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ellewriteswrongs · 4 years ago

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layers of love - prinxiety

1.8k words

ao3 / ko-fi / previous work

summary: self-indulgent fluffy prinxiety, very domestic, some shrek references, y'all know the drill

cw: mild swearing, slight innuendo/suggestive dialogue

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Virgil asked from where he laid against his boyfriend’s chest. Roman’s hand stilled as he played with Virgil’s hair.

“Hmm?” He hummed, continuing to rock them with one leg hanging out of their shared hammock. “‘Course you can.”

Virgil made something akin to a purr as he laid in the sun, his hoodie discarded for once.

“When you first said you loved me…was it scary?”

Roman’s brow furrowed at the question, leaning back to try and see the other man’s face.

“Scary? I…I guess I don’t know. I think, in the moment, it just felt right,” he spoke with a soft smile, pausing only to plant a kiss on the other man’s forehead. “But ever since I realized it…every time I thought about saying it, I was terrified.”

When Virgil only shifted, tightening his grip around Roman’s waist, the latter continued.

“I was so worried you’d be freaked out and think I was moving too fast and the last thing I ever wanted was to scare you off, but I…” he trailed off, letting out an amused chuckle. “I was only ever afraid of losing you. Loving you has never scared me.”

Virgil hummed, leaning up to steal a lazy kiss from the corner of Roman’s lips.

“But what about all those stupid stories you like?” He smirked, folding his arms over Roman’s chest as he rested his chin on them. “Quite a bit of pressure there, Princey.”

Roman chuckled, twirling a particular strand of hair around his finger.

“Ahh yes, those stupid fairytales that you make me read to you all the time,” he teased, earning a playful slap on his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I have more than enough understanding of when dramatic proclamations of my undying love are unwanted.”

Virgil just exhaled a short chuckle, reaching to pull Roman’s hand out of his hair and over to hold it against his cheek, first pressing a kiss into the palm.

“Isn’t that why it’s such a big deal though?” He mused, his eyes half-focused on the beach around them. “Like, isn’t the whole point of falling in love so that something changes once you say it? And…and nothing changed when we said it.”

Roman stiffed a little bit from under him. “Did you…want something to change?”

No. No, of course he didn’t. That was the best part about it.

He told Roman as such.

“I guess I just…always thought something would change, even if we didn’t really want it to,” he explained, closing his eyes as Roman started playing with his hair again. “But I like how we are. How we’ve always been.”

“How we’ve always been? I don’t know about you, stormcloud, but I think things have definitely changed for the better.”

Virgil huffed with a small smile.

“Alright, fine,” he said, his cheeks hot. “I’m glad we changed even if it was just a little.”

Roman chuckled, his chest vibrating comfortingly against Virgil’s head.

“Yeah, I think I like you a little bit more these days, sunshine.”

Virgil scoffed, jabbing Roman’s side with his elbow.

“Thanks, babe," he spoke teasingly. “What glowing praise."

Roman only wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tight, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other holding him by the waist.

"My darling dark and stormy knight,” Roman cooed dramatically, peppering kisses all over his face until the other started laughing. "The angel from my nightmares, oh how I adore you with everything I am."

Virgil smiled, his gaze soft and fond as he looked up at the man he loved.

"Mhm, that's more like it," he smirked, stealing a kiss. "I love you, dork."

Roman bent down to lean their foreheads together.

“What's with all the introspection, my love?"

"Good word, babe."

“Shut up, I'm just worried about you," Roman grumbled, tucking Virgil's head back under his chin.

"You're worried about me? Because I’m talking about being in love with you?" Virgil asked, taking one of Roman's hands to fiddle with his fingers.

"Well, you just don't...talk about it. We both don’t,” Roman explained, his voice vibrating through his chest. "And I'm glad we are, it's just...not what we do."

Virgil smiled, sighing contentedly.

"Nothing's wrong, I promise,” he assured him. "I guess I've just been thinking a lot lately."

"Oh wow, congrats," Roman teased with sarcastic claps.

“Shut up, oh my god,” Virgil complained, not even trying to hide his laughter. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Alright, alright, I concede," Roman smiled, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"I just kind of realized that I've been feeling different lately,” he started, causing Roman to immediately stiffen and lean back to see Virgil's face. Virgil smirked, rolling his eyes fondly. “I just told you nothing's wrong, chill babe."

"You telling me to chill out is quite ironic, methinks," Roman teased, relaxing back into the hammock. “It's not my fault you're rubbing off on me, Frank Fear-o.”

