#because i see this older lady who rides hers around town and every time she goes past the office i grow wildly jealous

[eddis-not-eeddis]

Why is it always the hero who rides a motorcycle? Why can't the heroine be the one with the Harley? The whole "hold on tight" trope is still cute when it's genderbent.

[katsumox]

southern bnha boys: rodeo<3

it's what it says in the title, sweets,, just bnha boys as rodeo boys. i miss watching rodeo invitationals and parties :(

note: a buckle bunny is a person who hangs around rodeo guys because they’re hot and they win a lot :)

warnings: cussing, one (1) mention of beer, general southern headassery.

including: katsuki, izuku, hitoshi, and eijirou<3

KATSUKI BAKUGOU— the south’s biggest rodeo brat.

hell of a bull rider. it’s his claim to fame, really. disrespectfully respectful?? he’s the type to roll his eyes at elders yet still say “yes ma’am” and “no sir” to them, but he slurs his words so it’s more like “yes’m”. he also says that when you’re super mad at him, that’s how you know he’s sorry. also opens doors for old ladies and limits his extensive cursing in front of them, except for the word “damn”,,, that’s a permanent word in his lexicon.

has a big ass drawl in his speech, and it’s really hot. all phrases like, “ that’s my girl,” or “there we are, good girl” also calls you “sweets” and other shit when you do something correctly with him. thinks hell will freeze over before he wears shirts in summer. the best your getting out of him is an open flannel rolled up to his forearms. he works on souping up trucks for the ranch occasionally,, is really mean about the fact that you eat honeysuckle off the ranch grounds because it’s “dirty”,,,bitch,,, it’s nectar?? tf??

hell of a handshake,, the kind that makes fathers smirk and go “that’s a good man” when he’s done. has a small amount of buckle bunnies,,, it’s not because he sucks at rodeo shit, he’s just mean as hell. thinks of you as his lucky charm. you gotta kiss him hard before he saddles up or else he literally will not compete. he’s literally dropped out of a competition because you didn’t kiss him. also likes ranch parties so he can put his hands on your hips as you show him to line dance. pulls you by your belt loop when he wants to go somewhere.

IZUKU MIDORIYA— stable boy at the local ranch during summers.

the sweetest boy you’d ever meet, but he’ll go to war for his mama. very much a mama’s boy; still calls her ma/mama and everything. beat the actual tar out of a cowhand when he heard him say something disrespectful about his mother. lake swimmer. do i need to explain? bc,,, ew. also has a huge habit of saying yes ma’am to ya when you ask for something. known for wearing a wifebeater and some wrangler jeans to work every day throughout the summer.

your mother thinks he'd make a good husband, and she's right. he's sweet, and considerate; he knows his way around a ranch and how to do chores at home. the perfect househusband material in all honesty. quite fond of sneaking sweets to you while he's supposed to be tending to the dogs, yet never seems to get caught. he suspects it's because hitoshi ain't a snitch. also says "i reckon" far to often for my liking, but oh well. that's country boy language.

handshake is kinda weak, tbh. he’s not confident in it, and you can tell, but he grows into it eventually. he’s a huge help around the ranch because he’s fast and the dogs listen to him very well. is a calf roper in rodeo events, one of the best, but wants to start bull or bronco riding. he’d have more buckle bunnies if he were more popular around the ranch, but he just kinda does his job and then hangs around you or the rodeo legacy kids (todoroki and denki)

HITOSHI SHINSOU— the buckle bunnies’ favorite.

like katsuki, a rodeo boy. he’s good at it too. has way more groupies because he’s a bit nicer than kat. known as the playboy around town, but is generally a sweet kid. has a habit of calling you “little girl” no matter if you’re older than him or not. he’s a bronco rider, one of the best around, and wears his winning belt buckles around all the time. not to gloat, it just he genuinely only has prize belt buckles jakskdld. pull him by it and he’ll lose his damn mind.

got you a promise ring with his prize money so that "it'll keep your finger ready for the real one". he's dead set on marrying you. he likes seeing you steal his belts because everyone knows it's his, and by proxy, you're his. makes fun of the way that you don't really care for farm animals, save for the dogs and a few horses. lets you take one out on his break, his large hand up on your lower hip, guiding you and the horse on a slow walk.

also fond of only flannels in the summer, and honestly year round. he’s not very fond is shirts in general. doesn’t like sweet tea, and also isn’t very fond of any jeans that aren’t cavender jeans. he swears up and down that they aren’t as good quality as levi’s or wranglers. takes you night driving on dirt roads and lets you put your feet on his dash. he doesn't do that for everyone.

EIJIROU KIRISHIMA— the south’s knight in shinin’ armor.

chucks your chin a lot, and lets you wear his hat. herding dogs listen to him more than izuku, but only by a little bit. and goes shirtless while working,, almost always, unless he’s fixing a truck with katsuki. then he’ll wear an oil stained white wifebeater. he’s a steer wrestler. it makes sense because he’s so tall and bulky, like a damned brick wall. mothers also consider him marriage material; he's good around the house, he's practical and very respectful.

he has a pretty drawl, like katsuki, when he talks. he isn’t much of a fighter but he will gladly kick ass if someone’s speaking on your name unkindly. nickname around town is "big red" for obvious reasons, and he makes sure to live up to the name. also very adamant on only wearing levi’s to work?? he’s very particular about his work clothes.

has a fixation on calling you his little lady. every time he wins he takes you out to a diner to celebrate, and once, he saved up money to buy you a bracelet with his prize money. also fond of ranch parties where he can drink apple cider and dance with you. he also got permission to drink one (1) coors light with the rest of boys when he's 19 and he takes advantage of that opportunity whenever he can, because parties aren’t often.

taglist:

@smexy-goose @angiebug101 @vanteyves @quincywrites @katsumiiii @mypimpademia @1-800-s1mping @koishiguro @tododekukisses @sobaluvr @silkylious

[lovely-angst]

Ok so may I request a part two of "walk me to the bus stop" where bakugou and his s/o are older now, and he's in like his 3rd year at UA, and he just happens to be at the bus stop late at night and hears shouting and runs over to see his s/o struggling to get away from those same men in suits, and he rescues her again and they're just like long time no see? and bakugou proceeds to walk s/o home as the men in suits get whisked away by the police <3 so swoony uwu

changed the ending juuuust a tad bit, but i hope it’s just as good ;^)

pt 1 here!

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

01.15.21

-

“Are you sure you don’t want us to wait with you at the bus stop?” your friends ask, but you shook your head politely. “Thanks for asking, but I’ll be fine. It’s getting late and I know they’re about to do last calls for buses and trains, I wouldn’t want you to miss them,” you explain as your friends give you smalls smiles.

“If you say so. Text me when you get home then, okay?” she says as you give her a nod before turning around to make your way to the bus stop.

Walking down the empty street lit by the dim street lights, you tried not to think about all of the horrible situations that could happen, it would only keep you paranoid.

Plus, your boyfriend taught you a few moves of self defense if you’re ever in a predicament, you were prepared for anything!

Sighing, you continue to walk down before turning into another street, eyes slightly widening when you notice two men in suits standing off to the side of road.

“They’re probably just businessmen (Name), stop over thinking things,” you told yourself as you walked passed the men, keeping your head down. Once you had gotten passed them, you let out a relieved sigh, “just business men,” you whisper to yourself, relaxing a bit.

It wasn’t until you continued walking for a couple minutes that you heard footsteps behind you. You tried not to think too hard about it, maybe someone was just taking the same path as you.

Your hand gripped your bag tightly before you cautiously looked over your shoulder, only to find those two men following you.

It was happening again.

Quickly turning back, you tried to maintain a normal speed to not seem suspicious, but when you thought they weren’t suspecting anything, you ran for it.

Your heart raced as you tried to reach the bus stop. It would be the main road, there would be people there to save you, heroes there to save you!

You felt your eyes gloss over as you tried to outrun these men, but even you could tell they were catching up and catching up fast. “One more street and I’ll make it!”

Just as you were about to turn the corner to your bus stop, two more men popped out and blocked your path, sealing you from escaping.

You turned every which way to find a way to escape but they were slowly inching closer. Swinging your bag, you tried to attack but it backfired when they grabbed on, pulling you in and pining your hands together as a car pulled up on the side of the road.

Before they could stuff you in the vehicle, you let out a yell.

-

“Hurry up, Bakugou! We’re on a time crunch here!” Kirishima cries as he tries to remind his grumpy buddy that Aizawa had given them only an hour to grab whatever they needed from the convenience store before heading back to the dorms for the night.

“Thanks for tagging along, Kacchan!” Midoriya says but Bakugou could only scoff, “I can’t believe you two losers dragged me along,” he complained, following the two boys.

“You’ve been kinda tense lately, I thought maybe being outside of UA could help you a bit,” Kirishima confesses with a toothy smile, causing Bakugou to frown.

“I’ll just wait out here for you idiots. Better make it a fast trip,” Bakugou says as the three finally made it to the convinience store. “Okay!” Midoriya and Kirishima quickly head in, the sliding doors closing behind them leaving Bakugou alone.

Though Bakugou hated running errands, Kirishima was right—being outside of UA was nice. There were normal citizens walking about and for some reason the air felt and smelled different.

He wished he could enjoy a night out like this with you. Running to some convenience store to buy snacks because you were hungry before the two of you would walk through the quiet town together.

Glancing through the glass doors, Bakugou noticed that Midoriya and Kirishima were still busy deciding on what brand to get.

A small walk wouldn’t hurt.

He knew that the bus stop the two of you always waited at was nearby, maybe he could take a quick picture and send it your way. He could already imagine all of the texts you would reply with.

‘I can’t believe you’re allowed out and i’m not there!’

‘Message me as soon as you can next time! Even if it’s just for five minutes, I want to see you!’

Just the thought of it made him smile. Just as he approached the bus stop, he heard a faint yell, “help!”

Like the snap of a finger, all the gears in Bakugou’s brain began turning as he quickly set off to find the source of the distressed cry, someone needed his help.

It didn’t take long before Bakugou found four men trying to force a girl into a car as she continued to resist. 

Using his explosions, Bakugou propelled himself forward before grabbing one of the men by the collar of his shirt, slamming him onto the hard ground beneath them before raising his arm towards another, letting out an explosion in the man’s face.

With the two in the back down, the young lady was able to turn her head around towards him, their eyes meeting. “Katsuki!”

Before Bakugou could cause unleash another attack, they quickly shoved you in the car before one of the men turned and brought their hand up towards Bakugou’s face, and unleashed their quirk as a flash of bright light filled the scene.

Just as the light slowly disapeared, the car had driven off with you in it.

“Kacchan!” “Bakugou! What happened to waiting outside the store?” Kirishima scolded as the two ran over to the blond, “We saw that bright flash of light and decided to come check it out.”

Bakugou cursed, “That damn light caught me off guard. They took (Name), hurry before they get too far!” he shouted as he began propelling himself in the air to catch sight of the car.

Bakugou wasn’t sure if the two followed behind, but he could careless. His girlfriend had just gotten kidnapped in front of his face and he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

Meanwhile, you were continuously trying to pry yourself away from the men who sat beside you. Your hands were tied together in front of you as you scanned the car with your eyes.

It didn’t seem like they had any guns on them thankfully, but you weren’t sure how you could manage to even attempt to escape. It didn’t matter though, you were going to do whatever it took.

Violently shaking yourself to try to loosen the fabric around your wrists, you would purposefully shove the two men beside you to get a rise out of them, and it worked.

“Hey, knock it off before I-” before he could finish his sentence, you roughly swung your fists into his face before swinging your head to headbutt the other man, causing them to curl in pain.

While they were distracted from the sudden attack, you reached over and unlocked the car door before swinging it open and throwing yourself out of the vehicle, rolling onto the hard ground with a few rough scrapes.

As you tried to regain your focus after the tumble, you could hear the voices of the men and their quick footsteps as they ran over to you.

You were so close.

Just as you turned your head and flinched from the men, Bakugou suddenly dropped down in front of you with his arms raised, “Watch out, (Name)”

Releasing a large blast that shook the ground, the men were finally all down and unconscious. 

“Sorry we’re late Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed as he jerked his head behind him at Kirishima who was riding Midoriya’s back. “Ha, can’t exactly get here as fast as the two of you, so Midoriya here offered to give me a ride.”

“Just go apprehend those guys,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes as the two nodded, running over towards the unconscious men.

With a sigh, Bakugou finally turned around to face you who was still on the ground exhausted. Bending down to your level, he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his face before he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“I can’t ever leave you alone, can I?” he says softly and you can only rest your face against his palm. “You’re always getting into trouble.”

“You’ll always be there to save me though,” you say with a small smile. And though Bakugou knows that won’t always be the case, he can only hope that he’ll be able to be there when you are in trouble.

“Can you sit here for me for a bit? Got some hero work I need to finish,” he explains, nodding his head over towards his two classmates. “Of course,” you reply as you rest yourself against the back of a building.

Bakugou smiles, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead before catching up with Midoriya and Kirishima.

-

The cops were called to take the men away and Aizawa was called to the scene to retrieve his three students—thankfully Aizawa was understanding about the situation and wasn’t terribly upset that they had missed been out for longer than an hour.

Bakugou knew that he had to go back to UA, but he couldn’t leave you alone right now after everything you’ve just been through.

“I understand that I’m pushing my limits here, but would it be alright for me to wait with (Name) until her parents get here?” Aizawa stared down at the blond before shifting his eyes to you, who looked a bit distraught, understandably though.

He would hate to be the cause any unnecessary danger trouble to his students, but it wouldn’t hurt this one time. Especially if it was Bakugou, one of the top students. “Come back as soon as they get here,”

“I will, thank you,” Bakugou states before jogging over to you, pulling you in for a hug.

Aizawa hated being soft with his students, but growing with them for the past few years, he just couldn’t help it.

As the scene died down and the cops were slowly dispersing from the scene, you and Bakugou sat quietly on a bench together fooling around as you waited for your parents to arrive.

“Give me your bag,” Bakugou says firmly causding you to hold your bag close and away from him, “Why do you want it so bad, huh?” you accuse as Bakugou leans forward to try to pry the bag from you.

“Just give it to me!” “No!”

Your giggles fill the air as he begins to lightly tickle your sides, successfully retrieving the bag from you as you gave him a pout from between your laughter. “What are you looking for?” you asked as he begins to rummage through your items.

“Nothing,” he curtly replies before pulling out your small first aid kit, “Come here, you scraped yourself a bit jumping out of that car didn’t you?”

Your eyes widened as you glanced down at yourself, finally noticing and feeling the scrapes against your once smooth skin. “You’re so careless,” he says gently as he rips open the small packet of alcohol wipe.

His large calloused hands gently rub the wipe against your injuries as gently as he could before rubbing ointment on the clean wound.

His soft blond hair obstructing you from seeing his handsome features as he was treating you like glass. It was odd seeing such a different side of him, but you welcomed it with open arms.

“I cleaned it good, so don’t go crashing into things to cause more injuries,” Bakugou states organizing the first aid kit. You reached over and placed your hand over his before turning his hand around, letting his palm face up.

“Didn’t you hurt your hands today too?” you ask as you glanced down, your free hand gliding across his palm as light as a feather, trying not to irritate any injuries he might have.

“You were using your quirk a lot without your gauntlets,” bringing his palm up, you planted a soft kiss to it, “it must have hurt, I’m sorry.”

Quickly releasing his hand, you reach into your bag to pull out an ice pack that was mostly melted before placing it in his hand, “it’s not cold anymore, but I hope it’ll soothe your hands enough.”

The smile you gave him reminded him about how much he wanted to protect you from this world full of evil things. You are so precious to him. He was thankful the stars aligned for him to have been able to save you today.

“Oh, that’s my parent’s car!” you say standing up and grabbing your bag, Bakugou standing up beside you. “See you soon?” you asked, glancing up at him as he gave you a small smile.

“See you soon,” he repeats as your cheeky smiled widened, leaning up to press a kiss onto his lips. “Thank you for saving me today again, Katsuki,” you whisper, pulling away from him before entering the car.

Giving him a small wave goodbye, Bakugou watches as the car drives off into the distance before he turns around and makes his way back to UA.

