#but johnnys is strong and virile :-) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melodrama-ticcc · 10 months ago

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— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

Strapping arms mottled in scarred, calloused skin accompany the faintest scent of the ashen, stale smoke of woody tobacco from the cigarettes he smoked and the oddments of fresh linens — the same ones he laid upon just five minutes prior. It’s a bitterly comforting scent, the acridity of herbaceous nuances and the pleasantries of simple, clean laundry detergent meet their match in the assuaging nose of musk that followed him down the drive.

He’s austere and tenacious, a valiant leader in times of great hardship and need. His stalwart determination and carnal instinct to staunchly protect his people and come to her aid would only showcase how strong and worthy of a man he was. The way his lusty figure strides with a fierce purpose and fervent motivation, his visage making it all the more evident how grave her fallen endeavor was to him. In other circumstances, perhaps it would have made her heart flutter with avid concupiscence. His virile persona and dauntless attitude a beautiful depiction of the true man Johnny Sawyer was, one gallant, stouthearted and resolute.

It was no wonder girls swooned over him and sluts threw themselves at him in forlorn and desperate attempts to be bed, for if it hadn’t been his manful character it would be his animal good looks. A brawny physique like his was enough to make any young girl drool, but the way in which his work ethic displayed itself was all the more impressive. Resolute and undaunted, characterized by the intransigent persona he carried. Unshaken, indurate, purposive, a strong and protective man who served to remedy her from this mess. A mean stare, a cold shoulder, a flagrant saunter, those pretty dark eyes shrouded by the chocolate lashes that surrounded them make him nothing short of an enigma, a breath taking image of the dangerous and allusive. Any imperfections were overshadowed by the illusion of his angelic smile, even the slight bend in his nose; presumably from being broken at some point.

It’s a wonder she’s not feinting at his virile demeanor, but then again, the predicament at hand makes itself out to be much more prevalent then her precognitions. Still overcome with grief and the weight of her grave mistake, Rebecca sporadically makes the trip back to the front drive of her farmhouse. With trembling appendages wrapped thickly in her blonde hair and tugging at the follicles, her quivering lips spurt incoherencies even she cannot make out. Something about screwing everything up and not tying down loose ends, what a damn mess this had become.

Heavy is the hand that takes refuge on the small of her back, a gentle reminder that he’d been alongside her all that time. The simple gesture is enough to cease her thoughtless blabbering and pull her from the demented pool of self deprecation she’d imbedded herself in. He was there now, it would be okay.

“Now you tell me just what it is that happened, calmly.”

She opens those pretty pink lips, only for the breath to get caught in her throat and hitch itself as she stammers on her own thoughts. Reliving the moments in her head, she thinks back to what it had been like when she was still at the bar in Pfluegerville, and whether she should have just asked Johnny for help from the very beginning. But nah, that ruined all the fun.

The events of the evening play about her mind like the films she saw on the television alongside her father, a horrid moving picture show of the macabre and inhumane. It’s strange, the feeling, as though she were watching herself from the outside, as if she were the movie star in this grotesque drama of the diseased and grisly. However as she stood there, going through the frightfully wonderful acts she’d committed that night the sensation of delight pangs at her heart, and with it the fluttery feeling that burgeons in the pit of her stomach. She can’t believe she’s actually done it.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill a boy. I don’t know I-I-I brought home a boy.” She starts, sapphire eyes gazing blankly in the far off distance as she speaks frantically, face still wet with the tears of her hysteria. The fear of what’s to come picking at her from the inside out, she wonders if he’s disappointed in her. “I meant to fucking do it! He just- this was all on purpose, he just- he- I hate him. I hate him so much he-I- he’s just like Matthias, just like him I swear I aughtta- no, no, I lured him into the wash but I wasn’t there, I waited, I waited so patiently. Everything was so perfect- everything- I did so good and then I just- and I just-.”

“Stop.” Johnny hushes, watching the tears well and drip down her face before he’s got her cheek by the palm again, flicking away those pesky tears with the pad of his thumb. “Be good, tell me what happened darlin’.”

She sharply inhales, a stabbing pain itching at her side as she battles the hyperventilations that accompany her heightened state. Those arms are hoisted back up over her head, grasping onto the hair and pulling as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded, the single thing holding her back from going absolutely insane. A pitiful sob falls from her lips, and just as it does the cacophony of the smack! that besmirches her cheek ceases it all. The stinging burn of Johnny’s hand sets her on fire, the red imprint of his fingers etched into her cheek. She gasps, eyes wide with shock before she looks to him with anger and a newfound sense of relief.

“I said be good ain’t I? Now quit actin’ a damn fool and spit it out, we gon’ catch this fucker but I need you to get that damn head of ya’s on straight, you got that?”

“I-I-I-I forgot.” She cries, prying at the hair on her head. Dazed sure, somewhat clear, his smack wasn’t hard but it sure did knock her straight. “I hit that bitch, I hit ‘em with my axe- yeah. I don’t know how many times, I don’t. No- Yeah- yeah. I sliced his shoulder, and then I cut ‘em up real good, and I cut his damned dick off too. But- I-I messed up I didn’t know- he hurt me! My head! He pushed me down the damn stairs that’s it- how’d I let it happen! No- no I meant it, Johnny, he hurt me!” Her screams pitch high and she feels belligerent, grasping onto his shoulders with a degrading type of need. “Please help me Johnny please, I was wrong I can’t do it without ya’. I’m scared, I’m scared, I need help. I need your help.”

Those rough hands of his rake through the tangled lengths of her hair, not before brushing the flyaway strands from her eyes and grazing over the soft skin of her lips.

“I’ll find ‘em, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

The words spoken from his lips alone are enough to quell the anxieties that plague her, a perpetual aura of calm washing over when he gazes through her and speaks it. In anxious anticipation, she watches patiently as he pushes past her and acts to examine the porch and the front area of the house, only to let out a soft chuckle when he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here. Come ‘ere.” He points to the ground in front of him, crouching down as he swipes the spot and nods up at her. “Footprints. They’s faint as hell, but they there. Gotta look closely when they get away, theys slippery little bastards I give ‘em that, but you can always catch ‘em. Now you tell me, where you think that trail leads off to?”

Suddenly the weight of it all comes thwarting down onto her, the pressure seeping through her as her face turns a bright pink. She squats, carefully analyzing the very thing Johnny had been talking about and making out the trajectory of the steps. Her swollen eyes squint just a tad, not before they look back up to him seeking some sort of approval.

“Well? He ain’t of gone far.”

“I- I don’t know. I don’t.”

“Think now, think with that there head of yer’s. I know you’s more than a nice lookin’ face.”

Rebecca obliges his orders, her gaze shifting to the ground where the puddles of crimson and dusty footprint resides. Despite his words she only becomes more flustered, eaten half alive by the plaguing thoughts of her anxieties and presumed failures. She’s desperate for help, not a damn lesson, there wasn’t much time to be wasted. So, concluding no clear answer and growing wary of the looming fear over her shoulder she shakes her head, throws her hands up and shouts.

“Please, I-I can’t. It’s just one shitty damn footprint- there’s no fuckin’ point.”

“Tch, ways I see it you can follow the direction of that there print, possibility there’s a trail, you got ‘em leakin’ after all. Or, miss thang, you put yourself in your target’s shoes.” Johnny doesn’t move, only stares at her, waiting. “You start thinkin’ like yer’ prey, things’ll get a whole lot easier for ya’.”

She stops, blue irises blown out as she looks to him in disbelief. It’s an epiphany, of sorts. A sort of realization in his words, think like the prey. Reluctantly she picks up the pieces and sutures herself together, able to make some string of coherent thoughts. Her head turns towards the side yard, thinking deliberately in the eyes of that damn boy. It seemed the most intelligent outcome would be to run up the front drive, however, that’s all most sure the first place anyone would look. So to avoid suspicion and buy more time, he had to of run elsewhere. Perhaps through the brush against the sides of their land, or more likely the back where they’d keep the cattle.

“I uh- looks to me like he ran off someplace out ‘n to the back, only thing back there is the cattle fields and wild life.” She says, the tinge of uncertainty in her voice a demonstration of her willingness to please. Johnny smiles wide, gesturing to her with his head as he strides forward.

“Well, let’s see how right you are ‘bout that.”

“I thought he’d made it out to the road and got away, thought I was done for.” She stands up straight, hands shaking at her sides when her vision fogs with tears. She sniffles, hastily wiping the underneath of her nose as she stares forward at the vacant trail of dusty footprints and spattered blood. “He made a damn fool of me.” Her hands ball into fists and her brows dive into a scowl. “Why I gotta be so shitty at it, alls I wanted to do was prove I could do the damn job.”

“Rebecca,” Johnny warns, grabbing at the wrist that reaches for her axe. “Come on pretty girl, you got a natural knack for this sort of thing.” Her eyes meet his gaze and she frowns, only to smile a sad smile at his words.

“You really think so?”

“Ah come on now darlin’,” he grins, tucking his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I know so. Don’t you think I know a thing or two ‘bout killin’, ain’t bad for ya’ first time, all by your lonesome.”

“Yeah? Yeah . . . And I’ll make ‘em pay- yeah- where ever that little fucker is he’s mine.” Through teary eyes she smiles at him, and somewhere in there she feels as though she’s earned his approval. His words worth more than any consolation killing Matthew could provide. She looks to him and he quiets the never-ending thoughts in her head, he takes away the need to fret about anything and gives her the thing she craves most, that warming look of praise and gratitude. It replaces that need for control, at least temporarily, and she knows then it’ll all be okay. Even as his demeanor changes and he thwarts her forwards. Her steps stumbling into themselves as she looks to him in infatuation, only before she presses on with a determined effort to keep him appeased.

“Now quit standin’ round lookin’ pretty and get a move on girl.”

A muddied track of stammered prints planted into the wet earth and heaps of blood splattered about the dirt lead to a quick chase, one that takes them through a spastic path of snapped branches and fallen foliage, plants crushed and broken in the wake of her running victim. Inevitably, he met his demise at the swimming hole long ago, truth be told by his cold, lifeless corpse at the bottom of the dried out pool.

He must’ve ran off in a dazed state, in shock from the trauma endured and the blood loss of his wounds. Without realizing the dip in the land led to a ten foot tumble down a steep hill into the ole hole, where his carcass lie sprawled out and mangled. A bloodied bath towel partly covering his nude and mutilated body, she’s disgusted by him. A pathetic excuse of a man who hadn’t even the manners to hold the door open for her.

At first she’s relieved, fully, and a bit proud too. She’d like to claim she knew she was the superior being, the one who’d win this charade, but given the turn of events it became clear she’d need to plan much more carefully. One thing was certain; never underestimate the victim.

But then, as she stood there, gazing over his pale corpse with a look of disdain written in her features, she becomes angry. The predilections of the last hour or so coming back to her in a raging fit. At the end of it all, he had taken away the satisfaction in beheading him. He still ruined it, and despite the cruel fact she’d reign supreme; she sought vengeance over the life that had already been reaped.

“Well well well, not bad at all for a first time.” His voice beckons her from her thoughts, not enough to alleviate her passion for violence and ultimate satisfaction. This was it, this was where she’d feel that cathartic release, the feeling of control coming back to her.

“You slimy little bitch.” Heavy footsteps March down that steep hill, gripping the splintering wood handle of her axe, she pauses, chewing at her lower lip as she watches the breathless corpse with pure hatred and animosity. “Fuck you.” She spits, watching the coagulated wad of saliva splat against his bare skin. The warmth of tears riddle the cusp of her eyes and she feels the emotions gurgling back up, only this time it’s pure anger and a feral inkling for revenge. Letting out a flustered scream Becca lurches the axe over her head, only to scream again when she sends it down onto his neck. “Rot in hell you son of a bitch! You deserve it like the rest of ‘em!” Again, a powerful swing halfway severs his neck in two, his head hanging on by a few torn ligaments and flesh. Blood sprays each time she swings; painting her a vibrant crimson and plastering over the grass they sit upon. Again, a third time she hoists the thing up over her head and contracts her muscles to swing it downward with all her might, the blade entirely separating his body from his head. Which rolls some couple feet away. She pauses, screaming out in great relief as she laughs about his dead body, hysterically, like a mad woman who’d lost her way. She spits again, this time crouching over the head and making sure it lands over his face.

“Like a lamb to the slaughter.”

She picks it up, gripping a handful of the bloodied dark hair that sits upon its head. She holds it up, examining his features before she squeezes the puffed out cheeks and fronts a frown.

“Lookit here, lookit who stands on top. The strong, not the coward.” Smiling widely she throws the thing to the ground with a sharp arm, screaming out something incoherent between her bouts of delighted laughter.

It exorcises the demons within her, does away with all the bad thoughts of yesterday and brings in a newfound joy she never knew she’d discover. It frees her of the need to take hold of trivial matters and emotions, purges the very concept of her idea of control and replaces it with something new, something exciting, something erotic. It arouses her beyond belief and fulfills the sensation she craved so violently, quells the aching throb in her soul and makes it feel full. For the first time in a long time, she feels happy, she feels full, she feels satiated.

Gripping the hand of that axe just a little tighter she screams fervently, smiling like a madwoman. Blissful tears pool at the edge of her pretty eyes, looking up to the starry night sky as she laughs in hysterics. She forgets Johnny’s there, forgets he’d been watching the entire thing with the pleased look he wore. But he strides over to her, taking her wrists in hopes of calming her down and bringing her from that high.

“You sure are as good as I knew you’d be, I told ya’,” he says, pulling her arms back down only for her to look at him with a face of disbelief. “I like watchin’ you do all that, that kinda thing really gets a man goin’, you know that?”

Dazed and excited she looks to her counterpart with a trebled stare, eyes wet and wide with enjoyment and a profound look of thought over her features. She thinks his words over, and though it aggravates her, pesters at her self respect, she cannot help but ponder the thought of cutting into him, making an example of him. One more time, one more time and she’d reach that ultimate high.

��I’m the one with the axe, all alone out here, in the middle of no where . . . . with nobody else about.”

“Oh Becca,” Johnny shakes his head, “You threatenin’ me?” He wastes no time in making his point, patting over the hunting knife tucked into his waistband. “I said you wasn’t bad, not damn near perfect. Think I’m scared of that?”

“I’d like to do it again,” sure his comment pisses her off, and she feels the regurgitating feeling of fury pit in her stomach and rise through her throat like hot air. He doesn’t believe in her, that’s upsetting. Doesn’t take her seriously. But she’s only thinking aloud, saying the inside part outside, staring blankly at him as she toys with the splintered handle of her toy.