Virgil snorted a laugh at the nickname before he continued.

"Ever since we said it, I've just felt... better," he spoke, a soft smile on his face. "I don't even know how to explain it, it's just...better. I get headaches less, when I get anxious, it turns into panic attacks like half as much."

He paused as Roman's lips met his temple.

"And I think the strangest thing is," he spoke, propping himself up on his forearm to look down at his boyfriend

below him. “When you told me you loved me, I didn't doubt it for a second."

Roman gave a short, watery chuckle; his eyes tearing up just a little.

"Even just a year ago, I wouldn't've believed anybody who said that to me but you," he paused, reaching to squish Roman's cheeks with one hand until they both laughed. "I knew you'd never lie to me, but more than anything, I felt it."

He leaned in, intending to only steal a quick kiss before it swiftly escalated.

“Who knew you were such a sap?" Roman teased, breathing heavily as they eventually broke apart.

“Says you, Romeo."

“Oh, I wear that badge with pride, darling," he beamed. "According to Thomas' Twitter, I'm his 'simp' side."

Virgil snorted, laying back down as he leaned into Roman's shoulder.

"Okay, they're definitely right about that one,” he mumbled, ruffling the other’s curly hair affectionately. “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger and you can’t even deny it.”

Roman grabbed one of said fingers and brought it to his lips, planting a dramatic, drawn-out kiss with the most exaggerated noise he could.

“But of course!” He bellowed, earning a fond eye roll from his boyfriend. “For it is my only duty to bestow upon you all of the love one can possibly muster.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few other duties, babe,” he challenged with a smirk. “Like maybe the concept pitch for the next scripted video that you haven’t done, or the notes for the editors, or the fact that Thomas hasn’t even picked up his ukulele since last year, or—“

“Okay! Okay, fine, I can’t devote my whole life to smothering you forever,” he agreed exasperatedly. “But if I could, I would.”

Virgil chuckled, folding his arms over Roman’s chest and resting his chin on top.

“Hmm, yeah I think I’d hate that.”

Roman gave an almost comical pout, pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

“Nope, absolutely not, you’re not getting me with that shit,” Virgil asserted, trying to maintain a firm tone as he came dangerously close to breaking into a smile. “Smother me twenty-four seven and I’ll dump you on the spot.”

Roman pulled a disbelieving face.

“You really think I’m buying that?” He smirked. “That you’d dump me for spoiling you absolutely rotten with my sweetness.”

He knew full well what he was doing.

“I need my space, princess,” he spoke, putting on a suave tone that he knew he wasn’t pulling off by the giggles that came from his boyfriend. “I gotta’ keep up the aesthetic.”

Roman brought Virgil’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Alright, alright, I respect the commitment,” he spoke, punctuated by kisses from Virgil’s hand up to his shoulder. “It’s so tragic that Mr. Misery Business would rather brood than swoon.”

“Who says I can’t have both?” He grinned. “I’m multi-faceted these days, babe. I have layers.”

Roman snorted a laugh, ducking his head right by Virgil’s ear.

“Layers,” he spoke with a heavy Scottish accent, his hands squeezing Virgil’s sides. “Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. We both have layers.”

“Oh my god,” Virgil cackled with laughter. “I hate it. I hate you, never speak to me again.”

Roman smirked, unfazed.

“But Virgil, that’s what friends do, they forgive each other.”

“One more word and you’re not getting any kisses for the rest of the week.”

“It’s already Friday.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to punish myself in the process.”

Roman flushed a little at the rare admittance of affection.

“You think you couldn’t go a full week without any kisses?”

“I mean,” Virgil spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to find out.”

He answered with a chaste kiss to the other man’s temple. “I guess the world may never know.”

“If Logan were here right now, he’d probably try to get us to find out.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I never listen to the ol’ poindexter anyways,” Roman grinned, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ahh, yes, my favorite thing about you,” Virgil teased with a sly smirk. “How you’d rather be eternally petty than have an ounce of rational thought in that pretty little head of yours.”

Roman gave an offended scoff.

“You know what, I’m just going to ignore everything you just said in favor of the fact that you called me pretty,” he defended with a humph.

“Oh, you like that?” Virgil continued teasing. “As if you don’t already know you're pretty.”

Roman feigned his innocence.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea, darling. Perhaps you’ll have to enlighten me on what you find so appealing,” he drawled, his voice syrupy sweet in a way that would’ve made Virgil weak in the knees if they weren’t currently lying on top of each other. “My cute button nose? Thick, wavy locks? Maybe my taut, round buttocks?”

