#comma for cow

[unkn0wnvariable]

Feeding Comma

A comma butterfly feeding on bramble flowers, at Glapthorn Cow Pastures.

[human-too]

i will forever be disappointed in the comma in the line “you ask about the cows, wearin’ my sweater” because for the longest time i was like “why would a cow wear a sweater?” and had this image in my mind of a cow in like a knitted sweater just sitting down but noooooo the cows aren’t actually wearing the sweater

[coquelicoq]

does anybody else say "hay is for horses, cows, and sheep. too bad you're a jackass" when someone yells "hey!" at them or is that another thing my dad made up

[thegoddesswater]

Weird questions 25 & 34 :)

Oh boy! 25: What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

I know all kinds of dumb hyper-specific details about my characters and I don't want to have to pick just one, but we'll be here all year if I start trying to tell you weird things about everyone. And the Rios boys (...Rioses?) were the first I thought of for odd details. So Jance and Adair.

Jance's favourite childhood toy was a stuffed cow named Pinball. The darn thing went absolutely everywhere with him and Pinball was one of the first things Jance packed when he moved out of his Dad's house.

Adair rarely writes things by hand, but he has GORGEOUS penmanship. And he was forever embarrassed in school when he'd forget to put his name on something and the teachers would stand at the front of the class when handing things back and announce: "This test/essay/assignment is missing a name, but based on the pretty writing, it's belongs to one of the girls."

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

I am 100% pro-Oxford comma. Fight me.

It increases clarity and just looks overall nicer on the page. And really, I think this graphic explains everything about why the Oxford comma just MAKES SENSE.

[castielsprostate]

day 48 of asking misha to put his hands around my neck and choke me lightly

day 1 of asking misha to put his hands around my neck and choke me lightly

[whatthefishh]

until we bleed

Rydal Keener x F!Reader ; part of the Oxford Comma series

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: swearing, an unnecessary amount of big words being used, smut, pinv, um... slight dub con... drama...

Beta read by the lovely @xbellaxcarolinax who basically jumped on the doc every time I helplessly texted her to ask if I was being stupid, and special s/o to @melodygatesauthor for helping me talk out the smut hehe

The charity gala was a front for the girls to get dressed up and the men to boast about their new business ventures. The charity mentioned in the invitation was picked out by the dean’s wife, a hedge fund manager – a most noble career – and she had already swindled enough out of the guests for the entrance fee before the scheduled auction later that evening. 

You didn’t want to go but you couldn’t really tell Rydal that, especially after the whole thing with Chester just last week. He had been a little down since then, his skin halfway healed from where the skin had broken. You couldn’t help but feel a current of electricity pass through you straight to your core whenever you looked at the slightly swollen pout he was sporting because of it. And the bastard knew it, too. He had been using the pout, with the added weight of his baby cow eyes, to get his way for the past few days, easily swaying you into submission for the littlest things. 

Which is how you ended up at the pretentious gathering being thrown in some philanthropic attempt to absolve the attendees of their greed. The dress you got for this event specifically was more expensive than any you’d ever worn before, the black satin silk of it tickling your calves where it hit. Your heels were new and not broken in, the thin straps sitting across your fresh pedicure — also something he insisted on paying for, picking out your nail colour for you. A glossy soft pink, a shade that reminded you of the Chanel perfume he had gifted you with. 

Rydal had taken you out to buy an outfit when you tried to tell him you couldn’t go with him to the gala because you had nothing to wear, rolling his eyes at what he knew was you trying to weasel your way out of it. You felt bad, making him wait while you tried on every dress the saleslady threw at you. He kept telling you it was fine, eventually threatening to come in there and dress you himself if you didn’t cut it out and that he was comfortable lounging on the sofas outside the fitting rooms. 

Slipping on the next dress from the large selection you had gathered in your fitting room, you checked yourself out in the mirror. Flatting the skirt with your palms, you tried to imagine yourself at the party, your arm looped around Rydal’s elbow and everyone’s eyes on you. Would this help you blend in? Was this the golden ticket you needed to finally gain acceptance? You’re starting to feel like it didn’t matter what you wore, they’d be able to sniff you out regardless, the vultures with their sharp manicures and syringe sculpted faces. 

When you finally stepped out in the simple but flattering black dress, Rydal’s eyes flashed as you turned this way and that in the mirror, trying to see it from all angles. This could work, it was simple enough that you didn’t feel entirely unlike yourself but it was still a lot more extravagant than anything you owned.  

You didn’t notice him slowly getting up like a predator stalking its prey, too focused on whether you liked the garment or not until his hands came to rest on your hips and his nose pressed itself against your neck. Only then did you take note of his half hard bulge pressing into your bum, your body temperature jumping at how quickly he was reacting to you all dressed up for him. You weren’t a lingerie girl, never had to be in your experiences but the way he was growing more and more feral by the second had you itching to buy the most delicate, laciest sets just to pull this behaviour from him on demand. 

“D-Do you like it?” you hated the way your voice wavered when you spoke, the slight increase in pressure from his hot hands causing you to blush heavily. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Go take it off before I do it for you–”

“Yeah, on it,” you pushed his hands away, bolting towards the fitting room before he got any ideas and shaking your head at him. 

He purchased the dress while you were changing back into your regular clothes, coming out to the sight of him holding the garment bag over his arm while dumbly ignoring the stares of the other girls in the store. 

You weren’t used to feeling so aggressively desired so publicly but Rydal never made you feel like he wanted to hide how he felt about you. He would compliment you in front of his friends, in front of strangers, he would speak highly of you despite having told you something that would send your blood boiling seconds prior. It was reassuring, especially since you weren’t blind to the way girls would look at him, especially the ones in his social circles. 

The dress would help you fit into the crowd a little better, the shoes only slightly uncomfortable so far but that wasn’t the part that bothered you. Before leaving for the night, you made sure to try your best with your hair and makeup to look effortless with the help of your roommate, Eleanor, who told you that Rydal was going to go crazy over your look. That didn’t make you feel any more comfortable, however, wearing clothes much too expensive, you began to wonder if he liked you better like this, if he wanted you to be more like them. 

His reaction upon seeing you made your stomach swoop, the reverence in his eyes making you shyer than you’ve felt in a long time. You think maybe you should dress up like this more often, maybe he’d prefer you like this. Trying to shake those thoughts out of your head, the two of you make your way to the party being held on campus, looping your arm through his. Rydal was wearing a beige linen suit himself, the white dress shirt underneath had the first couple buttons open for a more relaxed look that you knew he only did to stick it to his dad.

You don’t know if you would have preferred to be invisible rather than be gawked at by the guests, but either way you were extremely uncomfortable and trying your best to mask it for the sake of your boyfriend. The party itself was unlike any other you’d attended, and why would you have? It wasn’t something you’d normally be invited to, especially with your financial struggles. It was kind of ironic, you being here now. At least you were dressed for the part.

Most of the guests were in casually lavish clothing themselves, almost everyone in the room exuded an air of superiority and arrogance you didn’t know how to handle. Walking by a group of older men dressed in various shades of browns and beiges, you overheard their heated discussion regarding the new instalment of fine art in the library’s entryway. There was a table full of what looked like raffle prizes to be won, along with a small brass raffle drum at the end. Near the end of the room stood a podium next to a sign with the charity of the night outlined in large, black lettering. For the good press, for the photos, you bitterly think. There was even a small group of classical instrument musicians playing classical renditions of modern day music. 

In every cluster of guests, there was an undeniable condescending overtone, the haughtiness oozing from every direction and you didn’t know where a safe space was for your eyes to land so as not to be assaulted by a judgemental gaze. Rydal was walking with ease, his hand at the small of your back, the warmth from it burning your skin due to the backless nature of the dress but you were thankful for the touch as it kept you somewhat grounded, helping you not trip over your heels. 

He walked you through the psychological battleground, gliding through the people who were most definitely whispering about his date for the evening, leading you to the food and drinks table. Exotic delicacies littered the banquet table, carefully prepared for consumption and small enough to grab several handfuls before feeling any sense of satiation. The rich were an interesting breed, despite their indulgence they loved making things tiny. 

The purpose of the night was drowning in the show of snobbery, and you were so bitter inside at the show they put on for each other that you opted to stay quiet so as not to make Rydal uncomfortable. These were his peers, the people he grew up with, the old man in the corner, his godfather, the lady with the laughable plastic surgery was his favourite ‘aunt’ growing up, giving him the biggest presents at his birthdays. Countless familiar faces for him, all of them sneering at you. 