To think of how fondly it made her feel, even with her frenzied state of self control and madness. How pleasurable it made her feel both inside and out, her mind in pure ecstasy and core in tight coils. She’d love to do it again, love to watch the fear on his face and the blood spurt out in pretty scarlet splatters. It’s a high she keeps on riding, the ever present feeling of tension arising between her legs. Sinful maybe, but she thinks the thought alone might drive her over the edge. How powerful and dangerous she could be, the superiority over the boys she loathed so much, so perfect, it all felt so lovely. If she could just show him what she was capable of, show him how powerful she could be. She could make a splendid example of him.

Her body moves before her head forms a thought, scrounging her face up tightly as she lifts the axe over her head. Without thinking she swings downward, not with the intent to kill but the intent to make an example of her point. She was every bit a danger as he was.

The blade comes crashing down to land suspended in the air, the uppermost part of its handle caught by his big hand. Riddled with shock and disbelief she gasps, eyes wide in both fear and anger as he tears the thing from her grasp and chucks it out somewhere into the night. She can hear it smash into the wet earth, but her focus is elsewhere, observing the angry look plastered over Johnny’s face.

“Well lookit this, somebody’s ready to fight.” He’s as sly as the fox hunting it’s prey, clasping her wrist as he waves that knife in front of her face and presses it carelessly against her neck. “Let’s not forget who had to come out all this way and help ya’, you still got lots to learn darlin’, best to quit makin’ a fool of yourself. But uh, you sure do turn me on.” His lips lean into her neck and press sensual kisses along the dirtied skin, sliding wet up to her ear where his teeth graves over the tender skin. Enough to entice her, draw her in, and yet yer stubbornness reigns supreme.

Be it the residual effects of the distaste and anger towards Matthew or the genuine disbelief in his words and actions somethings stirs in Becca, ticking off the bomb that orates her brain and causing her left brow to twitch in the wake of her fury. Instinctively it is in her nature to attack him, striking those strong arms and pushing him backwards. Delicate features twisting into a heinous display of fulmination; where her brows tilt downwards and her eyes swirl with rage. Those kissable lips pulling downwards in some sort of inveighed image. Once Johnny steps back, she can see the anger beckon him too. His own handsome face somewhere along the lines of both shocked and disrespected.

“How dare you.” Those are fighting words, and without a second thought she grapples him, arms intertwining in a battle of dominance and power. His own expostulation is evident in the way he glares at her, with a visage written in disapproval and denouncement.

“You best watch that attitude of yours girl, lest you wanna be gettin’ into trouble- now quit it.” His firm grip can be felt against her shoulders, his reach much larger than her own despite her strength. His thick fingers dig into the skin of her shoulders and he pulls her forward, all the while she’s clawing at his biceps like a feral cat, groaning and hissing as she struggles to keep him at bay.

“You aughtta learn to keep your mouth shut boy.” She warns, tussling herself when her body begins to thrash about his grip. Likewise she meets him with that same competence, only falls short in getting the upper hand that his tight grasp has over her.

Johnny laughs, the same laugh that is demented and evil and downright demeaning. Like he’s toying with his food, or playing a childish game. The disgust held for him bubbles up again, and she’s half but forgotten all his benevolent qualities and his status as a worthy counterpart and leader. Only does it come back to her when he yanks her closer, staring into those equivocal eyes. She whines, cries out in a desperate attempt to push herself from him to no avail. This time his hand clutches a handful of the dirtied hair at the back of her head, the other tightening down on her wrist as he lurches her forward. She begins to cry; not because she’s afraid or unwilling, but because of the tumultuous nature of her consciousness. Both enchanted and disdainful of him, timid in her affairs and the lingering of his scent in her nose and closeness of his touch.

The tears come sopping down her cheeks when she screams out, in one last vociferous attempt to free herself from him. Her hands move to push against his face, pawing at it and shoving him away. Between grunts of frustration and anger Johnny pulls her towards him stridently, prising her hand away and biting at the other. Her yell is scornful when she jerks it away, and finally he takes the advantage of the clearance and forcefully closes the gap between them, their lips sealing in an ardent kiss potent in impassioned desire and earnest lust.

At first it’s apoplectic, acrimonious and powered by the incensed nature of each of their perspectives. A splenetic, rough and messy kiss imbedded with the bittersweet passion that resides in them. Then her expression lightens, her forceful nature dwindling as time pressed on. Her limbs go limp in his grasp, fingers stretching out in a strained state and she leans into his touch with an inkling for more. Where she is soft and tender, he is callous and brusque. Then it is reciprocated, quiet sobs breaking the seal between their lips when she cries. Those hot tears sear down her cheeks; she hates the way she loves it, despises the way it excites her, the way his words gift a fluttery feeling inside her. The way her head swirls with adulate emotions her actions follow suit, head feeling dizzy with those foreign feelings of pleasure and bliss, a resentful delightment. Even when the heat of her face and upset overpowers the touch of his palm over her cheek, she loves it. Or when he forcibly wipes the burning tears away with his thumb, his palm squishing the flesh of her cheek together as he does so.

There is an arcane sense about the ghost of his touch or the bitter cold of his kiss, not electrifying, not warm, it brings about a certain piercing sensation. After which her body feels numb and tingly, brumal from the ice that was his grasp. And all the while, the gelid feeling is peculiarly comforting. In an odd, backwards sort of way. His bitterness cooled her fire, and in many ways she would feel at peace after the initial bite of his touch. It would all fade into a stultifying, tingling feeling; one of pure peace and contentment, sangfroid.

Her heat melts into him, giving into the temptation and stumbling into him just slightly. Fingers still twitching in aggravation, they pry away to clasp at his shoulders, gripping onto them with such need and fervor. It is a violently passionate kiss, one that finely captures the line between adoration and the utter barbarity shared between them. Her eyes are scrunched shut painfully, and it isn’t until now that she relaxes. Her tense figure falling into his broad one like the gazelle the lion, the bunny the fox, or the lamb the slaughter.

He is vicious, cutthroat and relentless, each movement like a stab to the heart when he gnaws and bites and rubs at her raw lips. It makes it all the more delightful, that is until she reacts with that same intensity.

It isn’t lost on her how absolutely loathsome he is or how demented he might be, how everything that had led up to this moment was one combative argument over the next. But the way he looks after her and comes to her aide even without being asked to far overshadows the reality between them. It was then that in her eyes, he became the man she was so revered with, the one she trusted enough with her life, the one who’d truly take care of her. And still; she hates how perfect he really is.

Despite her endless mental battles or the back and fourth of her thoughts, and even the kill that had so nicely satiated the hunger for control she could no longer quell, it all comes rushing back in that instant. The terrorizing phenomenon of her looming thoughts and lost consciousness; she can no longer differentiate what she wants versus what she feels, and the daunting feeling drives her into a deeper panic. The need to kill regains traction, and she cannot deter whether she loathes or loves Johnny Sawyer.

Flustered and angry once more, Rebecca pulls away from him and with her newfound freedom levers her strength against him and pushes him back. Only Johnny has caged her into his arms, and now she freaks, thrashing her body against him and screaming, crying and sobbing miscellaneous threats and whines his way. Those tears burn her stained cheeks once more, and for a passing second the lightheaded feeling that overtakes her makes her feel as though she may faint. But it’s his soothing southern drawl and wintry touch that polarizes her. Now she stirs, succumbing to defeat when she tucks her face into his chest. There she sobs quietly, cupping her hands carefully around her face as her body wracks with the overwhelming urge in her. Johnny hushes quietly, his roughened touch grazing over the knots in her hair and patting over her trembling head. Her figure blurs into his, racking with the tumultuous thoughts that ill her head. She doesn’t have to say a thing; he knows. He proudly tells her it too, through the serene grin on his lips and the simple words from his lips. He knows he’s won, and it isn’t a question of if, now of when.

“Shhhhh, I know . . . I know.”

Her body shakes with vehemence, oscillating in his arms. Even when he cautiously rubs the small of her back, in hopes of calming her incessant cries and restless breathing there is no avail, no indication of even a thought behind those teary baby blues. But he knows, he knows too well.

“When’s ya’ daddy get home?”

“‘Bout another day or so, I reckon.”

“You go on ‘n get the inside fixed up, clean yer’ self up.” Her swollen red lip quivers and she feigns innocence, cradling herself into his big strong arms. Soft eyes glazing over in a wave of calm, she nods her head. “I’ll be gone a little while, stay inside ‘till I get back, you understand?”

Rebecca’s nod is lento and messy, her trembling arm reaching up to dance over the roughness of his cheek. She moves lethargically, pushing herself off of him as she maneuvers away.

Stammering back in a haze she sniffles quietly, nodding briefly before she turns to run up the steep hill and back to the front of the house. Her wary gaze quickly glancing behind to meet Johnny’s lingering stare. One shrouded in his perturbed features and stern leer.

Thick pools of crimson veil the wood floorboards of the house’s fanciful interior, plashes of it spattered along the ivory curtains that hang from the front door and alongside the white walls. The purity of it tarnished with the devil’s wrath, the home bathed in a thick and nasty smell of iron and bloodshed. Up the stairs and down the hall the scarlet bespatters the hand woven tundy rug that lines the grand hallway, and dowses the linen shower curtain that hangs pitifully by a thread. The hot water has long run cold, still spilling the remnants of blood that ooze from the severed anatomy in the tub down the drain in a tumultuous spinning cycle. There, in that dreadful bath, the once steamed mirrors are soused in the rich fluid, curating some abstract painting of the obscene and bizarre. The blood-slopped walls that intertwine with the water droplets that cling to the drywall the additions to such a mundane collection. She was never artful, and yet there was merit to that bathroom saturated in the viscous and gummy liquid that adorned those walls.

There is a looming consternation in her, one birthed from the disaster that had become the home and the inevitable disappointment her father might have felt for her; if he were to see such a gruesome scene. And yet, the staunch opposition of the luminous red against the stark white of the washroom was a peculiarly pleasant reminder of her achievement. There was some beauty to that grimey image, a stunning picture of the dreadful and tragic, the horror and fatale.

It is with a heavy head that she scrubs at the floor boards, bleaches the walls and rips the lace curtains from the door to drench them in the same liquid. Eyes wet and vision blurred, her hair matted in a tossled heap, her tremulous figure haunches over the steps of the stairs and the stretches over the sticky walls. Red goo staining the bucket of bleach and water. The bathroom, to which she debated savoring in, had proved most daunting. Yet the years of homemaking had done her well, and in no time it had been just as spotless as it had been before. The only remnant of the affair the bloodied wash bucket and stained gloves and sponges, and Matthew’s manhood dumped into that same murky bucket.

Cold water lathers into the nest that had become her hair and drizzles down the length of her body, gliding over the skin and washing away with it the dried blood and clumped pieces of scab that nestled into the fresh cuts. She sits against the porcelain floor of the tub, staring blankly at a tile wall that seems to distance itself further and further away from her. So far that she can’t seem to touch it, not even with the tips of her elongated fingers. As it moves further from her, her vision spins and her thoughts become loud. Before shutting her eyes and tilting her head to face the downpour of icey water. The feeling of ice pelting at her skin brings fourth the events of the evening, and she relives the moments of pleasure elicited from the look or torment and fear in Matthew’s eyes, in them Matthias, two boys who’d she’d come to despise with such fervor. Cathartic, euphoric, renascence, the rebirth of her own self. A more informed, liberated self not suffocated by the grip in which those boys grasped onto her. And yet, the pleasure of it all seemed to bludgeon a knot in her abdomen, a tingling sensation of bliss that called to her from regions below. A moan, then two, or three, and the revitalizing feelings of her intricate fingers drawing against herself in sporadic motions. All most as soon as it had began, the tension snapped and relief became her, a newfound sense of sexual repentance and divinity birthed straight from the act itself. Her fantasy was no longer that, it was a beautiful memory.

Clean hair neatly detangled and dripping wet spots onto the back of the tank top she now wore, she sits at the vanity mirror in her room, gracefully running the bristles of the silver brush through her tresses as she stares blankly into the mirror. Purplish bruises taint over the skin of her arms, indication of Matthew’s attempt to fight. The back of her head aches, and a tender bump finds it’s place there. The cause behind her lingering headache.

She slips into a pair of cotton shorts, only to find Matthew’s clothes sprawled out over the floor next to her bedside. One moment dazed, she’s now flustered, abhorrent at her inability to properly dispose of them. She decides, rather than burning them, utilizing their pieces as scrap fabric is much more useful. Yet, the desire to completely eliminate his presence there resides in her. It’s then, as she’s grasping the fabric of his trousers in her hands and prying at the thing that she glances toward the clock. 3:24 am.

One couldn’t help but wonder where that time had gone, how the events of the night surpassed that which she thought capable. The frustration looms, and the bitterness picks at her insides like vultures. She succumbs to the mental battle once again, handing over the defeat as the remnant tears cloud her vision and drip down into the fabric she held. Where was Johnny, how had he held up?

Vexation is an ugly thing, and yet as it consumes her and Becca becomes maddened by the terrors her shortcomings ail, she is all the more fascinating. As she hurriedly clasps together all the pieces of clothing — from his undergarments to his shoes, and frantically stumbles down the stairs shouting incoherent sobs. The swelling at her eyes and stinging of her cheeks are near numb, null in comparison to the dinging in her head and turbulent thoughts.

It always seemed as though Johnny had perfect timing, always stepping in at the right moments. This had been one of those times, when he turns the knob to that front door and steps inside just as she’s about to reach for the damned thing. He’s tall, seems so much bigger than she remembered him to be, more muscular, more dominant. There she stands doe eyed, tears trickling down her cheeks as she furrows her brows. She watches him with a saddened look, his critical countenance meeting her with an ominous look. He locks the deadbolt on the door, then the barrel bolt. The slinking of the metal click echoes in her ears and she feels like stone, petrified in her place. He’s dirty, muddied up and partly bloody.

“It’s done.” He’s stern. “He’s gone, you ain’t gotta worry bout him no more darlin’.”

Johnny steps forward, meeting her halfway.

“The clothes,” a whisper. “I need to burn the clothes. I have to.”

“No.”

“Okay.” She hushes.

“I’ll take ‘em. Head back upstairs.” Without another word he takes them from her.