Virgil barked out a laugh, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation.

“Pull another Shrek quote out of that ass and I’ll see to it that you won’t be able to sit for a week—a full week.”

Roman froze, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Is…is that a threat or a promise?”

Virgil just groaned, shoving him until the hammock teetered and he panicked, clinging back onto the other man. “You’ve been spending too much time with your brother.”

“You may be right, but this is certainly more fun, I must admit,” he sighed happily.

“Just shut up and take a nap, princess.”

“As you wish, my love.”

#prinxiety #my work #my writing #ts prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #sanders sides #tss #tss virgil #tss roman #sanders side fic #roman sanders #virgil sanders

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doshmanziari · 4 years ago

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Architectural Criticism in 2021/2022 || Part 1.5

Before writing a fuller continuation of my previous essay on architectural criticism, I’m inserting a mini-essay that focuses on a particular piece of criticism. Let me be clear: I don’t see Kate Wagner, the person behind @mcmansionhell, as an enemy; I’m just using one of her articles as an example because I had, in my essay, already linked two articles of hers (more accurately, one article and an image from another), and I’d rather elaborate on what I mean when I write “...a vapid buildup to a politically convenient takeaway” than bring in an entirely different item. Wagner, in my view, represents a sort of destabilizing criticism that takes pleasure in tackling “dry” subject matter with breathless, Meme-heavy sarcasm. I find the tone off-putting, but I appreciate it as one attempt to invigorate and broaden the audiences of architectural appraisal. My issue is that by now the joke has overestimated its capacity for judgmental clarity. Really anything can be made fun of if you’re determined enough, and the more of an unquestioning audience you have the easier it is to believe everything you say is true or coherent.

The image was from this 2018 Vox article: “Betsy DeVos’ summer home deserves a special place in McMansion Hell” (a title likely devised by the editor; given the other residences Wagner has lambasted, I would be surprised if she truly believes this is among the worst). My observations won’t make sense unless anyone who is reading this reads her article as well, so please do that if you’d like to follow along. It should take only a couple of minutes.

What I’d first draw readers’ attention to is that Wagner spends the first four paragraphs on the United States’ beyond-vast inequality of wealth. Two of these paragraphs are the article’s largest, and the article is twelve-paragraphs-long, meaning that 1/3 of it is devoted to establishing a socio-economic context -- at least, that is the pretense. Once Wagner writes “...getting paid to make fun of DeVos’s tacky seaside decor is one of few ways to both feed myself and make myself feel better”, it is clear that her personal intent is a kind of vengeful mocking, and that her intent for readers is to prime them to associatively, knee-jerkingly despise anything which could come next with flat-affect “lmao”s. It’s hardly irrelevant to mention economic realities when examining luxury items (and what else is a mansion?), but Wagner’s subsequent analysis is not really architectural or even artistic: it is rather about looking at several photographs of a building, knowing who lives there and hating that person (and also imagining that they were responsible for all design decisions), and then mocking this-and-that in whatever ways one can devise. These grievances are understandable, but understandable grievances do not automatically lead to perceptive criticism.

Please look (perhaps again) at the first image. Note that only four, maybe, of the fourteen details Wagner chooses to focus on -- “no wry comment needed”, “these look like playdoh stamps”, “when you love consistency”, and “oh my god is this a shutter” -- approach anything vaguely resembling coherent criticism; and the other four images fare even worse (with the exception of the highlighting of an apparently absurd interior balcony). The rest are inane attempts at saying anything at all. Writing “hell portal” by an upper porch area may be funny for a moment, but what does it actually express? Well, nothing, except the author’s own irritation which will find whatever it can to announce its contemptuous sarcasm. Wagner’s captions will land only to the degree that the reader is humorously sympathetic.

The aforementioned remarks, excepting the one about the embedded chubby Tuscan columns’ Play-Doh-likeness, suggest that the worst thing a building can do is be formally heterogeneous. The implicative corollary here is that good architecture is eminently justifiable in all of its parts -- consistent, unified, rational. This is as fine a personal belief as anything else, but when it is wielded as dogma against architecture which has no interest in being a Petit Trianon it can only reveal its intellectual self-limitations. Wagner writes that “there is a difference between architectural complexity and a mess”, yet what that difference may be is hand-waved away. We just have to believe that thirteen different windows styles is too much. What’s the threshold? Does it depend on the size of the building? The types of styles used? Who knows.

