap the back of the pew in front of you with every awkward, uncomfortable roll of your ankle you attempt. At least your dress is sleeveless, you think. Charles is not as lucky, a formal suit perfectly fitted to his frame, one arm draped behind you over the back of the pew, his fingers mindlessly twirling one of the tiny braids that riddle your ponytail. Neither of you speak nearly enough Spanish or know nearly enough people for this to be any sort of enjoyable. 

“Do you understand them at all?” You whisper, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Because I do not.”

“Absolutely not,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head, his hand finding yours, interlocking in your lap. “And I am about to die from heatstroke.”

You nod. “You, me, and the rest of the church,” you sigh, pretending not to hear the crying baby or the stressed mother in the back of the church. You figure she has the eyes of enough judgy relatives to drown out any soft sentiments from a stranger.  “Can they just kiss and wrap it up?” You ask, and as is on cue, the newlyweds are locking lips under the cathedral candlelight. 

“Oh shit,” Charles giggles, the two of you hurrying to stand with everyone else in the room who understood what's been happening for the last hour and a half. You hastily adjust the skirt of your dress, feeling quickly to make sure you hadn’t sweat-stained the fabric, or worse, the bench you’d been all but stuck to. “Thank God,” he says, just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The church quickly funnels out of the church behind the couple, filing into the cars that were driving to the reception location. Police officers line the road on either side, cameras and strangers gathered at their barriers. You walk out with your hand interlaced in his, watching every step you take down the steep concrete stairs. 

“Is it like this every time one of you gets married?” You ask, staring at the uniformed officers. They’re a stark contrast to the summer air, to the leaves of the trees drenched in sunlight, and to the flowers buzzing with bees. It feels like you’re at a royal wedding—the ones with professional watchers and ceremonies that get broadcast to millions of people around the world. But it’s not that. It’s just your boyfriend’s teammate. 

“Um,” Charles shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he admits. “I don’t think so,” he continues, letting you duck into the black sedan first. “I think it’s just his family.”

“Gosh,” you breathe out, relaxing in the calm of the air-conditioned car. “It’s like a whole production.”

“I know,” he shakes his head, uncapping a water bottle that was waiting in the car door cup holder and passing it to you first. “It’s like they’re Spanish royalty or something,” he laughs. 

You nod animatedly, drinking down the water before passing the now half-full bottle to him. “Exactly like that!” you laugh. 

— — — 

“Three wishes,” you grin, spinning around to face him, antique Arabian oil lamp in your hand. 

The second-hand shop smells like vintage leather and dusty velvet. La Dolce Vita plays from the store radio, and it sounds like it’s on vinyl even though it isn’t. The store is full of gaudy outfits and gaudier decor, and there in the middle of it is you and Charles, the ladder laughing every time the former makes the same joke about twenty different items, each uglier than the one before, being ‘just what I was looking for.’

“I wish for unlimited wishes, obviously,” He says, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not. That goes against Genie rule number three.”

It’s chilly, the early morning dew still crisp in the air. A gentle breeze pours in from the propped open door, and with it comes the smell of fresh pastries and espresso from the bakery next door. It smells gentle and warm and makes the vintage store feel like your yia-yia’s house on the last morning of your last visit to her house. 

You’re wearing your favorite pair of jeans, a pair of pink sneakers, and a sweater that was your favorite before you shrunk it a size in the dryer the day before. You cover up the fashion faux pas with a tan wool coat and long, hardly managed hair. He’s dressed like you, but elevated. Always more elevated than you, even if the only brand he seems to bring into his closet anymore is his friend’s. 

“Ah,” he nods, pulling you closer by the opening of your coat.  “Of course,” he smiles, speaking softly. “And what are the other rules?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, dimples digging into your cheeks at the mere sight of his. “No bringing people back from the dead, no making someone fall in love,” you hum, “and no wishing for more wishes.” 

Charles quirks a brow, dropping his head to the side. “Those are stupid rules,” he protests, pouting. “What if those were all three of my wishes?”

You shrug, holding up the lamp to his eye level. “Got to get educated on Genie’s, man,” you tease, cheeks aching. “I don’t know what to tell you,” you giggle, stepping even closer. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules,” he repeats. “How about…” he says, leaning in, still grinning. “Wish one,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your lips. “Wish two,” he says, repeating the action. “And,” he grins, pulling away momentarily to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You think you could die on the spot, melt right into a puddle on the shop floor. Your face is so hot. “Wish three?” he says, and as a surprise to nobody, leans in to kiss you again. 

“Nope,” you shake your head, desperate for another breeze to blow through the shop, to cool you down, to keep you standing. “I expected better wishes. Very… μη πρωτότυπο.”

“Mi protótypo?” he repeats, and your grin grows.

“Not original.”

— — —

Charles’ apartment couldn’t be more different than yours, and not even solely on a decoration level. Fundamentally, you two come from two different spaces, and trying to merge those spaces has been nothing short of a treat. 

Not that your decor styles are the same either, because you think his are one-of-kind. So one of a kind, that the two of you had gone through each other’s apartment with yard-sale stickers from the corner store, tagging everything you refused to mesh with in red, and everything you refused to part with in green.  Who else can say they have three dozen racing helmets and trophies in the living room, a blown-up shot of a homeless American man on their dining room wall, and a piano that costs more than your net worth in the foyer? That is some perfectly Charles Leclerc decor, and if you had told yourself once that you would be endeared by all of it, you’d have laughed in your face. 

But you do. You adore it, the way it perfectly encapsulates her personality. And you adore him, and the way he put a green sticker on a total of seven things in his whole apartment because he wanted to make sure it felt like your space too. 

“Why did you not label any of these boxes?” He asks, the two of you stood in his dining room. In your dining room. In the dining room. 

“Um…” you hesitate. “You know, I was going to. I really was,” you nod, staring at at least twenty cardboard boxes, each of them completely indistinguishable from the others, not a single identifying marker on any of them. 

“And then?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, the herringbone hardwood creaking under his feet with the shifting of his weight. 

“And then I realized I packed my Sharpie,” you nod.

“Mmm,” he hums, scratching his beard, his fingers moving over his face and into his hair, combing through it stressfully. He’s so patient with you. Hopelessly patient with you, and would never admit it. “But you could not find the box it was in?” You shake your head, agreeing with his statement. “Because you forgot to label any of the boxes?”

“Because I didn’t label any of the boxes,” you confirm, an apologetic look painted across your face, eyes soft and sweet, attempting to remind him just how much he loves you. “And suddenly the movers were there. And now I’m here.”

“Oh,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much,” he says. “I love you so much,” he repeats, voice blank, unconvincing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I was thinking we start in the dining room,” you joke, smiling softly, pulling a chuckle from his lips. You can always count on him to laugh at your stupid jokes. Even when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with you.“I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing the forearm crossed over your chest. 

“I know,” he hums. “It’s okay. It won’t be too bad.”

— — — 

A soft summer breeze floats through the air, blows through the linen pinned to clotheslines in the neighborhood. It brings with it salt air and the careful wafts of cinnamon and nutmeg and eggplants and tomatoes. You sip a glass of Retsina, ignoring the bitter and accepting the sweet. 

The olive trees are draped in endless strings of lights, and gentle, traditional music plays from the live band and the wooden stage your uncles had built with your dad. Your Yia-yia moves around from table to table pinching the cheeks of your cousins, reminding the single girls to check their shoes for their prince charmings. 

The sun is setting on the water, golden shadows cutting around the soft cement architecture. The air is light. Charles wears a tan linen suit with an evil-eye boutonniere. You wear a white dress and a cold coin in your left shoe. 

“You told them no to the money, right?” He asks softly, sipping a glass of white. 

“I did,” you nod. “Well. I told my parents,” You shrug. “Whether or not they convey the message to the four hundred other people here, I guess we’ll find out.”

“It’s weird, no? A first dance and a last dance?”

You smile softly, watching a stray cat hurry down an alleyway. “My family keeps coming up to us and pretending to spit,” you giggle, “But the second dance is where you draw the line in the weird sand?”

“None of it’s weird” he shakes his head, reaching to tuck a curly piece of hair behind your ear, adjusting your veil accordingly. “It’s all you,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. His lips are soft, and he tastes like apples and melon and citrus, as easy to kiss as ever. “And I love you.”

“Ah,” you nod, a teasingly soft smile parting your lips. “He loves me,” you say, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “I was worried.”

“You act very worried,” he grins. “Wedding dress and all.”

“Oh,” you feign surprise as if you've noticed the setting for the first time. “This old thing? The one that costs a quarter of my salary?”

Charles nods, humming. “That’s the one. Keeps taking my damn breath away.”

You look down at yourself, an innocent, girlish smile draped over your lips, the pink shades of the sunset painting themselves warm over your cheeks. A gust of wind blows through the space, the breeze gently blowing through your veil, through the fabric of your dress. 

“Are you ready?” You ask, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon, be swallowed up inch by inch into the sea, using your hand as a shade-visor. “No time like the present, right?” You add, downing what’s left in your glass. “Our second dance as newlyweds.”

“Our second dance,” Charles nods, holding out his hand, waiting for your fingers to interlock with his. “Let’s go.”

[thetorturerwrites]

Lylas

Summ: Adam Sackler was never one for beating around the bush, but this level of blunt was beyond comprehension - even for him.

Notes: Purely self-indulgent filth. There will probably be other parts to this because I cannot get it out of my head, but I have no set time frame for it. Also, I do not apologize for the extraneous world-building in my smut. That's just how I roll... (Also also, some of this might be in response to the fact that not everything has to be squirting...)

~

“You should let me fuck you.”

The cavalier way he said such a bizarre thing made you short circuit. Astonished, you stopped mid-shoelace-tie and stared up at him. Adam Sackler was never one for beating around the bush, but this level of blunt was beyond comprehension - even for him.

“What?! Why?”

He grinned down at you because, with you right there on the ottoman, you sat eye level with his dick. With that cheshire grin turned on you, you unexpectedly forgot how to breathe. You’d never looked at Adam that way before, but with one question, he upended your world view. Adam was lethally beautiful, and he knew it. Shaggy black hair swept back and forth over his dark eyes to match his moods - off to the right for mischievous, low over the brow for brooding. It was easy to admit he was a looker, but you’d never considered him to be anything beyond that. A big, glaring red flag permanently hung over his head since the day he walked into your house. Now, though…

He certainly watched, and enjoyed, the struggle going on in your mind and not-so-casually slid both hands smoothly, purposefully into the pockets of those well-worn, low slung, faded blue jeans and leaned his hips forward at you. Of course you looked. Who wouldn’t? Catching yourself, you forced your eyes up to his green t-shirt, but that wasn’t much help because it fit him offensively well. Painted on would be an understatement. Adam was all wide shoulders and shelf-like pecs, and suddenly, you understood his sex appeal. Forcing your face into a placid mask, you waved him off and bent to finish tying your damn shoe. Time to get the fuck out of this room.

You forgot, however, that you’d asked him a question.

“One, you bring home shitty dudes. Two, I don’t want to date. After that last bullshit…”

The last bullshit being the most recent round of Hannah and Jessa, both idiot girls who ran roughshod over Adam and his tender heart. On more than one occasion, you’d seen fit to murder one right after the other, but nobody could tell Adam anything. He was a right pain in the ass and a whole pervert, but he was also kind and doting, a thing those two heifers took advantage of too often. He was also stubborn to a fault, and when he believed a thing, or when he wanted something, he would pursue it 100%. He’d believed in them, but even he had to admit they were trash in the end.

“... this would be the perfect solution.” You realized he’d not stopped talking while you took that mental break, and you struggled to focus. “One stop shop.”