It was quiet without you beside him, but he knew the next meeting was going to be worth the wait.

- extra -

It had been a long and tiring day of quirk training as the students all sat around trying to catch their breath or to rejuvenate their spent energy.

“What you got in your hand there, Bakugou?” Kaminari teases, catching the students’ attentions as they all glanced at his hand.

Turning his hand around to face his palm up, Bakugou opened his fingers to expose the cute ice pack you had given him that night. “It’s (Name)’s. She gave it to me too cool my hands down after I over use my quirk,” he explains with a smug smile knowing all his single friends couldn’t relate.

The class reaction was a mix of ‘ooh’s and ah’s’ and ‘cute’ and a very quiet ‘simp’, but he’d let that slide this one time.

“Augh! I can’t believe you have a girlfriend! Why haven’t I been blessed yet!” Kaminari cries, shoving his hands into his hair in despair.

Glancing down at the ice pack, Bakugou smiled. Yeah, he was definitely blessed.

[ginwhitlock]

summary: human!JASPER/ human!BELLA. Bella is called to deliver day supplies to a very tired and mostly lost 1st Regiment Calvary, headed by no other than Major Jasper Whitlock. What will the two do once left alone to go over maps of the Tennessee hills?

fic type: oneshot, SMUT 18+

warnings: is set in the civil war, which means Jasper is a soldier in the confederacy literally only because he’s from Texas I promise, it would’ve been weird to make him union and apart of the Texas Calvary as that wasnt a union regiment, I do not support the confederacy or any of its beliefs, its just part of his backstory and this fic is centered directly in his human life (the confederacy itself is not mentioned in detail, it is just alluded to the fact). This is a smut fic but not hardcore in anyway so be warned. Oh also I made Bella and Emmett siblings. Of course. 

She almost broke his nose kissing him.

She almost shattered bone and cartilage clicking their teeth together, enamel scraping enamel.

She almost caved in the center of his face so she could lick the insides of his molars, separate his jaws to find the pit of his throat, dangle her self righteousness by his uvula.

And to think she almost didn’t go out that morning.

Isabella Marie was the kind of pretty you didn’t see right away. The layers of fine muscle and fragile skin hiding the richness of her blood-red cheeks, crisp even in the horrible heat of August. And with that heat came hot headed Calvary men with unlined coat pockets and a hunger for pretty little girls.

She met Major Whitlock three miles outside of town, the local preacher sending her out to their camp with as many baskets as her daddy’s two mules could hold on their hips. She was flushed, the slot of her breastbone slick with afternoon sweat— her riding boots did nothing but slosh around with her pale feet inside, leather no match for Tennessee mountain hidin weather.

Maybe she should’ve dropped ice down her shift. Maybe she should’ve played dead and waited for God to put her on her ass.

The thin brunette was graced with the presence of an even skinner red head the moment Stubborn Ass’s (as she affectionally called her steed in private) hooves entered the temporary camp. The mans hair fell limply in front of his eyes which were slightly sunken, the blue of his irises molting into a starved shade of dust. His lips were worse. Once pink and slightly plump, now skinny and cracked with the less than dusty air.

“Is this the 1st Regiment Calvary? From Texas?” Her voice was strained and feverish, salt dripping off her Cupid’s bow.

The man nodded and offered a hand, “Names Sargent Henry Arquette. Nice to see you Miss, the boys haven’t been able to get any supplies up here for days,” Bella grasped his hand tightly, afraid her unskilled balance would come into play, and forced her weight down to the ground ungracefully, “you’re the sheriffs daughter, right miss?” His smile seemed correct handing off his skinny face, his teeth crooked and off centered, but sweet. She quirked her lip in return.

“Yes Sargent, I seem to be your supply wagon today. There’s more back in town but I was told you wouldn’t be in for a day or so.” Flushed and overdressed, that’s how she felt. Every second.

Henry took in the view of the well fed half breeds and gestured off handedly, something she would come to learn was an action he didn’t even notice he performed. “Day. Days. Who knows until we ration it. These trails are less trails and more raccoon paths. I’m just waiting to see why the hell we’ve been sent so far east to begin with.” He had no recognition what was proper to say in front of the young lady at his side, the year had been sucked dry of any feminine… life, to say lightly. A piece of his brain nudged him for speaking so plainly, but Bella never once looked offended and twitched her head in both sympathy and understanding. She had been raised in these hills. She knew their damnation like the back of her hand. Maybe even the back of her skull.

“I’ve heard about raids up in McMinnville. Bases and such lining up and down the mountain. My brother’s part of the 16th Regiment Calvary up there actually, you know. Things are heating up in our little slice of the world.” The little thing spoke like a sparrow, her nose pointed and soft, the bottom of her front teeth pillowing into her bottom lip. At the age of seventeen she seemed somehow both grounded and unsure.

The south was ripping itself apart. And she— and the Sargent, knew it.

Bella could see the redhead start to comment on her brothers hand me down gossip when a giant of a man— boy? Man? Definitely man, by the looks of his muscled shoulders and high jaw, the darkened cast shifting just under the skin of his cheeks, the low dip of a scar just below his brow— a brow which furrowed, twisted, and arched back up into his tanned forehead when he noticed the mules waiting restlessly, tails swinging behind a girl in a kinder man's idea of a dress and interrupted the lower soldiers train of thought.

“You must be Miss Isabella McCarty. I spoke to your father when we arrived last night.” Clipped and forward were his words, his hand outstretched in front of him, decorated in mis-matched freckles and calluses she could feel pressing into the column of her throat as she placed her small palm in his. “Major Jasper Whitlock, at your assistance.”

No smile graced his face but by God she would witness his lips stretch over his teeth if it was the last thing she ever did.

Still with her hand in his she whispered “You can call me Bella. Or Bella Marie. Or Isabella Marie oh or my mother calls me Belle or sometimes when my father is upset with me he calls me Marie McCarty like my grandmother used to and um..” her tongue had to have swelled to the size of a watermelon in the three seconds it took to look him in the eyes— the swamp green eyes in fact. Eyes the color of duckweed and marigold stems and whatever leaves would stick to the blackberries in the spring.

He laughed. And it sounded like a white flag waving in her insides. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Maybe the preacher was a righteous man after all.

“I like Isabella Marie. Miss Isabella Marie.” Like rain drops on a tin ceiling.

The Arquette boy looked between the two before edging towards the black mules “Any orders where to put these, Major?” Skinny lips. Skinny spine.

Jasper had finally looked up from the strawberry cheeked girl in front of him, released their hands, and knocked his head backwards, towards the other soldiers checking tents and cleaning their own horses.

“Just take em back to the storage tent. Not like it’ll be competing for space.” The Major looked back at his men “Calhoun, Jennings, help Arquette move these rations will you? Make yourself useful for once.” His voice didn’t have to boom and condense like a rung out air horn, the cool of his vocal cords carried and personally plucked the not yet men from their activities and dragged them towards the group of three. Like some sort of magic act.

Bella was far from resigned. “So Major Whitlock, what would you like me to do?” Hopeful eyes, always searching to please. Or to piss off— as Emmett always scorned.

An upturn of lips flashed through Jaspers face and he looked to the sky for a mere moment “Mind helping me sort out some of my maps back in camp? My backwoods knowledge ain’t as sharp as my Houston kind and you seem like an expert in this area, getting yourself up to us all alone.” Bella’s feet started to move on instinct towards the felted wool tent covering a hundred or so feet behind the large man, but his hand stopped her at the shoulder, “And, if you don’t mind, would you be my guide back to town this evening? I’ve got to scout the path for the boys to pull through by the end of this week.”

She should’ve thought longer about it, linger over his words, the way his tongue flicked over his canines and brushed noticeably at the edge of his front teeth. But she didn’t. Not now. Not when the time it would’ve taken could pick at the carefully constructed wall built specifically for boys with serpent tongues. And lion hands. And bear teeth and… he still waiting for her response.

A shake to her head “Of course Major. If you’ll help me bring the mules back home, you’d be more help to me than I think I’d ever be to you.”

He could taste her self doubt. And he didn’t like it.

A jut of his brow led them through the ragged campsite, broken down cinders coating the bottom of her unusually worn boots, the lace of her dress clashing horribly with the scent of charred flesh and resting wounds. If only she knew a doctor. If only the town still had one.

His tent was one of the stronger ones, every inch placated with the spine of a book or a map binder or a drape of letters. He needed a desk and a real bed and maybe someone to make sure he stayed warm during the mountain nights.

Jaspers hands found a tiny stack of drawn maps and laid them over his now folded lap on the ground. Bella swiftly found her place at his bended knee and ran a finger over the torn edge. “These look older than my father. It doesn’t even mark the trail you follow to town.” The squishy flesh of her thumb traced an invisible oil line through the mountain and deposited itself in a town with seemingly no name, according to the parchment. “That’s home. If you’re following these maps I don’t quite understand how you ever got here.” Her eyes were full, engorged on road markers and faded city names.

Jasper softly nodded, their heads just inches from each other as she leaned in to scour the map. He had barely gotten to the camp they were in, his right hand Henry doing nearly all of the sight work. He’d be a hell of a tracker if he was a bloodhound. The blond almost chucked at the thought of Henry with big floppy mutt ears, yelping at the pretty girl almost in Jasper’s lap.

Her hair was like a chocolate waterfall. The good chocolate that mama got sent to her from her sister up north, the kind that was broken off continuously, piece after piece fed to him and his sisters until nothing was left.

Part of him wanted to see if she tasted as sweet.

He’d blame it on how damn long it’s been since he’s smelled anything other than soured sores and gunpowder. Even if Miss Isabella Marie smelled good enough to eat. Good enough to take like a man starved. And God— Jasper hungered like no other.

“There’s a river through the valley here, if you can find yourself through the woods.” Bella had found a piece of graphite and drawn in the harsh line of a hidden waterway just a mile or so from camp. She looked up at him as she spoke, her eyes warmly whiskey colored through her lashes.

His mouth clenched. “How old are you Miss McCarty?”

She blinked rapidly, like coming out of a daze. “Seventeen.”

Her hand dropped the instrument to the paper and draw up to his knee, the covered bone sharp under her knuckles.

“Do you have a boy at home waiting for you, Miss McCarty?” Hot air blew from his mouth to hers like a heatwave. Like a curse.

Bella’s lips formed a small “No” as she slid her small hand up the Major’s thigh, her singular ring gliding like margarine inch my inch as the seconds ticked by, each breath marking the two closer.

“Do you have a wife, Major?” Only whisper escaped her rosebud mouth, his face turning downwards, noses only separated by spirit.

“I was too busy waiting for you, it seems, Miss Bella.”

Her heart thumped her chest hard enough to make her ears ring.

Bella’s fist jumped from Jasper’s thigh to his army issued button up and crushed his chest to her own, her lips finding purchase slotted against his, the force clinking their front teeth together without care. His hands were gripping the roots of her soft waves, their skulls as close as their skin would let them. She wanted more, more, the heat suffocating the tent from more than the August sun. Her thin fingers slipped easily through the button gaps as his tongue invaded the privacy of her mouth. A horrible demented part of her brain screamed ‘Take, Take, Take. Mark me down and climb into the spaces that were meant to fit just us.’ Her brother had always called her too much of a dreamer. Too much of a poet and a believer and an artist. But God. This man was in her hands and she felt like a masterpiece.

A man she hardly knew.

But somehow, the scrape of his knuckles against her soon to be bare thighs felt like they had known each other at birth. Like Texas and Tennessee were just minutes from each other. As if they were the only bodies in the whole entire war.

Jasper’s hands were of no gentleman’s when he unfastened the ribbons holding her skirt to her waist, the under coat used for riding coming off like silk in his calloused palms. She was moaning into his mouth, the world outside the tent becoming buttery soft and not to be worried about. All there was was Jasper and his fucking mouth moving to her neck and his teeth toying around her jaw.

“Jesus, Major” He chuckled at her swear and rid her completely of every layer but her shift and the wool of her stockings, the small corset she wore becoming just cannon fodder for the mouth and hands of the Cavalryman.

“I love when you call me that, darlin. Wanna hear you scream it.” She had barely gotten open a single button on his shirt before he brushed the maps out of the way and flipped her on her back underneath him, the sway of his curled mane teasing her, the golden wheat just barely out of the reach of her teeth or fingers.

She wanted to use it like reins.

She’d especially like calling him by his rank then.

“You know I—“ her breathing caught the better of her as he lifted her by her thighs and dragged her ass to his kneeled position, his fingers running up her stockings with particular care, each inch another layer to her growing wetness. She didn’t let go of her breath until he had reached the skirting of her underdress, the white cotton nearly see through with the sweat sticking to every inch of her skin. His watery eyes devoured the sight with an indescribable hunger. Like a wolf hanging over a bleeding lamb.

What a happy sacrifice she’d be.

“Are you a good little southern girl, Isabella?” His fingertips brushed just under the fabric, his intent not easily hidden behind his hardened brow.

She came out trembling, she couldn’t tell over excitement or fear. “Yes Sir. No ones ever…” even her mother would blush saying those words.

Jasper finally smiled, sharp and soul quenching, like a mist of rain before a hurricane.

“I’m going to ruin you.” He couldn’t tell her about the wedding playing out behind his eyes or the static electric resonance he felt thinking about how another man would never get to lay a hand on his pretty Isabella.

His fingers slipped over her cunt, the soft curling hair tickling his fingertips. The moist warmth wet his fingers before skirting over her lips. He almost groaned. She was soaked. He had to see what his little Belle looked like in the light.

Jasper’s eyes met Bella’s giant blown out doe ones, her elbows holding up her upper body, trying to anticipate his very next move.

If they were playing chess, he was going to win. And she had always been a sore loser.

The skirt of the shift creased with the heat of his palms against her stomach, the slightly cooler air blowing across her pussy, making Bella suck in a breath through her teeth, her bottom lip becoming stuck under them with practiced strength.

Her knees knocked against Jasper’s hips as he watched the pink of her pussy clench around nothing, her wet little hole puckering and buzzing with the want of something under his trousers. He licked his lips as he had a gathered two fingers at her slit and traced upwards, her breath coming out in pants as he reached her clit, the engorged nub nearly ringing in her ears. A small circle over it make her moan from her throat. Bella had never felt someone else’s touch, she had never realized how much she wanted for it. She never knew how much she wanted Jasper to touch her.

The solider took his time as he brought the pads of his fingers back down to her achingly small hole and gathered some of her slick, the smell of sweat and Bella nearly driving him half insane as he brought a finger to his mouth, his tongue licking her clean off.

If Bella could speak to God directly and have him reply, she’d thank him for the creation of Major Jasper Whitlock.

But all she could do was cry out for more. And more he silently promised to give.

Maybe too much.

He had to stretch her out, the head of his cock wouldn’t fit into her without an orgasm in her, not now at least. Jasper slowly brought his hand back a third time and entered a single finger, her hips nearly bucking against his wrist as he slowly sat himself. A bead of sweat ran off his brow. A second finger partnered with the first after a few pumps, in and out, in and out. The near wetness coated on those fingers alone could bring him to release in his cot. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Isabella I have to—“ “Please Major I need—“

The two looked at each other, their mouths in sync as they sat, their souls intertwining and bundling up into a bramble of wonderful thorns, coy smiles gracing both their faces.

Bella sat up slowly and draped a hand over Jasper’s belt buckle. “May I, Major?” The shorty craftsmanship of the iron buckle became putty under her unskilled hands as he nodded, now without words for the angel in front of him. The belt was off before the two noticed and Jasper brought his issued pants down to his ankles and off with his shoes to rest with the scraps of her dress he had taken off so quickly.

“Do you… always go bare?” The squeak of Bella’s voice made Jasper snicker like the teenage boy he technically still was, the nineteen year old clicking his teeth together and grinning. “Miss McCarty, sometimes underpinnings only get in the way of an army man.” A deep blush settled into her cheeks as she slapped at his chest, his shirt hanging open just slightly as he pushed her back to the floor.

“Shush, Whitlock.”