Now of course bad architecture exists, and sometimes the failure indeed points to deficient editorial acumen; for architecture, like any other art, is as much about what’s included as what’s excluded. But in saying so little about the shingle style itself, Wagner seems to have given no thought to readers concluding that all shingle style houses are freakish -- more specifically, concluding that this freakishness is a damning transgression, and that no self-respecting, punching-up class-warrior would ever be caught dead sincerely enjoying their geometric, “exquisite corpse” escapades. In fact, the freakish tendencies of shingle style houses are just what make them such great fun to see, visit, or reside in. Wagner’s article, as far as I can tell, omits this possibility. When she writes, “Betsy likely went with this style because it is very popular in New England and in coastal enclaves of the rich and famous in general”, one is being pushed to presume that the only probable reason the shingle style exists or could be preferred over another style is to signal élite solidarity.

The photograph right above is of Kragsyde, a Massachusetts shingle style mansion, designed by the US-Northeast-oriented firm of Peabody & Stearns, completed in the 1880s. It was demolished almost a century ago, but the few exterior images of it which remain are, I think, fascinating -- maybe most of all for its enormous archway, possibly a porte-cochère, which has a thin, overextending keystone bizarrely driven into the top like a nail puncturing a petrified rainbow. I bring the building up because Wagner gives us no reason to consider why Kragsyde may have been a genuine architectonic accomplishment and not merely an oversized farce of contiguous pretensions. To the layperson hot off of the Vox piece, there may be no artistic difference between it and DeVos’ place, except that perhaps Kragsyde has a more consistent fenestrative application (would that make it better? if so, why?).

I appreciate that only so much can be said when you’re limited to less than a thousand words, especially when the issue is “complicated” (as the byline for Vox’s First-person series advertises). But the problem I keep coming back to is how DeVos’ mansion is treated as a stand-in for DeVos herself. This makes any architectural critique, no matter how pressed it is for size, flimsily presentist: its durability starts and ends with how alive the architecture’s resident(s) and political presence are. On some emotional level, this is pretty sensible: if we despise monarchical institution, we can find a sort of loophole to enjoying Versailles palace on the basis of it no longer being the residence of royalty. Our awe over its decadence and scope is intersectionally “admissible” on the basis of its having become a UNESCO World Heritage site. Similarly, one can imagine DeVos’ mansion being appreciated in a hundred years (should it still exist then) because the passage of time will have rendered DeVos’ person a historical fact, and perhaps more separable, and then tolerable, in that regard -- even if the building remains private.

But if architecture is, as a craft, critically whittled down to nothing more or less than inorganic expressions of social disparities, with every aesthetic decision a reflection of politically explicable taste, then we must assume that a great deal of the world’s most remarkable architecture is equally ridiculous and despicable, since so much of it was born out of great privilege and required specialized resources. I doubt Wagner actually believes this, because it would betray the entire premise of her McMansion Hell project, which is to demonstrate how so many modern day mansions are deeply unpleasant mounds of visual illiteracy, and cannot hold even a stump of a candle to the luminously learned and eclectic talents of prior great architects such as Mackintosh, Norman Shaw, Lutyens, or Ledoux. So what’s the takeaway here? As far as I can tell, it’s simply that if you hate Betsy DeVos, and if you care about class, you should hate her house too. And I do not think that that is architectural criticism.

#Architecture #architectural criticism #mcmansion #shingle style

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shesawriter39049 · 5 years ago

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|AFTER HOURS| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X OC

About- Your husband and business partner finds you up way past acceptable work hours for the 3rd night in a row! So, daddy has to step in and remind you that’s not something we do in this household. You come before work, in every sense of the phrase!

OR- Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx�� with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in a open relationship with! Your in desperate need of a 2nd videographer/editor! So here you are, up at 1 AM scrolling through resumes because your that boss that hates to overwork her employess so she overworks herself!

Warnings:Daddy kink, Dom Namjoon, switch OC (More of a sassy/bratty sub)Top OC, Oral (F recieving) Light ass play, (Rimming), Dirty talk, Breath play, Spanking(Pain kink),Hair pulling, unprotected sex, light cum play, VERY LIGHT degration (He calls her a “little bitch” once but it’s playful still noting in case it offends ppl)The end hints at a threesum…...with a certain redhead

Tae is their sassy exec.assistant and makes a cheeky little appearance at the end.

Jonnie baby is tatted...LORDT

There a fun freaky little couple...

WC:6k

NOTE- This is kinda old and was set to be part 1 of an OT7 AU called “7 DEEP”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Really?” Goddamn, leave it to Namjoon to make one word sound just as sexy as it was intimidating!