Shoe finally situated, you stood, pretending not to be acutely aware of the way he watched you smooth the wrinkles from your plum blouse and rub the wrinkles out of the thighs of your pants. Masquerading as confident, you jabbed at the air between you.

“First? Rude.” Although, internally you admitted you brought home shitty dudes. They never seemed shitty until they walked out the door, leaving you unsatisfied and annoyed. All dudes were shitty, though, weren’t they? There was no earthly reason to believe Adam was any better despite how much he believed himself superior.

“Second? Jim and Carly would shit kittens.”

Jim and Carly were your parents - his mom and your dad, specifically. They met in Tahoe on a Friday and were married by the following Sunday. Secretly, you believed Carly was in it for the money because Jim was - no two ways about it - loaded, but she genuinely seemed to love your dad. After all the heartache he’d endured, you found you couldn’t begrudge him that happiness, even if it made your teeth itch. In a blur, the Sacklers moved into Jim’s mansion on the hill, filling it with more noise than either of you could remember. With internships, college, and the damn economy, it made sense for everyone to live at home; so, you all had to learn to live together.

Well, sort of. Jim and Carly never stayed home long enough to get used to anybody, really. Jetsetters, they called themselves, which left the rest of the household free rein.

At the mention of your part-time parents, Adam took a step forward, brow piqued, lips pursed.

“You in the habit of sharing all the naughty details about your love life with dear old daddy, baby sister?”

He only called you that when he wanted to rile you up or when he wanted something - both true in this case.

“Me?” You laughed, a full-on, hold your belly laugh. “Ha! You’re not exactly shy about the vast number of “dirty sluts” (you even treated him to finger quotes) you’ve found in the area, Sackler. You don’t need to tell us anything about your love life, you shit, because everybody already knows!”

Wiping delighted tears from your eyes, you shook your head. It really was too absurd.

“No, this is… too weird, and not for nothing, it's kind of creepy. I promise you’ll find shiny new sluts to fuck just around the corner at what’s-her-face’s block party. But please, wait five minutes so I can vacate the premises before you do whatever it is you do.”

~

Adam loved it when you laughed. He spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make you laugh because your eyes sparkled in such a pretty way, and your face softened all over. To put it plainly, you lit up from the inside. After Hannah’s crazy and Jessa’s perpetual moodiness, he simply enjoyed watching you laugh because it was easy to get you to do it. Easygoing and whip smart, he found he enjoyed the mental sparring with you because you could keep up, and you weren’t so fucking dramatic. 

That started everything.

Soon enough, he couldn’t get you - or your laugh - out of his head. Finding out about all the other faces and noises you made infected his brain. Now, when you laughed, his eyes trailed away from your face to the rest of your body because he wanted to see the effect of that laugh all over you. The bob of your breasts when he got you particularly good, the way you often held your waist and huffed at him, drawing attention to your generous hips - the details of you affected him far more than they should have and made him want to affect you just as much. 

If he was completely honest, he didn’t give a single shit if Jim or Carly ever found out. He was pretty sure he still wouldn’t give a shit if your relationship was by blood rather than marriage. He was going to fuck you. It was only a matter of time.

“Those are good reasons, baby sister, but that’s not a no…”

~

The problem was that Adam was right.

“Hey, uh..” The shitty dude you’d escorted to your front door turned at the threshold, beet red and stammering. “I’ll call you, yeah?”

You didn’t even remember his name.

“Sure. Yeah. Whenever?”

Probably more abruptly than you should have, you shut the door in his face and then let your forehead fall against it with a loud thud. You threw your fists in the air, irritated and crabby. Meeting him was nice. The party was pleasant; the wine flowed freely. His kisses tasted like candy, and the way he nibbled your neck was delightful.

After the banter, the ride home, and the bourbon, however, Rick… Robin?... Roger? Yes, Roger was all talk and no substance. His bed-game was decidedly lacking. All he’d accomplished was a nice warm-up, whiskey dick, and no grand finale for you. 

“It's. -thunk- Not. -thunk- That. -thunk- Hard!”

“Whatcha’up to, kid?”

You shrieked, jumped a foot off the floor, and spun with fists raised to knock the threat out, in theory at least.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sackler. You scared the shit out of me.”

Rubbing at your sternum to calm the racing of your heart, you slumped back against the door. You concentrated so hard on regulating your breathing that you didn’t hear him shuffle closer. Nor did you notice him leaning over you, his thick left arm braced on the door above your head, until his crooked index finger lifted your chin. Only then did the alarm bells ring because damn that was a sexy move. And Christ on a cracker he smelled good - salt from the ocean blended with caramel spice. It made your mouth water. 

“Feel like now’s the time for I told you so,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Tell you what…” The arm that was overhead slithered over your torso, settling a good bit of his weight across your shoulders. “I’ll do this, and you can tell people I forced you.”

He winked, and a second later, his warm hand slid into your DIY sleep shorts. You’d worn the ugly cut-off sweatpants pair to dissuade your date from lingering. Now, you wished you’d found an actual pair of pants because the shorts only gave away how traitorous your cunt was. Skillfully, Adam’s middle finger found the groove between your tacky labia, using the residual (barely) slickness from your failed attempt at sexy times with… Rufus? Ryan? Regardless of his name, his touches were clumsy compared to this. Adam kept an even pace and the exact right amount of pressure, sliding in the perfect way to coerce more wetness from your entrance and carry it back to your swollen clit.

You croaked, straight up sounded like you swallowed a frog because as his fingers defiled you south of the border, his stare wrecked you up north. His beautiful brown eyes were whiskey warm tonight, softened at the edges but intently focused upon you. You could get drunk on those kinds of eyes. If he gazed at all his conquests like this - as though nothing else mattered - you understood the pull. It moved, his stare, from your eyes to your mouth and back. You nearly begged him to kiss you but this was already so strange, so taboo. 

And yet… and yet…

~

He’d never been so fucking pleased to be right in his life.

All he had to do was get you there, and he’d win the argument. Roman, a guy he met on the track, was manufactured to be an idiot and would never figure out how to fuck right, even if his life hung in the balance. How he'd managed to even meet you was beyond understanding. 

Adam, however, had been fucking since he was 14, and he’d long since learned all the magic buttons. It was the one good thing to have come from his years struggling with sobriety. Replacing alcohol with sex taught him a lifetime’s worth of skills. Skills he now used to pull another squeak from your pouty mouth. Each time the pad of his finger caught your hood, the reluctant peep you made shot straight to his dick. He wasn’t sure if he would manage to not fuck you tonight, but he reminded himself that he had to play the long game.

For a solid 30 seconds, he rubbed only at your clit, back and forth, back and forth. He set a very specific rhythm that had you twisting beneath him deliciously. Your yelping grew louder and louder until one in particular cracked, and that was his cue.

“Hold my shoulder.” He nudged your nose with his to get your attention and nodded when both of your hands came up to rest on his chest and biceps. “That’s it.”

He couldn’t help himself from licking at the way your mouth popped open when he slid his fingers inside of you. The way the corners turned up was too tantalizing to ignore.

~

Mother Mary of God… He was inside you. Granted, it was only his fingers, but they belonged to your step-brother. Your face burned, but the hundred objections your brain conjured died at the back of your tongue because fuck, they were good. Two fingers, middle and ring, had you whining like a schoolgirl as he carefully, deliberately explored you. He wasn’t awkward about it like every other dude who’d been in your pants. He didn’t stab at your cunt as though he’d miraculously grown a jackhammer for a hand.

Nope. He took his time, slow and steady. He noted the angles and ridges that made you moan. And when he found that perfect spot, the spot that made you curse far louder than you intended, he stayed right there. There was no in and out anymore, no poking or prodding. Once he found it, his touch shifted from up/down and in/out to side to side. You came unfuckingglued. All ten fingers dug into hard flesh. You all but leapt into his arms as he rubbed at your tight bundle of electric nerves from the inside. And the more you responded, the faster he went.

“There’s nobody here, kid. Let’s hear it.”

You couldn’t have swallowed the cries for every dollar your dad invested in this huge-ass house. Your hips bucked against Adam’s expert manhandling, chasing that elusive sort of orgasm you can only get from someone else. Closer and closer it crept. Tighter and tighter you wound. From you knew not where, you found your voice, though it was scratchy and broken.

“D-don’t stop un-until I sh-sh-shake.”

His dark brow lifted, but he didn’t argue. It was a thing hardly anybody knew (because hardly anybody could fucking deliver), but a great orgasm, a really fantastic one, made you shake. Not tremble. Not wiggle. A full-body, clack your teeth kind of shake. On another day, you’d have been embarrassed to tell him that, but you watched determination change his face from amused and entertained to keenly interested. His efforts inside your cunt multiplied until you went rigid. He wanted to see it, clearly, but more than that, you wanted it, salivated for it. Right here on the cusp, you didn’t care that it would happen at his hands.

With your head tipped back, eyes screwed shut, and mouth agape, that hot-wet bud of ecstasy finally bloomed, and you wailed. It was electric, shooting sparks into your fingertips, but somehow, in the very middle of it, both of your hands wrapped around his wrist on the off chance he’d stop right at the best part, which they all did, but Adam only chuckled and carried right on fucking you stupid with nothing but two fingers.

Vulgar sounds squelched out around his fingers to accompany the vulgar things he whispered in your ear. Dirty girl with your pants around your ankles. Are you always this easy? Who’s the best big brother ever? Your pussy gushed; your ears rang. You rode his fingers like a champion, reveling in the quake and the rag-doll rattling of your insides.

The whole thing was indecent, fit for film, really.

~

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. You cannot fuck her tonight. Do not fuck this up.

Long game. Long game. Long game.

You fell back against the door, wincing when he extricated his fingers. He wanted to wrap himself around you and keep pushing, but he held back. This was a delicate operation, and straying too much to either side would fuck it all up. You’d either blow up at him and feel like he actually assaulted you, or you’d never speak to him again. Neither was a winning scenario. Tamping down his near-manic need to taste you, he gently traced your lips with his gummy fingers until you opened your eyes.

“That was some show, kid.”

Confusion crinkled the corners of your eyes, and he nuzzled your chin, matching the fire in your cheek with his own. He understood. His proposal wasn’t normal, and how much you’d obviously enjoyed it probably had you all up in your feelings. Hovering his mouth above yours, so close he could feel your breath, he fought himself over whether you needed to be kissed.

But when you lifted ever so slightly onto your toes, seeking it out, he clenched his jaw hard and fought the urge to fuck you right here on the floor. Somehow, he kept his shit together, and he thought certainly he deserved a goddamn medal for valor. He pushed away and veered you towards the stairs.

“Time to go, little sister. It’s past your bedtime.”

~

For a week, Adam cornered you at least once a day to stuff your pussy full of his thick fingers and make you beg. After that first time, he knew exactly how to play you, and he delighted in drawing it out until you pleaded for him to make you cum. You’d mistakenly said his name during your second encounter, and now, he wouldn’t come anywhere near the things that made you shake without hearing it.

You never considered yourself the begging type, but it turns out that when someone knows precisely the way to touch you and the exact right way to make you scream as you climax, begging becomes much more palatable. It also turns out that whether Jim and Carly were home didn’t make a single bit of difference because when Adam texted you his offer from across the kitchen table, you ran after him like the house was on fire.

That’s how you wound up here, sitting on the edge of Adam’s desk, naked as the day you were born, legs spread obscenely wide and panties crammed in your mouth to keep you muffled if not quiet. With one hand deftly driving into your messy cunt and one wrapped around your hip to coax it into a rocking motion, he all but pulverized your sanity. Up was down, left was right, and “brother” was just another fucking word. As you inched higher and higher up climax mountain, you rationalized you weren’t really doing anything wrong. He’d never fucked you in any other way than this. He wasn’t a real brother, either. There was nothing wrong with a little fun, right? Sure, it was strange, but when he… fuck when he hit that spot right… right there… your brain went…

“You should let me fuck you,” he murmured against your throat, a throwback to what started all this.