The comforting touch of his hand leaves your back and you immediately turn to him in a near panic, the idea of being left alone in the sea of sharks making you stumble over your shoes. Upon seeing Rydal’s father right behind you, you opted to stay silent. This was not the first time you were meeting him, but it was the first time you were seeing him on school grounds after spending the summer at their family home. 

“Rydal,” he nodded to you and greeted you by name, “Come, I need you to meet a couple of people from that firm I was telling you about. Quickly now.” 

Lawrence Keener wasn’t the most terrifying person you’d ever met but he was definitely intimidating and he definitely was aware of it. The man had influence at the school, and honestly anywhere else he went. His handsome face and strong jaw demanded respect before his clothes did, his bespoke and cleanly pressed suit giving him a reason to tilt his chin just that smidge higher so he could look down at you with a single snobby brow raised. You could see where Rydal learned that expression from. 

He was somewhat dismissive of your presence, which only served to piss you off further but you had to hold back from rolling your eyes since Rydal was looking at you with a plea in his eyes, asking if it was okay to leave you for a few minutes to go meet the senior partners his father was pushing him towards. 

You nodded with a tight smile to him, trying to be supportive without showing how anxious you already were on the inside. Stepping into his world and pretending you were fine with it was proving to be more difficult than you initially thought.

Rydal leaves you with a relatively chaste kiss on the cheek, his father watching you two with blatant boredom before ushering him away with a hand on the back of his neck. After watching them turn a corner, you have to blink a few times before gathering your bearings and heading straight for the hors d'oeuvres, the miniature yet intricate selection taking your attention away from the prickly company. Devilled eggs, stuffed mushrooms with crispy onions on top, micro fig pies, melted brie and shortbread, roasted oysters with butter mignonette, caviar and creme tartlets and bowls and bowls of shrimp cocktail met your eyes. Reaching to try a pie, it almost made you laugh at how tiny it was in the palm of your hand. 

Some time must have passed and you’d eaten several different kinds of mini appetisers, gulping down the mocktail a random floating waiter had offered you after watching you stuff your face while you observed others mingling and networking. Hearing Rydal’s voice over the soft music playing, your eyes start searching for him excitedly. 

There’s a girl. Walking next to him, there is a very pretty girl. And they’re laughing. She’s touching his arm – familiar, they’re familiar – and he doesn’t brush it off, he’s smiling with her and for a moment you forget that you’re together. 

They look… they look quite perfect together, to be honest. She’s taller than you, blonde hair perfectly coiffed with a classic cocktail dress in a shade of blue that matched her eyes, making her smile look all the more bright. The girl in question throws her head back in laughter at something Rydal says, and it must have been funny at the way she covers her mouth elegantly to hide her grin and–and you want to leave. Badly. He’s not flirting but he’s also not taking her hand off of his arm, and he’s still smiling at her. 

They…fit. She looks like she belongs. Here, with him, on his arm, wherever she pleases really. Maybe she’s the girl his father wanted him to go for, the choice that made sense for him. The option that was easier. The kind of girl who crossed her ankles when she sat at the dinner table, the one who knew which one the soup spoon was. The girl with the right parents, the right upbringing. The one who didn’t need a room at their family home because she had her own next door. The one he didn’t have to take shopping to make her look the part at a charity gala. 

The girl that wasn’t a charity case. 

You should just leave now, and leave them to it. They would probably be engaged right after graduation. Rydal would get a job with the law firm his father was pressuring him about and she would be the host of their next charity event. Hell, maybe she’d even run for a council position. Talk about a power couple. 

While your intrusive thoughts were spiralling, you get caught staring by Rydal, his eyes lighting up to see you and you can see the words forming on his lips as he’s about to call out for you, most likely to introduce you to the girl in question. Turning on your heel before he had the chance to get your name out, you walk with speed and purpose, hunting for the washroom to collect yourself. You know people are looking at you walking past them, you probably look a little out of it but you couldn’t care less right now, just focused on getting some air and maybe splashing some water on your face.

Ducking into the washroom with a sigh of relief – the door matched the wood tone of the walls, the little sign above labelled “Washroom” in tiny, cursive writing making it incredibly difficult to find – you manage to find an empty stall. Leaning your head back against the stall door, you close your eyes as you try to even your breathing. You have to manage the anxiety bubbling up in your chest and the influx of negative thoughts about Rydal, it’s not fair to you or him.

The washroom door swings open and shuts, a pocket of music from the main hall echoing for a few seconds before giving way to the animated chatter of the girls who just entered. Their giggles and whispers became more clear once they settled in front of the large mirror hanging above the marble sinks. 

“I’m going to need a lot more champagne to withstand anymore of that woman’s inane chatter, like, we’re already helping so much,” one girl huffed. 

Peeking your eyes through the tiny gap in the door, you catch a glimpse of the back of their heads. 

“Yeah well at least your boyfriend hasn’t been ignoring you all night. All I said was that he was repeating his outfit and that people would notice!” 

“Oh honey, don’t worry. Nobody is going to notice that with Rydal walking around with his charity case girlfriend. What the fuck does he see in her anyway?” Another girl said, carelessly loud. 

Your ears perked up again, your heart dropping in your stomach. Now was not the best time for you to hear this, their conversation only confirming your shameful thoughts about your boyfriend. 

“I always thought he was easy but to stoop so low? She’s basically the farmer’s daughter!” 

The scandal in her voice almost made you laugh in disbelief from where you were hiding in the stall. 

“I think he’s doing it just to get back at his father. Lawrence doesn’t even look at her.” 

Well. That’s not… that’s not what you wanted to hear. Lawrence looked at you, right? He said hello perfectly politely, right? You’re frowning at the thought.

“Ha! That’s because he wanted Colette for him. My mom told me he’s secretly hoping Rydal wakes up one morning, ready to go running back to Barbie Blue Eyes and make them all proud parents,” the loud one from earlier said with a wicked tone. 

Colette… you didn’t know a Colette. Blue eyes? Could they be speaking about The Girl from earlier? Were they right, were you just a phase for him? 

“Oh my god El, you kill me! They are really blue, and that dress she’s wearing tonight looks so fucking good on her, I can’t deny her that. It’s like she got it custom made to match her eyes.” 

Oh fuck. The Girl was Colette. Of fucking course. 

And from the sounds of it, she was Rydal’s ex. No wonder he never mentioned her. No wonder she was so friendly with him, hands all over his arms, giggling together like a couple of young lovers. Compared to her, she was the obvious choice, and it wasn’t a surprise that Lawrence had given his approval. 

“Sounds like Colette,” the third girl chimed in. 

“I don’t care how much Rydal spends on this new girl, she isn’t fooling anybody. I bet she’ll be gone by the winter. Anyways,” the first girl sighs tiredly, as if unloading all that gossip took a physical toll on her. “How’s my lipstick, Vee?” 

They descended into a different topic, focused on adjusting each other’s appearance until they left the washroom leaving you to stew in silence. They wouldn’t have known you were listening but they said everything you didn’t need to hear anyway. 

So Rydal was dating this perfect girl, Colette, before you got together. You were the rebound. You were never permanent. You didn’t belong. 

You should’ve known he wasn’t serious, it was too good to be true. You should never have opened up to him, never have trusted him with all your insecurities and vulnerabilities. He probably bought all the girls Chanel. He couldn’t have been serious about you. He hasn’t even met your mom, hasn’t visited your home yet. You couldn’t let him get any closer. 

Stepping out and gently splashing your cheeks with some cold water, you walk out the doors on shaky knees and look around. Nobody is paying you any attention now and you exhale a breath of relief. These people are never going to respect you. No matter how many pretty clothes he buys you. 

Rydal finds you before your eyes find him, his hand snaking around your waist and mouth finding your ear to whisper a sweet little I missed you, softly kissing your skin. You shiver, and despite the direction your thoughts were going you find comfort in his smell and warmth, closing your eyes while you turn your body into his. 

He’s the same and yet he isn’t. Rydal slips into his social persona and you’ve never really paid attention before but there’s a slight difference to his voice and once you notice it, it bothers you. You stare at him, perplexed and hurt. You wonder if you know him properly at all. Which one is the real one? Is he pretending with you or with them? 

Rydal tells you he has someone to introduce you to but your stomach starts churning and you think you’re gonna be sick because you see Colette making her way towards you in the crowd and you can’t face her, not after what you just heard. 