You heard the footsteps fuck you did, you just opted to ignore them and hope maybe he’d just, I don’t know leave? Maybe he was just doing a wellness check? But, if that’s the case, as your tired, unfocused, half-lidded gaze caught the bottom right of your laptop screen, which was glaring back at you something vicious! You realize that you’ve royally fucked up, and its a cute little 2 am right now! So no, he’s not going any damn were, anytime soon….

“Baby” The word left his lips just as much disappointment as it did allure which is a hell of a combination I know, I know, but in all honesty, it fits the mood. You caught his visual briefly through the mirror mounted against the wall and fuck, your man is fine as all hell! Frame resting casually against the entryway, arms folded firm across the smooth chiseled planes of his caramelized tattooed chest. Oversized cat-eye glasses perched on top of that cute little button nose of his, A pair of loosely fitted sweats sitting low against his v-lines, the thin grey fabric left nothing to the imagination as he’d clearly opted against boxers tonight. Shoulders and arms flexing effortlessly due to his current position which screams nothing but “Your ass is in trouble”. Which I mean, your kinda here for...kinda not….

Only offering a low hum in response as you continued scrolling through mounds resumes and video reels that were currently clogging up the admin email that was typically reserved for Taehyung. And that’s when you hear his feet shuffle closer, and closer until there’s a heavy yet comforting weight pressing against your back. The temperature around you shifting, as he leans down, arms braced on the table on either side of your frame. His long, beautiful, veiny fingers pattering idly against the glass, showcasing an array of rings, one of them being his Cartier wedding band as his lips nuzzling into your neck. Nosing up and down your skin slowly, almost teasingly, just breathing you in until your shifting back against him, a strong chill running down your spine.

“We talked about this…” Voice low, seductive, yet stern and still clearly a little disappointed...nipping at your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but just enough to make a point. Forcing yourself not to lean back into his touch no matter how bad you wanted to beg for more than just him grazing his teeth along your skin! You needed him to bite, hard, and he already knows it too, how much you get off on being marked..and that’s exactly why he’s not doing it...The little shit!

“I know but -” Namjoon reaches up to slam your laptop shut, sliding it and the stack of papers to the opposite end of your dining room table, that you’ve managed to convert to a makeshift office.

“We talked. About this” Simply parroting the words again, just slower this time as if to say you clearly must not have heard him correctly initially.

You sigh. Deep, slow, defeated, a nod rendering, out as a half-arsed response triggering Namjoon to pull back from you only to slide your chair from beneath the table. Shifting it to face him before dropping to a squat between your thighs. Gaze unwavering as he took in your blatantly exhausted appearance, still, he couldn’t help but melt as he reached out to caress your jaw feeling the way you nestled into it instantly. Your eyes fluttered shut briefly, as he smoothed his hands down your body, slipping beneath your robe to gently massage your thighs.

“So what the fuck, are you doin?” Brow arched as if he was daring you to actually respond, yet there wasn’t a single sharp edge to his voice, it was suddenly soft, calm. As if he was genuinely asking why you were doing this to yourself because he can’t make a lick of sense of it! You’re barely able to hold your eyes ajar right now yet you were out here working....

You couldn’t really handle the intensity of his gaze right now, more so because you knew he was right, you were so fuckin exhausted right now it’s unreal! Let’s also mention that the two of you have to catch a flight to Vegas for a business meeting in a good oh I don’t know 7 hours! So, instead of acknowledging that this was really stupid, you opted to reach for the one resume he didn’t manage to move out of reach. Eyes nervously scanning the paper as a distraction while you tried to think of a rational that even you’d believe at this point!

'Fuck, we just- I don’t know Joon, we just have so much going on right now! And you know I’ll never complain about us having too much work I mean, I'm grateful every damn day that we’re not where we were!”

You intentionally paused, letting “that” have its own moment because it's something to always be acknowledged! The two of you went from living in a 900sq ft apartment with 5 other people to effortlessly clearing 8 figures as of this last tax year. Humbled and grateful to be busy isn’t even the beginning of how you feel!

“But I just look at everybody...Yoongi’s responding to emails at fucking 3 AM! Jimin playing around docusign at the ass crack of dawn every damn day sending out contracts! Taehyung up scouting locations at 6 AM on a Sunday which is supposed to be his only day off I just- Everybodys in over their head so I thought I’d just- “ Namjoon reached up and grabbed your chin, snatching the paper out of your hand and forcing you to look him dead in the eyes.