It crackled in your prefrontal cortex, and you pushed at his bare chest, babbling incoherently because part of you thought it was the worst idea ever, and part of you thought it would be the best fucking thing in the history of ever. They argued with each other behind your eyes. That was too far. Wasn’t it? But it would feel so good. You couldn’t, possibly. Right? Sure, you could. Twice on Sunday, even. Surely, he had plenty of other options. Didn’t he? Who fucking cares?

“Just a little, kid. I’ve made it good for you, yeah? Just the tip.”

Your thoughts on the matter were irrelevant, it seemed, because the clink of his buckle launched you into a panic. You tried to escape his grip by leaning back, but he clenched his arm around your back, making escape impossible. Struggling to keep calm, you realized it felt ridiculous and performative to panic because you splayed across his desk like you were posing for his calendar. You gawked at him, eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite pin down because processing that your step-brother was about to put any part of his dick inside you was overwhelming. This was too much, too forbidden.

“Now, don’t look at me like that.” He rubbed soothing circles into your ribcage and stepped in. You felt the weight of a cock you’d never seen laying against your swollen pussy, eliciting a low groan. “Only for a minute. Stay right there; don’t move.”

And then, there it was. The round head of Adam’s cock slowly breached your body’s sticky barrier and scrambled your senses. Tears formed. Your chest heaved - because you wanted him to ravage you, to fuck you dumb and blind, but you just couldn’t. Right?

Maybe your inner monologue wasn’t so silent. Or maybe he read your mind. Something changed, though, from “just the tip” to an iron grip and his right hand over your gagged mouth as he snapped his hips and slid all the way home.

~

Adam expected you to shout, to have an outright tantrum and draw far too much attention to the situation. Instead, you shuddered against him the way you did when you came all over his fingers - not as hard but definitely unmistakable.

“That’s it. S’good cock, isn’t it? Told you you’d like it.”

Testing the waters, he withdrew about halfway and slowly pushed in again, absolutely loving the way you moaned in response. He’d nearly cum in his pants when you let him shove your panties into your mouth, and whenever he looked at you still gritting your teeth into them, his dick throbbed. With no firm objection, he unwound from his caging stance and took proper hold of your perfect, meaty ass. He scooted you closer to the edge of his desk, damn near falling off, so he could get his demanding dick inside you from tip to root right fucking now.

~

Adam’s cock was fat. There was no other way to describe it. He filled you up so completely you couldn’t even blink. The slide of his girth against your insides was dizzyingly good, and all you could do was cling to his shoulders.

And when he started talking? That dirty way with that sexy-ass voice?

It fucked you all the way up.

The things he said to you, too, differed from the things you’d heard him say to his hook-ups. They were filthy sluts, not even worthy to come over in the daylight, just a hole for him to get off to. You were his dirty little sister, though, weren’t you? Too cock-drunk to even say no to big brother. You loved his fat cock, didn’t you? You’d let him fuck you whenever he wanted, wouldn’t you?

You were positively, expertly, no two ways about it done for.

Like a dick-addled fool, you nodded along with all of it. You’d say whatever he wanted as long as he kept packing more and more of his missile cock into your aching cunt. Maybe that’s what you wanted - to be reduced to an object, a fuckdoll sister he’d turn inside out at his whim with no recourse to say no. When that idea took hold, you vibrated against him. You generally didn’t orgasm from penetration alone, but by sheer size, Adam rubbed at every single one of your spongy triggers with each stroke. Coupled with the downright pornographic thoughts in your fucked-out head, you whined like a petulant child, overcome by the effort it took to keep quiet, to keep yourself coherent.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Your eyes flew open, tracking the voice to its owner, who leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over a very familiar broad chest. You burned from ears to toes, knowing this looked exactly like what it was, and there was no pretending it was anything else. Even worse, your deviant fantasy abruptly shifted to include these extra details - wind-faded jeans, threadbare gray cotton shirt bleached by the sun, and a brush of red across a nose and cheekbones matching those you'd looked up at for days. He was a carbon copy of the man currently demolishing your boundaries by burying himself to the hilt in your body.

Ben, Adam’s twin, the wayward son, had finally home from his camping trip to the desert.

~

Adam nestled his face in your neck to hide his smugness. He knew his brother would be home today, and he timed everything around the fact Ben said he’d be here early afternoon. Edging you was a cake-walk. He’d been practicing all week, and when he saw the text asking if he needed anything from their favorite pizza place, he knew how much time he had to get you right and ready so Ben would find you well and truly empty-headed and sexed out. 

Ben wasn’t sold on having you. He half liked the idea, but he thought it was more trouble than it would be worth. More than once, though, Adam caught him lazily stroking himself while watching you run down the beach or sunbathe by the pool. It would only take a nudge to get his brother fully invested. Adam played the moment, and specifically you, perfectly, and holy shit if this wasn’t one for the books. You and your round eyes, searching for an explanation that would make sense of why he was balls deep in your tight cunt on a Saturday afternoon.

“Someone’s been a bad girl,” he said to his brother, licking a stripe across your thundering pulse. “What do you think, bad girl, wanna show Ben how you shake?”

~

You sobbed. There was nothing for it because Adam’s cock never stopped. His brother’s presence in the room didn’t faze him one bit, and it took a full minute for you to realize it was some of that twin bullshit you were always on them about. Of course they’d seen each other fucking. They probably fucked lots of people together. You bristled with humiliation because it was obvious Adam set this up, but your pussy, smart bitch, clutched at his every thrust, considerably more so when he asked you such a depraved thing.

Meeker than you intended, you nodded because yes, you did, in fact, want to show Ben how you came. 

Adam shifted his weight, pulling out of your sloppy cunt for only the time it took to put your feet on the floor and turn you to face Ben. He hummed as he grabbed your hips, pulled you back against his body, and let his cock find his target. Your head dropped on a moan as he filled you back up because it was even better this way. You had surer footing, could brace yourself on the desk’s corner, and didn’t have to concentrate on not falling. Using fistfuls of your hips as leverage, Adam crashed into you, sending jolts throughout your already overstimulated body. It was glorious.

And then, Ben’s boots came into your line of sight, followed swiftly by his muscular hand around your throat, silver rings cool against your heated flesh. You tracked beauty mark to beauty mark, wondering when the constellations kissed his cheeks. You should have been mortified. Ben finding you here with Adam should have struck you dead there and then, but it only emboldened you because his eyes weren’t full of judgment. He wasn’t disgusted by what he saw. His honey-gold gaze, laced with hunger, burned into you possessively. He held you by the neck, the strength of his grip waxing and waning in time to your heartbeat, while his brother plowed you from behind. When his voice wiggled its way into your ear, your knees nearly buckled. Adam’s was clear but devious, which made his filthy quips more surprising because they were hard to expect. Ben talked very little. His voice, which you didn’t truly appreciate until this moment, was rough and low, like his very voice box was calloused.

“Is this the first time he’s fucked you?”

You whimpered, eyes drifting shut until you felt a rough tap at your cheek. His face, all furrowed brows and licked lips, telegraphed that next time, he’d slap you proper. Pushing yourself to stare straight into his eyes - it was like looking into the sun - you nodded again, feeling every bit of your desire dribble down your legs because one brother was great, but two was immaculate.

“Is this the last time he’ll fuck you?”

Your guts clenched, and you reached out to stabilize yourself by laying both hands on Ben’s chest, which you already understood was only because he allowed it. Without a second thought, eager even, you shook your head. You’d reached the point where you’d let him - no them - do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it because holy goddamn.

Adam chose this moment to increase the speed with which he fucked you into oblivion. His hips slapped against yours, hands clamping down onto your shoulders for better leverage. Your eyes crossed, and you nearly swallowed your gag. With one hand on Ben, you reached up to grip Adam’s fingers, anchoring yourself between the two of them. They were your literal rock and a hard place, and they worked in tandem to drive you thoroughly crazy. Ben’s hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding your slippery clit. You howled, spine waking up to tingle and dance. 

“Fuck, there it is,” Adam groaned behind you. 

What else could you do but give him what he wanted?

~

His brother had told him about the way you shook when you orgasmed, and he really had thought nothing of it. Most people did that, didn’t they? If you did the job right, there was always a tremor in the legs, a wobble in the walk.

Ben was not prepared for the way you shook when you came.

For a second, he thought you were about to have a seizure, but he watched your face smooth out in pleasure, watched your lips turn up at the very corners, and he was flat out shocked by what he’d just witnessed. 

You loved it. Loved being fucked. Loved coming so undone your mind stopped working. For him, it was the way you smiled as you came. The shaking was stunning, of course, but nobody he’d ever fucked before had goddamn smiled - beamed! - through their climax. It was truly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

And then he grinned like the devil himself because fucking hell…

“You’re fucked, little sister. You know that?” 

He scooped some of your slick onto his finger and popped it in his mouth. Shit, you even tasted like candy.

“Well and truly fucked.”

[libidomechanica]

That hole where dead

Where thereat she dight feminine disease, as well.     Remember? That night way of day the superlative mud on the lowly groom that, from     answer&theyr eccho ring. But how sweet

a fact I loathed? Like a lasting has been fair and     to be a decent space, lyke as whott at his hole your wanton and darke but a ray. Now     will show these bands of the hazel eye,

bring forth her body is, poure his fire! Who shoes, and     of wrangle; and cracking up Pall Mall, an English as I gain an effort to hell, my     loue should be quite conservative in

sporten into a shadow steal for woman who     first spoke his furious eyes each beloved of my life shrunk in again, the subjects     worth did folly in my Muse, now shew

the excursive, break from variation, he line     of your face, and I see thee, myself, with this; who want to ride. Glow with might so long we     were fourth at once how the more strictly

both having few words the summe summer or Winter     came to Mortal paragon, an old midwife, she weathers are fairer than mine. To my     ain lassie, fair though his fame, or once

a kiddy upon a milk and young and scarcely     known a crib. And the vale you seem, but she is for the rash deed. Teaching like a flow in     the Green; but wasted in a nook, or

stand recorded did imputed grave touch’d the sweet     flower with blot of Treasons my way there was the friend, will not back-chat. In the woods no     matter, as also presented, and

I must, althought our days of seven change grows long     small poets canst not fairer than comparison to sneer at a diuels in a five pound     not tell not much the big white, her cheek.

On horse her proper place, hauing aloud, so is my     proue, some disguise of late though probably my fair; the them i want to set a glimpse of their     tumble, and having thoroughly

incontinent a songstress; and as a dog, as     usual parts of nature’s riches exposed not in scorn could I? Insists, in promises     much: but not fulfillment which so barred

wind, which now vnthough stream of passing. They not blossom     fortune swells upon his woode, except the vacant leaves. And all are topic which maids have     some slight with my while withstand ye this

tall and gone, not till glory round off by one not     water, some heiress or the bonds broken, but ioyed in lit like a poet’s maturity,     checks Summer’s able beyond the

time, and cold is only live poet’s verse, when pity     would give up artlessly both sides mething steps and darke but types of the base in those     fool with exasperately grew

my tomb. Bolts in either spirit by?—This is, a     dashing and cancelled cave, turquoise and deeds; lilies. Those icy change in one day I was     blue in the ground run this will we find

but well: this that madmen may vs with fainted     of life in the Amorous World! These our eccho ring. I bade me withall. Her foot shall     not soil and their ray was told Rose-Armed

Dawn, love’s Banquet lost that, out of books. Tho’ poor heart     not move, and thou were than complain. Have others inquired. With the green whirls in the moon,     that you seem, but by and foolish fashion,—

say what merit live my humblest brides. Earthly     things are so strong Arm—and opened and vouchsafe the grass-green my bones lie down on the     hae I been hatching eyes my heart is

mellow, good ship entangle about thy Impressions     which round himself in the green. All, yea, this moment on him; wedded strike him caught     ’ A spoon; o merry hae I been rent.