“I feel kind of sick, actually, can we go? Like, now?” 

You know you have a frantic edge to your voice but you can’t help it. 

“Can we go in a bit? Just stick it out for a little longer, baby—“ 

There’s a bubble of anxiety in your chest that rises to your throat the closer she gets and you look to Rydal with pure panic, upset that he’d even suggest you stay in this stifling room for any longer. He stops talking upon noticing the tears welling in your eyes, brows immediately furrowing in concern and then nodding quickly.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, we can go, c’mon.” 

His hand returns to the small of your back, guiding you out of the hall and you’re glad for it because all of a sudden your vision is blurry and if it weren’t for his persistent hands helping you, you would’ve surely never found your way out. 

The way back to his room was tense. Not the comfortable silence you were used to, your throat closed and sealed shut since leaving. Your mouth has opened and shut several times, wanting to break the silence but your tongue felt like lead. 

Rydal doesn’t make any attempt at conversation either. After putting his blazer jacket around your shoulders, he stuck his hands in his pocket and frowned the whole walk back. 

By the time he let you in his room, your bottom lip was wobbling and your anxiety was suffocating you in its attempt for release. Either you were going to cry or yell or both. 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you reach for the makeup wipes you keep with his things, aggressively wiping at your eyes and fighting with the layers of mascara you had put on. He slowly comes up behind you, not looking into your eyes but his hands reach to unclasp your necklace, brushing your hair aside for ease of access. 

You inhale a shuddering breath. 

You should just do it now. Just come right out and say it. You may as well cut your losses and let him be happy with whoever he wants, let him make his father happy and stop standing in his way. You were only holding him back, and that’s not what you wanted to do. You still loved him, even if tonight did break your heart. 

Dropping the necklace on the counter, he reaches for the zipper of your dress next but his hands still and instead rest on your waist as he presses his forehead into your shoulder. 

“Did something happen? Did someone… say something?” He mumbled, the vibrations of his voice almost triggering your tears. Instead you let out a sniffle.

“She really is beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” 

“Who?” 

“Why did I have to find out about her from a bunch of girls in the washroom? Does she go here? Is that why your dad doesn’t look me in the eye when he talks to me?”

“…it’s not like that—“ he sighs.

“No? It’s not like you become someone else when we’re around these people? It’s not like you have this whole goddamn life that I’m not part of, that I’ll never be part of because they’re never going to accept me? They’re never going to respect me, never think I’m good enough?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t even know what you heard!”

“Everyone thinks I’m with you just for your money, you know. They called me the farmer's daughter. They said I’m your fucking charity case. Do you know how that makes me feel? As if I don’t already feel like an outsider here?”

He opens his mouth to respond but you don't let him, rushing to hurt him the way you’re hurting inside. 

“You’ve never had to work a day in your life, you don’t know what it’s like in my shoes.” You laugh humorlessly. “What are we doing, Rydal?” 

“What do you mean?” His voice sounds so small and the knife just twists deeper in your gut. 

“Why should I have to deal with this constant bullshit from the people in your life? I don’t even know them! Maybe… maybe we should—“

“Stop, stop, listen I can handle everyone else being upset with me, but not you. Not you, please. I can’t take it from you, please don’t say what I think you’re going—“ 

“I don’t know. I just can’t, I— maybe, maybe we should break up, I think you’d feel better, too, I think—“

“How could you think that? How could you say that?” He’s upset, expression sour and twisted.

He looks the way you feel. 

You watch him fumble for words. 

“I literally left my dad at this stupid party and he’s going to be fucking pissed, like seriously livid because he was building me up to his buddies but– but I don’t care because I wanted to make sure you were okay!”

His palms grip your waist tighter and he steps closer, crowding you against the basin and doesn’t give you any room to move. You can’t look at him so instead you stare at the makeup wipe, the angry black marks mirroring your heart as your mind yells at you to run, to leave and hide where he can’t hurt you, where he can’t see you crumble and break after he inevitably agrees to leave you. 

You push it once more.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe I should’ve just left you there.” 

There’s a small part of your brain that tells you that you’re being irrational. That he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care, he must care even a tiny amount, even if you were a temporary toy. 

His hands leave you for a second and he takes a step away. You feel cold, immediately feeling small and stupid, fighting between wanting to cry and going numb until suddenly the familiar warmth comes back, his hand pushing your back with so much force that your hands shoot out in front of you to catch yourself. One on the mirror, one on around the edge of the vanity. 

Looking up at Rydal in shock, you open your mouth to ask him what the fuck his problem is until you see he’s not even looking at you, his eyes are trained on your ass and he’s biting his lip, but he still looks… broken. 

“Rydal, what the fu—“

“Stop. Talking. You’ve said enough.” His voice was almost a whisper but still firm enough to cut through yours, and his hands were still kneading your hips. 

His behaviour is new and kind of confusing, if you’re being honest. It’s clear he’s never been denied before in his life. He looks helpless and angry and worried and aggravated and entirely too focused on your body at this moment for any of it to make sense. 

Rydal’s fingers trail down your dress until they reach the slit in the back and leave goosebumps as they make their way back up, hooking into your panties and then tugging them off and around your heels. Upon rising, he’s still avoiding eye contact. Your cheeks are burning, legs slightly wider than before. Despite being mad at him, your body still obeys. 

“So mouthy all the time.”

Balling up your panties, he surprises you further by shoving them in your mouth even as you protest and try to push back on him but his body keeps your balance wavering. You have no choice but to keep your hands where they were if you didn’t want to fall. 

Your eyes must be bugging out of your sockets and the rise and fall of your chest is coming quicker and quicker.

“If that’s what you really want, then leave.” He’s saying this while the tips of his thick fingers brush and tease your entrance, keeping you frozen in place.

Your mind was at odds with your body as you felt your instinctive reaction to him touching you. Fighting the urge to embrace the desire now dripping down your thighs, you knew you had the ability to walk away if you wanted to and yet you found yourself pressing back against his hand wanting more. 

“Aren’t you gonna leave? Isn’t that what you wanted? No?” 

Rydal slides two fingers inside your cunt, easily and without warning and you grunt but it’s muffled against the cloth. This is absurd, you think dumbly. You want to feel embarrassed but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Didn’t think so, baby,” he’s saying while stepping closer and his fingers reach even deeper, if that were possible.

His mouth comes up to your ear, whispering his next words and sending them straight to your gut, weighing heavily inside you. 

“I need you, can’t you see that? Look at me,” his hot breath hits the shell of your ear and you’re panting. “Can’t you tell? How fucking badly I need you?” 

So you look at him, and you see a desperate and needy man in the place of your Rydal, the one you’re familiar with. This wasn’t the same man you were used to, the one who would make you laugh while he was making his way inside you. This Rydal was upset and he was adamant on making you regret your words. 

His fingers were curling inside your wet heat, pressing up against that spot that made you see stars and stealing your breath so hard your fingers were curling. Your fingerprints were marking the mirror, the squeaking sound making you shudder against his body. Moaning around the fabric still in your mouth, you tried to grind down on his hand, desperate for him to move, to do something, anything to the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter. 

Rydal could feel your hips moving back against his hand and moved to still you, fingers holding you tight enough to bruise. Slipping his fingers out, he taps them against your clit before removing his hand entirely and making your shoulders sag at the loss.

Reaching one hand up and back to keep him close, afraid of his warmth leaving you, your hand wraps around his neck as he rushes to unbuckle his pants noisily. He’s shaking a little, breaths coming out ragged at how badly he needs to fill you up. 

Once he frees himself, Rydal uses one hand to push you back down and bunch your pretty dress up, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in swiftly without hesitation. 

He groans loudly, tilting his head back with his eyes shut for a moment before looking down at where he’s seated to the hilt inside you, unmoving. 

“You lookin’? You need me, too, I can see it in your eyes. Look,” he reaches forward to grab at your jaw, making you watch yourself as he slowly pulls his cock out and slams it back inside to kiss your cervix. Again, and again, and again. “See that?”

Rydal forces your head to nod with his hand still holding your face while you try to speak, voice coming out unclear against the panties still in your mouth. The stupid fucking fabric was making it hard to breathe and you were going to pass out, drunk on his cock, you were going to faint against the god damn builder’s grade medicine cabinet. You want to moan out loud, you want to tell him he wasn’t playing fair, that he was going too slow. You want to pull his beautiful hair out and yell at him, you want him to hurry up and fuck you harder, you—

You’re coming. 