“So thought you'd overwork my wife instead?”

You just shrug and nod again, tossing your hands in the air, it’s clear you have an attitude but it’s also clear it’s with yourself! You keep piling more and more on your plate instead of delegating it out to other people to handle! It’s a trust thing, and Namjoon know’s that, it started out with just the two of you, then for years it was seven , seven deep. It’s hard for you to let new people into something you and your husband built from nothing! However, Taehyung just got a part-time assistant of his own so he can go back to strictly being your right hand, and realistically, he’s salary! Your little Gucci boy probably doesn’t mind drinking his Starbucks and driving his BMW around LA looking for houses to film in! You could have spread the workload out a little you just fuck, I don’t know, you’re always that person to put people first to a fault I guess! Point being, Tae could easily handle this, tomorrow, during normal business hours, you could have and should have been in bed with your husband!

Namjoon can sense how uneasy you feel right now, almost like your a child being scolded and that’s not at all what he’s aiming for; he's just genuinely concerned. So he opts to ease the atmosphere just a little to remind you, that the two of you are always on the same playing field, he’s only reacting like this because he cares! Flicking the bottom of your chin before leaning in, pressing a firm, yet passionate kiss to your lips as if he’s trying to drive the point home, slipping his tongue past the seam almost instantly. Not even attempting to keep this somewhat chaste, needing you to feel every inch of infinite love and fire he has burning through his veins when it comes to you! Kissing you with enough force to knock the wind out of your chest, moaning contently as you give your husband free rein to explore your mouth. Turning the kiss slightly more delicate as he lets his hands slide even deeper under the robe to continue roaming your body. The slide of his tongue becoming softer, slower….as the pads of his fingers trickled up your spine.

Sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls back “Were all busy baby, I get it, I hate seeing them like this too, you know I love them just as much as you do! And that’s exactly why we put out those ads, but that does not mean you get to take on everyone else’s shit! Don’t make me put in a complaint to HR about unfair treatment within the workplace!”Murmurs against your lips, as you stare down at his, barely paying attention to a damn thing he said!

“Joon I am HR…” You mumble low and unamused, eyes rolling to the back of your head in annoyance and he could give less than a damn. Leaning in with a smirk playing on his lips, leaving another lingering kiss against your own. Kissing you with enough fire to have every hair along your body standing on end! Until your practically chasing after him in a pout the minute he pulls away from you.

“Mmm, and my point still stands….” Namjoon's hands tighten around your hips, scooting you forward so your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your arms instantly lace around his neck, trailing your fingers upward, so they can get lost in his freshly dyed locks.

“Stop, overworking my baby! You know I don’t like it…” His delivery was just as much playful, as it was stern!

“Fuck, whatever okay, sorry!” You really weren’t at least not right now, there wasn’t a lick of conviction in that as you reached up to bring his lips back down to yours. Sliding in tongue first, capturing his lips in another opened mouth kiss, the rhythm quickly starts getting messy more so on your end because you’re getting needy! Namjoon tastes intoxicating and you’re blissed out of your mind, even after all these years, this man can still manage to have your toes curling with just a simple kiss! , Arching forward giving him easier access to grab you ass and he takes the hint, the faint sting of blunt nails digging into the swell of your ass has you whimpering out low and filthy against his tongue.

The kiss breaks much to your dismay but before you can even protest Namjoons tongue is lapping down the side of his neck, mapping out all the places he’s learned over the years. Nipping down on your flushed skin ever so often this time he’s biting with a purpose though, giving it to you just the way you like it.

“Y/n were done with work now right??” He can hear you panting out low and wanton into his ear once he attaches himself to the crook of your neck, sucking maliciously, an almost animalistic growl leaving his lips in the process. There’s a hint of frustration mixed in with arousal dripping off his tongue right now, your too caught up to notice!

“Namjoon '' You breathe out his name with nothing but lust pouring off your tongue, not an ounce of shame insight in regards to how needy you sound right now. The sound goes straight to Namjoon’s dick which is beaming at you like a spotlight through the thin fabric of his sweats. Tilting your head back, and anchoring one of your hands into your husband’s hair keeping him in place, overwhelmed with pleasure as you go completely pliant under his menstruations. Regardless, this man's self control was somethin’ serious,and he wasn’t giving in just yet...you still had one more cross to bear baby girl!

“Fuck. Please” Tugging on his scalp like the brat you tend to be, as if to emphasize your point, making Namjoon pull away licking up your jaw in the process. The drag was slow, messy, waving his tongue against your skin the same way he would your pussy and you felt yourself start to involuntarily clench harder and harder by the second.