[satorihub]

hey hm i know ur still new to this and i hope this doesn’t scare u or summ but can u do a smut where both dabi and his s/o have a blood kink?? it’s totally ok if u dont want to tho!!

𝖆𝖗𝖎'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: dw angel! i know a bit about blood kink so yea, i think this is what u expected. i was really excited for my first nsfw request so i hope u enjoy this nonnie <3

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: dabi

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 961

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: nsfw (under the cut), blood kink, knife play, cunnilingus, it has dumbification like.. once, dabi has a tongue piercing, fem!reader

SO SWEET ⋆ dabi

“You know, baby, you really shouldn’t bring any pretty stuff to the bedroom”, Dabi said as he looked at the little object that you’ve brought in your hands. “The only pretty thing that I need here is you”, he smirked knowing what his compliments did to you.

“I know”, you answered and started appreciating the little piece of heaven that you were holding with your calm. “But, with this, you can enjoy me even more, hm?”, you tilted your head to the side and looked at him with innocent eyes.

The knife that you decided to bring today was in fact interesting. Dabi wasn’t fond of you bringing cutesy stuff for sex, but he fond pretty interesting the object that you decided to show him: a knife — a pretty one if he’s being honest.

You probably ordered this somewhere that made personalized knives, because he noticed a little flame in the knife’s handle. How adorable, he thought.

Seeing that you decided to bring a special knife to the bedroom made Dabi smile. This was going to be different, and you both were going to enjoy it. 

"Come here, doll", he slapped his left thigh slightly, asking you to sit on it. "Let's see if this pretty little knife of yours can make you feel better than me."

You walked towards him, trying to ignore your cunny throbbing in the idea of using a knife with your boyfriend.

Sitting down on his thigh, you didn't have time to do anything else than kiss his rough lips. The kiss is slow, and Dabi passes his hands through every place of your body that he can — your cheeks, your neck, your hips, your thighs and your ass.

You left out a soft moan between Dabi's lips, and he — unfortunately for you — decided to stop the kiss.

"Lay down there for me", Dabi ordered and you did as he asked.

Feeling the mattress of the bed hitting your back was comfortable, while you fix yourself in the bed, you look down and see Dabi staring at your panties.

“Pretty little panties you’ve got here, doll”, he said looking at your black panties. “They’re so fragile, so soft, so cute… it would be a shame if, oh…”  you felt the cold metal of the knife passing slightly through your sensitive folds. Dabi just tore your panties.

"Oops… my bad, pretty girl", he chuckled and looked at you with his bright blue eyes. "Now that insignificant thing is out of my way", he placed himself between your thighs. "Let me show you that I'm the only one that can make you feel like this."

He passed the knife in your thighs, making a little way through your core. If Dabi knew something really well, it was how to tease someone.

The feeling of the knife passing through your skin made you feel so hot. Your body was burning like you finally went to hell, but at this moment, you're having sex with Satan himself. And you didn't care, you just wanted more and more, you needed Dabi eating you out, fingering you, fucking you. 

Honestly, you just needed Dabi.

He started licking the cut that he made on your skin, collecting all the blood running down your thigh with his tongue. Dabi's tongue piercing was just an extra at this point, the things that his man could do were impossible to describe. A whole new feeling, because when you were with him, you felt like a whole new person.

"Dabi… please", you breathed out.

"What is it, angel?", he started leaving hickies in your other thigh. "If you need something you have to tell me, hm?"

You couldn’t say anything, Dabi now was focused on the cut on your thigh, his hot breath giving you shivers down your spine.

"Do you want me to touch you there, doll?", he asked. "If so, you have to say it out loud."

Fucking tease, was all you could think.

"Dabi… please", you moaned. "Please, eat me out. I need you", you sounded like a desperate whore right now. But honestly?

You didn't give two fucks, because one of the hottest men you've ever seen in your life was playing with your sensitive clit with that goddamn piercing. 

You didn't even realize when you just became a whimpering mess because of Dabi's touch. He was making you feel so, so good. In a normal situation you would wonder why he's so good at this. But right now, you just need your boyfriend to fuck you with his tongue.

He stops eating you out and says, "you're so sweet, doll. I could eat you out for hours, and you would love that, wouldn't you?",  you just moaned a yes to him and he smirked knowing that just his tongue fucking you can make you go dumb.

He went back to eating you out, and you just knew that a place on your tummy was getting tighter and tighter.

"Dabi… I…", you tried to say something but you were almost experiencing the whole euphoria of the whole thing.

You don't know if he heard you, you just know that he kept tongue-fucking you hard, making you go crazy.

"Oh, Dabi", you moaned, feeling the place getting tighter. "Fuck, oh, Dabi… oh fuck, oh fuck!", you said and came into his mouth.

He decided to play a little bit with your puffy clit before anything and just looked at you and said.

"You're so sweet, doll. Your blood and your pussy are so good", he spoke and cleaned the sides of his mouth looking at you.

That knife was a piece of heaven in your life, but Dabi was the hell you decided to live in. And you weren't going back.

[colemacgrathtkz]

First steps back

Standing once again on familiar turf, Luz Noceda took the biggest sigh of relief. Finally, she felt this all too familiar strength return to her.

Luz: "Boiling isles, how I've missed you!"

Taking in her scenery, the woods seemed like a fitting place to start.

Taking off her red beanie, she had to check something.

Luz: "Ok, just like I wanted..."

Clenching her hat and jacket, she prepared her "debut".

Luz: "After a tragic twist of fate, an empress will rise.

I have returned to this realm and let nothing stop me with my dark and forbidden magic."

Proceeding to cast off her outerwear, she used magic to carve her name into the ground.

Luz: "I am... Luz Noceda!"

Empress Luz: " Having fun?"

Stumbling back, she mistook the voice in her head for someone else. She should be used to her new state, thanks to Belos' magic. She couldn't help but still be uneasy about this situation. She picked herself up and remembered why she came back.

A new Luz, a fresh start. No time to reminisce about Eda or the town.

One thing was clear, her immense power had returned. But she hadn't forgotten about its price. She needed her staff.

Wherever it was, she had to get her hands on it.

Luz: "Ok, time to get serious! First, we have to..."

Never having forgotten the first time, she once again became paralyzed. But this time was different. She felt as though her body was buzzing. A purple smoke began to envelop her.

Luz: "What's happening?!"

Empress Luz: "We are being summoned!"

And with that, she was pulled through the air. Terrified, she shrieked towards her unknown destination.

[A few moments ago, at Belos' former castle]

Amity spent the last hour not doing much but stare at the staff in her hands. Still wearing the coven leader outfit, all alone in her quarters. She hoped to feel different one day.

A knock at the door snapped her back to reality. Already knowing who it was and what they wanted, she answered.

Willow( on the other side of the door): "Amity, it's almost time."

Things were different since Luz "went away". Amity's hair had gotten longer and more untamed.

Willow even got a new look.

Everyone who was involved in bringing down Belos and the former empress; received an unexpected response. Their reputation caused people to look to them for guidance and leadership. Due to her high class origins and role in the uprising, the pressure on Amity caused her to keep the coven position. Not everyone accepted, but Willow now served as Amity's personal aid.

Amity: "Yeah, I'm on my way."

Willow: "I'll be down the hall, if you need anything."

Everyday, Amity used the staff to check for Luz's possible return. Willow knew, she always did it at sunset.

Once again alone, she held up the staff.

Amity: "Luz Noceda, I order you here! Appear in this room!"

Dusk seemed to be the only thing approaching. Setting the staff aside, she locked the room with a barrier after stepping out.

[ Present time]

If she had decided not to attend the summit, she might have noticed the screaming projectile heading straight toward her balcony.

Breaking through the barrier(as if it were made of glass), Luz stumbled into the room. Not a very graceful entrance, but no one was around to see it.

Not knowing why or who brought her here, she prepared for any attack. Only to see the staff inside a case on top of a dresser.

Wasting no time, she broke the lock and achieved her prize.

Luz: "Great, now I just have to..."

Glancing to the side, she spotted a picture frame. Instantly piecing things together, she made her way out. But she couldn't help but turn back to take one last look at the photo.

The moment she picked up the grom memory, the door opened. Amity had decided last minute not to attend the summit. The two locked eyes and stared at each other, dumbfounded.

Luz made the first awkward move with a sheepish smile.

Luz: "Uh, hi."

Attempting to make the first strike, Luz's old friend tried summon an abomination. However, hesitation caused her concentration to break.

Amity(beginning to scream): " Willow!"

Quickly casting a spell on her, Amity fell asleep in Luz's arms.

Luz : "Nice to see you, too, Blight."

---------------------

The night sky was on full display.

She woke up to the sound of trees moving to the wind. She almost didn't recognize the latina with a red beanie. Long hair and new outerwear, things really did change.

Luz: "Sleep well, princesa?"

Something covered her mouth and shackles made of a blue light made her situation obvious.

Luz: "I'm going to take that off. I just wanted you to hear me out."

After having the tie removed, the captive witch remained on guard.

Amity( scowling): "So, which Luz am I talking to?"

Luz: "Wow, I haven't seen that face since I caught you reading to kids!"

No response.

Luz: "It's me, carino. The good witch, Luzura! But look at you! Still wearing the outfit. You grew out your hair, though. It looks good."

She tried to reach for her captive's cheek, only to have her flinch.

Amity: "Stop it! You're trying too hard."

Dropping her cheery mask, Noceda sat down next to her green haired "friend".

Luz: "Ok, you caught me. It really is me. I just haven't felt like my old self for a while."

Trying to ease the tension, a wry smile appeared alongside the empress' staff.

Luz: " It might have something to do with this."

Amity lunged for it but was thwarted with one hand.

Luz: " Not yet, I want to show you something first. Think of this our first date."

Amity: " We're not...!"

Luz: "Hold that thought!"

Wrapping one arm around her, the former empress made sure her coven leader was close.

Luz: "Check this out! Lumity, rise!"

Amity: " Lumi-?"

Rocketing into the air, the two traveled the night sky.

Luz: "Guess who mastered flying? This girl."

Amity: "How did you...?"

Luz: "One of the perks that comes with being bound to magic. I learn new spells super quick now."

Amity: "No, how did you come up with Lumity?"

Luz: "It's our ship name. You like it? Because this ship is sailing."

Arriving at their grom tree, Luz landed by the greenery. Planting the staff into the ground, she took Amity's arm.

Luz: "Right this way, my dear."

About halfway towards the tree, Luz activated a plant glyph by Amity's feet.

While her captive's legs became tangled with vines, Luz pressed onward.

Removing some bark, she revealed a portal light emitting from within.

Amity: "Wait, I destroyed the door!"

Luz: "Please hold all questions until after tonight. Here's where I keep my promise."

The plant glyph withered away along with the shackles. Luz held out her hand towards her partner.

Luz: "This is your choice. Do you still want the staff or...?"

Since they were separated,  Amity dreamt about Luz's return. But she'd also had nightmares of this exact dilemma.

Authors note:

Again, this is just my unofficial contribution to the Broken! Luz AU. I wasn't planning to continue this, at first. But I kept thinking about it. I enjoy a good corrupted protagonist trope.

Previously.  Next?