His smile turned feral as the head of his cock graced the hood of her clit, bouncing just slightly with the breath of their bodies. Jasper marked in his head that this should be a sight to see on their wedding night, not their first night together, but by God was it a beautiful one.

He looked at her as he grasped one of her hips with his right hand and the base of his cock with his left. “Breathe, Belle. Breathe with me, alright?” She nodded her head slowly and brought her own hand to the tent floor, grasping tightly.

Jasper’s hand guided the head carefully over her lips and to her quivering entrance. One buck and he’d tear her to badly to bear. No matter how long it had been… he’d never rush with his Isabella. Not now.

He slowly pushed in, the stretch a burn like no other, Bella’s voice turning from a quick steal of breath to a long sigh, the air being pushed out as he took her in. Inch by inch she devoured him, the heat marking his cock in emotional third degree burns. The sky burned brighter, the colors in his eyes turned clearer. Her hips and her fragile skin and the slip of her cunt was the end of the world and the birth of something entirely new. She grasped his shoulders as he mumbled a slew of impressive praise as he allowed her to adjust and seated himself at the very base of her cervix. Her throat screamed out to him as her nails dug in his back.

A wonderful, wonderful burn.

Bella slipped a hand to Jasper’s hip to push him back, to set any and all pace so that the fire would keep burning. He quickly slotted his face in the clench of her neck and began to move his pale hips, beginning to push and pull within her very tight walls.

The tent was full of grunts and moans and breathy screams he was sure the entirely camp heard. But Jesus Christ he didn’t give a single damn at that very moment. His boys knew to stay out of his shit and they be proven that every second until his angel’s orgasm.

God he wanted to fill her up. Wanted to take all of his cum and bury it deep where the lord intended, leave her leaking and exhausted and full of everything he had. He’d empty his balls in her again and again if it meant the Tennessee flower in his arms would keep him forever.

He wanted her forever.

“Major, deeper, please God please yes YES.” Jasper’s hips were snapping at a rapid pace, his balls slapping against her ass as he drove her into the hard ground. He could feel her tighten up the way he felt the air change around him before a fight broke out, the way a horse steps on a snake without jumping. There was an electricity in the air and the moment Bella tore his head out from her and pulled him into a jaw crushing kiss, he was crumbling at her feet, her pussy clenching and spasming around his cock with enough force to take out a grizzly bear.

She locked her legs around his hips as he all but collapsed into her, his hair sweaty between her fingers as she combed through it as his dick twitched it’s last time inside her belly. Jasper’s own hands found repentance under her ass and stayed there, too tired to remove himself from her heat.

“That ride home is gonna be sweaty, isn’t it?” Her whisper made her snort and bite into the side of her neck as she giggled.

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 4 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: mild cursing, paranoia/anxiety

Word Count: 3062

We love exposition in this house

Vincent had only seen you for a few moments. You'd been carried in by his brother, Bo. He'd placed you on the couch, and, naturally, Vincent had peaked out from upstairs to investigate. He thought that perhaps you were someone to add to their collection, or a new toy for Bo to mess with. Bo, usually, kept the pretty ones like yourself to himself. His twin was good at charm, good at smooth talking almost anyone. And he was good at not caring about whether or not they wanted to be kept. When he saw the way he'd laid your head carefully back on the pillow, a million thoughts were going through his head. 

Bo usually took any outsiders to the basement underneath the auto shop. But here you were, being gingerly placed on their living room couch. He reached for one of the knives at his hip just before Bo was heading straight for him. He relaxed his hand, letting it sink back into the hilt. Bo had explained quickly and quietly. 

They were going to keep you for him . Vincent had stared at him with one blue eye, gratitude and surprise filling it. Never before, not even technically with the wax figures, had they had someone who was for him. The wax town was their mothers dream. 

He'd stared at you, peeking around the corner to take in your unconscious form. You had piqued his interest completely, even if he knew your sleeping form would soon contort into horror and screaming. That the peace would leave your features the second you realized they didn't intend on letting you leave Ambrose. 

Bo had to snap in his face to make sure he was listening, make sure that he understood that you were going to be his teacher. Not one of his wax figures. He'd nodded. He wasn't stupid, but his brother seemed to forget that sometimes. Bo hadn't had time to explain much more, as you'd started to stir.

"Go on, get. Stay out of sight." Bo told him, and Vincent had reluctantly retreated out of sight and back down to the depths of his work shop. As he returned to the wax figure in the center of his room, his head was now filled with distracting noise as he tried to force himself to focus. He wanted to know more about you. You were the only new face that he would see and not become wax. The mysterious figure laying on their couch. 

Eventually, he found himself listening in the middle of the hallway, leaning against the wall as he heard your voice filter through the house. He listened to your story, finding that it didn't sound too different than something their victims would describe. But that one thing you'd said struck him, and he knew it probably struck his brothers just the same. I should've killed that sonovabitch , you'd said. The Sinclair brothers had long ago made their peace with what happened inside of this town. Perhaps, eventually, you would be able to make peace with it too with an attitude like that. It could take awhile, but the brothers would have time. However, when you agreed to stay, a strange feeling of relief had crept into his chest and he'd finally been able to force himself back down to his workshop.

***

It didn't take long for the three of you to part ways. You'd called your apartment complex, letting the woman that worked the front desk know that someone was going to pick up your storage unit for you. When she'd asked why, you'd told her that you just didn't feel comfortable parting with it for an entire night. When she tried to insist that it'd be safe, you cut her off and told her to expect him. You didn't mean to be rude, but you hardly had the patience to argue with her knowing that your ex could be there any minute. Lester had offered to take the longer drive, as he'd said he knew where the town was anyways. So, it was up to you to show Bo where you'd left your car.

You leaned with your head against the window of the tow-truck, secretly relieved that Lester hadn't suggested you come to get the unit with him. You wouldn't be able to stomach the anxiety that trip would've induced, and it was nice to ride in a car that smelled like motor oil and grease instead of roadkill. Bo smoked, one hand resting out the window and the other on the wheel as the Louisiana heat competed with the a/c inside the tow truck. You looked over, watching as Bo brought the cigarette to his lips. He looked over at you, catching your stare and smiling to himself. You looked away, shyness and embarrassment filling you from having been caught.

"So," Bo started. He paused for a moment. "This might be a little too much to ask, and I don't mean to offend." You turned your head back to him, arching a brow to show that you were listening. "Which one of you was older?" He asked, and you stared at him in confusion for a moment before you realized what he was asking. It wasn't what you were expecting, you'd give him that. Given his flirting nature, you'd expected a much different question. Instead, you ran a hand through your hair and softly said,

"She was." You smiled to yourself for a moment, turning to look out the windshield before you added, "By ten minutes. She always used to joke about having to wait for me for everything." And Bo smiled at that as well. You watched him take another drag of the cigarette, changing his grip on the wheel, before he said,

"I'm the oldest," And you found yourself looking at him over in surprise. You didn't know he had any siblings. Well, you figured you could blame that on the fact that you'd only met him that day. "Born less than a minute before my brother, Vincent." And your eyebrows shot up. The news that he had siblings and that he was a twin surprised you.

"I didn't see him back at the house." You commented, trailing off. You wondered when you'd get to meet him, and hoped he wouldn't mind your intrusion. You were going to be staying with them, after all.

"Oh, he's just shy. Stays mostly to himself." He said, and you nodded. But the news didn't stop you from biting at your lip. You didn't want to cause any waves between the brothers, especially because you were sure that Bo hadn't asked Vincent before he offered to let you stay. You bit at your thumb, and Bo looked over to arch a brow at you. You pulled it from you mouth, realizing that he must've noticed the anxious habit. His brow lift was questioning, and you could guess what he wanted to know.

"Vincent," You paused. "Vincent won't mind me staying with you, will he?" You asked, and you watched the way he broke out into a grin. He laughed to himself, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

"Is that what you're worried about? No, no. Vincent won't mind a bit. Having someone as pretty as you around the house? He won't mind at all." He said, and you had to turn away to hide the smile creeping up your face. You shook your head lightly, choosing to ignore his flirting remarks. You looked out, pointing down the road. You didn't even need to say anything, as Bo was already remarking, "I see it." And stopping in the road before making a three point turn. You were relieved from the sight of your car, and to see that it hadn't been stripped or broken into.

You'd gotten out with the intent to help Bo, but, just like Lester, you thought you were slowing him down if anything. Eventually, you just ended up sitting on the hood of your car and eating a bag of chips that you'd packed for the ride. You offered him some, and he took off his cap to wipe his brow before he took the bag. He'd hooked your car up, and now all he needed to do was lift it to tow it back to Ambrose. He chewed for a moment, before he said,

"So, Lester told me you teach sign language, right?" And you were quick to nod. That you did. You wondered where this was going, but Bo didn't keep you in suspense. He was just like Lester in the way that he wasn't one for long silences. "Well, my brother, he," He rubbed his face, as if he might not know how to put this. Or maybe he was debating how much he should tell you. "He's got a facial deformity. Wears a mask to cover it up. Bit of a freak. Might scare a little lady like yourself." He said with a laugh, looking as though he expected you to laugh with him. You didn't. You didn't like the use of that word, but you didn't say anything and waited for him to get to the point. "Anyways, he can't speak too good because of it. Since you said you wouldn't be able to pay for your car, do you think you could teach him?" He adjusted his stance, and the look he gave you already told you that he expected you to accept. Truthfully, you couldn't find a single reason as to why you'd refuse.

"Of course. I've- I've taught adults, and I'll try to teach him as much as I can before I leave. And, well, you'll probably need to take lessons too so you can understand him." And Bo nodded along with that, even if he looked away and seemed reluctant with the idea. He didn't seem like the type to particularly enjoy school, but he agreed nonetheless.

"Sure, sure. Well, we can start tomorrow if that's alright with you." And you gave him a nod. It seemed like the best idea to you too. "Alright, well, if you don't need anything else then let's go." He said, rapping his knuckles against the hood of the car and passing the bag of chips back to you. You threw it back into your car, before you were shutting the door. As the pair of you each walked to your respective sides, he asked, "You hungry?" And after you replied,

"I could eat." It didn't take long for the pair of you to decide to get something for dinner. It'd been about a fifteen minute drive, and, even if it wasn't the town you were moving into, you were still nervous about the potential idea of your ex finding you. So, you stuck to Bo like glue, practically hiding behind him every time you saw someone who looked a little too much like your ex. You'd gotten a couple of pizzas. By a couple, you meant that you'd gotten three large pies. At first, you didn't even know how the two of you were supposed to finish them until you went back to Bo's house and watched him devour over half a pizza by himself. You'd eaten two slices, and you almost thought that Bo would've finished yours as well if you hadn't been there. The pair of you had been watching TV, eating, drinking, and waiting for Lester to return. It took less than an hour for his truck to pull up, your storage unit attached to it. Lester walked inside the place like he lived there, and Bo simply said,

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Before Lester was heading that direction. He came back with two slices on a plate, and suddenly the three pies made a little bit more sense. He sat in-between you and Bo and asked,

"What're we watchin'?" Right before he stuffed his face full of a slice. After a full episode of whatever Bo put on and several slices of pizza later, you figured there had to be some sort of relation between the two of them. Their mannerisms were too similar, and they were just too comfortable with eachother not to be related. You figured they were cousins, maybe even brothers. The thought of brothers brought the mysterious Vincent back into your mind, and you wondered where the third of their little family may be. Soon, Lester was wiping his face and asking, "So, do you need help unpacking?" And you realized that you hadn't talked about your sleeping arrangements yet.

"Oh, do you have a guest bedroom?" You asked, but Bo shook his head as he pried a beer bottle from his lips.

"Nah, you'll take Vincent's room." And you were flustered by the bluntness of the statement. You quickly shook your hand out in front of you, saying,

"Oh, I couldn't." Earning a glance from the brunette. With the way he looked at you, you guessed he wasn't used to being argued with. Quickly, you explained. "I mean, won't Vincent mind?" Being in his house, taking his room. You knew you would. Bo chuckled, seeming amused by your statement.

"He won't. He barely uses it." And you bit your lip. You looked between the two of them, before giving Lester a shrug.

"Sure then." You said, and Lester took your plate to take to the kitchen after giving you a smile. You'd only needed one of your suitcases, really, but you searched for a box to carry to make yourself feel a little less bad about Lester carrying the suitcase. You heard the door open, and Bo announced that he was gonna head down to town to finish up some things. You'd watched him leave for a moment, before you went back into the unit and found the box you were looking for. 

You didn't know how long you were going to be in Ambrose, and you didn't imagine there'd be much space in Vincent's room. But, as Bo had eluded, it was practically empty. There was a dresser, a pre-made bed, a bedside table, a mirror on the wall, a rug on the floor, and that was about it. Lester had carried your suitcase for you, and you set your backpack on the bed. You looked over at him, telling him, 

"The bed is fine." And you watched as he lifted it up onto the bed. You opened the box, revealing the contents inside. It was mostly books and folders, but there were two picture frames inside. One was a family photo when you were young, one with both of your parents. The other was a more recent one of you and your sister. You didn't look at either of them long, and went to set them on the bedside table. Lester looked over your shoulder, glancing at the pictures. 

"That your sister?" He asked, and you gave him a nod as you went to unzip the suitcase. Luckily, you'd stored your unmentionables in the pocket on the top, so you didn't have to worry about Lester seeing anything you didn't want him to.

"Yeah. We were identical." You told him, and pulled out some of your shirts. You went to the dresser, pulling out a drawer. You weren't surprised when you saw it was empty, and you tucked your clothes inside. You knew Lester was just looking for a topic of conversation, but you didn't feel like lingering on your sister. So, instead, you asked, "Anything fun to do around here? The house of wax any good?" And you watched as he chuckled and nodded,

"Yeah, Vincent's a hell of an artist. It was our mothers originally though," And your ears perked at his words. So, they were related. He was biting at his nails, and you hummed. 

"I'll have to check it out- If that's alright with Vincent." You quickly added the last part. At this rate, you weren't sure Vincent was going to end up liking you. You didn't want to intrude any further. You turned your head for a second, hearing a creak of a floorboard. Lester, however, was quick to steal back your attention.

"Nah, Vincent won't mind." And your attention was stolen from the sound. You looked back at him, not quite sure if you wanted to take his word. You took out some of the books, placing them on top of the dresser. If not to just give yourself something to do. "That house of wax though, that was our mothers pride and joy. She had big ideas for this town." And you hummed. You bet that she did, but you guessed the same thing happened to Ambrose as every other small town. The interstate. You arranged your books on the dresser, a question burning in the back of your mind.

"Any idea when I'll meet him?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at the man. He grinned, chuckling to himself as his eyes flashed to the wall. Just for a moment, almost too quick for you to notice.

"Soon, you'll meet him soon." He'd said, and you found his words strangely cryptic. But, you resigned yourself to the fact that your first meeting probably wouldn't be until your first class. And, while you could've sworn you heard footsteps, you blamed that on your mind playing tricks on you. 

Seeing that you seemed to have everything handled, Lester excused himself. You'd invited him to the lessons before he left, and he'd accepted before he said goodnight. You'd smiled to yourself, hearing the door click as Lester shut the door behind him. You finished packing away your things, before you decided to shrug off your clothes and change into your pajamas. Even if your bedtime was far away, you thought you'd be more comfortable. You pulled your suitcase off the bed, kicking it under it before you climbed on top. It felt a little weird to be sitting on top of someone else's blanket and sheets, but you'd forgotten your set in your car. You pulled some of the folders out of the box, taking out the ones that were filled with the lesson plans for your adult class. All you really had to do was shorten the class size. You let your evening pass by as you began prepping for the next night.

[robinrunsfiction]

It’s A Love Story - Part 1

(YN) was sitting at the kitchen table working on her algebra homework when the music that had been coming from the garage for hours finally stopped. A few minutes later five sweaty teenage boys burst through the door.

"You guys are finally starting to sound good," she complimented, albeit slightly sarcastically.

"Thanks kid," Gerard said, ruffling her hair with his sweaty hand.

"Ew get off me," she whined, swatting at him. "And don't call me that."

"Gerard, don't pick on your sister," their mom said, walking into the kitchen. “Ray, Frankie, Bob, would you boys like to stay for dinner?”