“Ohhh, fuuuuck,” he let go of your face, hands dropping to press on your lower back and push you more forward, your hands clambering on the mirror like a fool. “Look so—so, oh fuck, baby, look at you.”

It didn’t take him long at all to make a mess of you. 

“You gonna take it back? Take back what you said, tell me you were wrong,” he whines, still fucking you hard but not hard enough. 

The problem was that he was dragging his girth out slowly but stealing your breath on every hard thrust forward. And it still wasn’t enough, not for this, not for right now. 

Your attempt at speaking is ruined by the fact that your panties were still in your mouth, your saliva soaking the material by this point. You wanted to spit it out, hurl the obstructive garment across the room but it wasn’t possible in your current position. He can’t possibly be stupid enough to expect you to answer him like this. 

He almost laughs when he realises you’re trying to say something, quickly pulling the fabric from your mouth to let you finally have your voice back and you immediately let out a cry at his perfectly timed thrust. His cock was moving faster, intent on not having you speak but making you come again. Now that he could hear you, he was becoming more and more unhinged. 

Embarrassingly, you’re having a hard time keeping your voice down, whines and cries falling from your lips continuously while Rydal fucked you against his sink. Your hands are leaving fingerprints all over his mirror from where you’re trying to get a grip and push yourself back on him, his own hands keeping you bent over for him but squeezing whatever flesh he could reach. 

Leaning forward to kiss your back, he mumbles words he thinks you don’t hear, don’t leave me, mine, my baby, stay here—

“S’wrong, I-I was wrong,” you whimper. “M’sorry, fuck—“

“Shhh—“

“I—“ you hiccup. “I hate them, I, yesss right there, god—“

“I know, baby, I know, I got you,” he’s back to grunting in your ear and you can’t see or feel anything that isn’t Rydal. 

You’re overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight, your feelings from earlier still bubbling up and causing you to tear up while he continues to ram into you. He sees you crying, reaching his hand in front of you to toy with your clit.

“Stay with me,” he demands, voice low against the shell of your ear. Desperate, he’s still so fucking needy even after making you cry on his cock. 

You nod before you realise you’re nodding, sniffling in your daze. 

Rydal’s index finger, the same one he teased you with earlier, starts circling your clit in the surefire way he knows how to make you cum, grunting when he feels your walls fluttering over his length. 

And when you’re gushing all over him, his finger still circles your nub but he stills his hips as he feels you come undone and talks you through it. Pretty baby, love you so fucking much, stay, stay with me, stay—

Lifting you off his length he takes off your dress completely and turns you around with his hand wrapped around your neck to bring his mouth to yours, kissing you like a man possessed. He doesn’t wait to slip his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his own to prove a point. He’s always fucking proving a point, always pushing his way through your walls. 

Walking you backwards towards his bed, he only breaks away from your mouth to help you remove his shirt and pants, your hands mapping out his chest and shoulders. You don’t let him get far from you even as you lower yourself to lay back on the mattress, pulling his body along needily while he crawls over you. 

This time when he enters you, it’s slower, softer, gentle, but you’re shaking in his arms, foreheads touching as you share a breath and syrupy kisses. You cry a little, mascara messy and lipstick smudged, but he shushes you, mocking you, “thought you could leave me,” he says and anticipating your rebuttal — as he does, he always fucking does — he says, “thought you could go on without my cock, hmm?”

And then he’s kissing you again before you can say anything, effectively shutting you up while pressing you into the mattress, fucking the fight out of you as his hips slide into yours again and again. Your bodies are sweat ridden, your pussy is soaking his sheets and he still hasn’t cum yet, but you think he’s close. He has to be, he’s barely pulling out now, his length throbbing inside your pulsing walls as he ruts into you. 

He’s biting your shoulder and your eyes are focused on the popcorn ceiling, your oversensitive core trembling as he tries to pull another orgasm from you. You’re probably crying, it’s hard to tell at this point, face and body damp, but your ears are attuned to his sounds, his gorgeous whimpers and grunts. Rydal’s body is heavy on yours but you’re floating, you don’t feel a thing until his thumb starts pressing hard against your clit that you try to curl in on yourself, thrashing against him and– yeah, you’re crying. 

He’s speaking absolute filth, it doesn’t make any sense, but in the midst of your pleasure you hear him saying he’s going to fill you up. 

He does. It’s so wet between your legs, the glide of his half aborted thrusts smacking lewdly and loudly and you feel like an exposed nerve and numb all at once. His spend is leaking out of you and just when you expect him to pull out and play with your puffy folds, he turns on his side, keeping you full of him. Rydal rests his face against your chest, your sweaty and spent bodies tangled together. Boneless and breathless. 

His arms are everywhere, one running down the length of your thigh soothingly and the other wrapped under your torso to pull you close by your waist. Touching, always touching. That’s been one constant you’ve noticed from the start. Your breaths are echoing loudly and you’re almost afraid to speak, afraid to ruin the tranquil silence that envelops you both. 

You open your eyes to find him already watching you. 

“I’m hopeless without you,” he says, so so softly. “I’ll let you win at monopoly every time, I’ll stop ruining the ending of the books you’re reading, fuck, just tell me what I have to do. Tell me, I’ll do it.”

You just hold him tighter to you, kissing his temple.

[ask-the-four-lords]

To My Dearests, Ladies of the Village and beloved Angie DID YOU SEE THAT I PUT A COMMA AFTER DEAREST???? :3333

I do hope you all received my last message and gifts, if not then I blame the accursed way this site delivers.

Anyways onto what I wish to write and send to each of you <3

To my loveliest Lady Beneviento and her well loved companion Lady Angie, a pesto and chicken linguini meal with red iced tea that I made, 3 butterfly knives with an intricate design for Angie, and a stuffed rabbit I made myself. I have a feeling that Angie will win the elections this year, the rabbit is good luck.

To the illustrious Lady Dimitrescu, a bottle of cherry wine I saw in a very expensive and elite looking liquor store and a wheel of cabernet to go with it.

To beautiful Lady Bela, passionate Lady Cassandra, and romantic Lady Daniela. I present to the three of you a hardbound book of Machiavelli's The Prince. I sincerely apologize Lady Bela for I am unsure of what you like but I hope to know you better ^^. A guitar set for Lady Cassandra to shred at her heart's content. And a Harana courting song to Lady Daniela with flirting intentions :DD.

with my whole heart and hate for studying politics,

pasta anon <33

Donna Beneviento: *Turns away, once sure no one is there Donna cuddles the stuffed rabbit*

Alcina Dimitrescu: *She wretches violently* Cherry wine?! Truly?! My black god... get that repellant concoction away from me! Cassandra! My dear Cassandra I need your assistance! *Stops for a minute as if she forgot her phone in the proverbial car* Also you must know that cabernet does not come in wheels? *With even more elegant condescension* It's a type of wine grape, not a cheese. Cheese comes in wheels, not wine, you may also be interested in knowing the cow goes "moo", the pig goes "oink".

Bela Dimitrescu: Thanks, I've been meaning to read the Prince, I read the Art of War decades ago so it's only been a logical next step.

Cassandra Dimitrescu: *Starts a guitar solo, suddenly stops* Mother needs me for something! *Runs off/flies off at full speed*

Daniela Dimitrescu: Bela has been trying to make me read that book forever... or maybe that was something else. I can't keep track of the amount of books she has tried and failed to convince me to read.

[callsign-hexen]

Barn Lights and Haylofts

Summary: After being away on a trip out of state, you find yourself going to the Abbott ranch to visit on your way home. Little did you know that you were about to walk into something would make you wish you just drove off...

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, sexual tension, the character death of an asshole, descriptions of a dead body (my hyper fixation on the stages of death really starts showing in this), hiding said body, possible grammar mistakes, an insane amount of commas (Seriously, you could take a shot every time you see one and be completely hammered by the end of this), if I miss any let me know!

Author’s note: I finally wrote something! The editing is slim to none, I was too excited!

tag list: @beacheybabes97

You watch as the headlights of your truck light up the road. The moon lights the rest of the way as you drive through the fields of Wabang, Wyoming.

You’ve been out of town for nearly a month at craft festival down south. As much as it feels great to be outside of state lines, you can’t help but feel homesick, so you take a few stops as possible on your way back. You’ve been driving for half a day in the beaten old truck.