It’s some unspoken thing, the way she feels at peace with his words, like she can believe anything he tells her. It brings her to ease, quells her anxieties and it’s as though anything she’d thought prior was only a faint memory. She hadn’t the need to question him, ask how or why, nor had she the desire. Only basqued in the comfort of knowing he’d maintain that control for her. It’s the comfortability he instills in her that introduces the thought, one in which falls from her lips in saccharine toxicity.

“Johnny?” It’s a quiet plea, her head turns back around and she ceases in her place down the foyer. Through a strained voice to calls for him, riddled with newfound joy, grief and love and struggling to juggle them all. “Stay.” She pauses. “Stay with me, stay the night, here, will you? Stay, just for tonight. I’d like you to stay with me. Daddy ain’t ‘round and I, I don’t wanna be alone.”

It’s that same unspoken thing, something neither of them would have been able to foresee. A certain degree of knowing and acceptance, a mutual understanding, a bond forged in the pits of hell.

“Please, do it for me?” Johnny watches her with eyes of cynicism, as though he were trying to figure her out. He watches as her wet eyes glazed in her own despair look to him through coagulated lashes, luring him in with a pretty face. He steps toward her, moves his hand to fiddle with her hair, twirling the wet tresses in his fingers and brushing through it. Then he looks to her again, eyes narrowing with a mean look, one she’d come to know as pleasant.

“I’ll be up shortly, lemme get cleaned up first, doll.”

Some time passes before he walks into her bedroom, drawing her from her thoughts as her gaze moves from the wall to the doorway. He’s wet with the drippings from his shower. Droplets of water adorning his bare skin, dressed only in his bath towel and his hair wet and messy. He steps in, shutting the door behind him before he moves to sit atop the same bed she lay on. His gaze instantaneously meets her own, watching in thought, as though he were trying to read her own.

“How did it feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you killed ‘em, how’d that make ya feel?”

“I,” she heaves, “I liked it.”

“No shit,” his hand grazes over her cheek, sliding the wet strands of hair behind her ear. “I know you like it girl, been knowed you’d like it. I wanna to hear you tell me how it made you feel.”

There’s a drawn out pause in her speech. Perhaps she’s in thought, or the rugged pads of his fingertips has her leaning into him a little too much, or both. But she’s bewitched by him, entranced.

“I ‘spose it felt, like it was natural or summin’, felt, good, like I’d finally let my those urges run wild,” she speaks earnestly. “You was right ya know? Bout me bein’ a control freak, and I, him, killing him, it gave me that.” She smiles faintly, watching as he chuckles softly, shaking the bed beneath them.

“Would you do it again?” He already knows the answer to that, and Becca knows it too. He just wants to hear her say it, but she obliges his little game.

“I hated it when he got away Johnny boy, thought I’d be caught. That feeling, like a bug in ya’ drawers, it gits under my skin and I can’t take it. I just can’t do it.” She’s flustered again, upset. “Makes me mad that I couldn’t do it the way I wanted, the perfect way. But I, well, you know dear, there’s always something, the feeling doesn’t last forever. I need, I think, well, the more I think bout it all the more I’d feel like doin’ it all over again. I love that feelin’, what you call it, the power, the control over ‘em, but I hate that he got away. I can’t, thought I had everything all figured out.”

Be it the tenderness in her eyes that softened her hardened exterior or the inkling of disappointment in her voice and features when she speaks of her fears, Johnny is attentive to her expression, drawing out a prolonged sigh from his lips before he punctuates with a quiet chuckle. Muffled beneath his heavy breaths.

He appears to be some sort of sentient being, a deity, a god. The way his wet hair falls about his face and clings to the skin of his neck, the way his fingers tear into those same locks and hem they prop his head up with his elbow against the bedsheets. His eyes so solemn and resolute, quiet, intense. In all her readings, the antichrist was meant to be beautiful, like Johnny had been. A breathtaking man with undeniable charm, whose existence and evilness would bring about the end of the world. Sometimes, she felt that way about him.

But through it all there’s been something about him, and she’s convinced in the way he so daringly comes to her aide or soothes her thoughts, in his own little way, that he’s anything but demonic.

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathes out, smiling gently. “I was hopin’ you’d say summin’ like that, might of had to get rid of ya’ otherwise.” The hand that had been so tantalizingly pressed against her features grasps at her chin, pulling her face closer to his. “You’s perfect. Don’t you worry bout what’s been done with, you got a real . . . . skill. The rest, that’ll come with time, believe me.” His voice quiets.

She knows he hates repeating himself, knows it’s best to leave it at that. But her temptation as a woman rooted in her emotions gets the best of her and she just has to press on, her face inching closer as she does so, drawn in by his pleasantries.

“Tell me,” her eyes are wide with curiosity, maybe worry. “You think I could do it the way you do? Think I’d get to bein’ that good? I can’t slip up like that again you heard me boy? I can’t, I want, I want them to fear me, I want that control.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Johnny questions. “See it ain’t about what’s accordin’ to that there plan you got, it’s ‘bout the thrill of the hunt. Let ‘em have that hope, think they got a chance at livin’, let ‘em be scared, just long enough for you to take it all away from ‘em. You go ‘round plannin’ it all there ain’t nothin’ exicitin’ bout it. I like it when they run, makes it interestin’. There’s summin’ real satisfyin’ bout workin’ for the kill, makes it that much better when you cut into ‘em.”

Contemplation and confusion, then a steady realization made evident by the lift in her features. His words heavy on her mind, it is the intense emotion that comes over her at the notion of it all. Let them have hope, then take it all away.

“See, I knew that there kill of your’s wasn’t gonna be gettin’ too far, you did far too much damage to let ‘em run. These people, victims, they act stupid when they panic. Ain’t very smart, the power of fear works in your favor. That’s summin’ you ain’t come ‘round to understandin’ just yet. You gotta put the surroundings you got to good use. Ain’t expect anyone to be that good on their first time, but you, I told you you’s like me, got a real knack for this thing.”

Sapphires glossed in infatuation, a limerence so far gone that her own father could not draw her from it. She stares in awe, his words of affirmation more than enough to quell the scarcity that runs rampant in her deranged, pretty little head. What once is uncertainty, paranoia and self doubt is now contentment, relaxation and confidence. Thick wet lashes bat against the ocean in her eyes, flickering up to the tarry abyss that was his ominous gaze. She is bewitched, comforted, entranced by the masculine presence he provided.

“In fact,” the back of his roughed up hands graze her cheek, intertwining themselves into the strands of her damp hair and clutching at the back of her head. His thumb prods miscellaneous patterns into her scalp, an uncharacteristically gentle gesture that has her head spinning. “I reckon you start comin’ along with me, I’d like to show you a few things, think you’d get some real use outta it. I wanna see just what kinda stuff yer made of miss Rebecca Payne.” His smile is taunting, like the grinning leer of a demon laughing in God’s face. “Hell, maybe you and I’d make a better pair than you initially thought. Might even work better together, huh?”

Those pristine eyes narrow to look to him through fanned lashes, as if to make out what his true intentions were. But again, it becomes easier and easier to believe him. There’s no ulterior motive, he’s telling the truth. And the delight that was his presence only furthered that fluttery feeling within her. She’s made up her mind.

“Sounds mighty fine to me Johnny boy. Teach me everythin’ you know.” She’s teasing him, the way she leans in and weaves back, tilting her face up and drawing out her words in an exaggerated manner. “I should thank you, reckon there’s anyway I can repay you for tonight?” A delicate hand lands perfectly over his bare shoulder, Dainty fingertips soft like velvet and a featherlight touch that glides over the scars of his skin.

“Don’t disappoint me.” It’s blunt, his smile sort of faltering. “Show me I’m right ‘bout you.”

Her stare tender hearted, eyes lost in the callous look that was his own. She can only nod, her inhibitions incessant on abiding to his wishes, proving herself to him. And still, the grievances arisen from their past bury themselves further within the back of her mind. Slowly to become a distant memory. Her acknowledgement is signified in the sweet kiss she places upon his cheek. A gesture that is met with an intense and fervent stare, that with the hand that palms her cheek.

“Johnny boy?” There’s that angelic tone once more, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. “Hold me, would you?” He’s not the affectionate type, though the way in which she nestles the soft skin of her cheeks and the gentle touch of her Pam over his chest would only convince him to clasp his arms around her. Ensnaring her in a cage of flesh and bone, as he stares into the blank, white paneled walls of her bedroom. The night would soon pass.

The days that followed were a stark contrast to the slower ones that had prevailed prior, filled with father’s return and the herding of cattle, and Johnny’s looming presence on their property. Given the added workload the arrival of cattle had on Raymond it was no surprise that Johnny had hung around more to aide him, and it wasn’t lost on Raymond that the relationship between Rebecca and Johnny had taken an unprecedented turn, one disturbingly idyllic and peaceful, a direct counterpart to Rebecca’s less than ideal attitude towards the boy prior. All most as though it were an entirely different thing all together.

Though there were many things that took Raymond by surprise, from the moment he’d returned to that farmstead. From his daughter’s eerily steadfast smile to her seeming detachment from him. He’d partially worried something drastic had happened during those few days he was gone, something that changed her for worse. Yet again he’d chosen to be blissfully ignorant, as her attitude seemed to improve, and for the first time in a very long time she seemed content, happy. He supposed that in regards to her mood he should have been glad for her, proud even, for she’d finally managed to let free the events of the past and come to terms with the move, but deep down the lord knew he couldn’t help but feel something was so dreadfully wrong.

The way she smiled and laughed with such a free spirit when it came to that boy, or how her touch lingered just a tad too long for comfort. Hell, even the way in which she brought him cold sweet tea or a bottle of beer while they worked out in the fall sun, marking cattle and getting them all settled into their fields. It reminded him vaguely how she treated him, and it hadn’t dawned on him till then that her demeanor had entirely evolved. She hadn’t been nearly as doting as she was before, and he thought maybe he’d consider it a good thing.

It wasn’t until he’d taken notice to the murky bucket of water that sat up against the back wall of the garage, slumped into the corner behind the door that he’d truly become skeptical. He’d examined it more closely, until he saw the sight of maggots and signs of decay, floating about the reddish brown suds, he’d felt sick. A cultivation of anger and fear arose within him, and for but a moment he marched into the house with the bucket in tow, about to confront the girl on his findings. He was sure it must’ve been there some time, judging by the putrid smell. Only, when he’d seen her there, smiling peacefully as she dried the dishes she’d just cleaned and putting them up in the cupboards he felt a pang of guilt, one that quelled that anger so quick he could only turn away in shame. Must’ve been a wild animal of some sort, he was sure of it, and he’d dispose of it himself only to ask about it at a later time. He couldn’t bare the weight of trashing that illusion of hers, whatever it might’ve been.

That same evening, there’d been a knock at the door. One Raymond met with a somewhat annoyed look, only to smile once he’d seen it was Johnny Sawyer. He stood there, wearing a days worth of work and holding a six pack of beer. A good looking grin spread over his features as always, nodding to him in his typical manner. A sign of respect, mutual trust.

“Evenin’ Johnny, what can I do for ya’?”

“Evenin’ sir, brought summin’ for ya’. But I’d be lyin’ if I said I ain’t came here lookin’ to ask you summin’.”

“Right,” he can’t help but chuckle, looking down to the workbooks on his feet before he looks back to Johnny. “Well don’t be a stranger, come on in.”

The smell of metal has long faded and is replaced with the scent of soft vanilla candles and a smokey fireplace. Johnny can’t tell if Becca is home or not, but judging by her absence he can tell she isn’t in the house. Maybe in the fields, he couldn’t tell. Either way, his attention is diverted to her father whilst they sit at the kitchen table, the same table they’d first met at. Ironically they sit in their very same places, and he makes it a point to place the pack of beers on the table.

“Now I’m awfully appreciative of yer help round here boy, I ain’t got much but I owe you son. But uh, I just seent you yesterday, why the sudden formality eh?”

“It ain’t no problem, I ain’t mind helpin’ y’all out. Don’t owe me a thing.” Johnny’s eyes are on him, a charismatic smile over his features as he reaches for the cans over the table. “I’m a man of respect, sir.” He nods, freeing a bottle from its cardboard trap and waving it towards him. “Care for a beer?”

“I reckon one won’t hurt,” Raymond smiles, taking the bottle from him and popping it open against the table. “Don’t go tellin’ that there girl of yours though, she’d kill me if she found out.”

“Yeah,” Johnny chuckles. “‘Bout her, Rebecca,” he hums her name against his lips, taking his own beer bottle and opening it against the lip of the table. He takes a swig, popping the bottom down against the wood table and gulping it down. He clears his throat then, nodding towards Raymond. “I uh.”

“Y’all gotten along real close ain’t cha’?” Raymond asks between drinking from his own bottle. “She wasn’t real fond of ya’ all that long ago, not sure why, fill me in on that, will ya’?”

“Well she’s a firecracker, I’ll tell ya’ that much. But, I think she just came ‘round to me, ain’t much to it. No hard feelin’s, knew I was gonna have to prove myself to ‘er the second we met.”

“Yeah, well,” he takes another swig of his beer. “I’d say she’s more than came ‘round to ya’ son.”

“Yeah well, I’d been wantin’ to ask for yer permission, takin’ her out on another date.”

Raymond holds back his laughter, chortling behind his clasped hands.

“Lemme tell you summin’ boy, s’long as you get ‘er to say yes it’s all swell with me. I like you, you’s a fine young man. Ain’t no quarrels with me. Don’t make me regret that or it’ll be my shotgun to your head, ya heard?”

“Why thank you sir, ‘ppreciate that. I won’t let yer blessin’ go to waste.”

“Well now, at the end of the day it’s up to Becca. That girl, she ain’t all that easy to win over. But I’d say she’s takin’ a likin’ to you, better keep it that way.”

“Right,” Johnny nods. “Where she off at?”

“Store,” Raymond shrugs, “summin’ ‘bout needin’ flour, think she bakin’ summin’. How’s the family been? Ain’t seen the old man in some time, only met yer mother that once.”

“Oh they doin’ just fine,” Johnny somewhat chuckles. “Drayton, he always ramblin’ on ‘bout how I’m over here too much, thinks I’m botherin’ y’all’s. But he asks ‘bout ya an awful lot, think he likes havin’ some company ‘round here. Momma, she doin’ fine too. Lil’ skeptical of Becca but she’s always like that. She’ll come round. Reckon we aughtta get together again.”

“I’d say, maybe we can get those brothers of yer’s over? Remember summin’ bout there bein’ others. Reckon it’s time everybody gets acquainted with each other.”