“I told my mom I’d be home for dinner tonight, thanks anyway. I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow,” Ray answered with a wave before heading for the door.

"He's my ride," Bob mumbled, following him out.

“Frankie?”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Way,” Frank replied overly sweetly. Gerard and Mikey rolled their eyes as (YN) tried to stifle a giggle.

Frank had been in the same kindergarten class as (YN) and Mikey, and they quickly became friends. They all grew up together, playing in imaginary worlds with Mikey and (YN)'s older brother Gerard and his friend Ray. Even though she was the only girl in their group, (YN) was never made to feel like the odd one out or forced to play the damsel in distress.

Eventually playing make believe gave way to only slightly more realistic pursuits when the boys started their band. Having absolutely no desire to be on stage, (YN) turned her attention toward her interest in fashion and design. She spent hours sketching haute couture gowns and jewelry she could only dream of one day making and wearing.

"Hey Frank, did you start the algebra homework yet?" (YN) asked as the family, plus Frank, sat down at the dinner table.

"Yea I got it done in study hall, do you need help?"

"Yea, I'm stuck on a few on problems."

"It's only the second week of school, you're not falling behind already are you?" Her mom asked.

"No," (YN) mumbled, turning her attention toward her plate, pushing the food around with her fork.

"Are things alright? You've seemed out of sorts when you got home the last few days.”

(YN) looked toward her brothers, who tried to avoid her eye. "It's nothing," she mumbled.

Luckily the boys started talking about the band, and (YN) was relieved to have the attention pulled off of her. Ironically, that seemed to be the theme of her sophomore year.

~

The trouble began the week before the new school year began. Her friend Christine lived in a massive house with a beautiful pool and backyard, so she had invited a ton of kids from school over for an end of the summer pool party. The event was such a big deal, there were even upperclassmen besides her older brother attending.

(YN) found a lounge chair to relax in while she waited for more of her friends to arrive. She pulled off her t-shirt and draped it neatly over the back of the chair and when she turned back around she noticed a few guys looking her way, but she didn't pay them much mind. She had just settled in, eyes closed, when a shadow blocked out the sun

"Hey (YN)," she heard someone say.

"Oh, hey Adam, what's up?" She said when she opened her eyes. Adam was in Gerard's grade, and he hadn't really talked to her much before, especially if it meant having to go out of his way to do so.

"Nothin much. You're gonna be a sophomore next year right?"

"Umm, yea."

"That's cool,” he nodded. “Getting your driver's license soon?"

"Yea, me and Mikey both got our tests scheduled on September 12th, right after our birthday," she grinned.

"Nice, so you're gonna be running wild all over town?"

(YN) burst out laughing at the absurdity of the question. "I doubt it, I'm not the wild type."

"Aw, come on, I bet you could be if you tried," he laughed, leaning down so he was looking in her eyes. "I was wondering, have you ever-"

"Lazzara!" Gerard shouted, cutting him off. Both (YN) and Adam looked over at Gerard who had a strange expression on his face. She wasn’t sure what the look was exactly, but (YN) was certain she’d never seen him like that before and it was a little scary 

"I'll be right back," Adam said with a sly smile and a wink before walking off. 

It took a while, but eventually (YN) was certain that Adam was not coming back. In fact she didn't see him at the party at all after that. However she really didn't mind, because shortly after Adam disappeared Frank arrived and sat down on the lounge chair next to her.

"Sup? Soda?" He said, offering her a can.

"Ooh, yes please," she nodded, taking the beverage from him.

"Hey (YN), did you bring sunscreen?" Mikey asked, seeming to appear out of thin air behind them.

"No, and that reminds me I forgot to put any on too. I hope I don't burn," she grimaced, exchanging looks with Frank and her brother.

"You should cover up then," Mikey said, holding out her shirt that she had left on the back of the chair.

"Oh right," she agreed, a little confused at the level of concern Mikey was taking regarding her skin health as she pulled the shirt over her bikini top. "I bet if you ask Christine, she probably has some sunscreen we could use."

"Yea maybe," Mikey said, draping a towel over her bare legs.

"Stop it," she said, kicking the towel off. "Why are you being so weird?"

"I'm helping," Mikey replied.

"Go away," she snapped, throwing the towel at him. Mikey retaliated by draping the towel over her head and when she pulled it off, he was gone.

"So annoying," she grumbled.

"If we find some sunscreen, I could help you put it on, if you want," Frank offered. "You wouldn't wanna burn."

She couldn't help but blush at the idea of Frank putting his hands all over her back and arms and... "Thanks, umm, maybe," she laughed nervously before quickly changing the subject.

(YN) spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Frank, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. Whether it was one of her brothers hovering obnoxiously close, or other guys at the party staring at her unabashedly, she had to wonder what the hell was going on.

~

The school year started as usual, but the same feeling of being watched overwhelmed (YN) as she walked down the halls of Our Lady of Sorrows Academy. At first it felt like she was being sized up like a piece of meat and the guys who were looking her up and down were hungry dogs. But as the week progressed, it was as if they couldn't avert their eyes away from her fast enough. When she tried to strike up a conversation with any guy other than her brothers, Frank, or Ray, they were abrupt and cold toward her.

"Can I tell you guys something that’s probably gonna sound crazy?” (YN) asked as she sat down in study hall with her friends Christine and Marie.

“Of course,” Christine nodded, leaning in.

“I know I’m not like hot or popular to begin with, but I feel like almost every guy in school is avoiding me."

Christine and Marie exchanged glances. "Umm, so you haven't heard?" Marie asked.

"Heard what?"

"Well first of all, I don’t think you’ve looked in the mirror recently because sweetie, the summer was very kind to you. You're totally hot, and that’s the problem,” Christine replied. 

“Hot? I'm not even doing anything different,” (YN) mumbled, feeling herself blush as she pulled the cardigan of her uniform around herself more tightly. “And what do you mean, that’s the problem?”

“I heard that Gerard told Adam that if he so much as looks at you, he’ll put a hit out on him. I guess word has gotten around to all the guys in school,” Christine shrugged.

"Are you kidding me?!" (YN) blurted out and the other kids in the quiet study hall looked over at her.

"Miss Way, do you have a problem?" Mrs. Simon, the teacher supervising the study hall, asked from her spot at the front of the room.

"Nope! I, umm, am just surprised at the answer to this equation. I really love chemistry," she lied, trying to cover up for her outburst.

"What are you gonna do?" Marie whispered when everyone in the room turned their attention back to their own work.

"Nothing," (YN) shrugged.

"Wait, really?" Christine asked, totally surprised.

"Yea, because the guy I like is one of the few that won't be intimidated by Mikey or Gee."

"Who?!" Marie asked excitedly.

"I'm not telling anyone, because if it gets out, my brothers will lose it."

"Oooh, star crossed lovers," Marie grinned.

"Hardly," (YN) replied. "I doubt he even likes me like that."

~

"So you're coming to our birthday party, right?" (YN) asked as she and Frank sat at the kitchen table after dinner that night. The algebra homework was mostly finished, but forgotten for the moment.

"Have I ever missed it?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, but smiled. She knew she could always rely on Frank to show up for their birthday.

“Are you gonna make a super big deal out of it because it’s your sweet sixteen?” His tone was a little teasing.

“Oh yea, if I don't get a brand new BMW, I’m gonna throw a tantrum," she deadpanned.

“So you’re finally gonna start acting like a true OLS Academy girl?”

“Ugh, hell no,” (YN) groaned, rolling her eyes again. "There's a reason why Christine and Marie are my only girl friends."

"And it’s not because you spend all the rest of your time hanging out with us nerds?" He smirked.

"You nerds have always been my favorite people to hang out with. You're more interesting than 99% of that school."

"All of us, or just me?" He trailed off, suddenly becoming very interested in the pencil in hand.

"Yea, you're like in first place, then Christine and Marie, then Ray, Mikey, and Gee, then everyone else in the world."

"Damn, that's a lot of people to be ahead of," he replied with a goofy smile.

"Well you're really cool and always nice to me so yea," (YN) blushed.Silence hung between them, and for a moment she thought he was about to reach over and take her hand.

"Umm... (YN), ya know I’ve always-"

"How's the homework?" Gerard asked, bursting through the door from his basement bedroom.

"It'd be easier if you weren't always barging in," (YN) snapped. She hoped the blush on her cheeks wasn’t too noticeable.

"Don't do your homework in the kitchen then," Gerard shrugged.

"It's where the snacks are," she whined, but then a thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. "But I guess that’s fine, Frank will just have to go up to my room where we can shut the door and work in peace and quiet."

"I'll tell mom," Gerard replied.

"Tell her what? That you're annoying and distracting me, her long suffering youngest child, her poor, only daughter, from her studies?"

“Yea I’m the annoying one,” Gerard muttered before grabbing a soda from the fridge and retreating back downstairs.

“I should probably get going, it’s getting late,” Frank said, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt pulled up to show just a sliver of skin under the hem and (YN) couldn’t help but stare.

“Yea, umm, thanks for staying late and helping me,” (YN) said, getting up to walk him to the door.

“Just say the word and I’ll be here,” he smiled.

(YN) nodded, wanting to ask him what he was gonna say before Gerard interrupted him, but couldn’t find the courage to do so. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she smiled, holding out her arms for a hug.

Frank smiled back and wrapped his arms around her. She worried for a moment that she was holding on too long, but he wasn’t in any hurry to pull back either. When they finally did part, he waved before heading out into the cool New Jersey evening. (YN) shut the door behind him, and leaned against it with a dreamy sigh, the lingering feeling of his arms around her would be wonderful to fall asleep to that night.

Part 2

[agentrouka-blog]

Tyrion and Tysha murder mystery hints - first mention in the text

This thing just keeps tugging at me, and this recent thread made me ambitious to examine it in more detail. So I’ll look at hints for an even darker edge to the story of Tyrion and Tysha in the parts of the text that actually mention her.

Since I have limited time, I’ll do several posts. This one is about how we learn about Tysha in A Game of Thrones.

We head into AGOT, Tyrion VI via a chapter transition from AGOT, Jon V, where Jon talks Maester Aemon into choosing Samwell as his assistant. In the presence of his current assistant Chett, who - it is revealed later in the ASOS Prologue - murdered a girl he liked for rejecting him.

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

“Does that mean …?”

“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”

(AGOT, Jon V)

The chapter is followed by AGOT, Tyrion VI, where Tyrion and Bronn rest on the high road after being kicked out of the Gates of the Moon, after he won his trial by combat:

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering dead-wood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.” 

The entire conversation between Jon, Aemon and Chett sets up Tyrion. A lordling, bad with manual labor, but smart and a reader. Yet we know he is no Samwell Tarly in his sensibilities, and the last sentence is dedicated to Chett.

Chett...

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

Like Tyrion, Chett is rejected by others for his appearance, has a violent father and a lot of resentment that comes out in the shape of murdering “slatterns”. He also mixes it up with the idea of marriage. Like Tyrion, the cold night reminds Chett of the girl in his past.

He could see Bessa’s face floating before him. It wasn’t the knife I wanted to put in you, he wanted to tell her. I picked you flowers, wild roses and tansy and goldencups, it took me all morning. His heart was thumping like a drum, so loud he feared it might wake the camp. Ice caked his beard all around his mouth. Where did that come from, with Bessa? Whenever he’d thought of her before, it had only been to remember the way she’d looked, dying. What was wrong with him?

Chett killed her in a rage, but the truth is layered and haunts him.

But back to Tyrion.

Tyrion VI emphasizes Tyrion’s cleverness as he converses with Bronn, explaining his strategy in the Vale for how to steal Bronn from Cat’s service and make use of his practical talents, and his strategy for their travels in the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion talks, Bronn listens and agrees to serve him.

The point is, Tyrion is very observant and smart. Reader, trust Tyrion’s judgent and words, is the message. Then we get more personal.

As they light a fire and eat a goat, Tyrion remembers his goaler Mord who treated him cruelly in the sky cells.

(Mord, btw, translates to murder in many a germanic/Scandinvian language.)

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.

“A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.

The image of coins spilling from hands is picked up later.

Tyrion was hoping to lure in the mountain clans, but they take their time showing up, so he tries to be even more conspicuous.

Tyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to whistle a tune.

He chooses the “terrible” tune himself. It leads straight to his memory:

“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.” Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard himself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats.

Myrish, as in the Myrish lens. The object Lysa sends Catelyn, which has a false bottom hiding the real message in a secret language, a message of murder and conspiracy. A secret language, a foreign language, like Mord.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see."     (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Bright and merciless as truth.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed … yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really.

Where Tysha went will become a theme. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir examines that beautifully here.

But even right here, the tone is ominous, and GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize it with the ellipses.

We get the story of Jaime chasing after the outlaws and Tyrion and Tysha falling into bed at an inn after drinking, eating and talking, and the story of their marriage, and its end.

Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. “That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.

“He sent the girl away?”

“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.

NOTHING about this makes sense, which is ridiculous when you consider we were just hammered over the head with how smart Tyrion is supposed to be.

Since when is Jaime prone to setting up complex schemes? Why would feel the need to push Tyrion to have sex at thirteen, and why would be ever do it this way? Why would be hire him a virgin for his first time? We don’t question it because GRRM has told us not to question the smartiepants. But as we later learn, that was all. not. true. So maybe other things aren’t true, either.

“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my wife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she …” The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord Tywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

The parallels to his memory of Mord are striking. Silver and gold, coins spilling from hands, a “price” beyond expectation... and a promise of something very sinister at the next meeting.

After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”

1) Nice how Bronn makes it about Tyrion’s pain. Tysha’s pain does not exist to them. And so the reader is also drawn away from it. Poor Tyrion.

2) Another reference to killing. It foreshadows Tyrion’s murder of Tywin over this very matter, of course, but at the same time...

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”

His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place … and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”

“On her way where?”

“Wherever whores go.”

Tyrion’s finger clenched.  (ASOS, Tyrion XI)

I don’t think it can be emphasized enough that this happens right after he murders Shae. Shae the whore.

“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”

“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”

That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.

Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.

And just before he asks him about Tysha, Tywin assures him he was meant to be sent to the Wall. Whether or not that’s a lie, we’re looking at another Chett parallel. Murdering a “slattern”, facing life at the Wall.

We close Tyrion’s memory of Tysha:

Tyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day.  Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep. Wake me if we’re about to die.”

He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss …

Like Chett, his thoughts return to the girl. He turns into the goaler, Mord, his rage comes through, his capability of great violence. In ASOS, his lashing out at Tywin is preceeded by directing his violence toward the “whore” who allegedly betrayed him. Which is preceeded by a truth about Tysha.

“Thank you?” Tyrion’s voice was choked. “He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me … watch.” Aye, and more than watch. I took her too … my wife …

“I never knew he would do that. You must believe me.”

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!”

“Tyrion—”

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.”

“Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream.

(ASOS, Tyrion XI)

The turnkey here is interesting. Once again, Tysha’s memory is associated with a cell and the presence of a turnkey. In his anguished memory, Tyrion almost stumbles over him. The last turnkey was Mord.

So, just looking at Tysha’s first mention, there are so many ominous connections. Murder murder murder.

The chapter ends with Tyrion meeting and “hiring” the mountain clans. How? To avenge himself on Lysa Arryn, he promises them the entire Vale. Really driving home that “a Lannister pays his debts” is all about disproportionate retribution.

A few chapter later, to create some distance to this dark tale, Tyrion meets Shae and sets up to re-create his entire Tysha trauma. The two are intertwined, so why should their ends not be?

That’s fodder for a different post, though.