“Hmm? What was that baby?” Tugging the shell of your ear between his teeth hard enough to make you whimper into his hair “Now you wanna come to bed?” You can feel him smirking against your skin and you just really don’t like your husband at all right now just so we’re clear.

All you do is whine in response, yanking his hair even harder until you feel a firm hand land on your ass making you yelp out of your seat.

Nam-fuck!” Hissed through clenched teeth, thighs tensing around his waist.

“So again…” Tone as coy and casual as can be as he winds his hand back only to land smack dab on the curve of your ass again, right in the same spot, you wouldn’t be surprised if his palm left an indentation behind!

Namjoon’s hand was literally pulsing against your skin the impact was so damn strong, all the metal dancing along his fingers didn’t help either! You swear the ripple echoed throughout your entire apartment, and the scream that left your throat was without a doubt noise complaint worthy! Fuck your gonna need to send them an edible arrangement or somehing, they already hate the two of you as it is…

Your panting and whining opened mouth right into his ear, and it’s getting you nowhere but horny and frustrated! Nails, digging little crescents into his shoulders as you try and almost reroute so of the pain that’s buzzing through your veins. But it’s good, it’s soo good, the slickness coating your inner thighs gave that away! Namjoon can smell how much you’re enjoying this, his little pain slut as he often likes to call you!

“You wanna stay out here all damn night. Work yourself into the ground. Leave me in bed alone, and now all of a sudden you think you get to boss daddy around? Hmm? Just because your pussys nice and wet and your feelin needy ...now you want to go to bed?” Namjoons tone is blatantly taunting and a little harsh yet the slight growl laced with it all has your head spinning far too fast to even be mad.

‘Oh my god, Namjoon just fuck me already! Shit!”

“Why the fuck should I do that? Could’ve had me hours ago baby, all I wanted to do tonight was fuck you, that’s all I wanted all damn day.” Slipping his hand between your thighs pinching your clit between his fingers, slowly rubbing the pads of his together on either side, stimulating your clit head-on until your groaning into the side of his neck.”Do you even, know, how hard it was for me not to just bend you over the conference room table today!?”

“Joon” You try again and he doesn’t budge, he actually let’s go of your clit all together and just teasingly trailing his fingers along your entrance never entering just driving you fucking insane! Looking as fine and unbothered as ever, as his lips ghost up the curve of your jaw.

“Hmm, let’s try this shit again.Why-” Bringing that same hand up to grip your jaw with enough pressure to indicate he wasn’t fucking around anymore. “Should I give you what you want when you continuously keep disobeying my only request? Hmm???” You can feel your own slickness against your skin, yet all you can focus on is the blatant aganer, and hurt running through your husbands veins. Even beneath all this bravado..he’s clearly really hurt about this, so play times over!

“Fuck, okay!” There was slight elevation to your voice, tetoring on yelling actually. The arch in Namjoons brow said you had about two seconds to fix that , but you already planned on it! Taking a deep slow breath, letting your eyes flutter shut to just...recenter yourself for a moment!

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m. Sorry. ” There it was, not that bratty whiney shit you did earlier to get what you wanted, a genuine “I’m sorry” . Soothing your nails through his scalp, it’s almost instantaneous the way his demeanor shifts once those words fall off your tongue in a more..sincere fashion.

A low hum rang in the back of his throat at the admission, nosing at your cheek “Sorry for what exactly? Because I don’t want it if you doing this just to appease me baby. That won’t do shit for me. ” Namjoon’s tone is a lot softer now, all of the prior theatrics and pettiness is gone as he awaits your response.

“No, Joonie baby, no!” Pressing a soft but firm kiss to those sinfully plump lips of his that you still can’t get enough of no matter how many years go by…”No”

“ As your partner, I gotta look out for me just as much as I look out for you and I clearly haven’t been! I know better! And I should be taking advantage of the fact that we’re lucky enough to now be in a position where I can hire an array of people if need be. It’s just- you know I’m a control freak, this business isn’t just a business it’s our baby!”

You watch his mouth open in protest and you just simply continue speaking “But regardless, I know it’s not more important than me, or my health I know…” You instantly feel the tension within his body dissipate at that, thumbs kneading at your hips.

“ I’m sorry, I love you and I’m sorry I’m not trying to stress daddy out!'' There's a slight playfulness to your delivery trying to lighten the mood a little though you know how serious this topic is for him! You find yourself wiggling in his hold trying to somehow get even closer than you already were.