“Right, yeah,” he’s hesitant, as though he’s hiding something yet his calm gaze makes it seem otherwise. “Rest of my kin don’t get out much, they real quiet folk. But I’m sure we can figure summin’ out.”

“Daddy, I’m home!” Both their gazes avert towards the foyer, the echoing sound of the door closing ringing in the hall where Rebecca steps into view, a brown paper bag of groceries nestled against her hip. She comes in, placing carefully the bag on the kitchen counter before moving to plant a kiss over Raymond’s cheek. “Here’s the change,” she reaches into her pocket to plant a few coins onto the table. Her mien is gracious yet admittedly neutral. Even when her eyes lock with Johnny’s and she raises her brow ever so slightly. “Johnny boy,” she nods her head. “Y’all workin’ out in the fields? I’d of stayed if I knew. Needed some things to help with supper, though.” She says so matter of factly, hands atop her hips as she stares over the two of them. Her eyes sort of gloss over Raymond, who sits there with his gaze fixated on that newfound gleam in her eye.

“Don’t you think you aughtta invite our guest to dinner?”

Becca only sends him a questioning countenance, looking to Johnny with a perturbed face. It’s only then that she takes notice to the pack of beer sat on the dining table, that and the bottle in each his and her father’s hands. Disappointment riddles her features and her brows furrow down in upset, she wastes no time in stepping toward them.

“Johnny,” she sighs. “Figured you’d invite ya’ self, like to have supper with daddy ‘n I?” Her tone is more disdainful than anything, patronizingly childlike. She still couldn’t let him on that easy, and she’d more than shown him her weakest sides.

“And daddy,” she sighs, “what’s all this then?” She picks up his bottle, holding it up. “You know you ain’t s’post to be drinkin’, it’ll kill ya’ if you make it a habit you know that?”

“Darlin’ ain’t no use in gettin’ between a man and his beer,” it’s that instant Johnny rises from his seat, circling round the table to place a firm palm on Rebecca’s shoulder and his other against Raymond’s chair, splitting them from one another. “One ain’t gon’ hurt ‘em, let the man rest for god’s sake.” It doesn’t take much to pry the bottle from her hands, with her wildly irate stare and faltering grip. “Now let yer’ old man and I catch up while you cook up summin’, we’ll be sat here if you need us.”

Silence can be blissful, except when it is filled with the rising tension of a blistering temper. Her disbelief at his utter disrespect and lack of regard is evident in the way which she stands there, glaring to him with an ugly look of vehemence and anger. Strange, the way she feels an overwhelming sense of loathing for him, yet, she stands there with her thumb in her mouth bewildered with forced acceptance and utter awe. A sort of odd concoction of love, hate and a murder most foul.

It’s foreign to her the way she can find both comfort and peace in one man but also aggravating hatred. The way the past had yet to be settled despite their mutual understanding. Perhaps her turbulent personality was the culprit, her unwillingness to compromise unless in the face of someone she respected and her stubborn head. Even her natural confrontational nature could have been behind it, yet there was no confrontation here, only acceptance. Yet she no longer wished to lob that head of his off the broad shoulders which they sat between, nor did she wish to make him suffer an insurmountable amount of pain at her hand. Rather, she’d like his approval, his understanding, his acceptance. And it only fueled her rage and the insatiable love for bloodlust that took refuge within.

So she steps away without another word, only shared glances to which she looks with a hellish expression. Going about her business in the kitchen where she’d began to prep the days meal. The distinct chatter of both Johnny and her father are in short earshot, and she makes it a point to punctuate her own seething anger with the chop of her cutting knife against the carrots. It was a stupid little thing she did, carrying about her activities in a manner that was obnoxiously loud, to make her upset known.

Just like her mother used to do.

Just like her mother.

How pitiful.

Then it was as though nothing had happened at all, as though she’d been nothing short of gracious all the while.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun

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doghart · 2 years ago

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rereading house of leaves, once again i think johnny truant can read in a very interesting trans man narrative. the explicit lies/exaggerations about how stereotypically masculine he is (virility, ability as a tattoo artist, how much women love him, how strong and brave he is) in order to separate himself from femininity, and the way this degrades as he becomes more consumed by the story. the fear of femininity and the inescapable nature of it. the way his mother looms over the story even before you know she’s present, and the way johnny is repeatedly compared to being more similar to his mother than he wants, and unable to escape the things they share in common no matter how hard he tries to throw her off (this also ties into his fears of inheriting his mom’s schizoaffective disorder but that’s not relevant here). johnny removing his name in the obituary and being implied to have changed it in the whalestoe letters despite him having already introduced himself to us as johnny.

there’s a lot of criticism of the segments of johnny’s writing as being misogynistic (specifically that he as a character acts w/ misogyny not that house of leaves itself is misogynistic) which i absolutely feel holds ground, but it should also be remember that before anything else johnny truant is a liar and cannot be taken at his word as a narrator. his best friend’s name is a club drug. HIS name is johnny TRUANT. the ending of the book specifically contradicts itself to show that he’s a liar. with that lens, and especially with how as the story develops, johnny becomes increasingly distanced from the exploits he mentions early in the books, revealing a quiet and deeply unhappy man (who doesn’t really seem interested in any of the things he writes about doing at all), even textually it’s clear he’s writing all that to appear masculine and rugged in a way he thinks masculinity should be. when johnny’s character is actually revealed (in glimpses between his own ramblings about strippers and coke use), he reveals himself again to be more prone to his mother’s poetics and fails again and again to separate himself for that

#this doesn’t entirely make sense but it does to me #johnny as a character tries to seperate himself entirely from his mother’s influence/pressence. a LARGE part of that is seperating himself #from expressing femininity that is interesting to read in a trans way but also exists textually regardless because the story is in large #part about johnny’s relationship to his mom. if that makes sense.#house of leaves #ramblings

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starmaniamania · 2 years ago

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I'm watching the 1988 production with English fansubs by Lesmislooney and first of all, what an enterprise! I love fandom!!

Overall I'm very impressed with how clever and elegant the translation ends up being. Using "the projects" for "la banlieue" is the obvious right choice, and some ideas had me laughing out loud (having Zéro Janvier's platform be "Make the city great again" is a great choice!) I am delighted that my pet line about Johnny & Sadia hiding "avec leur petite amie Cristal" is indeed translated as "coming out with their girlfriend Cristal" :D I want to really stress that it's a REAL tough ask to translate this show and yet so necessary because it's so fast and packed with references, and I'm super glad it exists because it's clearly the entry point for many international fans!

That said... I do have a few quibbles :p (translation teacher mode, activate!) Obviously no translation will ever be perfectly faithful to the original, especially if you're translating songs and trying to preserve some of the stylistic choices. But I did notice a few small vocabulary errors: "motard" means biker, not motorist; "les banlieues dortoirs" are not "suburban bedrooms" but commuter towns/dormitory towns. When Johnny is talking to Sadia for the first time and she's trying to re-direct the Etoiles Noires' violence towards Zero Janvier, he says "Moi je fais pas pas ça pour les idées" which means "I'm not doing it for ideological reasons" (ie, they're into gratuitous violence, not political action) -- it's flattened into "I don't think like that" which is unfortunate. "Les Adieux d'un Sex Symbole" have Stella saying she should "re-marry" for some reason (she says "I should marry") and "venez vous arracher ma mort" ("Come and fight/compete over my death," which echoes the subsequent line "come share/divide up my corpse") is confused for "Come snatch away my death" (which would be "venez m'arracher ma mort.")

Translating proper nouns which also contain cultural references is obviously even harder, but I'm a little sad that "PPPP" ends up being "Party Promising Political Progress" because you lose the humor of the original ("Parti Pris Pour le Progrès" is a play on the words "parti" politique vs "parti pris," literally meaning "Prejudice in favor of Progress" -- I would propose something like "Pro-Progress Prejudice (Party)" if you wanted to keep the acronym, not that you have to IMO.)

In other places I feel like they overly disambiguated some lines or softened some of the language in a way that changes the narrative in consistent directions (namely, to make Johnny and the Etoiles Noires seem less violent & more like victims.) For example "Quand on arrive en ville" turns "who is raping the women" into "who's been attacking women" -- sure, that line is in bad taste now, but it is the line -- and says "who's been setting buildings on fire? They always blame the Dark Stars" instead of "who's setting fire to buildings, it's always the Black Stars." And of course you can possibly interpret the song in that way and have the Etoiles Noires be the victims of media propaganda instead of actual bad people, but it's not explicit in the text, and therefore I feel like it should be left up to the audience's interpretation. In "Banlieue Nord," Johnny's "J'ai tout cassé avant de partir" ("I destroyed everything before I left") becomes "I burned all my bridges before I left," which again makes it plausible that he's just a misunderstood, non-violent guy, when the text explicitely says otherwise.

I'm also mourning the loss of "On a pas l'air virils" -- We don't look manly -- in "Quand on arrive en ville," which I love so much bc it lends the Etoiles Noires & Johnny a little queer undertone; it's been translated as "We don't look strong" which I would argue are two pretty different things.

Conversely, translating "Mesdames, mesdemoiselles, messieurs" (a classic set phrase) as "Ladies, Gentlemen and others" adds meaning that was wholly absent from the original. Similarly, Ziggy's song which in the subs describes him as "the greatest rock drummer in the world" instead of "the first rock drummer in the world" in French is also either a misunderstanding or an attempt to correct one of the issues with the French, because for this production the creators changed the song so Ziggy wanted to be a drummer instead of a dancer like in the original version because Renaud Hantson was a great drummer and they wanted to utilize that, but it makes no sense in the original because ROCK DRUMMERS ARE A VERY COMMON THING, as opposed to "rock dancers" lol. And sure, it would be more logical if the song said "the best rock drummer" but it doesn't! And I just don't think translated subtitles should be about silently correcting perceived flaws in the source text.

Anyway! My main takeaway is, it's the first time I'm in a fandom which relies so much on translation to reach an international audience (since usually we expect non-English speakers to figure out a way to understand English source texts lol), with no "official" one to boot, and it's super weird to think that everyone comes to the text with a slightly (or radically *cough*Tycoon*cough*) different understanding of the canon, perhaps without even realizing it! It's like we're all working with a slightly AU version of the material (even more than usual when it's only about people's interpretation of the same text), and it would be fascinating to see that translated into an actual active transformative fandom, sigh.

#starmania canon #lyrics #meta #subtitles #translation

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dwellordream · 2 years ago

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American Culture of the 1910s: Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan of the Apes (1914)

“In 1914 The Nation sniffed that ‘Only persons who like a story in which a maximum of preposterous incident is served up with a minimum of compunction can enjoy these casual pages.’ Yet, as it turned out, this applied to millions. First appearing as a serial in the pulp All Story in 1912, and as Tarzan of the Apes two years later, Tarzan became a minor industry over the course of the next thirty years.

Burroughs’s creation accounts for between thirty and sixty million book sales of this and the twenty- three sequels; there were nine silent films, the first appearing in 1918, and many subsequent ones with sound – including six Johnny Weissmuller- Maureen O’Sullivan outings in the 1930s and 1940s, and the Disney treatment in 1999. Tarzan licences were sold for comic strips, radio shows and a huge range of merchandise, including bubble gum and sweatshirts.

Burroughs even bought a 540-acre ranch named Tarzana in 1919 with his proceeds, which formed the basis for today’s Tarzana – home to 30,000 people. A global icon, and one who taps into numerous long- standing national myths and legends of feral children and noble savages, Tarzan nonetheless mediates a host of commercial, sexual and racial issues informing the 1910s. As Burroughs suggested, ‘perhaps the fact that I lived in Chicago and yet hated cities and crowds of people made me write my first Tarzan story.’

He was also a failed businessman, having watched a series of small ventures collapse; he had been denied a place in Theodore Roosevelt’s famous Rough Riders regiment in the Spanish–American War; and, after a childhood in middle- class comfort, he had experienced the sharp end of American social mobility. As Gail Bederman notes, ‘he was, in short, precisely the sort of middle-class man who had most reason to crave potent new ways to remake ideologies of powerful manhood.’

He did so by yoking together a series of contradictions: a hero who is both primal and civilised, capable of murderous and wanton violence yet also capable of chivalrous restraint, the acme of racial perfection who reveals the degeneration of that very same racial stock, and a paper-thin fantasy of white male dominance whose popularity revealed the prevalent feelings of disempowerment among its many male readers.

The story begins as John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, and his wife Alice are on a diplomatic mission to West Africa. Greystoke is presented as the epitome of Anglo- Saxon racial supremacy, ‘the type of Englishman that one likes best to associate with the noblest monuments of historic achievement upon a thousand victorious battlefields – a strong, virile man – mentally, morally, and physically’.

Abandoned in Africa by their ship’s mutinous crew, they fall foul of a race of anthropoid apes, but their young son is adopted by a female ape who has just lost her own child. This ape, Kala, raises Tarzan (which means ‘white skin’ in the ape language) as her own. As he grows, his intelligence and skill with a knife he found at his father’s cabin gives him a supremacy over the tribe of apes and the other beasts of the jungle; he also teaches himself to read from primers left in the cabin.

He terrorises the nearby village of black cannibalistic Africans, and frequently kills their men by hanging them with a noose made of vines – a method replete with the overtones of lynching which the text does little to dispel. When Tarzan is twenty, the beautiful Baltimorean Jane Porter, her father, and Tarzan’s cousin, Cecil Clayton, are similarly cast adrift. This sets in motion a plot which covers Tarzan’s rescue of Jane from a rapacious ape, their developing love for each other, Tarzan’s learning of his ancestral heritage, his travel to France and the United States and Jane’s eventual marriage to Cecil.

Tarzan’s plot twists through some unlikely avenues, but it invariably engages a discussion of the problems and potential of American ‘civilization’. Tarzan is presented as effortlessly superior to Cecil in his ability to navigate the jungle and defend the castaways from its dangers, and his physique is lingered over in exactly the sort of ambivalent homoerotic terms which characterised the Popular Culture movement of the time, with its lavish photographic magazines of semi- naked men in bodybuilding poses.

Such a representation mediates the common contemporary fear that American men were becoming ‘over civilised’ and effeminate, disconnected from what Theodore Roosevelt had earlier defined as the ‘strenuous life’ of toil, ennobling hardship and willingness to engage in righteous violence. Yet, Tarzan cannot be too uncivilised and still retain his heroic status. When he encounters the moral choices that undergird modern Western culture, Tarzan instinctively behaves ‘correctly’: he avoids eating the flesh of the black men he has killed, and he chooses not to rape Jane when he has the opportunity, in both cases because ‘heredity spoke louder than training’.