[lavendersuh]

what a feeling

johnny x fem!reader | badboy!au, too much fluff | 2.4k words

warnings: mentions of nicotine addition, alcohol

based off of this moodboard and au idea created by @neo-cult-ure!! thank you luv for allowing me to play around with this au idea! I originally wrote this bc i loved the idea and just wanted to self indulge in some writing a few nights ago. I probably could’ve fleshed this out more, but i’m in the middle of exams so i probably shouldn’t even be writing fic rn haha (fair warning tho there is so much fluff help) hope u enjoy!!

~~~

“I need your help.”

Haechan looks up to see an unexpected face peering over him. It wasn’t every day that resident bad boy Johnny Suh was asking a drama student for something. While the two of them ran around in slightly similar circles due to their mutual acquaintances, Haechan can’t remember the last time he spoke one-on-one with Johnny.

“What do you need my help with?” he asks curiously, as he shuts his locker. 

“There’s this girl.” Johnny says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “She’s different, Haechan, I need your help.” 

Johnny has always been the most confident person Haechan knows. He always admired him for that, but now it appears that the tall boy has a rosy tiny covering his cheeks, along with a sheepish smile. 

“My help? I can’t imagine being much help compared to Jaehyun… isn’t he your wing man?” Haechan responds.

He begins walking away, heading for his next class. He didn’t hate Johnny, nothing even close to that, but he was a bit suspicious of why he was coming to a self-proclaimed nerdy, drama student for help. 

“This is different…” Johnny mumbles as he catches up with Haechan, “Do you know that diner a few blocks from here? The Neo Zone?” 

Haechan looks over at him, “That neon, throwback place? Yeah, the theater kids go there after practice sometimes.”

“There’s a waitress there.” The older boy says, “She’s pretty, her laugh is like a song, Haechan, she’s perfect.”

“The problem, then?” Haechan asks. Johnny didn’t seem like the kind of person to have trouble with the ladies.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Haechan can’t help the laugh he lets out, “Did your usual flirting not work out for you?”

Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy, in fact, he could be very respectful (despite the cheesy pick-up lines sometimes), with a nice sense of humor and friendly smile to go along with it. But he had some bad habits. He refused to buy a helmet for his precious motorcycle. He smoked more than he should. He wasn’t always present during school hours. But underneath the leather jacket and torn up jeans, the boy wasn’t all that bad. He loved to flirt and fool around, but he never took things farther than someone wanted.

Johnny frowns at Haechan’s laughter, “I was hoping you could help me. She’s interested in 80s films, and I know you’re into stuff like that. You have a huge collection, don’t you? Could I borrow The Breakfast Club? Sixteen Candles?”

“Yeah, I can lend you some of them this weekend.” Haechan stops in front of the door to his next class, turning around to look back at Johnny, who’s grinning with appreciation.

“But Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna take more than just flirting and watching her favorite movies. You gotta get to know her.” 

Johnny throws him a classic smirk, his confidence returning to his face, “Will do, Haechan.”

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn around without Johnny seeing the roll of your eyes. After his shameless flirting last weekend you knew he would probably be back. 

His flirting wasn’t creepy; it was actually a little bit flattering. You couldn’t count on your hand the number of men that had spoken their fair share of sleezy comments to you. Johnny’s flirting was refreshing (but maybe that was just because he seemed to be your age instead of thirty years your senior). He asked about your favorite movies when you had mentioned liking 80s films. He complimented the sneakers you painted yourself. 

But alas, he was also a walking stereotype, with the leather jackets and motorcycle parked just out front. When you waited on his table last time, you nearly coughed over the smell of nicotine that followed him around.

“Hi, Johnny,” you say, leading him to a booth in the corner, laying out the menu on the table.

“I watched some of the movies you told me about,” he says, smiling brightly at you, “Got any more recommendations?”

You can’t help but feel a bit flustered at the fact that he watched some of the stuff you recommended. He was paying you a lot more attention than you had previously thought. 

While you take his order and bring out his food, Johnny flirts and makes jokes. You can’t help but smile at some of the things he says, despite yourself. By the end of his meal, you bring out his receipt, showing him the list of movies you wrote on the back in black pen. 

“Thanks! Maybe I could take you out and we could talk about them sometime?” he asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye. 

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re gonna have to do more than just watch my favorite movies for me to change my mind about you.” 

“Am I really that bad?”

“You aren’t bad, Johnny. I just feel like I deserve more than just someone who smokes and rides a motorcycle without protection.” You say, walking off to ring up his order and get his change. 

He huffs as you walk off. What was he to do? 

~~~

‘This is stupid,’ Johnny thinks to himself as he pulls up to the diner, a week and a half later. He was driving Haechan’s car, but that wasn’t the only thing he had borrowed.

When Johnny had reconvened with the boy, Haechan told him he needed to change up his act in order to impress you. 

And somehow this is how Johnny ended up walking into the diner with a dorky sweater and his hair neatly combed on a Friday evening. The neon sign of the diner glowed into the car, casting shadows on the funny pattern of the sweater.

He felt so stupid, but he was also kind of desperate. It was Haechan that had come up with the plan after suggesting he dress a bit nicer. 

“I don’t know if I have any ‘nice’ clothes, Haechan,” Johnny had told the other boy.

“Then you can borrow some of mine!” Haechan looked up at how tall his friend was, “Or maybe my brother’s…”

Johnny knows he went overboard but he also really wants to see your smile again. He supposes it’s worth it. 

“Welcome in,” you say, but as you turn around, you pause, “...Johnny?” 

He smiles, reminding himself that he can be confident without the bad boy clothes and aesthetic. “Does your shift end soon? Could I take you out for ice cream?”

Somehow you can’t help but find the outfit change endearing, so you find yourself nodding. The boy was clearly trying to impress you, so you should at least give him a chance. And ice cream sounded excellent after a long shift. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

~~~

It ended up being quite nice, actually. 

Johnny took you to an ice cream shop on the edge of town, leading you to a picnic bench after getting two cones of ice cream. As the sun fully slipped away and the stars started to come out along the purple sky, you both discussed movies, the future, your favorite foods, everything.

He was a good listener, holding eye contact and asking questions, full of attention. He told lovely stories when he wanted to, as well. You couldn’t help but find yourself to be a bit drawn to him when you finally gave him the time of day. His humor, his soft smiles, his contagious laugh. It was clear to see it would be easy to fall for someone like him.

It was hard though, knowing the reputation he held. He did risky things, a cigarette in one hand, his motorcycle keys in the other. From his stories, you knew he cut class. He never wore a helmet, either.

Just because he wore a nice sweater and borrowed a friend’s car didn’t change these things.

“I hope we can do this again, sometime.” 

Johnny lightly holds your hand as he stands outside of your front door while dropping you off.

You looked up at him, his face soft under your front porch light. There was so much hope in his eyes, hope for the idea that you would give him more of your time, more of your smiles.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, slowly, “This is really sweet, but this isn’t you.”

He looks confused for a moment, protesting, “Of course, this is me. I just cleaned up my act, like you said.”

You frown, “Sure, I did say that, but you changed all the outside pieces of yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks.

“What? Johnny, no, of course not!” you exclaim, “I don’t care if you have this ‘bad boy’ act, and drink, and ride motorcycles. I just hate that you are so careless with yourself. You smelled like smoke every time I saw you. You never wear a helmet. You refuse to go to class sometimes. It hurts me seeing someone so bright, someone I’m enjoying getting to know, do nothing but hurt themselves.” 

You squeeze his hand, hoping to offer some form of comfort while you speak your truths. “Just cause you changed your clothes doesn’t mean you are changed for the better.”

“What are you saying?”

“I like you, Johnny. You.” you say, taking his hand in yours, “Not this dressed up, masked version of you. I just want you to care about yourself. So I can care about you, too.” 

Things are quiet for a moment, as Johnny stares at the ground. Finally, he looks up at you, an unknown flicker in his eyes. 

You let go of his hand, “You have some stuff to work through. You’re sweet, Johnny, and I’m happy that we’ve gotten to know each other. Please call me when you figure things out.”

You go inside, leaving him frozen in place. 

~~~

“Has Johnny come in lately?” 

You are startled out of wiping down tables at the diner when you hear someone speak to you. You look up to see a honey-haired boy, who you recognize as Haechan, one of the drama club kids from school. 

“You know him?” you ask, your eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Haechan rubs the back of his neck, “We’ve become friends recently. He told me he liked you. Asked to borrow some movies and stuff.” 

Realization dawns on you that Johnny had probably gone to Haechan to get some guidance. The thought makes your heart squeeze. You’d been curious about where Johnny was getting the knowledge from. You recall Haechan being in the after school film club as well. 

“He stopped coming in a while ago,” you say, “I gave him my number after we went out once, but I didn’t hear from him.”

You try to keep the feeling of sadness from washing over you, but you’re surprised at how affected you are by Johnny’s absence in the past few weeks. While his flirting could be a bit relentless sometimes, there was no doubt that he respected you through all of his charming antics.

“Hm..” Haechan seems to be deep in thought at your words. 