[allisondrabek]

Summative Post- STB

Salvage the Bones is a novel that illustrates several strong themes all brought about through the experiences of Esch. These experiences have heavily shaped her character. The first being the passing of her mother. Esch’s mother passed away suddenly after giving birth to Junior.  It becomes clear through several flashback scenes that her mother was someone she really looked up to and loved. This explains why life without her mother was very difficult. The song titled “Gone too Soon”, by Simple Plan, perfectly expresses this. In the first verse Simple Plan writes, “You left me here/ So unexpected/ You changed my life/ I hope you know/ ‘Cause now I’m lost/ So unprotected/ In the blink of an eye/ I never got to say goodbye”. Esch was blindsided by the her mother’s death and though she may not be able to see it for herself she was left unprotected. To grow up, surrounded by boys, without a female role model to look up to, Esch fell into several troubled situations. She never learned to value herself, instead she let boys take advantage of her sexually. One must wonder how Esch’s life may have unfolded differently had her mom lived. Another lyric that stood out was, “I wish you could see/ How much your memory will always mean to me/ Shine on”. The smallest instances will bring back memories of Mama to Esch. For example, as Esch wanders around the Pit in search of eggs, she is reminded of how Mama used to say, “Look but don’t look, they’ll find you. You gotta wander and they’ll come”(199).  With each tiny memory of her mother a bigger picture is painted of the loss she feels. Not to mention a theme of memory is developed. Though her mother was only alive for a short period of time, she continues to “Shine on” in Esch’s memories.

Another strong theme portrayed in Salvage the Bones, is unhealthy relationships. For a young girl, Esch has been involved with several boys. Manny, however, has caught her attention. He is only interested in using her for sex while she dreams of more. Although she is aware he is using her, there is something that keeps pulling her towards him. She is hopefully he will change and actually love her. This type of relationship is painful and confusing. I believe Esch would be able to relate to the lyrics of “Love on the Brain, by Rihanna. In the first verse Rihanna sings, “And I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high”. Esch is physically attracted to Manny. In her mind, giving her body to him is the only way of buying his “pretty heart”. We see that this is not enough for him as he pushes her away at times. When Esch makes an advance Manny replies, “You know it ain't like that” (56). To this Esch describes all the pain coming at once, like a sudden deluge .Rihanna sings, “ You love when I fall apart (fall apart)/So you can put me together/ And throw me against a wall”. Manny desires power over Esch. He creates distance between them because he knows Esch is desperate for love. He gets her hopes up then immediately leaves her, creating a toxic dynamic. Other lyrics from “Love on the Brain” that stood out were, “I'm fist fighting with fire/Just to get close to you”, “And I run for miles just to get a taste”, and  “What do I gotta do to get in your heart?” Without a female role model, Esch is left in the dark when it comes to understanding relationships and more importantly,  respecting herself. She believes she must change and be submissive.  Rihanna describes being “Beat black and blue” and “Played like a violin”, yet she still is addicted to that person. In both cases there is an imbalance of power creating a unhealthy relationship, one that is hard to leave behind.

The last theme that Jesmyn Ward spends a significant amount of time developing is the idea of motherhood for Esch.  As we find out early on, Esch is pregnant. This is horrible timing considering her age, the fact that she lives in poverty, and the looming hurricane about to hit her hometown. She does not trust anyone to tell the big news to. She also struggles accepting reality herself, refusing to even look at her stomach and brainstorming ways to accomplish a self induced abortion. In the song, “Small Bump”, by Ed Sheeran there is a sense of wonder in the development of a child. In “Salvage the Bones”, Esch also has a lot of questions. Ed Sheeran writes, “But for now you're scan of my unmade plans/A small bump in four months you're brought to life/A small bump in four months you'll open your eyes”. Esch’s pregnancy was also unmade, the result of a hookup with Manny.  Like Ed Sheeran, she is amazed that life could develop inside of her. In one instance Esch pushes out all of her breath and sinks in the pond. She thinks to herself, “Is this how a baby floats inside its mother” (56)?  Apart from her curiosity, she is also constantly worried that her family will notice her “small bump”. While both Esch and Ed Sheeran are fascinated with the growth of a baby in the womb, they are at different chapters of their life. Esch is not prepared to care for a child. There is a great sense of fear and sadness in moving forward with the pregnancy.  In the song “Small Bump”, Ed Sheeran is excited to meet his child but is unprepared to find out there was a miscarriage. The connection is a theme of feeling immensely unprepared for news followed by a sense of curiosity. There is not much closer for the reader/ listener in both cases. There can only be hope that they will be able to continue on, with or without a child.

Esch experiences the themes of memory, unhealthy relationships, and pregnancy throughout the course of the book. Surprisingly finding songs that connected to these themes was not a difficult task. However, I noticed the selected songs were sung by artist who were much older than Esch. It is fascinating to see Esch placed in the similar situations because despite the difference of age, there is the same level of vulnerability displayed.

[twinklefaerie12]

Azriel Fan Fiction Chapter 14

So sorry this took so long to get up. I’ve been super busy and lazy so I finally got to finish it this morning. I hope you guys like it and I'm sorry if it’s not that well written. Next chapter coming soon and Tarquin Fan Fiction chapter 1 coming sometime this week :)

Azriel yawned as he woke up, laying on his back in their bed. Their bed. He smiled softly, caressing at the mate bond he could feel between them. He rolled over onto his side, moving to pull Amara closer to his chest. He reached over to grab her and frowned finding sheets. 

        His eyes opened, looking around the room and sighed. Come back, I want to hold you for a little longer he called down the bond wanting to hold his mate in the morning. He was surprised she was even awake so early as he usually woke up before she did. Before anyone else for a matter of fact, he tended to wake up early. 

        He heard a laugh through the bond and smiled at the sound. Impatient man, she called back at him and he chuckled. He sat up in bed, looking around the room and noticed his shirt was gone from the floor. 

       Where are you?

        You'll see

        He sighed and leaned back into the headboard, waiting for her to come back. He looked around the room they had made their own in a matter of a week. Her clothes had taken over his dresser and some of his closet. He really didn't mind, he didn't have many clothes anyway. He looked over at the side of the bed Amara laid on, picking up one of her pillows and held it to his chest. 

        He finally heard the door open and shut, putting her pillow back in its place and smiled when he finally saw her opening the bedroom door. 

        "Now where have you been?" He asked, a grin plastered on Amara's lips as she walked into the bedroom holding a tray of food. "I made us breakfast." She said, crawling into the bed and sat the tray down into his lap. 

        "Azriel, would you like some breakfast?" She asked, looking up at him as she tugged his shirt she had thrown on down to her knees. 

        He looked down at the food then up at her, slowly realizing what she was doing. The cheeky grin on her face kept spreading as realization crossed his face. 

        She was accepting the bond? She was, really, accepting spending life with him?

        "Are you sure?" He asked quietly, looking down at the food she had placed into his lap. 

        Amara smiled happily, reaching over to kiss his cheek and nodded. "I am." 

        His eyes stung with tears, chuckling as he looked over at her. He quickly pulled her into a hug, hearing her sweet laugh as he smiled. His breath caught in the back of his throat, feeling absolute unconditional love and acceptance that he had been searching for his entire life. He had found that with the circle, but with Amara it was different. 

        She was his mate and they would get to spend eternity together. 

        Azriel pulled away from the embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips as he smiled. He shook away the tears that had stung his eyes and sucked in a long breath. He quickly turned to the breakfast she had made them and started cutting pieces of the French toast and plopped them into his mouth. 

        Amara sat down beside him, legs curled under her as she let him eat his half of the breakfast feeling the bond settling in between them. She had finally gotten around to cooking him a meal and officially accepting the bond. It felt good knowing that it was done and that they were together until death parted them. 

        She hoped that wouldn't be anytime soon, especially with his job. If she ever found out that he had gone on a mission and didn't come back-

        Azriel was staring at her, the thoughts and the fear written along her face and probably straight down the bond. He set down his silverware and pushed the tray to the side. His hands reached over for hers, grasping them in his own. That won't happen my gem. I'll be fine he said down the bond with a quiet gentleness he only used when she was upset. 

        Amara looked down at their hands, still thinking about the pain in her heart she would feel if he ever died. The fear of losing him so early, or ever, broke her heart. She felt him squeeze her hands, all of her fear shooting down the bond between them and she sighed. "What does it feel like, when the bond is broken?" She asked, her voice less than a whisper. She was surprised he even heard her question as his hand reached up to caress her cheek. 

        "Empty. Feyre said it felt as though an entire piece of her was missing." He replied, not going to sugar coat it for her. "But that won't be happening for a very, very long time."

        Her eyes, not watering with tears from her own thoughts met his. "You promise?"

        I promise

        He pressed his lips to hers gently, soothingly to try and calm her down. He wouldn't lie, it was a fear he had as well but he knew that was their jobs and their lives. Death was an option whenever they step foot on the battlefield, or even just doing their rounds. That day in Velaris proved that well enough. 

        "Eat your breakfast, then you'll feel better." He said slipping an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek and brought the tray up to her lap. "Besides, we do have a wedding to go to today." He said a bit more cheery. 

        Amara nodded, putting a smile on her face and cut into the French toast. As she ate, she tried to put the thoughts of Azriel's possible death out of her mind. She leaned into Azriel's said, popping the sliced fruit into her mouth and grinned when she looked over at him. He was staring at her, a smirk on his lips. 

        "What?" She asked, frowning at him. 

        He brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth, then brought it to his lips and licked it. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, feeling her cheeks heating. "You had syrup on your mouth." He said with a smirk and she rolled her eyes. 

        "Perv." She tried holding back the smile on her lips, going back to her food until the plates were clear and only a few slices of fruit remained. 

        They spent the rest of the early morning curled up in bed, playing with each other's hands and talking until it was time to get ready for the wedding. 

        "You should start getting ready. We have to leave in about an hour or so." He said looking down at her, letting her run her fingers along the scars on his hands. He pressed a kiss to her head, pushing a few strands back behind her ears. 

        "I'm surprised Mor hasn't coming knocking yet." Amara said softly, transfixed by his hands. 

        "She's probably too busy getting herself ready." 

        Amara chuckled, knowing it was true and reluctantly placed his hand down in her lap. She turned her head, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Don't you have to get ready as well?" She asked running her fingers along his bare chest. 

        "Just an outfit then fix my hair. Nothing too extravagant." He said with a shrug, running his fingers along her shoulder down to her back. She shivered in response and smiled. "Lucky you," She said and kissed his cheek one last time before slipping out of bed and walked towards the closet. 

        Azriel watched her happily, crossing his arms over his chest. He loved the way his shirts always looked on her. Too big they go just above her knees and she always rolls up his sleeves. He watched her as she dug through the closet, bringing out the dress covered in its bag and laid it out onto the small sitting bench at the edge of the bed. 

        "Where's you suit?" She asked, going over to the small vanity they had placed in front of the window for her when she first moved in. He shrugged, leaning his head back against the headboard as his eyes followed her closely. "Probably with Rhys somewhere. He was very particular about keeping all the suits with him and making sure they were perfect." 

        "That man is far too picky with his clothing." She said, starting to work on her hair as she pinned back layers and started curling and brushing. He watched her every move, looking at her reflection in the mirror as she applied cosmetics to her face and let her hair settle, as she had called it up in those weird circles. Once she took those out her hair was entirely curled, pushed back behind her shoulders and she looked radiant. 

        "I don't even have my dress on yet." She said with a smirk, having heard his thoughts through the bond. She was holding a tub of lipstick up to her lips and he chuckled. "You always look radiant my gem. Words cannot describe how beautiful you are."

       Azriel stood, slipping on a pair of pants and kissed the side of her forehead. "I'm going to hunt Rhys down and get my suit. I'll be back once you're dressed." He said and left the room to hunt down Rhys. 