You’ve lived in Wabang for as long as you can remember, you were born there, and you can see yourself buried there with the rest of your lineage. Your family worked in wood crafts. For generations, your family has hand carved many items throughout the town. Instead of playing with dolls, you grew up learning to carve. The business was run by you, your mother, and your father. That was, until your mother passed when you were 14, and your father just three years ago. It was all yours now. The old house, the workshop, and a small plot of land that a few cows and other animals that have made their home there.

The shop was where you met Rhett.

When you were 12, Royal brought Rhett with him into town to run some errands, one of which being to pick up an order he had placed. It was a simple wooden plaque with Abbott name burned into it to sit on the front porch. Your family ran the business in the workshop across from your house. Your days were spent waking up early, making sure the cows are taken care of, go to school, and come home to learn about wood working. When the Abbotts came by you were sitting on the workshop bench whittling your next little project, a carving of a little wolf howling at the sky. You turn around as you hear them come in.

Royal and the younger Abbott boy stopped at the entrance as they noticed it was just you. Royal greeted you with a call of your name, “Is your dad around?” he asked. You nod your head, hopping off the bench. “Yes sir, he’s over yonder in the pasture. One of our calves started wondering off so he went to make sure she’s alright. Are you here to pick up, Mr. Abbott?” you answered him, shifting your eyes over to the boy next to him. Rhett was in your grade, but the two of you never shared a word to each other, barely even a glance at one another. You sat on the opposite sides of the room and never got near enough to touch.

Now that you stand just a couple of feet from him, you almost feel like you can’t move anymore. Frozen in place until you finally snap yourself out of it before he thinks you’re as weird as everyone else does. You were always the loner everyone picked at.

“Right you are, does your father normally leave you alone at the shop?” Royal asked as you went to pick up his plaque off the shelf on the wall of the workshop. You take it over to him and placed it on the table for him to observe it. “Yeah, but only if it’s either an emergency or if he’ll only be gone for a few minutes. He should be back soon, the calve didn’t wander too far today,” you said. Royal picked up the plaque, admiring the work your father put into it, with a little bit of your help here and there.

“Damn fine work, Cecelia is gonna love this hanging up on the porch,” Royal gestures to Rhett as he looks at the woodwork. “This is my son, Rhett. I understand y’all go to school together.” Rhett shifts his gaze from the projects laying around the shop to you, his height is about the same as yours, his blue eyes looking into yours. He nods his head as a way of acknowledgment, you nod back. No words were said, you didn’t think you could for them in regard to him. You couldn’t tell at the time, but it might have been a schoolgirl crush.

The older Abbott paid for his plaque and the two made their leave. Before hopping into the truck, Rhett looked over to you one more time to see you whipping your head the other direction, trying not to let him see you looking at him back. You continued to see more of the Abbotts bit by bit since that day. You two didn’t get closer until your mothers passing, Cecelia would invite you and your father over for dinner every once in a while, when things got tough. Since then, Rhett began to play the role of some type of bodyguard. He was your only friend. When people would pick on you, they had Rhett to deal with. He would walk you home from school and drive you once the two of you were older. You would work together on his ranch, and he would help around your field if it was needed or keep you company in the shop when you were alone. As the years go on, the schoolgirl crush didn’t go away, but may have worsened. You couldn’t tell him, especially when the two of you were 16 when he caught his eye on Maria Olivares. You never felt like you could match up to her, the prettiest girl in school that every guy fawned over. It wasn’t too bad, at least Rhett was still by your side in one way.

Now the two of you are in your 20s. You’ve attended every rodeo, watched him fall off of every bull and was there to patch him up after every bar fight. After the first few months of your fathers passing, the roles were reversed for a while. You would drink a bit more, and all it took was for one buckle bunny to make a snide remark and her face would meet your fist in a timed record. Rhett dragged you out from the bar one night and drove you home. As he patched you up in the low light at your kitchen table, you would never forget what he said to you.

“Listen, I know this is hard. I know I don’t completely know how you feel, and I won’t for a long time. But it’s not just you still. You have me, and I will always be here. You have Mom, Dad, Perry, and Rebecca. Amy looks up to you and even calls you her aunt. We’re always gonna be here for you, and we don’t want to see you dig yourself into a grave. Let us help you, please.”

You stopped drinking so much that night, and you cried in his arms that night when you finally accepted your grief. He went as far as to sleep over at your house a couple of nights so that you wouldn’t be alone in your childhood home.

You’ve managed to keep the business running well and good. It’s been tough with it being just you, but you’ve been able to keep up with all your father has taught you through the years. You were even able to keep things well enough to go to the craft festival like you and your father did every year. The two of you would spend months preparing all of the little trinkets and projects to sell, and you would sell damn near all of them. You’ve been successful enough to pull it off the past three years.

This is what lands you to where you are now. In the late hours of the night, you were finally made your way back.

It feels like forever, but the Abbott ranch finally makes way into your line of site. You don’t see Rhett’s old, blue GMC in the lot. He doesn’t seem to be home, but with seeing the other cars, everyone else is. You wonder where he could be, it’s later than usual for him to be at the Handsome Gambler. The lights in the house are off except for the faint light from window in the kitchen. You were feeling guilty about possibly waking everyone up, but you feel better knowing that at least someone is still awake at an ungodly hour. Turning off the lights to the truck, you cut the engine and step out. You make your way over to the door leading to the kitchen and gently knock a few times, alerting whoever was inside of your presence. It takes a couple of moments, almost enough to where you think of going ahead and heading home, turning in for the night and catching up on some of the rest you have lost from the drive. As you’re about to turn around, the door finally opens to reveal Royal. He lets out a breath and nods to you, “Well look who it is, when’d you get back in town?”

“Just now actually,” you said with a small laugh and a smile, “thought I would come by and see you guys on my way home, make sure I wasn’t forgotten.” Royal laughs at the statement and gives you a pat on the shoulder. “I doubt that could ever happen, Amy’s been asking when you’d be back almost since you left,” he said.

You both gave a laugh as you thought of Rhett’s niece. You were both 15 when she was born. He was unsure of the arrival of a new child in the house, but the second he held her he knew he would protect her the best he could. He’d take care of anyone who messes with her the same he did with you. Amy follows you almost everywhere you go. When she’s not in school, she’d come with you to the shop with Rhett and watch you work, and you’d teach her how to make a few small things if she begged you enough. “I’m sure she’ll be excited I’m back. I’d go say ‘hi’ to her now, but I don’t want to cause a bother waking her up,” you said. You were about to ask if it was okay to come in and chat a minute, let him know how business was at the festival and how proud you were this year when a noise came up behind him.

You look passed him as Rhett came downstairs, catching your eye in a hoodie sporting a split lip and a bruise on his cheek. He stops and turns in your direction, you lock eyes from across the kitchen as he halts in his place, almost startled at your arrival. “What are you doing here?” he asks you. You chuckle, looking him up and down, “Well that’s something to say after not seeing me for almost a damn month,” you respond. You smoothly walked past Royal, making your way to him to inspect his injuries. You gently take his chin to move his head side to side, he makes a low noise and lazily moves your hand away. “Jesus,” you playfully scold him, “I leave for a while and you get yourself into shit, I really should keep you on a leash, shouldn’t I? Who’d you fight this time, one of the Tillerson boys?” Your comment makes his eyes widen; you see something that you can’t make out in his eyes. Not quite startled, but more of a bit of fear and uncertainty. Within your time together as you got him out of fights here and there, he grew to have a tiny bit of fear over being on the wrong side of your temper. “I guess you can say that,” he says almost as a whisper. You laugh again, glancing back at Royal, “like I said, leash.”

You look back to Rhett, nudging him in the chest, “Seriously, you gotta let me give Luke and Trevor, or whichever one you got into it with, a piece of my mind next time I see them”

Rhett cleared his throat and shifted his stance on his feet. You narrowed your eyes at him a bit, stepping back to completely look at him. You’ve always been able to tell if there was something wrong, or if he was lying. And you can tell now, the stench of lies goes up to high heaven. “You doin’ alright Rhett?” You asked him. He nodded his head a couple of times, “Yeah yeah, my minds just a little fuzzy from the drinks and fightin’ tonight” he said, avoiding your eyes. You nodded your head “mm-hmm” you hummed. You looked back at Royal again, he was looking out the window, as if he was expecting someone. You looked back at Rhett; he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “What did you do?” you asked in a lowered tone.