You ask him if he wants to order anything, but he declines, thanking you for the offer before leaving nearly as soon as he had entered. 

~~~

“Hey.”

You look up on your way out of the diner after your shift, startled by a voice. Johnny stands in the parking lot, next to his motorcycle, a soft smile across his face. He has his leather jacket back on, but surprisingly, you notice he has a helmet tucked under his arm, too.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, walking up to him, “You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Thought I’d come stop by,” he grins. “I heard you missed me.”

You look down shyly at the pavement, “I never said that… but yeah, I guess.”

It was a surprising feeling as you confessed that small truth to Johnny. It was boring around the diner without his conversations and flirting words. It felt nice to let those words out.

Johnny leans behind him, grabbing another, smaller helmet, “Wanna take a ride? I wanna take you out for another date. I even bought you a helmet. Hope you’re not scared to go a little fast.” 

You nod, unable to keep the smile off of your face. It was nice hearing Johnny’s bluntness again. He seemed more relaxed, more comfortable with himself.

You run over to your car quickly, shoving your bag into the backseat before walking back over to Johnny. You climb on to the bike behind him, feeling him place the extra helmet on your head. While he adjusts it, his fingers brush across your face, sending chills down your spine. 

Once he’s back in position, you boldly wrap your arms around his torso, letting your head rest across his jacket. You take a deep breath, expecting to smell the nicotine that follows him around, but his leather jacket smells fresh.

“Did you quit smoking?” you ask, as he turns on the motorcycle.

“Yeah, I quit after our date,” he explains, “I was kinda unbearable for a while there… That's why I didn’t come into the diner. After a while, I figured you woulda forgot about me.”

You let out a laugh as he pulls out of the parking lot, “How could I ever?” 

You both ride along in silence, aside from your nervous laughs as the motorcycle speeds through traffic. You notice the elevation getting higher as he rides outside of the city.

Finally, he pulls off next to a scenic outlook overlooking the metropolis. The sun is starting to set, casting shadows along the buildings, along Johnny’s face. You can’t tell which you find more beautiful.

“I want to thank you.” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to look at him. 

“For what?” 

“For caring about me. I didn’t even care about me.” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

You smile up at him, his soft words making you bold. You lean in, kissing his lips in response. After you pull back, Johnny wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the warmest hug of your life. 

It seemed simple, really. As the sun set with an orange glow, marking the end of a day, it also marked a new beginning. It left you both with a warm feeling. And what a feeling it was.

[wastelandcth]

The Way it Was - cth

part of love songs for calum, a series

summary: back then this thing was running on momentum, love and trust that paradise is buried in the dust. 

author’s notes: this was a request that i thought fit the song nicely! hi, i love ur writing...it gives me✨ serotonin✨ have you seen that video of winona ryder and johnny depp seeing each other at an award show after they’ve broken up many years ago, do you think you can write a version like that with calum where she’s an artist as well and she’s receiving her first tony award for the leading lady role in a musical, and maybe he’s given her a promise in the past but she still wears it to this day and he spots it when she’s giving her speech? and maybe they meet up afterwards. 

masterlist || request

Calum watched as the stars passed above him. The dry desert wind hit his skin as his eyes closed and the thumping in his ears made him numb to the world. He'd been silent for most of the ride, too lost in his head to really remember how long you'd been driving him in the darkness of the desert. He didn't remember exactly how long he'd been with you after he'd watched you walk onto the stage to accept the award you'd won. He didn't remember how long it had been since his breath had been stuck in his lungs as he watched you up on stage thanking your loved ones and the fans. 

The stars could only distract him for so long before Calum's mind drifted back towards one of the last times he'd seen you. When the tears running down your cheeks shined brighter than lights he'd seen on stage a few minutes ago. His ears were still ringing from the fans he'd sang to and his throat burned from the shouting match you were both engaged in. He didn't even really remember what you two were fighting about, the most recent fights had all been like that. Insults and hurtful words spewed out at one another and it seemed like every time the tears would spill or your voices would crack, Calum found himself slipping further and further away from you. 

The day you two broke things off, the day you both said too much and the words stung too hard on each other's hearts, Calum knew he'd never be able to love as he loved you again. He watched you walk away, tears falling down his cheeks and shaky breaths leaving his lungs. That was the last time he saw you, as a feisty nineteen-year-old with your whole life ahead of you and his whole life ahead of his. And as your figure got smaller and smaller in the hallway of that arena, Calum couldn't help but feel his heart go with you. 

"Do you think we were just too young?" you asked as the car stopped on a pullout, the dark desert enveloping you both. "Or maybe we were just too dumb to realize what we were doing back then?"

Calum sighed, his eyes looking over at you, he'd thought about it every day for years. He ran over every possible reason why your relationship had never worked, why you two fell apart and never talked again. It wasn't like you'd both changed phone numbers the second you'd walked out of each other's lives. Calum knew your new place had been only less than an hour away from the one you'd both shared. He knew that you still made the drive to your favorite grocery store down the road because they had the best oranges in town. 

"Too young to know things like love. To know that what we felt was and might've been love." Calum mumbled softly and shrugged, his eyes drifting back over to the stars that seemed to shine brighter when you were around. 

"I always felt loved by you, you know that? Always made me feel like I was safe and cared for," you whispered into the night, your own eyes moving up to look at the stars. "I hope you felt the same."  

Calum remembers when he first felt that pit in his stomach. When he realized that he was no longer that teenage boy who got excited over holding your hand or kissing you. He remembers those nights when the lights shone brighter and your smile made his heart race. Whenever he had you by his side, he felt like anything was possible and the nights were longer and brighter. 

He remembers how he'd never been able to tell you about all the feelings he'd been holding in. The way his heart raced and his palms would sweat whenever he got close to telling you about the way he truly felt. He'd whisper the words to you at night when you were asleep and he was alone on his own. He'd whispered them in the dark when your dorm was far away and the breeze coming in through the window meant that you were pressed against his chest and breathing against his neck. 

"I did feel it. Felt it so hard I thought I was going crazy." Calum whispered and chuckled quietly. 

Calum saw when the look in your eyes changed whenever you looked at him. When the sparkle left and it was replaced by something he'd never seen before. At first, he feared the worst. He feared that maybe you'd found someone who was better than him, someone who wasn't away for so long or would be able to spend more time with you. 

He'd asked you one night about it. When he was so lost in his mind and you kept telling him off. He'd foolishly asked you if there was another person and if that's why you had pushed him away. 

"You seriously think I would do that to you, Calum?! That I would fuck someone else just because you were gone!?" you scoffed. 

"What am I supposed to think? You don't look at me anymore, you barely call or answer my text messages! You didn't even want to come on tour with me until I practically begged you!" Calum scoffed and shook his head, "I don't know what you expect me to believe." 

"That I fucking love you and I would never leave you!" 

"Sometimes I imagine what our lives might've been like if we would've worked out. If we hadn't been so stupid and let us all drift apart." you mumbled quietly, your head finding a familiar spot on Calum's shoulder, "That maybe we'd be twenty-five and exploring the world together. You with touring and making music and me with I don't even know.." she laughed. 

"Making amazing music as well." Calum mumbled and chuckled, his hand squeezing your thigh gently, "You did win an award for it tonight." 

"But all my songs were about...about you and the way my heart still beats for you," you mumbled,  leaning into the touch of the man who'd always held it in his embrace. 

"I wish it could be the way it used to be. Before all the fights and all the stupid words we said." Calum whispered, his lips leaving a kiss on the crown of your head, "With you by my side and our love shining brighter than ever." 

"It could be. We could try this again, you know?" you whispered, "We're both older now, know who we are as people." 

"You'd want to?" Calum asked quietly, his eyebrow peaking in interest, "You'd want to give it another go? Another chance for fighting and yelling and just....putting our hearts on the line?" 

"I don't want the fighting. I want the kisses in the morning and the way you always cover your mouth when you laugh too loud. I want the midnight drives when we sing to whatever songs are stuck in our head and the love we had for one another." you sighed and sat up. "I want things to be the way they were, Calum." 

"My heart is yours, you know that? It always has been yours." Calum mumbled as his hand found your cheek and his lips found yours. 

taglist: @hoodhoran @finelliine @moonlightcriess @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop​  @stollls @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​ @myloverboyash​

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 9/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

He likes her more and more with every minute that passes.  In some ways she reminds him of his sister.  Samantha was such a determined and spirited little girl and he can see the same qualities in Katherine, though it’s clear she tries to suppress them.  He suspects that’s a product of both her upbringing and her previous marriage.

He’s excited to get her settled on the ranch and to have her there.  As a man raised by a strong woman of considerable influence, he’s missed both the female perspective and the companionship.  There is a different energy that women bring with them that has been inspiring poets and heroes throughout history.  Perhaps that energy is what Monica Doggett was referring to when she was talking about auras.

The ranch is alive with activity when he arrives.  Jesse and Jimmy are training in the corral.  Richard is mending fence posts and Trevor is moving the sheep from grazing back to the pen, with Queenie keeping the small herd in line.  Melvin is nowhere in sight, which could mean he’s getting supper together or tinkering in the barn.

Mulder stops the wagon just outside the barn.  He helps Katherine down and she waits to help with the unloading of her things.  He gives her the valise and insists on doing the rest even though it will take a few trips.

“Go on ahead,” he tells her.  “I’m going to see to the horses and I’ll be along in a minute.”

Trevor comes along as Mulder is unhitching the wagon and he takes the horses away to be watered and fed.  Before he unloads the packages he stops by the corral and checks in with Jesse and Jimmy on the training.

With his arms loaded with packages, he steps into Katherine’s room, but stays just inside the doorway to wait to be invited in.  She has removed her hat and has the valise opened and is standing before the open wardrobe.

“Looks like Melvin has been busy,” Mulder says, noting the vase of fresh wildflowers on the side table and the quilt folded at the foot of the bed.  The room smells of lemons and a feather duster has been abandoned on the side of the wash stand.

“He shouldn’t have gone to any trouble on my account,” she says.

“I’ll be sure to scold him later and send him to bed without supper.  Where would you like these?”

“I’ll take them.”

He hands off the packages to her and she places them almost gently on the bed and then touches one almost reverently.  He wonders when the last time she had something new and for herself was.  He hopes she got everything she needed and at least a few things that she just wanted.

“I need to take care of a few things with the horses so I’ll let you settle in.”

“I’d like to get started on my responsibilities as soon as possible.”

“You wouldn’t like a day or two to yourself before you start taking things on?”

“No, thank you, I like to keep occupied.”

“I’ll track Melvin down and send him to you.”

“I’ll put my things away then and wait here.”

Mulder takes a few steps to the bed and then twirls a bit of the twine knotting one of her packages around one finger.  “This is your home now,” he says.  “You are the lady of the house.”

“Are you trying to gently remind me that I should not act as a guest here?”

“Or reminding myself not to treat you like one.”

“Then I will find Mr. Frohike as soon as I have unpacked my things and have him show me what needs to be done.”

“As my lady wishes.”  Mulder smiles and then bows slightly.  “I will see you at supper.”

↭

She doesn’t have to find Mr. Frohike, he finds her, whistling as he enters the room and then stops when he sees her.  He’s carrying two oil lamps, one in each hand.  She has just finished putting her packages away in the wardrobe and is folding the paper and balling the twine to repurpose at some point.

“Mr. Frohike,” she says.  “Please, come in.”

“Pardon me for not knockin’, Madam,” he says.  “I didn’t know you was here.  And we’re not big on formalities, you can just call me Melvin.”

“Only if you call me Katherine.  Could I help you with those?”

“These are for you, actually.  I was just makin’ sure they were filled and the wicks were cut.  Got one for the table and one for the desk.  I can rustle up a few more, I think, if’n you want.”  He sets the lamps down where he said they belonged and then grabs the feather duster that was left behind and shoves it handle-first into the back pocket of his pants.

“No, I can make do just fine with these.  I’m glad you’re here, I was just going to come look for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m ready for you to show me what my duties are.”

“Duties, huh?  What kind of duties you after?”

“Cooking, cleaning, mending.  Or anything else you think I should take care of.”

“Oh, so Mulder brought you here to overthrow me, did he?”

“You can think of it as lightening your load.”

“Alright then, I’ll give you the rundown on who does what ‘round here.”

Katherine learns that Trevor is the youngest and newest hand on the ranch.  He’s sixteen, orphaned from a tender age, and came through town at the beginning of summer, looking for work.  Melvin happened to be at the sawmill that day for some lumber when he came asking.  He took one look at the boy and knew he was still too puny for hard labor, so he brought him to the ranch and Mulder put him to work seeing to the livestock.

The livestock, she soon learns, was also unintentional.  They started with keeping chickens for the eggs, but then Mulder started taking in injured or abandoned animals.  It was fairly common for folks to pick up stakes after some time and turn their stock out when they left.  And there were also folks who Mulder may have nursed a sick horse back to health for and they may have shown him their gratitude for his time with a pig or a goat.

“That old gal right there,” Melvin says, pointing out a grey goat mixed in amongst the sheep.  “She’s called Lucy, which is short for Lucifer.  Folks dropped her off with us and said she was the devil himself and they were either going to put her down or see if Mulder could tame her, since he’s so good at breakin’ horses.”

“She looks alright to me.”

“Oh, she is now.  Sweet as pie.  Mulder knew there was somethin’ bothering her from the start.  Said she was buttin’ and stompin’ because she was mighty afraid and just pretendin’ not to be.  Turns out, them chickens at her old place were harassin’ her and causin’ the terrible disposition.”

“How did Mulder know that?”

“He says he asked her and she told him.”  Melvin laughs.  “Likely he just observed that she got ornery when the ladies of the coop got to cluckin’ and put two and two together.  He moved the goat pen to the far end over here, away from all them chickens and now she’s got no worries as long as they keep to their end of the ranch.  The folks said we could keep her and so we’ve had her with us since.”

“He really cares for these animals, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.”

She learns that Jesse and Jimmy are brothers, the youngest of a family of eight.  Their parents have a sheep farm about fifty miles out on the way to Fort Worth.  Their two oldest brothers and their wives run the place now and Jesse and Jimmy figured it was time to set off and do for themselves.  A lot of mouths to feed out there and there wasn’t much of a place for them any longer.  Jimmy is the same age as she is, twenty-two, and Jesse is only a year older.  They’ve been working for Mulder for more than two years and spend most of their time helping with the exercising and training of all the horses.  At Mulder’s insistence, they ride out and spend at least one week’s end with their family every few months.

Mulder met Richard in Fort Worth when he was there doing some trading.  He was skin and bones and crazy whiskers when he boldly went up to Mulder’s wagon, opened the jockey box, and started tinkering with the wheels.  When Mulder asked him just what in the hell he thought he was doing, Richard shrugged and said that the pivot was loose and the pin needed fixing.  

Richard could fix just about anything, but he’d been kicked out of the army for arguing with the sergeants one too many times.  They don’t know nothing about nothing, is what he will say about that.

“He’s a bit of a lone wolf,” Melvin says.  “Set in his ways and nobody can tell him nothin’ when he’s tryin’ to solve a problem.  Got hisself a temper, but only takes it out on hisself too.  Got a wanderin’ spirit, and I think he would pick up and go sometimes if’n the streets hadn’t been so mean to him, poor beanpole.”

“What about you?” Katherine asks.

“I’ve been here from the beginning.”

“But, what’s your story?”

“Bah.  I ain’t got a story.”

“You don’t have to tell me.  I know that some things have to be kept inside.”

“It’s time we started on supper, let’s get on in the kitchen.”

Katherine follows Melvin into the house, noticing as he walks up the stairs that he has a hint of a limp.  He shows her where pots and pans are, where the dishes are, where the spices are kept, how to open the cellar door for the canned vegetables and salted meats.  She learns what the boys like for breakfast, what a typical noon dinner is like, and when supper is served.  

Melvin is slicing beef steaks and she is slicing potatoes when he starts to talk.  “I had a wife once,” he says.  “Eliza.  Her family settled near ours in what’s now called Lee’s Summit in Missouri.  She showed up at the schoolhouse one day with her sister Becky and I was smitten.”

“How old were you then?”

“Nine.  She was eight, but she was one of them kids that takes to book learnin’ like a duck to water, so teacher put her next to me to share my reader and work on sums together.  I knew I was going to marry her the day I met her.”

“And you did.”

“Yes, we did.  I was seventeen, she was sixteen.  I got a little plot of land to start a farm and she wanted to be a teacher.  We did good that year.  The crops were profitable and she was teachin’ at a nearby settlement called Blue Springs.”

“Excuse me a minute, I’m going to put these potatoes on to boil.”

“Almost done with these steaks here and I’ll help with the carrots.”

They move about the kitchen in silence for a few minutes as they tend to supper.  She checks the fire on the stove while he greases a pan and then she starts to chopping up carrots and he joins her.

“We weren’t too far off from Independence,” he says, continuing his story from where he left off.  “People were comin’ through all the time gettin’ themselves ready to head out to the Oregon territory.”

“I’ve heard tales about the journey.  They say it was long and harsh.”

“Yes, it was.”  Melvin stops chopping for a moment and looks off into the distance.

“You went to the Oregon territory?”

“Eliza had an adventurous spirit.  As a girl, her family come to Missouri from Wisconsin, and I think she remembered the trek with a child’s excitement.  All them folks comin’ through, eager for new land, new starts and the like, it caught her like a fever.”

“She wanted to go, but you didn’t?”

“I wanted what she wanted.  We waited until the followin’ spring, sold the farm, and then headed out to join a caravan up in Independence.  Our parents begged us not to go, said it was too dangerous and we ought to stay right where we were with our nice farm and all our family and our friends.  But, Eliza could not be swayed and so neither could I.”

“You were eighteen then?”

“Just turned nineteen.  We left the day before Eliza’s eighteenth birthday, the twenty-sixth of April, 1850.”

“I bet that feels like a lifetime ago for you now.”

“Several lifetimes.  You know, I just had a thought, if we peel up them apples Mulder brung in, we could spice them for dessert.  The boys will like that.”

“I’ll get them.”

Melvin gathers the carrots into a bowl to boil when the potatoes are finished and he checks the fire in the stove this time while Katherine gathers the apples.  It takes her some time to find the peeling knives, and she makes a few mental notes on how she’d like to organize the kitchen when she takes it over to maximize efficiency.  She’ll have to ask Melvin about it later so as not to cause any offense.

“What happened next?” Katherine asks, as they sit down to peel the apples.