At the close of the novel, Tarzan arrives in Wisconsin, driving a car and having learned to speak French, to save Jane from a forest fire: yet she decides to marry his cousin instead, because, as Tarzan is now an urbane Frenchman, he no longer appeals to ‘the primal woman in her, as had the stalwart forest god’. Once he is civilised, he loses his sexual appeal; if he remained uncivilised, a life in America would be impossible.

Tarzan ultimately founders on how contemporary American life could effectively reintegrate this version of masculinity – a masculinity of violent self-assertion which was frequently so longed for. This irresolution, however, was not what the public wanted. Tarzan’s early readers hated the ending which saw Jane and Tarzan fail to be married, and complained loudly enough that, within months, Burroughs was plotting a sequel in which they are reunited in Africa. Like other important texts of popular culture in the decade – The Birth of a Nation, in particular – the book is an articulation of Anglo-Saxon and male supremacy, a supremacy which Burroughs represents as justifi ably global and imperial in its character and methods.

In suggesting that ‘re-masculinization’ might be difficult at home but is possible in adventures abroad, Tarzan thus plays a part in a broader cultural turn of normalising and legitimating American imperialism; it is worth noting that the United States invaded the sovereign nation of Haiti just a year after Tarzan was published, and remained there until 1934; and that, in the 1910s, US troops were still engaged in hostilities with ‘rebels’ in the Philippines, which had been transferred to American control in 1902.”

- Mark Whalan, “Fiction and Poetry.” in American Culture in the 1910s

#tarzan #mark whalan #1910s #cw: racism #american culture in the 1910s #history #literature #american

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btsunniemoonie · 5 years ago

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Enchanted under the Snow (M)

⤳ author: Admin Sunnie

⤳ pairing: Teacher!Min Yoongi x Virgin!Reader

⤳ rating: 18+

⤳ warnings: dirty talk, a little dry humping, virgin kink if you squint (mention of blood because Y/N’s a virgin), cock warming, Yoongi has a giant cock

⤳ genre: smut, fluff, 90s AU

⤳ songs i’ve listened to while writing: richard hawley - darlin’, urge overkill/neil diamond - girl, you’ll be a woman soon

You never really had something for events like this. It was only a way to gather some students together, the popular students having fun like always and the ones who weren't as lucky as them had to sit around the tables, awkwardly sipping on the non-alcoholic beverage, looking around with curious eyes.

You were neither of them.

You had your little group of friends which consisted of three boys, all in the same age as you and in your class, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin. They all stood around you and in a tiny corner of the big gym, sipping on their punch and talking about how the popular people danced together, here and there dropping a joke and making all of you laugh.

Their company was the reason why you even were there – that was what you tried to talk yourself into, but you knew better.

You knew exactly why you were here and that exact reason stood a few meters away from you, clad in a dark blue suit, fitting to the motto of this year's winter ball, Enchanted under the Snow.

His dark hair fell messy into his face, his pretty nose was up high as he tipped down the deep red beverage that was in his cup, his lips slightly red due to the liquid, but not that you minded that at all. His face was sharp, just as his eyes, which skimmed around the whole gym, trying to make out if anyone was breaking the rules or if something happened that shouldn't happen. He had a strong presence, he always had and he always oozed an authoritarian vibe which often made you tremble in your seat when he talked about the story of Dorian Grey.

It made him look all the more delicious, the way he talked about something that fascinated him. It ignited a spark in his students, but most importantly, he sparked something in you, something that you never felt before. It was an addicting feeling and such a forbidden one too – you found yourself fantasizing about his plush lips often, especially on lonely nights, imagining how wonderful his lips must feel on around your throbbing cli-

“Hey, ___, you're drooling.”, Jimin suddenly snapped you out of your unholy thoughts and you grumbled a little, trying to tear your gaze away from the beauty and sipping on your cup, making Jimin laugh gleefully.

“You're still into the literature professor?”, Jungkook asked you surprised, his eyebrows shooting up as he sent the aforementioned one an obvious look, causing you to grab his arm and yank him back so he was looking at you again.

“Could you maybe shut up?! I don't want everyone to find out, geez, what's going on with the two of you?! I am not crushing on him!”, you tried to defend yourself, your cheeks flaming up and your words coming out way too fast, your face betraying yourself completely.

The three guys in front of you only shared a look and then grinned mischievously.

“She's still totally into him”, Taehyung declared, the other two boys nodding in agreement. “And she isn't even subtle about it. C'mon, ___, you can do better than that. I watch you every time we have him and I know your I would fuck you look way too well.”, Jungkook suddenly said, making you look up at him, puffing your cheeks out.

“And why do you think you know how that look looks? We're both virgins, how could you even know that, huh?”, you tried to sound ignorant, but your tiny grin betrayed you – you already knew that Jungkook knew you better than that, you two almost grew up together as you were neighbours.

“It's the same look you give Johnny Depp when we watch 21 Jump Street and it's the same look I throw to Kim Namjoon.”, he stated quite bluntly, making you and the other two boys gasp at Jungkooks statement. You knew of Jungkooks crush on Namjoon, but did he really have to call you out on Johnny Depp? That was just mean.

“Are you crazy?! What if anyone hears you?!”, Jimin tried to scold the younger one, but he was way too distracted by the football star of the college, who was currently dancing with the head cheerleader.

“Let a bitch dream”, Jungkook sighed, his lips slightly pouted before he looked to the side, the sight of his crush dancing with someone else making his chest ache.

“But anyways, who wouldn't look at Johnny Depp like that? He's a fucking feast and you know that”, you quickly pulled the conversation back into another direction, not wanting your best friend to mourn over the college's jock.

Taehyung agreed, tipping his chin a little bit, “I have to agree. I can't say anything about Johnny. He's just hot.” Jimin shrugged but then nodded too, “Definitely. I don't think anyone could turn him down.”

“See Jungkook! It isn't only me who gives him that look!”, you grinned triumphantly, you eyes sparkling a little bit as you thought you had him now.

“Still doesn't change the fact that you look like that at Mr. Min too.”, he quickly destroyed your tiny win, making you all tiny once again and looking to the side.

“He's right. Just admit it. We all know you want him to pop your cherry.”, Jimin now said, his lips around the rim of his cup, looking to the side and trying to not look into your eyes – not to challenge the beast in you you inhabited sometimes.

At Jimin's audacious statement you gasped angrily, your cheeks already red by now but at that moment you didn't know if it was because of anger or embarrassment or both.

“Y'know, I don't need to listen about the three of you accusing me of something that isn't true. I'll go get myself something new to drink, maybe you'll decide on another topic than the non-existent interest I have in my professor!”, you huffed angrily, throwing your head back and sending the three a bitchy and mean glare before you walked to the self-made bar, taking the ladle of the big bowl and putting yourself in some of the punch.

“Stupid fucks”, you muttered to yourself, watching the three from safe distance grinning at you stupidly. Why were they grinning like that either way? They should feel ashamed! Teasing a girl like that wasn't a sign of chivalry, it was a sign of ignorance and being an asshole or, them just being your best friends.

Because despite them teasing you to no end, you did the same to them too and you loved them for that, all three of you knew how to handle each other and they knew you didn't mean it truly – although you maybe meant it 5%.

When you peeked to the three again, they still didn't look away from you with their stupid grins all plastered across their faces. What was going on? Did you have something on your dress? Was there a stain? You looked down at yourself, not seeing anything on the light blue fabric, frowning to yourself. What the hell did they want from you?

You huffed once again and turned around, wanting to take the ladle again and just when you took it your eyes fell onto it – seeing the lithe fingers already curled around the ladle, your fingerpads touching the soft hand of the one and only man that occupied your thoughts since he started to teach at this college.

“Oh, Miss ___, you wanted to drink something too?”, his dark voice caressed your eardrums, the music in the background suddenly not feeling so obnoxiously loud anymore, everything sounded dull compared to his voice.

“Eh-eh yeah b-but y-you were there first-so d-drink please, Mr. Min!”, you stammered and cussed at yourself mentally. Were you totally dense? Were you a little middle college girl who wasn't able to talk to someone she found pretty?

But Mr. Min wasn't someone you only thought was pretty. Sure, he was pretty, beyond that, he was absolutely ethereal with his coal eyes and pitch-black hair, his marble-like skin, and his virile features, but there was more to him. He was so intelligent, so well-spoken and just overall perfect that you couldn't help yourself, you really were head over heels falling for him, although he was your professor and several years older than you.

He chuckled darkly at your little stutter, shaking his head softly and pouring some punch into his cup and then into yours, making you nod thankfully while sporting a slight blush. He stepped next to you, sipping on his cup and looking around, pushing one of his hands into his front pocket, your eyes scanning him from bottom to top.

“I really thought anyone would try to get some alcohol in here.”, Mr. Min suddenly started, his eyes straying to the sports jocks, “Are they that good at hiding it or am I getting older?”, he asked you now, chuckling a little bit at your flustered and shy behaviour, especially as you gently shook your head at him.

“No, you aren't. The kids who drink alcohol are probably outside at the nearby park, laughing about us students who are here and dance.”, you commented and Mr. Min hummed slightly, “Ah, is that so? So you aren't one to drink?”

His question caught you off guard and you looked up at him with big eyes, shaking your head a little. “Never was the one to. I once tried it put I really didn't like the taste. I stick to my juice boxes.”, you admitted, now way more relaxed in front of him, as something in his voice always was able to settle you down. You just got caught off-guard when he suddenly touched you. You still felt the slight buzzing feeling on your fingertips and you had to admit that you liked it more than you should.

Mr. Min laughed at that, this laugh was different than the chuckle before however. This one was genuine and a little gleeful too, obviously very amused by your words, his eyes crinkling the slightest bit, “That's good, you shouldn't start to drink as early as I did. My liver never thanked me for that.” The way he laughed made your chest all warm and your cheeks too, the butterflies starting to fly in your stomach and your head starting to get a little dazed, dazed by his damned charming self.

Now you were the one who giggled a little bit, your hand coming up to cover your mouth a little bit in a scandalous manner, “Don't tell me you were the one to party, Mr. Min!”

You sounded more flirting than you wanted to and you were surprised yourself, but the way his eyes sparkled for the fraction of a second as he heard your words, obviously getting the flirtatious tone and not being opposed to it, your heart hammered uncomfortably fast against your chest.

“You wouldn't believe it, but yes, I was. My roommate Seokjin and I were known for making the best drinks on campus and as everyone knew, we always got invited to parties.”, he gave you a tiny look into his college life and you listened to him attentively, not even caring that the three boys still looked at the two of you more than obviously.

“So you always had fun, huh?”

There was an obvious suggestive tone in your voice and you didn't know why you were so daring, did anyone put something into the punch or where was this new confidence coming from? Or was the need to have your cherry popped by the one and only Mr. Min so big that you threw all your morals away? Was he worth that?

When you looked into his eyes you already knew that he was, because he held your gaze relentlessly, the tension between the two of you palpable and without missing a beat he huskily replied, leaning a little down to you, “A lot of fun in every way you can imagine.”

He was so close you were able to make out the tiny moles on his flawless skin, his voice making you visibly shiver and your lips parting the slightest bit, “O-oh”, you stammered quite intelligently again, looking away all flustered and red-cheeked, your heart beating fast against your chest. All the newfound confidence was gone and that just because he leaned down to you and looked into your eyes? How weak were you? You truly hoped the guys didn't see you and when you looked up, you noticed that they indeed were gone, just as most of the guests of tonight's college dance.

It was already after 11 pm and you and the guys promised to meet outside to go to your homes again and although you truly didn't want to go and leave Mr. Min like that, you knew that you had to, unless you wanted all three of them to bitch about it until the end of college.

“I-Uhm, have to leave.”, you broke off the tension and the moment you shared with him, “The guys will be waiting for me I am sure, we wanted to go home together.”, you apologized to Mr. Min and he nodded at you, his eyes staying on your form as you walked out of the gym and on the college's parking lot, your eyes scanning the whole place.

As you didn't see any of your friends, panic bubbled up in you. Did they just leave without you? You couldn't make out the Hyundai Stellar of Jimin's and just then it dawned on you. Did they leave you there because they thought you wouldn't come home with them? Were you and Mr. Min that flirting that obviously?

You tried to fight the blush down your neck, gnawing on your bottom lip and asking yourself what to do now. The ride home was usually a ten-minute ride, but when you'd walk it could easily evolve into a thirty-minute walk, especially when you wouldn't take the short ways and you wouldn't walk through the parks. But was it was this late, you didn't want to go home alone, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up on your shoulders and the cold feeling too. You truly had to leave your coat in Jimins car, right?

Just when you were about to cry you heard a familiar voice calling out for you and you turned around, Mr. Min standing in front of you, clad in his big coat, his Mercedes keys in his right hand.

“Did they leave without you?”, he asked you, a soft tone to his voice and you nodded pitifully, his face softening as he took in your shaking and tiny form.

“I can give you a ride home.”, he offered you and walked up to you, taking off his coat and putting it around your shoulder, engulfing you in his delicious scent, your thoughts getting hazy and dazed again. “I would love that.”, you smiled a little at him, the tip of your nose a little red due the cold, the leaves around you still falling to the ground although there wasn't even a breeze. You followed him to his dark Mercedes and he held up the door for you. Ever the gentleman, you thought as you entered the car, smelling something that was undoubtedly him, making you oddly excited and realize that this was going to happen.

You just got into Mr. Mins car and he was about to drive you home. For ten minutes you'd be totally alone with him and in such a small space too. The thought alone made you absolutely excited and you couldn't really hide it. Too often you dreamed about how it'd be if you'd ever have the luck of being completely alone with him and now that you truly were, you found yourself drowned in unholy thoughts. How nice it would be to be squished against him in such a small room, how nice it would be to feel his skin against yours, how nice it would be to hear his dark voice muttering the dirtiest words there were. It didn't take long and you started to rub your thighs together in an attempt to ease the tingle that started between your legs.

“We have to wait until the motor gets warm”, Mr. Min suddenly said, the low noises of the radio slowly merging into the background. You looked up at him with big eyes, almost feeling like he caught you doing something that you weren't allowed to. But you only saw his fingers curled around the steering wheel, his knuckles slightly white due to the force of it. Why was he grasping the wheel this hard?