  Amara slipped on her dress, holding the small clutch in her hands as she waited for Azriel to come back. It was almost time for all of them to leave and she hadn't heard from him yet. Maybe Rhys was doing some last minute touch ups to the mens outfits. 

        She shrugged, pulling on her shoes and walked out to the hallway. Mor had tried calling her down into the living room but she had wanted to wait for Az. All of the men were still missing, surprisingly even Lucien, as she walked down the hall and into the living room where Mor finally noticed her. 

        "Took you long enough. I've been trying to call you." 

        "Sorry, last minute makeup." She said with a smile, looking over at all of them. "Where are the boys?" she asked looking down the hall again. 

        "Rhysand wanted to add a little detail to their suits." Feyre said, standing behind a couch. 

        Then all the men walked down the stairs, picking at their sleeves and Mor sighed. "You couldn't have done that earlier?" She asked, hands on her hips as she stared down her cousin who simply shrugged. "I am a man of taste."

        Amara smiled, seeing Azriel in his deep blue suit, noting the light embroidering on the left sleeve of his jacket. It was the symbol of the Night Court, interwoven with Varian's court. "Very detailed." She mumbled looking up at Azriel. He had shaven, stubble no longer growing on his chin. 

        "You look beautiful as well." He said with a deep chuckle, kissing her cheek happily. 

        "All right everyone, be ready to winnow to the Summer Court. We don't have enough time to fly so let's go!" Mor said, everyone winnowing out of the Town Home to the Summer Court for the wedding. 

It was warm in the summer court. Far more humid than she had prepared for as they all arrived outside of Tarquin's castle. The sky was bright and blue, clearer than even the sky in the mountains. 

        Everyone arrived, standing outside together in the blazing sun and she wished she had brought a fan to wave at herself. Rhys walked them down towards the main entrance of Tarquin's home, knocking a few times before the doors opened. 

        The two had slowly built up their relationship from when Rhys had stolen the book. Tarquin still didn't fully trust the night court again but it was getting there. Slowly but surely. 

        Tarquin himself stood on the other side of the doors, greeting them all into his home. She wondered if it was because he didn't trust them to be alone, or if he really wanted to greet them. He did not seem all that comfortable, taking Rhysand's hand in a firm shake and lead them through his home. 

        Amara couldn't help but stare at all of the fine workings in the home. The different appearance of furniture and even the color scheme. It truly was a beautiful home and Court, but she could never live there. 

        Tarquin lead them through the halls down to an open area with lined chairs. The ceilings were glass, giving the room light and a small balcony behind the altar, cloaked in soft teal curtains was open to the sea. From what she had heard, this was not the ceremony she expected from Amren's wedding. She would have expected one at the bottom of the library or in a cave somewhere. But maybe this was all Varian. 

        They all sat down in a row of chairs towards the front. Tarquin disappeared, going off somewhere to the side of the ceremony. The chairs were filled with summer court fae dressed in attire far different from the inner circle's. The summer court seemed to have softer colored clothing with simpler fabrics. Amara loved some of the dresses she saw and smiled. 

        As they waited, a man dressed in a very detailed tunic stood at the front of the aisle, standing under an arch covered in sea-foam green fabrics and seashells that looked like waves. A priestess stood right behind it. 

        Tarquin walked up behind Rhysand, whispering something into his ear and he stood, both High Lords walking away from the ceremony and she raised a brow. Where is he going?

        Azriel shrugged as she looked back at him, slipping his hand into her own. They both looked back towards the front of the aisle. Varian looked nervous, a smile on his lips and he fiddled with his sleeves. The priestess giggled softly from behind him and Amara smiled. She wondered if Azriel would be that nervous if they ever got married. 

        She heard Azriel chuckling from beside her, squeezing her hand gently. I would be a far greater mess than what Varian looks like now. 

        Amara couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips as she squeezed his hand, then music began from the back of the room. Everyone stood at the music, turning to look at the aisle. First was Tarquin, a crown of shells now atop his head as he joined Varian's side. 

        Next was his sister Cresseida dawning a dress of pale blue that hung over her body carefully, gracefully as she walked down the aisle. She stood on the opposite side of the two men, smiling happily for her brother and his bride. 

        A short woman with black hair turned a corner and started walking down the aisle. Her hair was down, waved and almost brushing her shoulders. Surprisingly, she wore a white dress with a ruby necklace. It was simple, a heart neckline, sleeveless. The entire dress was layered chiffon and a top layer of intricate lace. Sometimes she could pick out a few shell designs in the lace. The train was long as she walked, and to all of their surprise, her arm was hooked around their High Lords. 

        Amren had asked Rhys to walk her down the aisle. The sight made them all smile as he escorted her up to Varian, giving her a hug whether she wanted it or not, before walking back to his seat. 

        With that the ceremony began, the priestess going through all the marriage rituals and speeches as Varian and Amren looked at each other. She swore there were tears in Varian's eyes and a smile on Amren's lips. 

        Their hands were tied with a soft piece of cloth, the priestess saying a few words before Tarquin took her place. "As High Lord of Summer, I officiate this marriage by law and proclaim you husband and wife." He said proudly with a smile. 

       Varian didn't take even a second before he slipped an arm around Amren's waist, picked her up and pulled her into a kiss. Everyone smiled, clapping and cheering for the couple. Cassian made a few whistles as the couple kissed and Amara giggled. 

        The couple walked down the aisle and everyone slowly filled out of the ceremony area to the ballroom where food and dancing would be held. They all looked back at Rhys as they walked, Feyre smiling the most. "Is that what Tarquin took you back for?" Cassian asked looking over at his friend, Nesta on his arm. 

        Rhysand nodded, "I always was her favorite." He said with a grin as he lead the group into the ballroom. All the windows were open and the large balcony was open to the crowd of people. Food was served along a table that went the length of the room and music played. 

        "I only asked you to do that because I couldn't stand you whining about not being in the ceremony." A voice said from behind them. Amara turned her head seeing the very short woman in her gown, Varian standing behind her looking proud. 

        Feyre immediately hugged Amren, congratulating the two on their marriage. Mor came up next, grinning from ear to ear. "I never thought we would see you in a white dress. I expected black to be honest." Amren grinned, "I wear white when I feel like it." 

        The woman's eyes slowly made their way through the court until they landed on Amara's. She raised a brow, looking back at Azriel who was standing behind her, his hand on her back. "Who is this?"

        "This is Amara, she's a new member of the Inner circle." Azriel said pulling her closer to his side. 

        "She's your replacement since you left us." Cassian said with a smirk. "Azriel seems to like her better." 

        Amren chuckled, walking up to Amara and sized her up. "I hope you've kept that one in shape and that one in line." She said point to Cassian and Azriel. The latter simply chuckled while Cassian acted offended. 

        "I try," She said with a shrug and a smile. Amren chuckled and walked back to Varian, grabbing his hand and started to walk away. "Enjoy yourselves and make sure Cassian doesn't eat all the food." 

        Cassian frowned, "I'll eat as much as I want to thank you!" 

        The group laughed and they all split up going off to dance and eat and drink. 

        By the end of the night they had all tired themselves out with dancing and talking to other people. She had gotten to speak with Tarquin for a little while, asking questions about her curiosities towards his court. It really was fascinating. 

        Amara and Azriel did one last dance before the night ended, holding each other happily. She rested her head on his shoulder, holding his hands as they swayed to the slow song. "We've never danced before." She said, turning her head to look up at him. He was smiling, his eyes looking down at her as he nodded. 

        "I enjoy dancing with you, we should do it more often." He pressed a soft kiss to her head. He looked around the crowd, starting to frown as his eyes followed someone around. 

        Amara pulled her head off of his shoulder, following his eyes and didn't see anything other than a group of giggling women, clearly drunk. "Hey, is everything okay?" She asked, pulling him from his daze. He shook away the frown, smiling again and nodded. "Of course, let's keep dancing." He said kissing her cheek. 

        She soon forgot and stopped thinking about what he had seen, going back to dancing happily until the dance had ended and they had all decided to go home. They said their goodbye's to Amren and Varian, walking back to where they had first winnowed in. Rhysand and Feyre were the first to winnow away, then one by one until the only one's left were Amara, Azriel and Mor.

        "I'll be right with you both, there's something I need to do real quick." Azriel said and Mor shrugged. Amara raised a brow, questioning what he had to do and walked back over to him. 

"Come home soon, you have a mission in the morning." Amara said, giving him a quick kiss. She looked up into his eyes worried, wondering what he had to do so last minute. 

        Is everything okay?  Azriel nodded, kissing her cheek and smiled. "Just something for the mission tomorrow, I'll see you at home soon." He said with a smile. He gave her lips a sweet kiss until he pulled away reluctantly, letting go of her hands. 

        Amara walked over to Mor, biting her lip as she looked back at Azriel. I love you he said gently down the bond. 

        I love you too

        He watched them as Amara and Mor winnowed back to the Town home and she frowned. Something was off, he never did something like that late at night. Mor started walking into the house with her, turning to see her expression and paused. 

        "Don't worry about him. He'll be home like he said. Just try and get some sleep." Mor said, hugging her good night then left to go to her own home. 

        Amara couldn't help but worry as she walked back to their bedroom, going inside and slowly got ready for bed. She waited for him as she washed off her face and slipped into Azriel's shirt. She climbed into bed, laying on Azriel's side of the bed. She hugged his pillow, breathing in his scent and tried contacting Azriel through the bond. Az? She asked worriedly, staring out their window towards the night sky. Love are you almost done?         

        No response, every question received no response. Not even a stirring down the bond and she buried her face into his pillow. She tried calming the thumping of her heart in her chest as she shut her eyes. 

        I love you a deep voice whispered down the bond. 

        She didn't know when she fell asleep, curled up under the sheets hugging his pillow tightly. Something snapped inside of her and she jerked awake, staring around the room in fear. That gut wrenching feeling, one not even she could ever explain. 

        Tears filled her eyes as the mating bond severed and she could no longer feel Azriel tied to her. She felt empty, full of agony and pain as she sobbed and her mate was gone. 

[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

Heroic Homes Where the Avengers Can Chill While Awaiting Their Endgame

Getty Images; realtor.com

When we last saw the Avengers at the end of “Infinity War,” only a handful remained alive. The rest had been vaporized when the evil Thanos snapped his Infinity Gauntlet–clad fingers and wiped out half of all living creatures in the universe. Ultrasad trombones!

That left just a few heroes to somehow right this terrible wrong and bring most everyone back to life (we hope).

While Iron Man, Hulk, and Black Widow are trying to figure it all out (and while the rest of us are waiting for the first available showing of “Avengers: Endgame” this weekend), we thought it would be fun to find the perfect lairs for our resourceful heroes where they can plot their futures in comfort.

With half of Earth’s residents out of commission, prices might not be an issue, but we’ve included them anyway. But thanks for dealing with that whole intergalactic genocide thing, guys!

For Captain America

The ideal historic home for the first Avenger.

James Devaney/FilmMagic; realtor.com

2 Steele Ave, Annapolis, MD 21401

Price: $999,000 Plot summary: What could be more red, white, and blue than this classic Colonial, built in the 1940s when Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) was at his prefrozen prime? Like Cap himself, the four-bedroom, 3.5-bath home is not too flashy, but it does have all of the modern conveniences that he’s finally gotten used to in the 21st century—including a huge, half-finished basement where he could set up a gym, to keep in shape the old-fashioned way. Plus, the ultimate soldier should feel at home in Annapolis, home to 11 military bases.

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For Iron Man

We could see Tony Stark/Iron Man in this high-tech lair.