He finally looks at you, a little more alarmed, “Nothing” he said a little more rushed than he meant to. You stared him down hard, “Nothing” you repeated to him. “So why do you seem so…. jumpy tonight?” He holds your stare, he can tell you have something on him, and he’ll be able to break soon. He was never that good at lying to you or able to keep things from you. “Like I said, drinkin’ and fightin’ cloudin’ my head” he says.

“Rhett” you hear Royal say from behind you. You both look to him; he nods his head to outside in a “hurry up” notion. Rhett seems to understand what his father is trying to say to him and he looks back to you, “Look, it’s gettin’ late, and you drove a good while. You need to go get some sleep. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow, okay? I’ll walk you the truck” he says, motioning you to walk with him. You still stand there, not completely trusting the situation. “Rhett,” you say, “Whatever it is, you might as well say now. I know that you know I can tell when you’re hiding something, and if you want me to still talk to you tomorrow, you’d say it right now.” Rhett almost feels like a child getting in trouble, hell he might as well be. He looks to Royal, who thinks for a second and then sighs, motioning the two of you to go with him. Rhett turns back to you as you await your answer.

“Come on” ……………………………………………………………….. They walk you to the barn across from the house, the moon lights your way as you walk behind Rhett’s towering figure. Your mind is racing, trying to think of any of the possible, stupid situation that Rhett could get himself into, and what it could have been to be hidden in the barn. And how severe could it be for him to try to hide it from you, his closest and only actual friend. When you reach the barn doors, Royal turns around to you.

“Before we show you, you have to swear that anything that you see here must not leave this property. You do not say anything to anyone, especially not to Amy,” he says to you, lowering his voice to where only the three of you can hear. After a moment of contemplation, your mind still soaring over the different situations that this can lead to, you nod your head at him. Royal opens the barn doors, the lights almost burning your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness as dim as they were. When you were finally able to see right, you see that Rhett’s truck is inside rather than where it’s normally parked outside, answering your question from earlier. You shift your attention to Rhett himself; he puts a hand on your back, gently pushing you forward. As you walk closer, you start to see something laying closer to the back. You get a chill running through your spine as you begin to realize what was lying motionless in the back of Rhett’s truck.

Trevor Tillerson was lying in the truck bed, face covered in blood and looking as if he were sleeping. But you have a terrible feeling he’s not. You walk over to him, looking over his pale complexion.

“Him and Perry got into it behind the bar. I wasn’t there when it happened but know Perry’s temper, I’m sure he said something he shouldn’t have while Perry was in the state he was in,” you hear Rhett say behind you. “I left to bring the truck around, he was on the ground when I got back.”

You swallow the lump in your thought that began to rise as you looked at the body. Reaching down to put your fingers to find a pulse point, only to find nothing as you touch his cold skin. You hear Rhett say your name, you can tell he is getting worried at your silence. Your shift your hand to his face, lifting his eyelid, his eyes have already become cloudy just slightly. A sign that this night isn’t gonna end for a long time. You’ve seen death before, all of you have, it’s hard to run a ranch without seeing it. But there’s a hard difference between livestock and a person.

“What are you gonna do now?” you said after what felt like eternity. “What?” Rhett asked. You turn around to the two men behind you. “Rigor mortis sets in within a couple of hours after death. Unless you want to walk up to the police station with a stiff body, I have feeling you guys are gonna try to hide him instead. So you might want to make your plan before we sit here all night staring at a dead body, especially of you don’t want his brothers coming around looking for him.” Rhett looked at you as if you had two heads, walking towards you as he tried to think of what to say to get you out of this. “As far as anyone is concerned, you’re still out of town. If anything, you need to go home before anyone knows you’re here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m standing here, I’m looking at him, this makes me part of it by just being here!” you try to reason with him. They’re gonna need help and they know it; if anyone asks where they were, Rhett could say that he was with you on your first night back as an alibi. Rhett can feel himself starting to get aggravated, he wants you far from here. He wishes he could take you home, or anywhere else as long as it wasn’t the Abbott ranch. “No, your DNA isn’t on anything, you can still go and try to forget this, you need to go before something else happens,” he says. You’re about to defend your case before Royal interrupts you both, “both of you shut up and listen!”

You both turn your attention to the elder man. “Rhett, you help me get him out of the truck, after that I want the both of you to burn the shirt and clean out the back of the truck. I’ll take care of the body,” Rhett was about to say something before his father shot him a look. “We can’t stand here all night arguing, we need to hide the body before his brothers realize something happened.”

After they get Trevor out and wrapped up, you help them get his body strapped to the horse, Tillie. While you strap him in, the lights start flickering. But not in a fuse shortening way, but like they were being manually flipped on and off. You all share a look, “Perry” Royal said. You run over to the door and peak through, “shit!” you say as you see the Tillerson’s at the house. You look back to the men, “The Tillerson’s are here, we gotta hurry.” Royal nods as he mounts Tillie, Rhett going to open the back door. After Royal rides out, you and Rhett quickly throw some bales of hay into the truck bed. You look up at each other as you start to hear voices coming closer by the second. Rhett looks behind you, “Hayloft, up the ladder. They won’t be able to see us under the hay.” You both start that way as the door starts banging against the lock. You both rush up the ladder as fast as you can, falling into the hay just in the nick of time. The Tillerson brothers, along with Perry, walk in only to find an empty stable with a truck full of hay. Not looking up to see the two of you as you cover yourselves.

Rhett holds you close to him as you both hide in the stash of hay. Your bodies flush against one another. You won’t lie and say that you never dreamed of being in this position, except those dreams didn’t involve covering up an accidental murder case.

Rhett’s trying to keep his breathing low, all while trying to catch it. It almost feels like the past two hours have been a blur. With the rush of adrenaline caused by the fucked situation mixed with seeing you after so long, he feels like he could pass out right now with you in his arms like he’s been wanting to for years. The both of you can feel yourselves warming up from the body heat as you lay low in the hay, but not to where you’re suffocating.

After they finally leave, you both keep still as you finally allow yourselves to breath once again. Your body relaxing against Rhett as you calm down from the rush. You can feel his breath against your cheek. His arms tighten around you, almost like he thought you could slip from his fingers. You look over to him, your nose brushing his with how close you were. You shift your body to completely face him, his arms still around you as you two begin to look like lovers in a warm embrace. How you wish that were true. You look at each other, nose to nose, all it could take was a slight movement and you could brush your lips against his. Rhett can feel his heartbeat in his ears, his eyes leaving yours only to look at your lips and back up. You do the same, staring into his bright blue eyes.

You don’t know what makes you pull away slightly. Maybe it’s the fear of rejection, maybe it’s the feeling that it’s the wrong place for this, or maybe you don’t want to ruin how things are between you two. You pull away only an inch from him, still close to feel his body against you, but enough to cool off a bit. “What do you think is gonna happen, Rhett?” you whisper. He looks at you with uncertainty. “I’m not sure,” he says so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him. “All I know is that it’s not gonna be good.” He tucks your head into his neck as you both lay there in the hayloft. He wishes you could both lay there forever, or at least until sunrise.

As you shut your eyes, you wrap your arms around him. You two try to make the most of this calm moment in between chaos. None of you know of what’s to come, but until then, you both rest.

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Violet Beauregarde (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

Requested by @comma-after-dearest

Favorite thing about them: Her transformation into a giant blueberry is one of the most (literally) colorful and unforgettable scenes in all of children's literature.

Least favorite thing about them: Her "vice" of chewing gum all the time hardly seems as bad as the other bratty kids' vices. Dahl's attitude about it is clearly the product of his era, when gum-chewing was more widely seen as vulgar, "cow-like," etc. It's no wonder that most adaptations give her a bigger vice, of which her gum-chewing is just one aspect: e.g. bad manners (the 1971 film and the 2004 stage musical), competitiveness (the 2005 film and the 2013 stage musical), or vanity (the 2010 opera, where she's obsessed with beauty and weight loss, and chews gum as a substitute for eating).

Three things I have in common with them:

*I like to chew gum (though not all the time).

*As a child, I was sometimes rude (though not intentionally, but more because I didn't understand social rules) and too competitive (though not in an "I'm the best, you're all losers" way, but an "I have to be the best, or I'll be a loser" way).

*I have brown hair, as she does in the 1971 film.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I couldn't stand to chew the same stale, tasteless piece of gum for three months, not even for a world record.