Yoongi asked himself if you truly thought he didn't notice the way you eyed him down and how you rubbed your thighs together or if you did it on purpose, wanting to drive him mad because you knew exactly that he wasn't allowed to act on the obvious attraction he had for you. He often had to reprimand himself when he looked at you too intensely when you were working or when he rutted himself to sleep to the thought of you.

He knew it wasn't right and he knew that it wasn't legal too – it was frowned upon, even if you were in the legal age to have sex with him. Those thoughts weren't good and Yoongi knew but still, he couldn't help himself when you looked so delectable right next to him.

You two were flirting earlier and you both knew. It was obvious, very much at that and he thought the tension back in the gym hall was quite big but now, now that he was in the car with you and in such a small space, he almost choked at the tension and you did too.

“Mr. Min”, you murmured quietly, your voice nothing more than a whisper but loud enough for Yoongi to hear, so he looked to you, his eyebrow raising the slightest bit, “Hmm?”

“Did you put on the air conditioner? It's getting so warm here..”, you mumbled, sliding off Yoongis coat and sighing as soon as the air hit your bare skin, slightly fanning some air to yourself, very glad that you chose an off-shoulder dress for this occasion.

“You were freezing earlier, I had to-”, he started and wanted to turn it off, but you stopped him, your fingertips touching his once again, a slight buzz going through both of your hands, “Don't put it off. It's okay. I like it warm.”, you smiled a little bit and let your fingerpads wander over his hand, making Yoongi shiver for a moment, your eyes meeting for what felt like an eternity. It was at this moment that both of you knew that something was going to happen tonight and both of you wanted it too.

“___... What are you doing, hm?”, he asked you when you started to touch the collar of his button-down, his eyes focused on you, especially as you started to touch his throat all curiously and carefully, “I am touching you, Mr. Min.”, you said innocently, tilting your head a little bit, “Am I not allowed, Mr.Min?~”

He keened a little into your touch, letting you touch his throat to your heart's content until he felt your fingers fiddling with his deep blue tie. Within seconds he grabbed your wrist, looking deeply into your eyes while leaning closer to you. He knew what you wanted and he knew that he wanted it too, the temptation of the forbidden fruit so close to him, driving him almost insane, but he also knew just how wrong it was.

There was a tiny thread that held him to his morals, that screamed at him to just bring you home and stay away from you, but there was a bigger part of him that wanted it. That wanted you, in the rawest form he could have you. You weren't just a body he wanted to own, you were a soul he wanted to mingle with, to get one with. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, only to open them again and look into yours, his eyes searching for any tiny evidence of doubt in yours.

But there was none.

“Do you want this?”, he asked you, his hand reaching out for you and engulfing your cheek, softly rubbing the soft flesh with his thumb, watching your face which was illuminated by the street lamp in front of his car, your big and sparkling eyes looking into his relentlessly.

“I never wanted anything more than this, Mr. Min.”, you breathed out, leaning your face into his touch just the way you always wanted to.

Suddenly, he came closer to you, leaning over the gear lever, careful not to touch anything as he brushed his lips against yours, a tiny gasp leaving your lips. Was this how your first kiss was going to be? With your literature professor?

You smiled at the thought, your eyes fluttering shut as you closed the distance between the two of you, stealing a kiss from him and making it official.

You never thought that lips could taste and feel this good. This plush, this soft and this undoubtedly delicious, but maybe that was just because those lips belonged to Mr. Min. It was like a firework igniting between the two of you, your lips moving against each other, one of your hands finally being able to untie his tie, throwing it haphazardly onto the backseats.

Your fingers fiddled with the first buttons of his button-down, opening them and touching a man's chest for the first time, your other hand carding through his hair, making it even messier than before. His own hand came up to your hair, grabbing you by the base and pulling you closer to him, his other hand placed on your thigh and grabbing it firmly.

It felt marvellous, the way his hands felt on you and how you felt him up. His skin was absolutely perfect, it was soft and you were able to make out with a few touches that he kept his body in shape, his chest being a little harder. A tiny gasp fell from Mr. Mins lips as soon as you brushed his nipple, pulling away from your lips and looking into your eyes.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes hazy and his lips were kissed red. You bit down on your bottom lip, letting your eyes wander over his messed up hair and his opened button-down, rubbing your thighs against each other once again, the sight alone making your pussy throb with want.

You looked equally as out of it and Yoongi couldn't hold himself back, not when his pants got uncomfortably tight.

He undid his seatbelt, suddenly standing up and climbing into the back of the car, sitting down and finally putting off the jacket of his suit. He opened all the buttons of his button-down and spread his legs widely, giving you a perfect look on his hard-on. You salivated at the sight, how the hell was it even allowed to be this sensual?

“Come to your professor and let him take care of you”, he rasped into the air, making you jump into action and sitting on his lap, your the hem of your dress revealing more and more of your thighs.

You situated yourself perfectly on his boner, your clit throbbing against his pants, making you moan into his hold. Without hesitation he curled his arms around you, guiding you against his cock and causing the both of you to moan although you both still were completely dressed, your lips locked in a heated kiss, him intruding your hot cavern and starting to twirl his tongue around yours.

“Please”, you whined into the kiss, totally overwhelmed by the onslaught of feelings, the tingle between your legs only growing and growing, the grinding only making you hornier than more.

“Please Mr. Min. I want you.”, you whispered sensually, curling your arms around his neck, accentuating your statement as you ground especially hard against him, making him moan against your lips.

“I need to prepare you”, he hushed you, “Sit up.”

You did as ordered, sitting up a little bit and steadying yourself at the backrest of the seats just right next to his head while tilting your head to the side questioningly.

“Preparing me? Why do you need to prepa...-”, you wanted to ask him but got cut off as you felt his index and middle finger running up and down your already soaked panties, circling your clit and your entrance too.

“Mr. Min!”, you moaned into his touch, loving the way his fingers felt on your pussy and wishing nothing more than to rip your panties off so you could feel his fingers unfiltered, “Please! Put them away, my panties please!”

“It's my utmost pleasure”, he groaned and peeled your panties off your soaked cunt, grabbing the fabric that just hugged your pussy and ripping it away. Before you could even comprehend it or complain about it, he already had his fingers on your bare pussy now, causing you to let out a long and loud moan.

“Fuck, yes! Yes, Mr. Min, it feels so good please don't stop”, you begged, moving your hips against his fingers, him watching you absolutely endeared while he licked his lips.

“Do you like that, little dove?”, he asked you and you nodded frantically, embarrassingly close to your climax already.

“Yes yes, I love it! Please don't stop with it, I'm gonna-I'm gonna-”, you started to chant, your hips starting to move more erratically, coming undone underneath his fingers. You fell onto him completely, your face nestled against his neck.

You grabbed the fabric of the backrests violently and you threw your head back while Yoongi rode out your orgasm with his fingers, suddenly slipping two of them into you with elegant ease.

The feeling of your first orgasm slowly ebbed away and just then you felt it.

A slight stretch, a stretch that was so delicious that you immediately yearned for more.

“Mhhh Mr. Min”, you cried against his neck, softly kissing and licking at his skin, starting to hear the faint noises of the radio mixed with the squelching noises that undeniably came from your pussy, “Your fingers are in me.”

He nodded at you, starting to finger your squelching cunt, “Does it feel good?”

“It feels foreign”, you stuttered out, trying to accustom to the feeling how having something in you for the first time.

“You're a virgin, huh?”, he asked you, the tone of his voice not mocking, if anything, he sounded oddly turned on, “Never had fingers in that tiny pussy of yours, huh?” You moaned at his lewd words, nodding and fucking yourself on his fingers as the initial weird feeling transformed into a feeling of hot pleasure.

“Never had fingers in me, Mr. Min. Never had a cock in me, Mr. Min. Yours is going to be the first”, you mewled and he moaned at your words, scissoring you open, your juices staining his back seats but he couldn't care less. Not when you were this exposed in front of him.

“You're a naughty one, huh? Don't think I wouldn't notice how you gush on my fingers when I talk so dirty to you”, he teased you, a dark chuckle leaving his lips at your whine, his fingers suddenly reaching a point that made your jaw go slack and your sight to blackout for a tiny second.

The sound that left your lips was something that was foreign to your own ears and you grasped Yoongis shoulder to remind yourself that you were here, here with him.

“Fuck!”, you cried out, “What's-what's that?! Mr. Min, please touch it again, it's so good, so so so good!”, you babbled and Yoongis dick twitched in his pants, complying to your wish and rubbing at your g-spot while he opened his zipper with one hand, getting his cock out of the confines of his underwear, finally freeing it.

“It's your g-spot, little dove. And call me Yoongi.”, he demanded from you, but you only moaned around his fingers, not being able to make out anything else than a fire that ignited between your legs.

As Yoongi felt you clench around his fingers especially hard, he stopped, slipping his fingers out of you completely and smearing your juices all over his cock. You looked down and between his legs, watching him doing such a lewd thing, your eyes growing incredibly big.

“Your cock is so big.”, you gasped, looking up into his eyes again, “How is your cock going to fit?”

Yoongi couldn't help the dark chuckle that left his lips at your cute but yet so dirty words, “I prepared you for a reason, little one. Now lay down.”

With trembling legs you complied to his wish, laying down on the seats and spreading your legs willingly for him, even holding your dress up to reveal your dripping cunt to his hungry eyes.

“You look so innocent”, he murmured, tracing his fingers that were still slightly damp from your arousal over your cheek, suddenly grabbing the fabric that shielded your chest and yanking it down to reveal you bare in front of him. He licked his lips at the sight.

“No bra?”

“Very uncomfortable in such a dress”, you shyly said, your hands coming up to hide yourself but he stopped you with one look only.

“Don't hide when you just revealed your dripping pussy a few seconds ago.”, he commanded and you nodded at him, your hands reaching for him and making grabby hands at him.

He looked at you, enjoying the view of you so exposed and sprawled out for his hungry eyes only. It was a delightful sight and he truly never wanted to forget it, he wanted to see you like that over and over again. He wanted to make you moan and cry out, again and again, he wanted nothing more than to be with you fully.

“Please, make me yours Yoongi.”, you whispered and broke him out of his thoughts, slowly leaning over you and grabbing his cock to rub his head against your bare pussy.

You let out a moan, your cheeks all red and warm due to the onslaught of feelings you felt, throwing your head back and watching the fog collect on the windows of his car.

You were glad about that, this way no one was able to see what was going on inside of the car.

“Are you ready?”, he asked you and you looked back at him, nodding, “More than ready.”

He chuckled at that, slowly sheathing himself inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut at the stinging pain, your chest rising and falling rapidly as quick huffs and puffs left your lips.

Just when you thought it got a little better, the inched more into you and you let out a cry, arching your back into his hold, silently whimpering. At that, he slowly let his fingertips trail over the inner of your thighs, making your muscles relax more and more.

“Relax, little dove. I am here. Mr. Min is here and he'll take care of you.”, he whispered, slowly leaning more to you and talking against your lips. He waited for you to accustom more to his girth, himself having to control himself and not to fuck into your tight virgin pussy like he wanted to.

“Can I?”, he asked you hurriedly and you hummed in affirmation, taking a deep breath and taking in the last inches of him.

You never thought the feeling of being full felt this fucking good. It was like all you wished for, you felt complete, stretched to a painfully pleasurable point.

Yoongi gulped above you, his hands right next to your head to steady himself, waiting for you to give him a sign so he was able to continue.

After a while, the pain fully transformed into pleasure and you looked up at him, your hands on his chest, softly touching his nubs, “Please, move.”

And so he did.

He pulled out completely only to slap his hips right back into you, the squelching sounds now even louder than before, as both of your arousals and your blood made it more easy for him to move inside of you.

You moaned loudly and he did too, thrusting into you at a nice and steady pace, not too fast and not too slow, the whole car starting to move. He didn't want to go rampage on you on your first night, no, that was saved for other nights.

“Fuck, would you look at that”, he hissed, looking between the two of you and watching your pussy swallow his thick cock, “Your greedy virgin pussy is taking my thick cock so well, how can this be hm? How can such a tight virgin pussy swallow my dick so well?”

He felt you clench around his cock and his movements stuttered for a moment, “Such a whore for dirty talk, aren't you?”

You nodded frantically, curling your hands underneath his button-down and around his torso.

“Yes Yoongi, so much! My pussy is taking your cock so well because I was made for you, made for your cock, made for you to fuck!”, you cried out especially loud as he reached your g-spot again and you knew, you knew you wouldn't last long anymore.

He got goosebumps at your words, slamming his hips into you with more fervour now, always rubbing the tip of his cock against your most sensitive spot, “Mhhhm that's right. Your little pussy is made to take my big cock, right? Your pussy just wants my big cock, hm?”

You couldn't stop moaning, the feeling of him hitting your most delicious spots over and over again, the drool already dripping down the corners of your mouth. You suddenly felt how the knot in your tummy started to get tighter and tighter, tingles rising all over your body, the pleasure fogging your mind and consuming your eyesight too.

Yoongi felt how you suddenly clenched around him and held his cock firmly nestled in you and he bit down on his lip, “Are you coming?”, he gritted through his teeth, feeling himself getting closer and closer to the edge the more your walls sucked his cock in.

“Yes! Yes I am about to cum, please, please cum with me, Mr. Min!”, you broke out in incoherent moans, Yoongi keeping his pace up, the tip of his cock bluntly assaulting your g-spot and that was the last thing that you needed to cum undone once again, crying out his name.

For one moment Yoongi thought you'd cut his blood circulation as you tightened yourself around him that hard, he thought he was going to lose his mind, drilling into your dripping cunt and releasing himself in you in hot spurts, all the tension between the two of you finally exploding into the first and most mind-blowing orgasm you ever had.

The both of you tried to calm your breathing down, silent gasps and deep intakes of air being heard.

He fell on you and you sighed contently, liking the way of feeling his weight on you. A small formed on your lips, which quickly faded as soon as he intended to pull out, thinking that you might feel uncomfortable stuffed to the brim like that.

“No!”, you quickly stopped him, your hands finding his hair once again, carding your fingers through it, “Please, stay in me.”

He looked up at you in wonder, his head slightly tilted to the side, “Isn't it uncomfortable?”

You shook your head at him, your cheeks slightly getting red because of the embarrassment and he smiled warmly at you.

“Like being stuffed, huh?”, he asked you with an amused glint in his eyes, making you giggle shyly.

“I like being stuffed by you.”, you gave back and curled your arms around him, pulling him closer so you felt all of him on you.

Both of you stayed like that, calming yourselves down and just being with each other, enjoying the presence of each other.