“The first part of the journey weren’t so bad,” he answers.  Nothin’ real excitin’ to look at, but the journey itself was excitin’ enough, I think.  We got to Fort Kearney where people did some swappin’ and then we followed a river up to Fort Laramie.  I got a little worried because even in the summer it was so cold up there, but Eliza said it was nothin’ what compared to a Wisconsin winter.  And the rain was just...so many folks got themselves stuck in mud and we had to leave them behind and hope they’d catch up down the way.  We come close a few times, but I think I had the strongest oxen on the earth and they managed to pull us out.  I wish they hadn’t, though.”

“You wanted to be stuck?”

Melvin is quiet for a few moments.  “We carved our initials on this great big hump of a rock they call the Register of the Desert.  Soon after we made a slow climb up into the mountains and on to Fort Hall.  By that time there was only half of the caravan left.  Some folks just gived up a long way back and turned for home, some folks just died where they was because it was too hot or they were too sickly or it was just too dadgum tough.”

“Did you ever think about turning back?”

“All the time.  I think I knew it was a mistake before we even set out, but Eliza was as certain as I was skeptical.”

“What happened, Melvin?”

“They’re called the Blue Mountains.  Steep, hard to navigate, rough terrain.  I told Eliza to get on in the back of the wagon because I was afraid she’d fall off the seat, it was so uneven.  The oxen were slippin’ and I could tell they were tired, but we couldn’t stop.  I’ve never been so grateful for anything in all my life when we reached the top and I figured the way down would be easier.  It was just too narrow.  Too dadgum narrow.”

Katherine stops her peeling and puts a hand over Melvin’s.  He lays down his peeling knife and lifts one arm to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.  She finds that her own eyes are wet and she doesn’t need him to say anything else to know the rest.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “You don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“It’s alright.  It’s been thirty-six years, but it stays fresh in my mind.  The back wheel went off the path and I know them oxens tried real hard to pull it out, but the fact is, it was just too heavy for them and it happened too fast.  We overturned and providence saw to it that I landed with no more than a busted ankle, but Eliza was inside the wagon.  I always wonder if things could’ve turned out different if’n I hadn’t told her to go on and get in back.”

“I ask myself a variation of that question all the time.  I try not to think like that, but I know it’s harder said than done.”

“It pains me the most that I was spared, and not her.  I made it to Oregon with a family that carted me and my busted ankle in the back of their wagon, but she was the one that wanted to go.  I spent a lot of years after that feelin’ sorry for myself, roamin’ around this country and refusin’ to settle.”

“You didn’t go back to Missouri?”

“Not ever.  I couldn’t face Eliza’s parents after what happened.  Or her sister.”

“And you didn’t remarry?”

“There’s no one compares to Eliza.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Same way you did, I guess.  Or Richard, or them goats or the whole lot of us.  We was in the right place at the right time and we run into a collector of broken things.”  Melvin wipes his eyes once more and then lightly slaps the table.  “So, that’s my story.  Maybe one day you’ll tell me yours.”

“Perhaps I will,” she says.  Unlikely, she thinks.

[writingwhimsey]

Kitsune's Love Ch 3

Chapter 3

After three days of travel we arrived in Lord Tae Jun's territory. We were greeted at the castle gates by Lord Tae Jun, a group of attendants, and a woman who appeared to be his wife, as she stood beside him.

"Welcome!" He greeted us with a warm smile and a deep bow of respect. He was a tall slender man who appeared to be just a few years older than myself. He had dark hair and ocean blue eyes.

We dismounted our horses, and attendants from his stables were taking them as more attendants came to take our bags. The three of us walked up together and returned the bow.

"Thank you for the warm welcome." Hideyoshi replied.

"It is my honor to have you here, Lord Hideyoshi, Lord Mitsuhide." Tae Jun said, looking at each of the men in turn. Then he turned that disarming smile on me. "And a special welcome to you, Princess Ava."

"Thank you, I am happy to be here." I replied, bowing once again.

"I'd like you all to meet my wife, Lady Hinata." He said, gesturing to the woman standing beside him.

She smiled as she bowed to us. "Welcome, I am pleased to meet you all and welcome you." She greeted us.

I couldn't help but to admire how beautiful Lady Hinata was. Her hair fell to her waist in warm wavy auburn locks. She had the most striking green eyes I had ever seen. Her skin was flawless. While I didn't swing that way, I could easily see she was gorgeous. And her clothes! Oh they were the most beautiful I had ever seen and in the most exquisite colors and fabrics!

I really hope I get to talk with her! I thought. I'd love to know where she gets the fabric for her clothes and who designed her outfits.

We were then led inside Lord Tae Jun's castle and shown to our rooms. The room we were led to was a large common area for sitting and possibly even eating. There were several doors off of the room, leading to our bedrooms and a couple of rooms for bathing.

Lord Tae Jun had informed us that we were welcome to freshen up and rest from our travels for a spell and then we would be able to join him for dinner. I had gone into one of the bathing areas to take a quick bath to wash the dust from travel off. Once I had finished, I wrapped up in a robe and then went into the room where all of my things were and began to get ready.

I sat in front of a mirror and began to try to fix my hair. I was having some difficulty with getting it just right, when Mitsuhide came in. Naturally he was dressed and ready. "Having troubles, my dear?" He asked, coming to sit behind me.

"Maybe...a little." I confessed.

Mitsuhide chuckled and took my brush and comb from me. He brushed my hair out and then began to comb through it with his fingers. Why does this feel so damn good? I thought as I felt the tension I hadn't even known I'd been carrying begin to leave my body.

I glanced in the mirror as Mitsuhide continued to work on my hair. His eyes were focused, but held a tender gentle look there. He combed my hair up, styling it beautifully and then placing the blue bell flower hair pin he had gifted me in it.

"Now turn this way." He instructed.

I complied and turned to face him. Mitsuhide gently kissed my lips before taking and placing a bit of rouge on them and some light makeup around my eyes. Once my hair and makeup were finished, Mitsuhide helped me into my princess robes. I was then looking at my reflection in the mirror, not recognizing myself.

"So, do I look like a princess?" I asked.

"Only the most beautiful one." He answered, taking my hand and lifting it to place a kiss on the back.

We stood there a moment, our gazes locked on each other, my hand still in his, still at his lips. "Ahem."

I jumped slightly at that sound, having not even heard the door open. Hideyoshi stood there, giving us one of his classic scolding looks.

"What is it, Mother?" Mitsuhide asked, looking at Hideyoshi almost in annoyance.

Hideyoshi glared at him. "Need I remind you two we are here as representatives of our lord? Have some propriety and decency."

I felt my cheeks blazing as bright as the sun.

"We have both." Mitsuhide countered. "I was merely helping my lovely bride get ready and relax. We can't have her be a tangle of nerves for the meeting."

"Just behave." Hideyoshi lectured us before we all left to join Lord Tae Jun and Lady Hinata for dinner.

In Echigo...

Sasuke sat in the tallest watch tower in Kasugayama castle. He held a spiral bound notebook in his hands and a pencil, two of the only modern possessions he still held. He kept looking up at the sky every few moments and then writing something down, the light of the full moon providing him enough light to see.

"I knew I would find you up here."

Sasuke looked up from his notebook at the sound of his friend's voice. "Is something up, Yukimura?' He asked.

"Lord Shingen and Lord Kenshin are calling a council." Yukimura answered.

"This late?" Sasuke asked.

"Yeah, let's go."

Sasuke nodded and then tucked his notebook and pencil away. He had finished his calculations and was glad to see that though there was another wormhole appearing, that it was nowhere near himself or Ava. It would be manifesting around a port town in three days time.

Once they were inside the council room, Shingen was sharing a report from his Mitsumono. "So, what's the big news?" Yukimura asked.

"We received word that the Oda forces are acquiring another ally." Shingen answered. "Lord Tae Jun is allying himself with the Devil King."

"We know this for certain?" Kenshin asked. Though Tae Jun didn't have military might, he had great influence and access to trade through his port cities.

"Yes, Nobunaga has even sent both his right and left hand to Tae-Jun's territory to form an alliance. The report also says that he's sent the princess along as well." Shingen answered.

Sasuke had to keep himself from jumping at this news. "How long are they going to be there?" Sasuke asked.

"They arrived today and will be there for a week working on negotiations." Shingen answered.

There was more discussion and then Sasuke was returning to his room. He pulled out his notebook and double checked his calculations. "This isn't good." He said.

"What's bothering you?" Yukimura asked. "You've been acting weird since Lord Shingen mentioned that Ava was with that Kitsune and Nobunaga's right hand man."

"I can't really explain." Sasuke answered. "But I have to go and get them out of there."

"Do you believe Ava is in danger?' Yoshimoto came in to ask. "I too noticed your change in expression when Ava was mentioned."

"Not really danger." Sasuke answered. "It's complicated, but I have to go and get her to leave Lord Tae-Jun's domain quickly."

"So, you're just going to leave and not say anything to Lord Kenshin? You know he'll get stab happy." Yukimura said.

"I was hoping I could get my BFF to cover for me." Sasuke replied, looking at Yukimura pointedly.

Yukimura looked at Sasuke and saw the determination in his face.

"I'll cover for you, Sasuke." Yoshimoto said. "If this is something for Ava, I want to help and I think you need to take Yukimura with you. I will cover for you both."

"Good because I was going to tell him I wasn't letting him leave alone." Yukimura agreed.

"Thank you, both of you."

Sasuke and Yukimura packed a few things and then departed Echigo quickly. It would take some hard riding, but Sasuke knew that they could make it. He just really hoped that they could make it in time.

See what happens next below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/661390331627061248/kitsunes-love-ch-4

[markosmate]

baby blues

pairing: paul x reader

summary: reader meets the boys for the first time, and they only truly take a liking to her because of how sharply paul’s interest spikes when he first lays eyes on her. 

warnings: none

au: first lost boys fic kinda scared ngl :(

as much as you wanted to call santa carla your home, nowhere has ever felt like home to you. you wanted nothing more than to find somewhere - or someone - who could make you finally want to stay. yet for some reason you had always had an overwhelming urge to keep moving and always travel, hopefully one day finding the place that had been screaming your name for years.

you weren’t going to lie, santa carla had a homey feel to it - as homey as a murder capital could get - and you were hoping this would be the place. it’s been a year since you left home in new york on your motorcycle, traveling across the united states and stopping momentarily in every place you passed through. however, nowhere truly called to you and in the end, you just kept moving. driving into santa carla was a show on its own. as soon as you made it into town, you were welcomed by a beautiful boardwalk with an amazing variety of rides, shops, and food joints. sure, some of the people walking around didn’t look the friendliest - but who would willingly put themselves out there in a place where the vulnerable are never heard from again.

it was already dark out by the time you arrived, so you wasted no time and almost immediately parked your bike in the boardwalk parking lot among the other cars and walking back in the direction of the boardwalk. tonight would most likely be yet another night spent alone in a dirty hotel room, and even if you decided to stay the only thing your savings would let you afford for now would be a small shaky apartment somewhere deeper in town.

you’d need to find somewhere soon before you ran out of money, a job would help with that if you could ever find a place that you could stay in long enough to actually get hired somewhere.

refusing to dwell on how desperate you are to find a home, you grinned as you practically pranced around the long strip of games and small shops. weaving your way in and out of people you eventually made your way into the closest - and least occupied store - a video shop. a man was standing at the main counter with a large white dog laying at his feet. "hello young lady!" he greeted with a large grin tugging at his lips. "you look in need of a shopping spree. how can we help? we’ve got the best selection of videos and tapes in all of santa carla!" you grinned at his eagerness to sell some of his items and you were always a sucker for appeasing to older folk's wishes.

"just looking for some cassette tapes, got any?" you smiled admiring the large selection of patches adoring the inside of the glass counter top.

"quite a few. they’re over towards the back wall if you wish to browse."

"awesome, thank you." you smiled at him before walking around the entire center of the shop towards the back wall where, indeed, there was shelves of different cassettes.

you skimmed through the rows of them trying to find anything that would suit your taste before ultimately giving up after realizing it wasn’t in your best interest to be spending money in such a care-free way. you made your way back around the shelf and began walking towards the exit at the front of the store when four boys on motorcycles pulled up to the entrance. they all shut off their vehicles and stepped off of them rather quickly, following the platinum blond into the shop in a line. the dog laying on the floor lifted its head and its lips pulled back in a snarl as they made their way further into the building. the man at the front - who you presumed was max - hardened his glare as he watched the four young men waltz through the place.

his attention soon shifted from them however as a couple came in and began asking him questions about what kind of tapes he had in the horror section. your eyes wandered over each boy, taking in their appearances and clothing choices.

the blond at the front looked to be the most layered up. dressed in all black, he carried himself in confidence and had a dark sort of aura surrounding himself. the smallest at the end of the group was leaned over the counter, grinning at the girl working alongside the older man. she shook her head at him with a dismissive grin before turning to continue organizing the jewelry decorating the short stands atop the counter. his colorful jacket was hard to miss and long blond curls fell down his back. the next to follow the platinum was a much more serious looking dude with longer dark hair and dark eyes. he had no shirt on underneath his leather jacket, showcasing a pair of abs that would have made you blush in any other circumstance. however, you were much more focused on the twisted sister fella who was running his fingers along the vinyls lining a shelf. "yo marks, they got a metallica one!"

"no way man, metallica's not on vinyl." curly turned from his position at the counter to cock a hip at the blonde.

"yes huh, come 'ere!" you were too invested in watching the blondes argue over if it was worth it to steal the vinyl to notice the platinum walking over to stand beside you.

"see anything you like?" you jumped and let out a small yelp as you turned quickly to look at him. he was a good foot taller than you and his face was mere inches from your own. you’d be lying if you said he was less intimidating up close than he was farther away.

"h-huh?" you squeaked out stepping a few feet back so you both weren’t so close to each other.

"the cassette collection. have you seen anything you've liked?" he smirked as he placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. you were too nervous to realize that they hadn't even pulled up until after you’d walked away from the cassette shelves.

"oh, no. uh, nothing that sparked my interest." you confirmed giving him a shy smile as you tried to turn and make your way out of the store. you didn’t make it far before you ran straight into someone's chest and fell backwards. whoever it was caught you by your bicep and helped steady you. you looked up to lock eyes with twisted sister and you could practically feel your face turning bright red as he shot you a pretty smile.

"watch out babe, you could run into the wrong people here." he spoke smoothly with a humorous tint to his words.

the curly-headed one laughed at his words. "you’re new around here, huh? we'd remember a pretty face like your own."

you ignored the flirtatious undertones of his comment and just nodded in confirmation. "yeah, just stopping in. i’m y/n." you introduced yourself shyly, not really sure if they wanted an introduction or if they were just messing around with you before taking off into the crowds of the boardwalk. platinum smirked at your words before gesturing for you to follow him out the store. you found yourself listening to his request before you could even really ponder why he needed you outside the store in order to introduce himself.

once you stood with them at the bikes they each stopped to lean against their respective vehicle. you found yourself leaning against the railing as you watched their every move carefully - trying to decipher if they posed a threat or not. "what are your names?"

"david. that’s paul, marko, and dwayne." platinum introduced shortly as he finally lit up the cigarette between his lips. you waved at them and shot each one a smile.

"why don’t you come hang out with us for awhile babe?" marko grinned at you, ignoring paul who slugged his shoulder after.

"oh, uh that’s quite alright. i should probably get going." you lied through your teeth knowing that you’d have to spend at least an hour driving around town for miles to find a hotel willing to rent you out a room at this hour.

"we insist." david grinned with a sinister kind of look in his eyes. "you can ride with paul and we'll go hang out back at our spot overlooking the point."

"oh that’s alright, really." you tried to persuade them. "my bike's in the parking lot, i really should be heading back to my hotel."

"hotel? oh come on babe, if you’re staying in a hotel that means you really have nowhere you need to be. just come hang out for awhile, we promise we don’t bite." paul teased leaning forward over his handlebars a bit. "as for your bike, they don’t tow vehicles left over night. you can come back and get it tomorrow. please?" he pouted at you and you felt yourself slowly weakening at the look in his eyes.

"alright, alright fine! but no alcohol, i’m not getting drunk around a bunch of punks i just met." you gave up and threw your hands in the air.

david nodded and mounted his bike after putting out his cigarette. dwayne copied his actions and they all started their rides. paul smiled brightly at you and held out his hand to help you climb on behind him. "hold on sweets." and just like that, they took off down the walk. after weaving through the crowds for a few seconds they rode down a short flight of stairs causing you to squeak and cling to the blond in front of you a little tighter.

"don’t worry, i have years of experience!" he called over his shoulder to you whilst laughing to himself.

"tell me why i don’t believe that!" you shouted back as they sped down the beach. after a couple of seconds you began to relax a little more as you felt the wind blowing your hair in multiple directions.

you grinned as you lifted your head from his back to feel more of the wind, and let out a small laugh as you loosened your grip the tiniest bit on his waist. he smiled back at you before he joined the others in hooting and hollering in joy. soon you were speeding through the supports of the docks and before you knew it, the boys were swerving left and right down a dense path through the woods.

not even minutes later the boys slowed their bikes to a stop near the bluff. paul stood from his bike before turning to offer you a hand off. they led you down a staircase on the side of the cliffs which ultimately led into a cave.

"woah..." you awed as you spun in circles, taking everything in.

"amazing, isn’t it?" david grinned at your response as he took a seat on an old wheelchair. "this place used to be the hottest resort in santa carla, too bad they built it on a fault. when the big one hit san francisco in '06, this place took a header right into the crack."

"and now it’s ours." marko interrupted his story by dancing around atop the old fountain. "you like?"

you nodded with a small giggle. "it’s amazing! obviously a little dusty," you remarked sliding a finger across a table to collect the layer of dust settled on it. "but beautiful nonetheless."

"you just moved here?" david asked. "looking for a place to stay?"

"oh, no i didn’t move here." you explained quickly. "i’ve just been driving around the states since last july. trying to find somewhere to call home and nowhere's called my name yet."

"except this place." dwayne remarked for the first time that night. "this place is giving you an odd feeling."

"yeah..." you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows at him. "how'd you tell? that desperate?"

he shook his head with a small smile. "instincts i guess."

"you should stay here." paul suddenly spoke. "with us. with me."

you locked eyes with him and quite literally felt the rest of the world melt away. you’d never seen eyes that color blue, and in that moment you wished it was the only color you could have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of your life. as quickly as you were sucked into the trance, you quickly snapped yourself out of it. "you guys stay here?"

"hell yeah doll. no parents, no rules, just party all day, everyday." he jumped down from the fountain and wrapped both arms around your shoulders from behind. "just look around. you could stay here, young and wild forever." he chuckled at the last comment, and the way he said it almost made it seem like he was making some kind of joke to the others that only you weren’t in on.

"at least think about it sweets." he grinned and kissed your temple as your vision slowly started fading in and out. you watched as the other three stood and began making their way towards you.