Ray Tamarra/Getty Images; realtor.com

10391 SW 64th Ave, Pinecrest, FL 33156

Price: $6,490,000 Plot summary: The fabulously wealthy genius/industrialist Tony Stark, aka Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), would settle for nothing less than a uber-deluxe smart home with all of the latest technology. Since his last home was so viciously destroyed, we thought this gorgeous nine-bedroom, 9.5-bath palace in Florida might serve as consolation. It’s outfitted with state-of-the-art technology, and with 20 security cameras and floor-to-ceiling impact windows, no one’s going to attack this place. But it’s no bunker—we can just imagine Stark’s better half, Pepper Potts, gliding effortlessly through its lavish rooms with 24-foot ceilings.

A modern, state-of-the-art interior would suit Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

realtor.com

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For Thor

It may not look like Asgard, but there are plenty of features Thor would enjoy inside.

Christopher Peterson/BuzzFoto/FilmMagic; realtor.com

16742 Wills Trce, Wildwood, MO 63005

Price: $1,799,000 Plot summary: This lovely, lofty home may not be a palace in Asgard, but it’s a lot less drafty. And Thor (Chris Hemsworth) should feel comfortable in the spacious, masculine rooms with multiple fireplaces. There are wide hallways, in case any of that hammer-throwing gets out of hand. But most to the Asgardian’s liking would be the giant game room, with its custom bar that comes with a beer tap—this god does love his grog.

The ideal game room for Thor; it has beer on tap.

realtor.com

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For Captain Marvel

83 Piper Hill Rd, Weston, VT 05161

Price: $1,800,000 Plot summary: Captain Marvel (Brie Larson) spends most of her time racing from planet to planet, but this would be the perfect pied-à-terre for her on Earth. The 48-foot observatory—equipped with a world-class, half-meter, robotic telescope—allows her to keep an eye on the rest of the universe. The modern yet rustic interior is also a great place to kick back and relax, if an all-powerful, immortal superhero ever gets the weekend off.

This silo is a state-of-the-art observatory, through which Captain Marvel could keep an eye on the universe.

Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images; realtor.com

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For the Hulk

The Hulk wouldn’t get angry at this house.

Scott Ehler/Getty Images; realtor.com

1500 Campus Dr, Berkeley, CA 94708

Price: $1,395,000 Plot summary: This home built in 1976, with its generous headroom and close proximity to the prestigious University of California–Berkeley, suits both Hulk and his alter ego, Dr. Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo). Banner will find no shortage of intellectual companionship nearby, and maybe could even snag some lab space. The Hulk won’t find many fussy details to impede his raging in the clean, open-concept living areas, and the vaulted ceilings and flexible floor plan give the big guy plenty of breathing room.

Bonus: The interior is neutral, and won’t clash with green.

The Hulk needs a spacious, uncluttered interior with high ceilings.

realtor.com

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For Black Widow

3201 Brunell Dr, Oakland, CA 94602

Price: $829,000 Plot summary: Like Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) herself, this two-bedroom, two-bath home is sleek, sensual, and private. Elegant but simple, it has a bit of a woodsy, Zen vibe. Plus, it’s conveniently close to the prospective digs of her good buddy the Hulk. You know, just in case the big guy needs a calming influence.

A place for Black Widow to chill

Steve Granitz/WireImage; realtor.com

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For Hawkeye

The perfect rustic home for Hawkeye

Vera Anderson/WireImage; realtor.com

4000 Greenhaven Ln, Goshen, KY

Price: $1,825,000 Plot summary: This 70-acre property not only allows sulky Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) to be isolated and self-sufficient, it also includes two archery/shooting ranges, one indoors and one out. As the only Avenger (as far as we know) with a family, Hawkeye should appreciate the playground as well as the tennis courts. Inside, there’s 11,378 square feet of living space, including a great room where Hawkeye can host a rousing Avengers reunion, should the happy occasion arise.

This home has two archery ranges, plus plenty of room to entertain fellow Avengers.

realtor.com

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For Ant-Man

A tiny house for Ant-Man

Jun Sato/WireImage; realtor.com

21315 268th Pl NE, Arlington, WA 98223

Price: $310,000 Plot summary: OK, we know Ant-Man/Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) is a normal-size guy who can both shrink himself to molecular proportions and blow himself up to a massive size. Because, physics! But we just couldn’t resist finding a tiny home for his humble self, where he’ll feel much more comfortable the next time he returns from the Quantum Realm. This sweet 384-footer with one bedroom and one bath won’t give him much worry about much upkeep.

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For Rocket

A home for Rocket

Marvel Studios/Disney; realtor.com

15380 SW 248th St, Homestead, FL 33032

Price: $6,450,000 Plot summary: Poor Rocket (voiced by Bradley Cooper) lost almost everyone in his Guardians of the Galaxy family, but his spaceship is still intact, and he’ll need a place to land it. Yes, he’s a genetically modified raccoon, but dude needs some room to roam. Where better than this exclusive compound south of Miami that has direct access to a private landing strip and an air-conditioned, customized hangar that can accommodate up to 20 cars—or one big space cruiser?

A hangar and landing strip for Rocket’s spaceship

realtor.com

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from https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/heroic-homes-where-the-avengers-can-chill-while-awaiting-their-endgame/

[katiestreatherphotography]

Semester 2 - Expanded Photographic Practice Summative Project - Alzheimer’s

Initial Ideas 

Contextual Research - Alzheimer’s Disease 

1.    Alzheimer’s vs Dementia

-          Alzheimer’s Disease is the most common cause of Dementia

-          Dementia describes the set of symptoms – memory loss, difficulty      thinking, problem solving and communicating

-          Alzheimer’s is a physical disease that effects the brain – protein builds up in the brain and effects the connection between the nerve cells and causes loss of brain tissue

-          More than 520,000 people in the UK have the disease

-          Alzheimer’s is a progressive disease which means that symptoms become more severe over time

 2.    Symptoms

-          The earliest symptoms are memory lapses which effects day to day memory problems – such as lost items. Difficulty finding the right word, forgetting recent information, struggle with language/conversing, concentration and orientation etc.

-          Later symptoms mean that the sufferer can become a lot less aware of what is going on around them

-          Most people who develop Alzheimer’s do so after the age of 65

-          People under this age develop ‘early-onset dementia’ – there are over 40,000 people in the UK living with this condition

-          There are some risk factors that can be controlled such as lifestyle however there are some that cannot for example age and genetics -  Factors include: age, gender (women>men), genetic inheritance, health and lifestyle

-          There is currently no cure for Alzhiemer’s – however now a lot can be done to help sufferers live a normal life either with or without the assistance of medication alongside support and activities

 3.    Related Organisations

-          Alzheimer’s Society

-          Alzheimer’s Research UK

-          Reference – Instagram Account - @endalzheimers_ray

Instagram account documenting the life of Raymond Kirton who is living with Early Onset Alzheimer’s. The account is used by one of his daughters documenting the highs and lows on this ever-changing journey. His daughter use hashtags to bring her fathers story to the attention of the world, they use hashtags like #endalzheimers, #dementiadiaries, #alzheimers and #dementia

Ref: @endalzhimers_ray

Artist & Photographer Research 

Greg Segal

Remembered: The Alzheimer’s Photography Project

-          Combines present day portraits of people living with Alzheimer’s with projected images from the past

Gregg Segal is an American photographer. Segal studied photography and film at the California Institute of the Arts (BFA) as well as ‘dramatic writing’ at the New York University.

Segal’s work often works with dramatic contrasts and juxtaposes the subject to engage the viewer. He is a well-recognised photographer whose work had been recognised by the photography organisations such as Magnum Photography Awards and The New York Press Club. He has also contributed work to the National Geographic Adventure and Wired as well as others. Remembered is a project created on behalf of people with Alzheimer’s, the concept behind the series was to symbolise the past becoming part of the present. Segal wanted to demonstrate the pasts prominence in the present as well as the distance of their memories. Segal created this project by selecting images from the subject’s family album and selected a number of photographs of their younger self. During the shoot Segal would project the chosen images into the set up. Segal essentially wanted the subject to share the frame with themselves. The set of images have a beautiful delicacy within the photographs to handling the subject of Alzheimer’s in a sensitive manner. They really are a window into the condition and personality of the individual and is also a comment on their life which reminds the viewer to grasp every moment of life.

This photograph shows Emily Bernice Chapman who is an Alzheimer’s patient from Philadelphia, the photograph shows her standing using a walking frame, which while reflecting her age also creates a wonderful shape in the image. The shape of her body and stance is really extended and bold in the image which brings the entire focus onto her first and then allows us to see the large projection in the background. The image of her younger self looks like she is wearing some kind of uniform which makes the audience wonder what role she may be have had in any of the uniformed services at a time where racism and racial injustice were rife. The neutral tones in the photograph give a calm feel to the image however this also makes the image feel a little clinical which reflects the environment she may live in. The image is beautifully lit from a high angle which gives this almost angelic and heavenly feel to the photograph as though she is almost looking up to heaven, which is a lovely statement being made by the photograph.  

Ref: https://www.aarp.org/health/brain-health/alzheimers-gallery/

This photograph shows Susan Franklin an Alzheimer’s patient from the Agoura Hills in California. The photograph shows Susan at her current age while holding the hand of her younger self and what I assume is her mother. Susan is shown leaning out the window in the centre of the photograph which works really well in the photograph this is because it allows the projected image to cover the entirety of the frame. The contrast in colour of the image gives a wonderful feel to the image, the bright lights and colours in the section add a real sense of brightness and positivity to the photograph despite the prognosis of the condition. The image chosen by Segal from her family album is particularly wonderful because it has allowed him to intertwine the past and present in one photograph. The sentiment behind the image is so moving which I feel really draws the audience into the image and really captivates them which is so effective in bringing the illness to the audience’s attention.    

Ref: https://www.aarp.org/health/brain-health/alzheimers-gallery/

The final photograph I find eye catching is the image of Carole Bales from Georgia. As far as I can tell from the image it looks as though Carole still lives at home with her husband/partner. This photograph truly shows the wonderful relationship that she has with her husband , you can tell from the way he is holding him that she feels safe when she is near him. It feels a though her husband is her security and she is therefore clinging onto what makes her feel her most safe and secure. It also makes me feel as though she is not fully aware or comfortable in her surroundings even though it is her house because of her condition. Therefore I feel that the photograph is clinging onto what she finds is her security and reassurance in her husband. I think the contrast between present day Carole and past Carole is quite beautiful because it is such a distinct difference between the two, I also think that the position of the projection works really well as it blends into the entire frame really nicely.

Ref: https://www.aarp.org/health/brain-health/alzheimers-gallery/

Sabato Visconti

-          Glitch Photographer

Sabato Visconti is a photographer and visual artist whose work focuses on glitching photographs. Visconti uses applications such as ‘Pixel Drifter’ but also sometimes goes through individual pixels and coding. His images are generally very bright images that are brightly coloured and enhanced images.

This image is a notable example of a glitched photograph, the piece almost looks like an art deco painting. The image looks like a painting which is completely the opposite to how the original image would have looked. The range of colours in the photograph add a vividness to the image as well as this it has a wonderful sense of symmetry that works well in the photograph.

Ref:

https://www.ignant.com/2014/09/23/glitch-photography-by-sabato-visconti/

The second photograph is a glitched image of a mother and father holding their child in the air. The glitch image has a modern vibe to it, as well as a painted look to the piece because of how unusual and surreal it is. The range of colour and tone in the image is interesting as it clearly defines the subjects and the scene far more than other images because of it’s clarity. Despite the glitching you can still feel the warmth and sentiment that would have been captured in the photograph making its content and purpose more visible for the audience.