“Mr. Min?”

“I said you can call me Yoongi”, he chuckled a little bit and nestled his face in the crook of your neck, softly kissing you and making you blush, obviously not getting the worried tone of your voice.

“Was this more for you than a mere fuck?”, you broke out, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as he heaved himself up to look into your eyes, seeing how much you struggled with keeping eye contact.

His heart felt heavy just when he looked at your stressed-out form, it painfully wrenched inside of his chest and he bit the inner of his cheek.

He already knew the answer, he already knew it the second he walked into the class.

You were more than a student.

More than a mere fuck.

“It was”, he honestly said, wiping a strand of hair from your face, a gentle smile on his lips, “It was way more than that.”

He softly leaned down and caught your lips in a kiss, feeling how a tear rolled down your cheek, his own getting slightly wet because of it. You weren't able to hold yourself together, too happy with the outcome of this night, not even wanting to think about how you didn't even want to go in the first place.

“Don't you cry”, he thumbed your tear away, a soft and gentle spark in his eyes, “I am here for you now. I am here and I am not planning on leaving.”

You smiled at him, pecking his lips, love and adoration bubbling up in your chest.

“Will you always be there for me?”, you asked him, obviously meaning that he'll still be there when you would graduate.

“I'll always be.”, he said without hesitation, meaning every word and locking lips with you once more and you believed him. You believed him with every fiber of your being and at that moment you knew. You just knew you both would stay together.

“I like you, Yoongi.”, you quietly murmured and you thought your heart would stop beating in your chest when you were met with silence.

But that didn't last long. Yoongi slowly kissed up your neck, looking deeply into your eyes and smiling lovingly.

“Even though not everyone will be able to understand what we have and share, we will be together. We will be in our own little world and no one will be able to intervene in it. It will be our own world. Our own little safe haven. I have the same feelings you have for you, ___.”

Your heart swelled in your chest at his words, feeling euphoric at the fact that he shared what you felt for him and you pulled him into another kiss, relishing in the feeling of his lips and letting yourself fall into it.

Until a thought suddenly crossed your mind and your eyes grew wide, pulling your lips away from his and looking into his eyes like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

“What is going on?”

“... I am not on the pill.”

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vcg73 · 6 years ago

Text

Witch!Kurt Ch 39: In Search of Finn

This piece is shorter than intended because I decided to break it in two - the setup and the search.

~*~*~*~*~

"I think Finn would approve even if he got a little weird about it. And he might not. He'd come a long way by the time we became brothers."

"What are you two talking about?" Carole asked, ears pricking up at the mention of her son.

She gave Kurt a smile as he and Adam emerged from their bedroom hand in hand, the privacy spell having been banished with a spell-word from Adam. Kurt's vast collection of hygiene and grooming products had been put to good use, so that outside of the satisfied glow they both carried the two young men did not give any obvious signs of a couple who had just taken a quick roll in the hay.

Kurt smiled back at her, his cheeks pinking as he said, "I was just telling Adam that Finn would have approved of the honeymoon requirement for a Joining. He was disappointed when he found out that all gay couples didn't go directly from first kiss to, um, more than kissing. Apparently he had assumed that two guys would always go from zero to sixty without a second thought. Weirdly enough, when I told him that didn’t happen, it seemed to dispel the last of his latent homophobia. In the days before you and Dad made us brothers, I think he was afraid I would be overcome by his virile masculine pheromones one day and just pounce."

The sarcastic statement drew a laugh, including a rueful one from Burt, who admitted, "I’m sorry to say that a lot of straight guys have that misconception, son. I know I did.”

“Well a lot of guys do go directly from handshake to handjob without worrying about anything but fun,” Sebastian cut in, nudging Elliott in the ribs with a wicked grin as he added, “Thank God.”

“Hey!” Kurt objected, glancing over at Mercedes and Sam, who were sitting on a sofa together listening with big grins on their faces. “Watch it. Parents, children, and straights present.”

Another chorus of laughter and derisive noises met the warning. Adam’s little brother threw a popcorn kernel at Kurt’s head for the ‘children’ comment, and Kurt telekinetically flicked it back without a moment’s hesitation, bringing a startled look and then a beaming thumbs-up from Donnie, who had clearly not expected the quick defense.

Adam grinned at their playfulness. “I think you and Finn could both be forgiven for your youthful misunderstandings, darling. We all have at least one embarrassing incident in our past that was necessary for growth and development. Dad and Gran certainly helped me over a couple of bumps that aren’t fun to look back on now.”

Before he could go on, all three of his siblings exchanged a glance and crooned, “Katelynn!”

“Who?” Kurt said with a laugh, astonished to see Adam’s face turn beet red.

Bethany jumped in. “A school chum of mine when we were kids. Adam used to lurk in doorways whenever I had her over, mooning like a pathetic little puppy dog.”

Celeste giggled. “Kate was in the class year between Adam and Bethy and she used to earn a few quid babysitting for Donnie and me after school. Not that I needed a minder by then, but we always had good times and it was a scream watching Adam lurk about with that lovesick expression on his face.”

“See, he was a bit confused in those days,” Donnie added, giving his brother a condescending pat on the arm, followed by a cheeky grin when Adam made a half-hearted swipe at his curly blond head.

Adam sighed and admitted, “She was very good about it when I finally declared myself, turned me down gently and whatnot, but it should come as no great shock to learn that my first and only girl-crush grew up to be the butchest woman in Chelmsford.”

“I ran into her the other week,” Bethany said helpfully. “She has a bright blue crew-cut, sleeve tattoos, and biceps bigger than your head. Still a complete sweetheart, too. She told me to pass along congratulations on your wedding.”

Amidst the laughter of their group, and Dani slyly suggesting that they pass the Crawfords’ old friend her phone number, Adam held up his hands in surrender. “Thank her for me, but I think that proves my point. Fortunately for us all we grow up and, if we’re lucky, gain some perspective. And in this case, things happily seem to have turned out exactly the way they were meant to do."

“I’ll drink to that,” Kurt said, helping himself to a large mug of coffee from the pot some blessed soul had freshly brewed and gulping down a large, slightly too hot sip. Ahhhh, bliss. They hadn’t been allowed to drink anything but water over the preceding 24 hours and he was dying for a good shot of caffeine. Especially since . . . “Speaking of things turning out the way they’re meant to, I’m ready to get started if the rest of you are. I’m just about jumping out of my skin with excess energy. If I don’t focus it soon, I’m afraid I might accidentally blow up the loft.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Adam agreed. This intensity would not last for much longer, he knew. He could already feel the giddy charge of carrying some of Kurt’s shared power beginning to ebb. The rituals, the surrounding aura of High magic, and the passion of their recent bout of lovemaking made him feel upbeat and wide-awake, but it would act on Kurt’s deeper magical sensitivity like an intense high, and he would feel a driving need to use it.

It was the entire reason they had chosen this day to attempt the rescue. Kurt’s heightened power and sensitivity to magic was what made Kurt a coven leader and the rest of them ordinary witches. He might not even require the boost; Adam’s own rescue from the Void argued to that point, but Adam still wanted him to have every advantage.

“As we form the power circles, I’d like Adam to trade places with Sam,” Kurt said, unconsciously making the words an order. He looked at Adam with apologetic eyes. “I know you wanted to anchor me, but neither of us knows how you’ll react to being so near an open Void, and I’d rather not risk it. I want you to be protected no matter what happens, and I hope this doesn’t sound harsh, but I remember how badly it knocked me off stride when I shared your panic attack in Lima. Considering how much concentration it took all of us to search the Void for you, I don’t think I can risk being pulled in two directions if this experience triggers you.”

His tone was regretful but his reasoning was sound. The coven belonged to them both, just as it belonged to Tubbington, Santana, Dani, Monica, Elliott, Brittany, and Johnny, but Kurt was the captain of this particular ship, as well as the one who would be risking himself. So Adam simply nodded, kissed him for good luck, and moved to the back of the room, gently pushing Sam towards the center.

“Don’t worry, son,” Henry said to Kurt, who was looking at Adam as if he was already being pulled in two directions. The older man put an arm around his boy’s shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll look after Adam, the cats will look after Sam, and your mates will look after you. You just go in and concentrate on doing what you need to do.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Kurt replied gratefully. One distinct advantage to having such a large group of witches here today, family by both blood and choice, was that it freed up Kurt to do what he needed to do without worry. “I must admit I’m kind of nervous. The first time I did this, I had the advantage of not being afraid because I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

The rest of their coven-mates exchanged satisfied glances as Kurt, in spite of his admission, moved to his place in the center of the ward and began quietly conferring with the Familiars. There were glad to see him so confident and strong as he began his preparations. A little fear would keep him grounded, whereas overconfidence in this situation might prove dangerous.

Whispering a word in his grandmother’s ear, Adam, with his father to one side, and his brother, and sisters next to Dad, deliberately took the empty space next to Carole, while June moved to take her other hand. June and her grandson had agreed at a glance that this experience would, in some respects, be harder on Carole than anyone else in the room. They all wanted Finn back, but she was his mother and she would be on tenterhooks the entire time Kurt was ‘gone’.

Because no matter what happened today, there would be an amount of heartbreak at the outcome. Either Kurt would fail to find Finn and Carole would have to face her son’s death once again, possibly even more agonized by the addition of dashed hopes, or she would get him back in spirit but not in body. Regardless of the outcome today, the tall young man with the innocent brown eyes and his father’s crooked grin, the physical form of the little boy Carole had borne and raised, hugged, kissed, and comforted throughout his life, would never return. Finn would be sharing space with Sam Evans now, wearing Sam’s face and form, and that would be hard, no matter how much of a blessing it would be to know that his mind and heart lived on.

The group rearranged itself for maximum usefulness, the three Familiars resuming their protective triangle and setting themselves a bit farther back to allow Kurt and Sam enough room to sit cross-legged on the floor. The remainder of the coven, sans Adam, positioned themselves in a pentagon around the cats, leaving the rest to stand in a rough circle on the outside where they could lend power if necessary.

Burt and Mercedes, the only people here with no magic to contribute, reluctantly moved to the breakfast bar where they could see everything without being in the way. They last thing either of them wanted was to distract, or worse, compromise the safety of those working. Mercedes was not a witch herself, but she came from a magical family and was familiar enough with the principles of a Major Working to allow her to quietly commentate the event for a bemused but grateful Burt.

As Kurt closed his eyes and centered himself, the three Familiars, once more in their feline form, began a low synchronized yowling that made the hair on every human’s neck stand on end. The sound was picked up in a harmonic hum that spread through each layer of the circle, as though they were chanting without words and the special wards they had set earlier snapped back into place with a surge of energy so powerful that the ward actually became visible for a split-second.

Burt stared wide-eyed, whispering to the young woman by his side, “Did I just see what I thought I saw? Was that . . .?”

He had no words, but Mercedes nodded and whispered back, “Magic. They’re shielded like layers of a cocoon, protecting Kurt and Sam, but also protecting us and everyone else in the building in case anything goes wrong.”

“Do I want to know what would happen if they didn’t do that and something went wrong?”

She thought for a moment and then patted his hand. “No.”

Burt grimaced and scrubbed his other hand over his scalp, trying to push away the impossible sensation that his hair was standing on end.

In the center of the warded shapes, Kurt took a deep breath through his nose and let it go slowly as he lowered his personal shields. He felt strange and uncomfortable without them, as if he was suddenly naked to every eye, but he would have to allow himself this vulnerability to reach the in-between spaces. He would need to hold himself fully open to the magic and trust his family to keep him safe.

He reached a thread of power out to Sam, needing to re-familiarize himself with Sam’s aura. Every living being, regardless of magical status, carried a unique signature. It was what made them visible to a witch with Sight or allowed those with psychic Sensitivity to identify a particular person in a crowd.

He steeled himself not to flinch when he touched that poor corroded soul. Sam would never know, but it felt like a betrayal of their friendship to react to any part of him with revulsion. And it was difficult not to. Kurt had not realized it before when he had only glanced briefly at Sam with his Sight, but there was a slimy feeling to the damaged aura that carried with it a distinct signature. Touching it, Kurt could almost smell the peculiar mixed odor of light sweat, spicy cologne, and too-sweet raspberry hair gel that was so uniquely Blaine.

Kurt wanted to pull away, but if he was lucky enough to find Finn, he would need to open another link to his brother and to hold both men in place, using himself as a go-between until Monica and Johnny completed whatever means they had devised to bind the damaged souls together.

Finally, he felt as if he had a lock on Sam and he pulled back the thread with intense relief to no longer be directly touching that spiritual rot.

Opening his eyes, Kurt looked at Elliott. Tubbington was the leader of the feline trio, but Elliott was his Familiar, his guide and truest friend. “How do I begin? When I went searching for Adam, I had his physical body here in the form of that Apples poster. I need something of Finn to concentrate on.”

From the outer circle, Carole called out a reply before Elliott could think of anything. “Use your pendant. The one your dad gave you at Christmas. It’s like mine, isn’t it? It has a little piece of Finn’s memory. His soul.”

Kurt smiled at her. “That’s perfect.”

“It’s brilliant,” Adam agreed, giving Carole’s clammy hand a warm squeeze. “I never would have thought of that.”

Elliott and Tubbington were both nodding in approval, and Sebastian looked as smug at his charge’s wise suggestion as if he had come up with the idea himself. Unable to project words in his feline form, Elliott looked at his mentor who said, “Good idea, Carole. Kurt, you never take that necklace off so it should be deeply imbued with your own magical signature by now, which will also have strengthened the traces of both Finn and Adam that were spell-cast into it.”

Kurt beamed. His necklace also carried the trace of its giver, and of the witches who had so lovingly woven their own magic into the casting of the charm. Plus Adam wore the matching pendant, infused with the same spells. If Kurt used the jewelry as his focus, he could remain psychically anchored to the people who loved him best.

“Perfect,” he said again. Wrapping one hand around the little silver knot-work pendant, he pulled the braided chain off overhead and held it out in front of him, concentrating on the tiny green stone in its center. It took a moment, but as he concentrated on memories of his brother, Kurt found the trace of Finn that had been woven into the metallurgical magic.

Following that feeling, he closed his eyes, centered himself and let go of the physical world as he gave himself over to the search.

#Witch!Kurt #One Three Hill Coven #Kadam #Kurt and Adam #Weaving bits of earlier chapters into this

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gaymusicchart · 7 years ago

Video

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GAY MUSIC CHART – 2017 week 42

As a new additionnal rule for making this chart, we also use now the ranking of the number of views in our previous weekly playlist.