*I'm not a motor-mouth, either in gum-chewing or talking.

*I've never turned into a blueberry.

Favorite line: Her long introductory speech on TV about her gum-chewing.

brOTP: Her parents, even though they've brought her up badly.

OTP: None.

nOTP: Willy Wonka or any adult.

Random headcanon: When she grows up, she'll have a surprising number of boyfriends who find her permanently purple skin uniquely beautiful. And some of them will insist that she repeatedly tell the story of her blueberry transformation and of the de-juicing process that saved her, because it's fetish fuel for them (see below).

Unpopular opinion: I don't find her transformation sexy or arousing in the least. I know that body inflation is a popular fetish, and pictures of Violet are popular online for that purpose, but it doesn't appeal to me that way at all.

Song I associate with them:

From the 1971 film, her iteration of the “Oompa-Loompa" song:

And the Oompa-Loompas' more elaborate song about her from the 2005 film:

I'm not familiar enough with the other adaptations to list their Violet songs too.

Favorite picture of them:

This illustration by Joseph Schindelman, showing the very beginning of her transformation when her nose turns blue:

And his drawing of her in full blueberry form with the Oompa-Loompas:

This illustration of the same moment by Michael Foreman:

These illustrations by Quentin Blake:

Denise Nickerson in the 1971 film:

AnnaSophia Robb in the 2005 film:

These girls from the 2013 musical:

[unkn0wnvariable]

Sunbathing Comma

A comma butterfly soaking up the sunlight on fallen leaves on the the woodland floor, in Glapthorn Cow Pastures.

[cats-of-eden-valley]

SPINECROWN

Hunted?: Rarely. Occasionally, old weakened bulls show up and an omen may be read in Goldspring to give the beast an honorable death. Coldbank and Bogden do not do this.

Uses: Skulls function as valuable ceremonial pieces; a well-preserved skull is often brought to the Trading Place or underground to a Hellspring. Tusks are valued for the ivory, which can be used in anything from weapons to crafts. Hides are best used for draperies, which again are often brought to a Hellspring.

Migratory: Yes; Waking Year only.

The matriarchal system of spinecrowns lends to all variety of stories and legends. Among those is the belief that it was the spinecrowns who taught them their ways so that cubs and dams could survive the slim pickings, by sending away bulls and toms. They're treated as wise and intelligent, and with the utmost respect.

Matriarchs of specific family groups are often named and observed. The most well-known is Comma, a female who disappeared one year, only to return three years later. Theories abound about where she went, if she'd been called away by spirits or if she had died and risen again. Another well-known matriarch is Whirlabout. True to her name, the old beast takes great joy in spinning herself in circles from time to time.

And a favourite in recent years is Swallowtail, a young cow who discovered that she can persuade some cats into shaking down fruit from the trees.

And fun fact: the markings on their trunks are used for signalling each other and to quickly tell each other apart!

[nomsfaultau]

Tommy the kind of kid to keep a password protected diary plotting technos kidnapping and Wilbur’s murder

it’s red and shiny and has a bunch of cows on it

Techno finds it but it’s like some of the better writing Tommy has done so he has to encourage it.

Wilbur finds him grading a passage about hiding his body in the woods and is offended the only thing Techno cares about is the comma splices. “Bro it’s just rpf chill out.”

[emmashouldbewriting]

It’s a digital letterhead, it’s not really wasteful to update it to the correct coronet/coat of arms. My guess is that KP doesn’t know the difference, because not many of them have a lot of experience when it comes to actual royal stuff (which is why WK’s royalness isn’t coming through and they’re more like activists these days)

I think there was some paper with it? EIIR? Idk. They probably print it in bulk and it's wasteful to get rid of it. Just use it. She's still on the stamps and the postboxes. Heck her grandpa is on the postboxes lol.

They probably haven't even thought to do it, honestly. It's just a small thing to nitpick considering they're putting out letters from Catherine that haven't been edited properly and have commas all over the place. Now that I'll complain about until the cows come home.

[cithaerons]

You don’t analyze enough, he says, too much feeling

for style, ambition. Senses aren’t specters of things,

shadows aren’t sources, and tears can’t tremble

from words. You should have quoted Edmund Burke,

Nietzsche, Darwin, and our seventeen associate, assistant, and adjunct professors.

In America we use commas in pairs, and periods

punctuate sentences, not breaths.

You didn’t even define epiphany

or transcendence. I don’t care about your grandfather’s wrinkles,

your red polka dot dresses outgrown and swaying on the clotheslines,

any cow bells ringing, any dusty treasure chests

locked with letters and pearls, or the sun setting

on the wheat and the long and graceful blades of grass.

What does it mean

to be moved?

A reprieve to mysticism.

She fills her lungs with air.

Marek Makowksi, A University Professor Chastises My Niece for Her Essay about Beauty

[rockyp77mk3]

Why are you so against saving the planet? You can't dispute the science that the earth is warming and we are killing it. Is your beef car and gas stove so important to you?

Thank you for the questions.

I am not against saving the planet. I just simply do not believe that the Climate Change Religion is about saving the planet. I think rather that it is about consolidating all political power in the hands of a few. I think it is about redistribution of wealth, destruction of the middle class, restriction on freedom with hints of Marxism and elitist control. If it were about saving the planet the main target would not be the US. It would be India, China, or any country that has no environmental restrictions.

Questioning science is exactly how science works. Questioning theory with research and experimentation is how science progresses. Using a theory as a statement of faith makes it the basis of a religion, not science.

Yes, although you really should try using commas. My car, my ability to live as I choose, eat as I choose are very important. I find it ironic that the climate change mavens all advocate things that reduce our quality of life but will not consider things that actually reduce carbon, like planting more trees, establishing green spaces, putting green gardens on the roofs of large buildings, etc. The fact that these solutions are being overlooked makes me thing something is the agenda other than saving the planet.

Ask yourself why Obama, a long time, climate change cheerleader bought a multimillion dollar seaside estate and not a ski lodge in Vail? Perhaps it is because he doesn't believe that the ocean really will rise. Oh, while you are questioning as why the elite use private jets, private helicopters, and convoy after convoy of huge SUVs to go to climate change conferences? Please don't say they bought carbon offset credits because they are made up, pure cow flop. I do however have some Brooklyn Bridge offset credits for sale if you are interested.

I am not eating bug while the Davos tyrants eat steak.

[whatthefishh]

Sativa

Rydal Keener x f!reader

Part of the Oxford Comma series

Warnings: drug use (weed), studying excessively, oral (f receiving), mentions of p in v sex, baby cow eyes.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: this took me way longer than I intended to write, it’s been a really difficult time in my mind for me and to those who are waiting for requests / chapters of other fics ily for being patient with me ❤️ huge thanks to my lovely mutuals who helped me, especially @xbellaxcarolinax for reading it over several times 🌹 love you

The room was slowly filling with the distinct smell of marijuana, little puffs of air spilling from Rydal’s lips as he took yet another drag of his joint before he tried to proposition you again.

“Wanna take a break now? It’s not like you can absorb the information by just staring at the textbook. Doesn’t work that way.”

You only sigh in response.

“A little smoke might make all those theories seem a little less… theoretical, yknow?” He laughs at the end of his quip like he finds himself extremely amusing.

“Oh, you think me finally giving in to your bad influence will help me pass this exam? You really think that’s the best way to study right now? Really?”

“Not a bad influence, princess, just wanna help you relax,” Rydal says while pushing your hair over your shoulder from where he was lying on his side next to you.

Smacking his hand away, you huff in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time he’s offered it to you, and it was never pressuring. He offered because he offered everything to you, and this was just another one of those things. You didn’t mind the smell. It was just irritating when you were trying to study and were very clearly stressed.

Rydal had learned these concepts from childhood, the topics of discussion in class were the same ones he’d have with his family at dinner, with his father over drinks at the early age of 14 back when he was obsessed with being just like him. The books on the syllabus were his summer readings as a child, the younger version of him desperate to impress with big words and bigger ideas, learning the hows and why’s of socialism when all his peers were riding their bicycles around the neighborhood. He didn’t have to focus as much as you did at this moment. And right now? Your brain was at its limit, barely digesting the words on the pages in front of you.

You lowered the textbook into your lap, turning to look down at him. His head was on the pillow next to you, eyes boring into yours calmly.

You felt your resolve slipping.

“None of this makes sense anymore.”

“What doesn’t?” He asked quietly, changing his teasing tone to match your somber one.