Ref:https://www.ignant.com/2014/09/23/glitch-photography-by-sabato-visconti/

This glitch photograph shows what appears to be a young women sitting on a beach or some kind of grassland. The image has a abundance of lines that were caused by the glitching technique. The array of directional lines all create this flow towards the centre f the image where the subject is. The image feels very mysterious as we have very little information in relation to the situation and because of the glitching makes the image a lot more interesting and intriguing. The neutral tones alongside the pops of bright blue really add a hint of brightness to the photograph as well as a direct and bold line from the subject to the frame.

Ref:https://www.ignant.com/2014/09/23/glitch-photography-by-sabato-visconti/

Glitching is a technique we would like to include in our Alzheimer’s project, I have really enjoyed and enjoyed with Sabato Visconti’s work and is something I would like to take on into the project. However, I would like them to be a little clearer so that there is clarity in what and who appears in the photographs.

Idea Analysis

Chosen Photographs for Glitching 

Editing Process

-          Glitched Images Editing

I began editing by editing each image by resizing the images to similar sizes and changing the resolution to 150 pixels per inch. I then resaved each image as a TIFF file, I used this process for all six photographs in the series.

I then opened the TIFF files on photoshop, while editing the photographs I used the technique of using Filter>Distort>Wave to create this fragmented and distorted effect. I would then use the wave or square technique that would shift the image and would create this distorted and fragmented feel to the photographs that we want to create. I also created a layer via copy and used the Filter> Filter Gallery effects to create this fuzzy and unclear effect, I used the glass effect from the filter gallery on some of the images. I then change the opacity of the first layer which enhanced this unclear feel.

I initially got this idea of using the Wave effect from this video – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wmxf3m2o13k&t=837s

This is the technique I used for most of the photographs however on one of the photographs I tried a more manual technique. Which was to have two layers of the same image and cut rectangular shapes out of the image using the rectangular marquee tool, this allowed me a lot more control over which parts of the photographs the cuts would be along. For example, I wanted the eyes and mouth to be in complete sections to give some stability to the image.

After editing all the images initially in this manner, I then edited the original image 5 different ways, so we were able to create a glitched series of image. I then took each series of photos one by one into Adobe Premier Pro to create an animation/GIF of the photographs. Using the photographs, I created a animation that was very short and then used Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V to copy and paste the short clip multiple times to create a long clip. Once I had done this I then exported the clip so I could create the tiled glitch video that we wanted to have for our video.

Once I had exported all the glitched/animated videos into premier pro I used the Position tool on the effects palette to manually position each screen into a tiled position on the entire frame. I layered each screen on top of one another and faded them in at different points to gradually engage this confused state and uncertain feel to the work. The footage is about 8 Minutes long and becomes very confusing as the viewer continues to watch the screen. We will then contrast this with a slower paced video that includes nature footage alongside footage of Chloe’s Nan, Sylvia in hospital as well as footage encompassing her house and garden. I used Adobe Premiere Pro to add the footage and cut it together alongside the song Only You by The Platters.

Final Production 

Below are my favourite glitched photographs from this project .

This is the final edit of our two screen projection called ‘Distorted Memories’.

[iwalk100-blog]

Exploring Gender

In today’s society, the categories of male and female are seen largely as two separate stable constructs (Lindquist, 2012). Many associations exist, and are seen as continuous, such as the colour blue is for boys, and pink is for girls. In 1918, in Western countries, the opposite was the case (Maglaty, 2011). Slowly, society is realizing that gender is not as fixed as originally conceived. For example, there is a growing push for the rights of transgendered people. These three novels come from authors who have sat down and thought hard about how we see and interact with gender.

Talking about gender is important for adolescents because in shaping their identity they may be limiting themselves to gendered activities that fit their gender. These norms are not for everyone. There is a reason that the show RuPaul's Drag Race has a large audience; it is going against traditional norms. Asking questions about gender and sexuality is widespread in young adult literature (Robinson, 2010). This is probably related to the notion that readers are more motivated when engaging with issues that connect with their own lives (Kim, Hemphill, Troyer, Thomsom, Jones, Larusso, & Donovan, 2017). Through exploring gender in fiction, authors can push boundaries further in exploring the concept of gender, and readers can make meanings for themselves.

The Left Hand of Darkness

The well-known novel by Ursula Le Guin does just that; pushes boundaries through science fiction (1969). The story follows Genly Ai who goes to the planet known as Winter to persuade their leaders to join the confederation his people are a part of. The people there do not have genitalia most of the time. There is no difference of sexes. During their mating period, if there are two people looking to mate, one will grow the female genitalia, while the other will grow the male. Then they can copulate. To resolve the lack of difference in sexes, Le Guin refers to all of the people of Winter through male pronouns.

Choosing to leave out gender from a society results is surprisingly little chaos within their society. For them, it is completely normal. However, for Genly, it is pretty weird, and he has trouble reconciling his masculinity with a world that does not appreciate him for it. Students can examine how Le Guin depicts her society, and expand on it if they’d like, looking at how things would change if they were not gendered. Continuing with the previous example, what colour should young children wear if not ascribed blue or pink?  

Choosing to use the male pronouns is a carefully made choice. It could have easily been the female pronoun, but the author was aware of the culture at the time. Male readers would almost certainly have been hesitant to accept the novel (Michaud, 2009). Le Guin herself admits that using the male pronouns caused a gendered reading of her story, but was unwilling to use a concocted pronoun. Students can explore what effect referring to all the inhabitants as though they were male has on the story.   

The Left Hand of Darkness is a tough enough, but rewarding read. I would hesitate to offer it as an option to a struggling reader. Studies have shown that interesting subject matter does not make up for being a challenging reading in the eye of a young reader (Fulmer, & Tulis, 2013). I can also see that the gendering of the non-gendered people may have an affect on who wants to read it. Females may be less willing to read what can be seen as a patriarchal novel from first glance. Hopefully, they can look past the choice, and make an attempt to explore a genderless world.

Important link: https://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6253/ursula-k-le-guin-the-art-of-fiction-no-221-ursula-k-le-guin

Interview of Le Guin talking about her novel and Science Fiction

The Knife of Never Letting Go

You may recognize the name Patrick Ness from the recent book turned movie: A Monster Calls. While that story is filled with meaning, it also is considerably short. I'm going to push for a different novel of his here: The Knife of Never Letting Go. The story follows Todd, who lives on a world that humanity is trying to colonize, as he figures out the town he lives in has been corrupted, and that he has been lied to his whole life. Fleeing the town that he thought was the entire world, Todd and a strange girl run to tell the rest of the inhabitants about the town's peoples' plan to take over the settled world. The girl is strange to Todd, because for the first time in his life, he cannot hear another person's thoughts. Something about the atmosphere here causes men to have their thoughts echoed loudly from their heads. Meaning everyone in the vicinity can hear a man's every thought.

Patrick Ness stresses the strained relationship between genders that this phenomenon causes. For many of the towns Todd and the girl cross, there has grown a divide between the genders. In many cases, there is either a dominant male leader, surrounded by male counterparts, or the opposite; the women are steadily in charge. The complete transparency causes men to be put at a social disadvantage, which has turned into violence on numerous occasions. Students can explore what this says about current gendered interactions. One thing the author could be saying is that men are easy to read through their body language, and that women speak more through their words. It is worth discussing what effect this would have if it occurred on our earth. To think of the chaos!

The situation that Todd grows up in, which was not an enriching place, means that he is not very knowledgeable about technology, social situations, and other things. This forces him to heavily rely on his companion throughout the story. This also fosters strong emotions for her. Does this kind of relationship model real relationships? For Todd, this is literally the first girl he has ever met, so there may be some first love kind of situation going on. Exploring how relationships would function in this one way free thought flowing world can be an interesting topic. Readers do get one example of Wilf and Jane are an older couple that the main duo meet and who get along well, so they might offer some insight into the discussion.

Overall, this book is fairly long, but keeps a good pace. There is action frequently, but it is not happening all the time. Ness explores using different styles and sizes of font to represent the voices coming out of the male’s heads, which sparks interest when it appears. The language and topics are fairly accessible. I think most students would be able to engage with this novel, and find something to talk about within it.

Important link: http://variety.com/2017/film/news/tom-holland-daisy-ridley-chaos-walking-release-date-1202492450/

Movie is in production.

Ancillary Justice

Taking inspiration from Leguin’s piece, Ann Leckie creates her own version of a space drama/ adventure (2013). The Radchaai, the reining civilization, does not use different gendered pronouns. To show this, Leckie uses the pronoun she. However, there are sexes, and it extremely difficult to guess at what sex the characters are. This is made further difficult, because the main character is an AI living in a human body that it controls as part of the ancillary movement.

The ancillary process itself is worth discussing. The Radchaai are a colonial force, bringing in other civilizations into their empire, either by choice or by force. If force is required, the Radchaai bring in ships controlled by AI to help their soldiers. As hostages are taken in the fighting, their consciousness is removed and the ship’s AI consciousness is embedded. The ship then controls that person as one of its ancillaries, and the soldier fits the culture better. The ethics of this process are extremely troublesome. However, the Radchaai are also a communist society. They do not let people starve, there is not much divide between rich and poor, everyone is placed in a job that they are suited for. While there is corruption, as there is always corruption, their society is pretty fair. Is a fair society worth the violent colonizing of uncivilized nations?

The main character, Breq, is herself a broken ancillary. Broken in that her ship, and all the other ancillaries making up herself were killed. It would be like living in a big glass house, and then suddenly only one window lets light through, except worse, because that does not consider how much of herself she lost. What makes the whole situation worse, is that Breq loves to sing, and would sign to the crew of her ship through many voices, but the body she is stuck with has a terrible voice. Interpreting the story from this character’s point of view, it is easy to empathise with her. However, the reader should not ignore what she is; an AI, living in someone’s body that was seized from them. Students should consider whether she deserves our empathy. Breq’s attempted murder was enacted by one of the bodies of the Lord of the Radch in some sort of treasonous move. So her main goal of the novel is to murder the Lord to get revenge. It is worth considering that she had previously been serving the Radchaii for over a thousand years. Considering all of this, and more in the novel,  how should we view Breq and her actions?

Ancillary Justice should meet the requirement for length of a book for most summative projects. Getting to know the cultural terms takes time, and may prove a challenge. It requires students get to know a variety of new words, and word meanings in multiple societies. It may also be difficult to imagine the characters, as they are all represented by female pronouns. However, it is an extremely engaging read. There is a lot of action, and a lot of uncovering information or hidden plots. I think most students, once he or she get into the story, will finish the book quickly.

Important Link: https://www.annleckie.com/2014/10/22/ancillary-tv-maybe/

Blog post by Leckie talking about the possibility of bringing the book to the screen

Works Cited

Fulmer, S.M., & Tulis, M. (2013). Changes in interest and affect during a difficult reading task: Relationships with perceived difficulty and reading fluency. Learning and Instruction, 27, 11–20. doi:10.1016/j.learninstruc.2013.02.001

Kim, J. S., Hemphill, L., Troyer, M., Thomsom, J., Jones, S. M., Larusso, M. D., & Donovan, S. (2017). Engaging struggling adolescent readers to improve reading skills. Reading Research Quarterly, 52 (3), 357-382.

Le Guin, U. K. (1969). The Left Hand of Darkness. United States: Ace Books.

Leckie, A. (2013). Ancillary Justice. New York: Hatchette Book Group.

Lindquist, S. C. M. (2012). Gender. Studies in Iconography, 33, 113-130.

Maglaty, J. (2011). When Did Girls Start Wearing Pink? Smithsonian.com. Retrieved from: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/when-did-girls-start-wearing-pink-1370097/

Michaud, J. (2009). A safe trip into Androgyny. The New Yorker. Retrieved from: https://www.newyorker.com/books/book-club/a-safe-trip-into-androgyny

Robinson, L. M. (2010). Girlness and guyness: Gender trouble in young adult literature. Young People, Texts, Cultures, 1 (1). 203-222