Welcome to the Gay Music Chart, the LGBTQA related music videos TOP 50 actuality and most request.

Vote for your favourite LGBTQA related music videos by leaving a comment for this post on :

YOUTUBE (in the comment section of the video of the week) : https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCz7yfp-xq-b08tD6mAWwclA

BLOGGER : http://gaymusicchart.blogspot.fr

FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/GayMusicChart/

TWITTER : https://twitter.com/GayMusicChart with #GayMusicChart

TUMBLR : http://gaymusicchart.tumblr.com

Here is the recap for this week :

OUT : Superfruit - Hurry Up (LW: - / WO: 3 / PEAK: 17)

OUT : Superfruit - Worth it (LW: - / WO: 13 / PEAK: 02)

OUT : Paris Bang Bang - Poseída (LW: 29 / WO: 5 / PEAK: 13)

OUT : Kele Okereke - Streets Been Talkin' (LW: 31 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 24)

OUT : PRIMME - Skinny Jeans (Official Lyric Video) (LW: 32 / WO: 1 / PEAK: 32)

OUT : Kyle Motsinger - Nothing Stays the Same (LW: 33 / WO: 1 / PEAK: 33)

OUT : Justin Gerhard (The Gay Men Channel) - I’m Every Gay Man (LW: 36 / WO: 1 / PEAK: 35)

OUT : Beth Ditto - We Could Run (LW: 37 / WO: 8 / PEAK: 10)

OUT : Chester Lockhart - Save Me from Myself (LW: 39 / WO: 4 / PEAK: 32)

OUT : MUNA - I Know A Place (LW: 40 / WO: 34 / PEAK: 01 (x2))

OUT : Johnny Robinson - Flames Of Love (Matt Pop Mix) (LW: 42 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 42)

OUT : Michael Perry - Perfect Love (LW: 45 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 45)

OUT : A JAY - Asammatha Pemak (Rathu Thol) රතු තොල් (LW: 47 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 22)

OUT : Harel Skaat - אהבה זו אהבה / Love is Love (LW: 48 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 26)

OUT : Nakhane - Clairvoyant (LW: 49 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 18)

OUT : Osvaldo Supino - Fire (LW: 50 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 37)

01 (=) : P!nk - What About Us (LW: 01 / WO: 8 / PEAK: 01 (x3))

The music video includes audio contents from the tragic events in Charlottesville for denouncing the hate speeches from the supremacist movements, and shows several people dancing under the intimidating eye of the authorities, including two men together.

02 (+ 4) : Zayn feat. Sia - Dusk Till Dawn (LW: 06 / WO: 5 / PEAK: 02)

This is the new collab of Sia.

03 (- 1) : Alfie Arcuri - If They Only Knew (LW: 02 / WO: 15 / PEAK: 02)

This is the new music video of the winner of The Voice Australia 2016. What must do a gay man when he's in love with his best male friend, who's dating his best female friend?

04 (- 1) : Kevin Chomat - Sens Interdit (LW: 03 / WO: 4 / PEAK: 01 (x1))

This new single of the French singer reached the top 10 YouTube trending in France.

05 (+ 6) : Harel Skaat - Radio (LW: 11 / WO: 24 / PEAK: 01 (x3))

The Israeli singer has uploaded on his channel a full concert. Go check it!

06 (+ 8) : Alvin Point - Il a dit (LW: 14 / WO: 55 / PEAK: 01 (x4))

The first single of the 24 years old singer is talking about a romantic gay love story. The title means "he said".

07 (+ 3) : Myckael SG - Strong or Best (alternate version) (LW: 10 / WO: 8 / PEAK: 04)

08 (- 1) : Wrabel - The Village (LW: 07 / WO: 11 / PEAK: 04)

This engaging song was written the day after US President Trump removed new federal protections for trans students in public schools last February. Trans actor August Aiden plays the role of a young transgender who tries to be himself despite the hostility of his father in the music video.

09 (- 4) : Kevin Chomat - Un homme à terre (LW: 05 / WO: 36 / PEAK: 01 (x3))

For his third single, the French singer is talking about infidelity, with his boyfriend who cheated on him.

10 (- 6) : Sam Smith - Too Good At Goodbyes (LW: 04 / WO: 6 / PEAK: 04)

The British singer is back with a new upcoming album.

11 (+ 2) : Michele Bravi - Diamanti (LW: 13 / WO: 4 / PEAK: 11)

This is the third single from the Italian singer taken from the album “Anime Di Carta”.

12 (- 3) : Leon Else - What I Won't Do (Lyric Video) (LW: 09 / WO: 18 / PEAK: 02)

The British singer has recently came out on Facebook.

13 (- 5) : Logic feat. Alessia Cara, Khalid - 1-800-273-8255 (LW: 08 / WO: 9 / PEAK: 01 (x1))

This powerful music video, which is also a promotion for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline, follows a gay teen couple and is the incarnation of the "It Gets Better" slogan.

14 (+ 23) : Sam Tsui - Cameo (LW: 27 / WO: 3 / PEAK: 14)

Finally, a new original song!

15 (NEW) : Alfie Arcuri - Love is Love (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 15)

The Australian singer takes position with this song for the YES in same-sex marriage survey to legiferate about marriage equality in Australia.

16 (=) : Neon Trees - Feel Good (LW: 16 / WO: 9 / PEAK: 10)

After a break for his first solo album "Excommunication", Tyler Glenn goes back with his band for a new song.

17 (+ 4) : Mr John - Neon (LW: 21 / WO: 4 / PEAK: 17)

Instead of covers, this time, the Brazilian singer delivers an original song.

18 (- 3) : Сергей Лазарев / Sergey Lazarev - Так красиво / So Beautiful (LW: 15 / WO: 3 / PEAK: 15)

The new music video about love of the famous Russian singer represents several couples, including a lesbian couple. Some politicians wants to censor it in Russia.

19 (+ 11) : Cassandre - Paris la nuit (LW: 30 / WO: 4 / PEAK: 19)

The French duo sings a love declaration to the city of love. It's perhaps a little cliché, but, as Parisians, we are probably not really objective. Sorry not sorry :)

20 (NEW) : Trey Pearson - Love Is Love [Official Lyric Video] (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 20)

After "Silver Horizon", this is the new single of the American singer as an anthem for equality and diversity.

21 (+ 25) : Martin Garrix & Troye Sivan - There For You (LW: 46 / WO: 20 / PEAK: 01 (x1))

22 (- 4) : La Prohibida - Baloncesto (LW: 18 / WO: 13 / PEAK: 03)

23 (+ 11) : Sean Smith - Turn Me On (LW: 34 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 23)

24 (+ 19) : LP - No Witness (LW: 43 / WO: 6 / PEAK: 18)

This is the sixth single taken from the album "Lost on You".

25 (NEW) : Sam Smith - Pray (Live on SNL) (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 25)

This track was inspired by a trip to Iraq.

26 (NEW) : Les Funambules - Lui et toi (Live au Studio Hébertot) (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 26)

This emotional song is about two parents who have difficulties to accept the homosexuality of their son and his relationship with another man.

27 (+ 1) : Antonio Navarro - Estaré Bien (LW: 28 / WO: 3 / PEAK: 27)

This is another track taken from the album "Punto Zero" from the Spanish singer.

28 (NEW) : Miss Caffeina - Detroit (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 28)

This is the new exciting single of the Spanish band, taken from their self-titled album.

29 (- 10) : Christophe Willem - Rio (LW: 19 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 19)

It's the first time that the French singer, former winner of the local version of Idol in 2005, suggests his sexual orientation in a music video, even if there's still an ambiguity to know from who he's attracted in this Brazilian couple.

30 (NEW) : Jamal Lyon’s When Cookie Met Lucious (ft. Jussie Smollet) | Visual Album | EMPIRE (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 30)

31 (NEW) : Ria Mae - My Love (Audio) (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 31)

A new love song from the Canadian singer.

32 (- 9) : Eli Lieb - Shangri La (LW: 23 / WO: 12 / PEAK: 03)

Eli Lieb is completely bare in his new music video.

33 (NEW) : Eli Lieb - Kissing Your Tattoos (Lyric video) (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 33)

34 (NEW) : ILY - Your Love (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 34)

Two new brides are kissing in this Swedish music video.

35 (+ 6) : Cub Sport - O Lord (LW: 41 / WO: 7 / PEAK: 17)

This is the debut single of the Australian band from Brisbane, taken from their album "Bats".

36 (- 14) : NU3L - Eu Não Sei / I Don´t Know (LW: 22 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 22)

37 (NEW) : Bec Sandridge - I'll Never Want A BF (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 37)

The Australian band is on tour.

38 (=) : Páll Óskar - Einn Dans (360° VR music video) (LW: 38 / WO: 3 / PEAK: 38)

39 (- 19) : Superfruit - Deny U (LW: 20 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 20)

You can't deny that we can see an attraction between Mitch and Scott in their new music video, taken from the album "Future Friends".

40 (NEW) : Supremme de Luxe - Fiebre 2017 (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 40)

The new track of the Spanish drag queen from Madrid.

41 (- 17) : Lizzo - Good As Hell (LW: 24 / WO: 44 / PEAK: 02)

This is taken from the EP "Coconut Oil".

42 (- 6) : Benny - Boys Will Be Boys (LW: 36 / WO: 40 / PEAK: 02)

It took two years for the 17 years old YouTuber Ben J. Pierce to release a new music video after "Little Game", but the wait was worth it, because it's really good. It talks about toxic masculinity and the effects it can have on a person.

43 (+ 1) : Smashby - Birthday Suit (LW: 44 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 43)

This is the first original song of the British singer.

44 (NEW) : Eddy de Pretto - Kid (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 44)

The French singer talks about toxic masculinity and abusive virility.

45 (NEW) : Pansy Boys - Empty Pools (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 45)

This is the first music video of the Canadian twins Joel and Kyle Curry.

46 (RE-ENTRY) : GAREK - Stray (LW: - / WO: 52 / PEAK: 01 (x2))

The single taken from the album "Take the King" is a conversation with his 8-year-old self about accepting who he is, the talk he wishes he had as a child, because he "spent so many years hating [himself] because [he] listened to the voices around [him] saying that people like [him] were disgusting".

47 (NEW) : JBDUBS - The Vault (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 47)

48 (- 36) : Huntington - Love Is Love (LW: 12 / WO: 3 / PEAK: 12)

Three years after "Secret", this is his new original song.

49 (- 24) : K Anderson - Cluttered (Lyric Video) (LW: 25 / WO: 2 / PEAK: 25)

"What better visual metaphor for a messy relationship than an educational video from the 70s about life in a rubbish dump?" says the London based singer.

50 (NEW) : ILoveMakonnen feat Rae Sremmurd - Love (LW: - / WO: 1 / PEAK: 50)

The track is #1 at the Top 40 LGBT Urban Chart.

ALSO NEW THIS WEEK

Madblush - My Radio

Taken from the album "Cactus".

John Galea - Honesty

Almost a year after the track "When You Truly Love Someone", this is the new single of the British singer.

CYBER feat. countess malaise - PSYCHO

In this Icelandic music video, drag queens are getting mad when they realized that they didn't had all their command at a Drive and grab.

Loreen - 71 Charger

The Swedish singer is back with a new single, taken from the upcoming album "Ride".

Fischerspooner feat. Caroline Polachek - Togetherness

Julien Baker - Appointments

Superfruit - Goodbye From Lonely

This is the eleventh single of the album "Future Friends".

Shamir - Straight Boy

This is the lead single of the upcoming album "Revelations", out next November.

Ricky Dillon - A Fun Song

This is the new song of the YouTuber.

Issa Twaimz - The Hallowissa Song

This is the new song of the YouTuber.

James Leon - Zen (To the Power)

Jeremy Gloff - Now And Here

La Neve - American Sounds

Razorhouse - Regan's Song

Kele Okereke - Streets Been Talkin' (Acoustic)

The sound of the rain is so relaxing with this acoustic cover.

Fangoria - Disco Sally (Pianíssimo)

This piano version gives you chills.

Cher - Walls (Live @ One Young World conference 2017)

Sam Smith - Too Good At Goodbyes (Live on SNL)

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Mary Lambert - Same Love (Live @ NRL Grand Final 2017)

Will this performance influence the votes in Australia in same-sex marriage survey to legiferate about marriage equality in Australia ?

Jari Sillanpää - Eläköön

This is the new track of the Finnish singer.

P!nk - Beautiful Trauma (Dance Video)

St. Vincent - Pills (official audio)

Libertad Montero La Pinchos - COMER (Lyric Video)

Bilal Hassani feat. SparkDise - Descendants 2 Medley

A proof that these two French guys are fans of Disney.

Alaska Thunderfuck - Valentina

Another parody of "Despacito" and another song about former contestant and favorite of RuPaul's Drag Race season 9.

Randy Rainbow - Desperate Cheeto (Parody)

Another parody of "Despacito" against Trump.

See you next week and don’t forget to vote for your best LGBTQA music videos ! Here are the rules :

1 ) You can vote for many videos as you want under the videos on YouTube in the comment section. It could be recent or past music videos, which must provide at least one among the following conditions:

- the music video has LGBTQA related content, in the lyrics or the music video

- the artist is LGBTQA, an LGBTQA icon or eventually ally

- LGBTQA medias talked about it.

2 ) You can’t vote more than 3 songs of a same artist per week.

3 ) In case of an artist who receive votes mostly by a fan base, we will count only one song, in a limited time of 10 weeks of presence in the top.

4 ) You can vote with only one account.

5 ) If you make 5 votes or less, your first vote will represent 5 points, your second vote 4 points, etc… until your last vote and following 1 point. If you make 6 to 10 votes, your first vote will represent 10 points, your second vote 9 points, etc… If you make more than 10 votes, your first vote will represent 20 points, your second vote 19 points, etc…

6 ) People who make 1 to 5 votes form the amateur ranking, those who make 6 to 10 votes form the fan ranking, those who make more than 10 votes form the expert ranking. We form the jury ranking. And we count now the ranking of minutes of views of our weekly playlist of the previous week. The Gay Music Chart is the addition of the five charts. In case of equality, the number of votes and the dates of votes will count.

7 ) The votes will close on Thursday, 8 PM, European time.

#GayMusicChart #gay #music #chart #top #singles #vdeos #lgbt #queer #lesbian #bisexual #transgender #drag queen #2017 week 42

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