“It’s like, it’s like I’m reading the same thing over and over but I know—“

“You already know everything, you’re overthinking—“

“No, that’s what you think, but the last time I talked to your dad and he full-on tested me—“

“—wasn’t testing you, it came up organically so that doesn’t count—“

“Yes! Yes, he was! Who casually asks someone what their opinion on direct versus indirect democracies is over lunch? Like, what the fuck was I supposed to say?” Your voice is bordering on shrill, the memory of Lawrence’s unimpressed gaze and your face heating up in embarrassment as you struggled for words flashing through your mind.

“I’m sure he’d love hearing your rehearsed opinion next time. For now, though, I’d love to hear your opinion on something else.”

“Does it have to do with our actual reading material or does it have something to do with getting lost in a cloud of smoke with you?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“I just wanna make you feel better, baby, is that so wrong?” Rydal is looking up at you, unwavering, moving to finger the edge of the sweater you had on before dipping his hand underneath to rest on your back.

Looking at him with those eyes, the intense deep stare he held; his pink lips and their slight upturn, gentle and playful all at once —you made up your mind.

Propping your hand to take the joint from him, he doesn’t give it but instead, he sits up to guide it to your lips himself, his other hand clutching your waist. Rydal rests the tip of it against your lips, his eyes watching the way you wrap them around it delicately and you swear you could see his pupils dilate and hear his breathing slow down.

“Take it nice and slow, deep breath,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your mouth as you inhale, “hold it, that’s it. Good girl. Now slowly exhale.”

You did as you were told, feeling the smoke fill up your lungs and burn slightly as you held it, and then exhaled straight into Rydal’s face.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t realize how close—“

Before you could finish speaking, he took a deep drag of the joint and hungrily pressed his lips against yours, inadvertently blowing the smoke into your mouth while doing so. You could feel his warm breath mixing with yours, your hearts beating in unison as his lips worked yours. The almost sweet and earthy taste of the weed seeps into your lungs as his tongue claims your mouth. Everything was overwhelming and thrilling and arousing and beautiful and he felt so good right then that you wanted to claw your way into his lap and stay there, burrow into his chest until you were warm and safe.

Rydal would keep you safe, with him. He would.

Pulling apart for air, you don’t remember who moved first but he was tossing your textbook on the floor while you were peeling your sweater off, the room becoming instantly warmer, the need to be closer to him making you antsy. Needy.

The effects of the smoke kicked in sometime between kissing Rydal stupid and him taking off your bottoms, his eyes stripping you faster than his hands could. You were clutching his shoulders, desperate to keep him close especially once the weight settled over you and your limbs felt heavier.

He had to stay close, you couldn’t let him leave you at this moment. Your arousal mixed with the slight paranoia that came with the high resulted in a very strong desire to stay as close as you could to Rydal, needing him more than you could put into words. You hoped he understood from how tight you were holding him, from how much you were whining when he dragged a finger down your soaked panties.

You flopped back against his pillows and despite being naked, you didn’t feel cold, your eyes and nipples pointed to the ceiling as he kissed his way down your tummy. He already laved your breasts with his mouth, the traces of saliva he left behind from wrapping his mouth around your peaks now making them pebble in the evening air. Rydal’s hands were everywhere, his tongue dipping out every few seconds to taste your skin. The effects of the high made you hypersensitive to the maelstrom of sensations, his touches feeling ten times more powerful and intimate than usual.

You didn’t realize it, but you were making all the pretty and perfect noises for him, breathy moans louder than usual while he explored your soft skin, harshly panting and voice wavering on little moans. You were driving him up the wall, his hips softly grinding into his blanket for some relief while he mouthed over the top of your underwear.

Rydal’s mouth wrapped around your clothed clit, letting his drool soak the material until he could suck it and hear your shocked squeal of pleasure. You buried your hands in his soft hair, strands slipping through like gossamer.

He lifted his mouth an inch just to hook a finger around the gusset and plant an open mouth kiss on the very core of you. He was sweet like that.

Apparently, your panties were too much of an obstruction for him as they were ripped from your legs a moment later so that he could spread you open with his fingers. Licking a stripe up your dripping cunt, Rydal dived in, eyes closed, his nose gently nudging your clit while he tongued at your opening. He continued to tongue fuck you, slowly moving in and out of your little hole leaving you gasping and moaning lowly, tugging on his hair. He continued this little routine; licking up your peeled-back core, tonguing inside your cunt, and then to rile you up that much more, he would let his teeth graze your clit.

Rydal’s fingers were stuck gripping your thighs, leaving indents from how tight he had to hold you down just so you’d stop squirming. You were so restless from him edging you, almost cumming several times but he’d pull back, blowing cool air on your core just to take you all the way again. Occasionally, he would moan into you, swirling his tongue around your clit just to suckle on it sweetly as if it were honey he was drinking on. You were whining pathetically as you buck your hips up into his mouth, the synthetic dose of dopamine only serving to heighten your pleasure. Your limbs felt heavy, you could’ve been 10 feet underground, plunged deep within the earth itself, body like lead, and the only thing you could focus on was the way Rydal’s mouth lapped at you, slurping obscenely as he made you choke on a moan.

This time around, he didn’t let up, his tongue working double time as he stared up at you, his hands pushing your thighs further apart to give him the space to fuck you with his tongue with purpose. He was intent on making you cum, fucking finally. You tried to ask, tried to form the words to beg him – maybe you did, maybe you were begging him more than you usually did, maybe that’s why he was finally giving in to you, you really couldn’t remember what you were saying – but it seemed he wasn’t stopping. Reaching up with one hand to entwine his fingers with yours and resting it on your tummy, he groaned, almost as if giving you the permission you were waiting for to let go, that it was okay, that he’d take care of you, catch you when you inevitably fall.

And fall you did. Hard.

Eyes shutting, head thrown back, floating and sinking simultaneously, his mattress was soaked not only with your release but with sweat, your body feeling seven different emotions at once as you finally came into his eagerly awaiting mouth. Rydal was there just as he promised, made you feel good – brilliant, intoxicated, euphoric – true to his word.

The comedown was… interesting.

Rydal was still holding your hand, thumb rubbing the back of your palm while he nuzzled your thigh, resting his head and blinking up at you while you caught your breath. He was a sight to behold, his gorgeous hair mussed from your restless hands, lips shiny and swollen from use and his eyes, so fucking deep and loving and still hungry.

The giggling started, hazy thoughts from the high making it hard to stop, taking the weight off your chest as it continued. Thinking about how you were aggressively pushing his hands away from you just moments before letting you wreck his comforter had you covering your face, releasing another peal of laughter. Rydal’s lazy half-smile while watching you only made it worse, knowing he thought you were a lightweight and would definitely tease you about it later. Kissing his way back up your body, pressing his mouth lovingly on your soft parts, he met you at his pillow, smiling down at you prettily. You sigh after the last little laugh leaves your chest, eyes sparkling up at him and suddenly feeling bashful.

“Never heard you beg so nicely before,” he says, smiling, kissing the corner of your mouth before snickering at your embarrassed groan. “‘Pleasepleaseplease, oh GOD–’”

“Ssshhhhhhutthefuckup oh my god, I did not sound like that,” you shoved your hands on his face, hastily trying to cover his mouth from speaking and imitating you again. Your cheeks burned. You didn’t sound like that, right?

“Mmmph, yeah actually, you’re right. It was much worse,” he managed, despite your fingers slipping into (his?) mouth. After gently removing them, he held them down against the bed before leaning forward to hover right above your lips, “it’s okay, baby, I liked it. Can you do it again for me?”

And then he held your gaze, like a fucking siren, knowing exactly the effect he had on you and your now achingly empty pussy, the muscles clenching around nothing as he let his breath mingle with yours. Rydal didn’t kiss you, just stared at you with his eyelids low waiting for you to beg him.

“Are you gonna let me take care of you? Gonna ask me nicely?” He was so close but kept himself away until the only thing you could focus on was syncing up the movement of your lungs. His denial only made you want him more, desperation bleeding out from you.

“Mhmm,” you whimpered.

“Yeah? That the best you can do?”

“P-please.”

“There it is,” he mumbled, gripping his length in one hand, lining himself up to slowly push himself in, the fat tip of him stealing your breath.

Rydal never got enough of the way your sweet pussy gripped him, and made sure to pull as many soft pleas out of you as he could for the rest of the night.