"sleep, y/n." david lulled quietly. "there’s plenty time to make a decision when you wake."

you could’ve sworn you had just blinked, but when you opened your eyes again you were laying in a cheap motel room with a feeling sort of like a hangover that you had no explanation for.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 13

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1641

Summary: Y/N is determined to get a job and Thomas is going to tag along whether she wants him to or not.

by @adventuresintooblivion

The next morning preceded much the same of Thomas leading Y/N downstairs only to have her slip away. This time however, she only made it down a couple blocks before she was approached by a rumbling noise. Thomas’ care suddenly stopped beside her, the owner casting her a cheeky grin as he leaned over to shove open the door.

“You plan on walking all across Birmingham?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “That was the plan.”

Thomas patted the seat beside him. “Having you disappear on me two days in a row? We can’t have that now can we?”

Gingerly, Y/N crawled into the car. She couldn’t quite hide the sheer awe on her face as she marveled at the interior. 

“Never been in a car before?” Thomas ducked his head down to hide the fact that his grin was only widening. The vehicle was one of the few objects he actually took pride in.

“No.” Y/N shook her head. “The Old Man was stingy with his. Said walking around like the common man built character, you know after he drove his a mere block away to make a point.”

Thomas tightened his grip on the wheel, “So, where to?”

She began twisting the thumb of her gloved hand, “I’m not sure. I was going to go out and look for work but last time I did this all the dance halls worth a damn wanted ten bloody pages of recommendations and work history. Can you believe that? I’m in my twenties. I barely have one and that’s if I could get a hold of everyone.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel a moment before putting the car into gear. “I’ve got a few ideas. Though, I could just pay you for-”

“No. We’ve talked about this several times. My sole income will not be playing at the Garrison.” 

Thomas shrugged as the automobile ambled down the narrow streets. The dirt slowly gave way to cobblestones as they entered the city proper and with the dirt followed the crowds of factory workers. Now they were surrounded by other cars and carriages made of stained mahogany.

While Y/N had spent most of her life in Birmingham, coming to this side of town was still an adventure. Here shops opened and closed with the fashions, not because of economic strife. What had been a macron shop only two months prior now housed milliners. It wasn’t until they were parking that Y/N realized where they were.

“Isn’t this the place where I played the first night?”

Thomas nodded, “Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t request you again.”

She grumbled, “I think it might’ve had something to do with that little scene you caused.”

“Really?” he paused beside the door leading inside.

Y/N shrugged, “Even on this side of town ‘Thomas Shelby’ still holds quite the reputation. But I think it’d probably be best if you stayed out here.”

Thomas clutched his breast in mock horror, “You honestly think I’d do such a thing as to put your career in jeopardy?”

“You’ve sacrificed more for less.”

“When?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N glared at him. “Maybe that brandy shipment I’d been working on for three months.”

Thomas chuckled, “That was almost four years ago.”

Y/N jabbed her finger at his chest, “It would’ve paid enough to get the whole company brand new shoes! And you showed my best hiding spot to Hopper, so you could get your cigarettes.”

“Fine. I’ll wait in the car.” He held his hands up in mock surrender.

A few moments later Y/N strode into the restaurant, Pearlescent, to find the host bent over a pile of paperwork. She cleared her throat to get his attention, causing him to jump.

“I...I’m sorry Madame but we aren’t open yet. We will begin service at 3PM.” he stuttered as he stood. The words left his lips were rehearsed and stale.

Y/N bowed her head, “Hello, I believe we met a couple months ago. I was one of the entertainers for the VIP lounge.”

The Host’s brow furrowed for a moment before realization dawned on him, “The girl who is friends with a Shelby. I thought I told you to never come back.”

“You did, but I figured it was a good time to make the rounds again. In fact, I think I would like to work here again.”

He laughed in her face, “Why on earth would I permit that?”

She grinned, “Well, as you can see, I’m currently standing in front of you alone. It’s been a couple months so your patrons would’ve forgotten my face, even if the incident didn’t quite leave their memory. My friend, The Shelby, really wanted to come inside with me. He actually gave me a ride here.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss?” The Host narrowed his eyes.

“Oh no.” Y/N shook her head. “I’m just letting you know that this particular Shelby will actually listen to me if I ask him to wait outside. Or come in.”

The Host paused for a long moment, “What exactly were you hoping for?”

Y/N grinned, “Three nights a week. I can play most instruments and I can sing. I expect fair pay, though I’m willing to negotiate if a free meal is included on the nights I work.”

He let out a deep sigh before gesturing towards a door on the back wall, “Come to my office and we can debate particulars.”

〜

Thomas lay across his seat staring up at the ceiling of his car. He tugged on the hem of his coat, preventing more of the cold air from creeping in. It wasn’t until he’d sat back up that he noticed a nearby tea shop. He usually wasn’t much of a tea lover but in weather like this he could definitely make an exception.

A bell rang to announce his arrival. This shop was much nicer than anywhere he frequented. Bright colors combated the dreariness of the overcast sky. The thick omnipresent blanket held at bay by floor to ceiling windows. 

A small counter was set farther inside away from the cluster of tables that dominated most of the floor. Their walls were lined with shelves, displaying dried bags of loose leaf tea all ornately decorated. Behind the counter stood a stout woman, with deep lines carved into her cheeks from smiling.

“Welcome to Brandy’s and Bobbins, what can I interest you in, my dear?” Something about the woman’s voice reminded Thomas of honey, soothing and sweet.

Reflexively, Thomas rubbed his hands together. “Dunno. Don’t typically fancy a place like this.”

She smiled knowingly, “But it’s a cold day outside and we could all use a cuppa to remind us that the world is right again.” She set about busying herself with finding the right mixture. Glancing at labels and barely reading them before shuffling on to the next.

“So what’s your typical drink? Whiskey?”

Thomas blinked, not exactly sure what alcohol had to do with tea, “Rum mostly. Champagne for special occasions.”

She nodded, “And your lady friend.”

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks as he answered, “She’s more of a whiskey kind of girl.”

The woman beamed at him in the reflective surface of a rather large kettle, “I know just what to make you.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow but didn’t question the woman further. Instead he strode around the shop. Everything seemed a little too delicate for him to touch without crumpling even as his fingers brushed over fine metalwork. It wasn’t until there was a faint click on the counter that he returned his gaze to the front of the room. Two cups of tea steamed cheerily, one what seemed to be in disposable paper and the other in classic porcelain.

“Is… that paper?” Thomas asked.

She nodded, “Some mad lad in the Americas came up with it not too long ago. It’s expensive to get a hold of them but everyone loves them.”

Thomas pulled out his wallet and began to pay, “Have some opinionated customers?”

“Oh, you have no idea. We get all sorts in here from parliament members to textile merchants from Belgium of all places. Hell, we even get that new Inspector in here almost every day. I have to buy these almost exclusively for him.”

Thomas paused a moment while paying, “The copper?”

She nodded as she totaled everything up and made change, the smile never leaving her face. “Oh yes. He always asks for this one tea that’s always been popular with irish folks.”

He thanked her for the tea before sitting and drinking his own. After taking his first sip, he had to admit it was definitely one of the better ones he’s had. With a little sugar he might even go so far to say it was almost perfect. It wasn’t until he caught the look of absolute glee on the older woman’s face that it dawned on him that she actually loved what she did.

When he was done he mumbled his thanks and returned to the car with the paper cup held gingerly between his hands. As if seemingly by magic, Y/N appeared out of the Pearlescent as he stepped onto the curb.

“Job achieved?”

Y/N was practically bouncing with excitement, “Job achieved.” 

They both climbed into the car before Thomas remembered what he was holding. “Here.”

Her hands wrapped around the cup, confusion turning to bliss as the warmth seeped into her hands. “This is amazing. What is this?”

“Tea. In a paper cup.” Thomas answered as he merged back into traffic.

Her brow furrowed, “How on earth?”

“Don’t ask me. As far as I’m concerned it might as well be witchcraft.”

“Says the man that says he’s part Gypsy.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Romani.”

[thebluelemontree]

Hiya blue lemon it's me again. Do you have any criticism in the way GRRM wrote Sansa in book1/2? EX:.Sansa and Jeyne are BFF but we amolst never see the girls talking to eachother, and when JP is sex traffikced sansa just forget about her(we could have a scene where sansa try to find what happened to JP or at least grieve for her). Every time sansa appears as a non-POV in AGOT she's been mean and whe we have her POV she's mean for no good reason(SANSA III AGOT). >PART 1<

And the worst is why GRRM wrote sansa goin to Cercei to tell her the "Ned Plans", it's just bad writing, Cercei kill lady so Sansa going to her was OOC GRRM just wrote that to we hate Sansa And in the book it's not explained what "the Ned plans" was(And it was nothing imortant at all, and would make no difference at Ned's fate) so ordinary readers blame Sansa for Ned's death and GRRM does that too in book 2 Cercei put all the blame for Ned death in sansa nd "the Ned Plans" Your thoughts?PART 2

There’s a lot to unpack here. 

I get a sense that in the early books, George was not as comfortable writing female relationships as he was writing male relationships or even male-female ones. I mean, Catelyn has no female friends, no companions like Margaery Tyrell’s cousins, no fostering wards of her own, no correspondences with other ladies except that one letter from Lysa for plot reasons. This is just weird for the lady of two major houses. It is neglectful on George’s part to give most of the important social connections to men. This doesn’t mean he was totally inept at writing female relationships, though, and it does seem like he’s tried to improve upon highlighting the positive in later books.

By comparison, the positive side of the brotherly relationships are presented so strongly that it tends to smooth over the conflicts with many readers. Jon can feel envious and resentful of Robb, but the love and loyalty is always in the foreground. The conflict between Arya, Jeyne, and Sansa does have legitimate character arc and plot purposes, so this isn’t bad writing. It’s unfortunate that GRRM presses down so hard on the constant bickering and occasional nastiness, but he did write some positives (albeit they tended to be revealed in later books) and there are understandable reasons for the dynamics. It was not done in a totally unrealistic way. What’s depicted is a typical and relatable rocky period for that age group, and there was negative adult influence at play. It’s not a permanent feature of the sisterhood. It’s all there if you pay attention and you’re inclined to be charitable toward the mistakes of young girls.       

If a reader is already predisposed to see the bonds between male characters as more pure and more able to overcome the negative aspects, then they probably also view the bonds between female characters as inherently weaker and more fraught with conflict. Fandom misogyny is not GRRM’s fault. That sector of the fandom will always have contempt for girls for being girls, especially preteen girls. They will always hone in on their faults and belittle their virtues. 

I don’t think that is true that we hardly ever see Jeyne and Sansa talking. They are nearly always in each other’s company. There was real friendship between Sansa and Jeyne, because what George does do well with them, is realistically write the way girls cement their bonds. Young girls strengthen their relationship by communicating and confiding in each other. Sharing secrets, crushes, hopes, fears, and pieces of gossip builds trust and intimacy. Jeyne and Sansa do this all the time, even though they can have different opinions and disagree about a lot.  Yes, there is some one-sidedness in that Sansa socially outranks Jeyne and believes that makes her more mature and wiser than her friend. Jeyne is dependent on her closeness to Sansa as a highborn lady and future queen to rise successfully, so she’s not going to push back on Sansa’s dominance. This is also a reason Jeyne sometimes bullies Arya to supplant her as Sansa’s “sister.” When Sansa has something to share, she goes to Jeyne to talk about it. I think it’s hilarious that the girls have a debate over which castle Gregor Clegane’s head will get spiked. Sansa wants Jeyne at her side for these new and exciting events like the tourney. When things get serious and dangerous, they comfort each other. Again, this is not all George’s fault if some readers don’t recognize or value the way girls do friendships.  

It’s stated quite clearly why Sansa tries to not think about Jeyne or her deceased family members very often. It’s fucking traumatic and her survival while among her captors depends on mentally holding herself together. 

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked. Sansa was allowed to go riding too, but only in the bailey, and it got boring going round in a circle all day. -- Sansa II, ACOK.

Following her father’s beheading, Sansa was in a suicidal depression for days. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t bathe, welcomed drug-induced sleep, and contemplated killing herself. If she thinks too much on those she lost, she falls to pieces. She can’t openly weep and mourn for “traitors” if her life depends on appearing to be loyal to Joffrey. Most of her grief is suppressed inside. This also includes asking too many questions she doesn’t feel psychologically prepared to hear the answer to. She was there when the decision was made to shuttle Jeyne off to Littlefinger; however, she has no idea this is going to result in Jeyne being sent to a brothel and worse. I would also keep in mind that even if she did ask, it’s not like Cersei or Littlefinger would ever tell her the truth. Why would they? Does she really want to hear lies and have to think about what the horrible truth might be when she can’t do anything about it?  When it comes to Arya, Sansa believes her sister escaped on the ship bound for home. She comforts herself with imagining that Arya is safe and free, and that’s enough to keep her going.  

And she prays and sings for Jeyne, wherever she is.

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin... -- Sansa V, ACOK.

It’s only until later in the books that Sansa feels emotionally at peace enough to start remembering the good times with Arya and Jeyne without breaking down into tears. We can also see the conflicts weren’t always a thing, and the love was strong with all three.

Sansa began to make snowballs, shaping and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. -- Sansa VII, ASOS.

It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up. -- Alayne I, TWOW.

So it’s not even that the girls only bond through confiding. They run, play, and roughhouse with each other. It’s interesting that AGOT!Sansa tried to be so mature and proper, but now that she’s older, she’s remembering how good and freeing it was just to be a kid. But let’s not act like this part of the story is over. Jeyne is still very much alive and seems likely to run into Arya in Braavos. We can almost be 100% certain that Sansa will find out the truth about what happened to Jeyne and what Littlefinger did to her (and her parents), then watch out. Sansa will turn all that buried pain into a righteous fury at Littlefinger.  

Now as for Sansa being mean for “no reason.” Um... yeah, LOL. Sometimes she’s just a total unwarranted bitch to her sister, and it’s not meant to be a good look. Sometimes she’s superficial, insufferably immature and annoying, judgmental and prejudiced AND THAT’S OKAY. I mean, she sounds no better or worse than your average middle-schooler if they were of the privileged nobility. Guess what? Sometimes preteens are really like that. Sometimes siblings have ugly, knockdown drag out fights where they say horrible things to each other. Most will grow past those phases and still wind up just as loving and close. It’s realistic and believable. Sansa has flaws, but they aren’t deep moral flaws. She does an amazing job at growing, learning, and overcoming those flaws over the course of the books. In TWOW, she’s warm and affectionate with people, easy-going, nonjudgmental, and genuinely more mature than ever. She took the stick out of her ass and became a happier person for it. What’s the problem? What did you want her to be? Perfect? Unfailingly kind and loved by everyone all the time? She’d be a saint, not a multifaceted human being. Even with her occasional ugly side, Sansa is still a strong, smart, compassionate badass. I don’t care if some people don’t like her as she is written or if they vilify her with their misinterpretations or ignore her strengths. What bearing does that have on GRRM’s vision for her character? He never set out to write any character that the whole fandom would either unanimously love or hate.    

This is not bad writing. This NOT bad writing. This is GOOD writing.

*Sigh* Listen... this whole nonsense about Sansa being to blame for Ned’s demise has been going on since ASOIAF was written on clay tablets. You don’t have to listen to every stupid thing the fandom says about anything. It’s just factually wrong. End of story. This misinterpretation and reader inattentiveness is not GRRM’s fault, because he lays out all the details of everything that went down between Arya, Ned, and Sansa’s POV as it was happening. It’s totally understandable why an upset and frustrated Sansa would go to Cersei, the mother figure she implicitly trusts and admires. She didn’t go to Cersei to betray her father’s plans. She went to the queen to intercede in what she thought had to be some big misunderstanding, having no idea what was really going on or at stake. 

This is not OOC for her to go to Cersei after Lady’s death. The hand that killed Lady was her own father’s, a undeniable breach of trust that wounded their relationship. Ned just doesn’t really do a lot to deal with the emotional aftermath either. Ned and Sansa are very similar in turning a blind eye when confronted with unpleasantness from someone they love. Ned is also at that moment disillusioned with Robert’s failure to do the right thing after the Trident incident. He begs Robert in the name of their brotherly love and the love he bore Lyanna, and Robert turns his back on Ned anyway. Yet Ned immediately goes right back to believing in the best of Robert’s nature, despite all evidence to the contrary. Every sign points to this being a one-sided friendship with Robert being lazy, irresponsible, and completely selfish. Like father, like daughter. Sansa has a very hard time accepting that Joffrey and Cersei are not the people she thought they were, even when she’s seen some cracks. And since she can’t understand her father’s actions and the communication has been shot to hell between them, of course she runs to Cersei with her problems. Cersei can flip a switch and pretend to be kind, loving, and understanding. 

This is so typical of a teenage thought process:  “Dad just doesn’t understand and he’s making a big mistake. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t get how important this is to me. This will all work out if a sympathetic adult steps in and fixes it. Everything will turn out great and we’ll all be happy.” While Sansa is pouring her heart out about how it isn’t fair she can’t say goodbye to Joffrey, Cersei pretends to be that sympathetic mother figure that really understands her. How hard would it be then to pump Sansa for information? Like “Oh my sweet little dove. I know how much you love my son. Don’t worry. I’ll help you straighten this out. You said your father wants to send you away? How? When? What’s the name of that ship again?”  

And that line from Cersei’s POV is horseshit. Cersei is a liar and regularly lies in her POV to absolve herself of responsibility and force the blame entirely on others. In this case, Cersei is acting like she didn’t totally manipulate a trusting child to betray her.  We also know this is a lie because Ned was the one that told her himself of his plans to reveal the invest and remove her as queen. Sansa had nothing to do with that. All Sansa did was give Cersei information that allowed Cersei the opportunity to take her hostage before the girls could leave by ship. Cersei’s plans against Ned were already well underway. Sansa never came to her with the intent of knowingly betraying anyone, but she did have selfish reasons for going to the queen to complain in the first place. GRRM said himself that Sansa wasn’t to blame for Ned’s capture or death, but she did play a role in the events that transpired. That’s fair. All that makes her is a kid who made a not entirely innocent mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, which she immediately learned from. Does she trust Cersei or Joffrey again? Hell no.  

Relax, anon. It’s fine for her to not be nice all the time. It’s fine for her to have some realistic, garden variety flaws. It’s one of the most universal human mistakes to fall too hard and fast for the wrong person, act the fool over them despite all the red flags, only to realize you only saw what you wanted to see in them. And Sansa learned this lesson at eleven when some adults haven’t learned it at all. Relax. She’s a great, well-written, relatable character who has overcome most of these issues successfully.  

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister��Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​