So here’s the thing, back when you were in college just starting out, the two of you had a lot on your plate! Between school juggling multiple jobs, internships, and just trying to figure out how to even start a company of this caliber….The level of exhaustion he often saw you at was utterly heartbreaking. The number of times you passed out due to lack of sleep is unmentionable… so seeing you like this...was fucking unacceptable in Namjoon’s eyes!

You notice those big brown orbs of his get a little glassy so you grip the back of his neck even tighter dropping your forehead to his. Feeling like complete and utter trash right now!

“This business is not more important than my wife, my partner, my best friend...it’s not! However, you are more important than, all of it, this fuckin overpriced apartment, all the shiny little toys we’ve been able to buy, and this entire company in general! I love you, but I need you to look me in the eyes and fucking promise me that you’ll stop this! Please…”

You can hear a slight trimmer laced within that deep honey-coated tenor of his and the sudden vibrato’s foreign, and you’re not a fan! It took everything in you not to cry at the blatant plea rolling off his tongue, well aware this man does not beg! So instead you just leaned in and kissed him, hard, slow, just letting everything you couldn’t really articulate pour from your lips to his and hope he got the message.

“I promise, I love you…I promise!”

“And you know I fuckin love you…” You do, fuck you do, even if this marriege was high key an accidnet..it’s without a doubt one of the best things that’s ever happened to you!

“I know”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah”

Ducking down, kissing you reckless and with fevour, messy, wet, teeth clacking together. Slowly transitioning the mood from deep and touching to just...raw and nasty which is kinda what you’d prefer at the moment!

“I wasn’t lyin when I said I’ve wanted to fuck you all damn day though…”

“Please” you whisper out as he pulls back to lick down your neck, pressing your chest together to give him better access. Sucking his mark in a spot right beneath your jaw, well aware you’ll need an ass-ton of conclear within the next couple of hours, but right now you could care less!

“Please what baby? Tell daddy, what you want?” Namjoon presses, biting his lip and sliding his hand back between your legs groaning out at how completely drenched you are right now.

“Fuck me!” You pant out low and whiney

“You want it here baby? You want daddy to bend you over the table?” The familiar hunger that was back in his eyes was so fucking sexy and it had you rutting against him for any ounce of stimulation!

“No.Bedroom” Namjoon moans in agreement, securing your thighs around his waist and scoping you out of the chair, heading towards the opulent master suite the two of you shared.

Once inside he throws you down on the bed, hard and almost animalistic, making you bounce a little against the firm California king. Namjoon follows immediately, crawling over to cover your body with his own, his broad form completely engulfing your frame. Ripping your robe apart, and letting your tongues meet once more. Hot slick, and eager as you pant out hot and heavy against one another. Soothing is palm down your stomach, cupping your entire heat in his palm. Moaning out that it feels just fuckin like that. Wet and warm, so damn warm...ducking his head down to lick your nipple into his mouth, sucking slow but hard at the same time, nipping and grazing the bud between his teeth.

“Fuck” You moan back arching off the bed and into your husband’s mouth, as he licks trails across your sternum and over to your other nipple. While also stroking his entire palm against your pussy, Namjoon’s always loved how responsive you are to him even after all these years. Just letting his tongue lave over the buds over and over, alternating between, licking, sucking, and biting so your body never gets used to the stimulation.

“You fuckin, love this shit don’t, you? Bet I could get you to come just like this...wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” You can feel his lips curling into a smirk around your nipples the harder he sucks, bringing his other hand into the mix, the one that’s nice and slick with your arousal. Using it to twist and turn your nipple between his nimble fingers until he can’t tell if your arching into the pain or away from it. He can feel you grinding against his thigh, more importantly, he can feel your clit sticking to his thigh your so damn wet, soaking straight through his sweatpants. Moaning out loud and unfiltered, eyes shut as you rock your hips against him, your hands getting lost in your hair the harder you rock against the bed.

“Fuck, look at you baby, rubbing your sweet little cunt against my thigh..” A low almost arrogant chuckle rumbling in his throat, vibrating against your skin making you moan even louder. “Fuck, here I was thinking you wanted to come on my dick...”

“Fuck- I do, I wanna come all over you, want your mouth too though…” Reaching out to play in his hair, almost pushing his face down even harder, though you swear you can feel his lips curl into a wicked little smile at that moment.

“Yeah? You want daddy's tongue all over your pussy…” He didn’t even bother phrasing it as a question, especially once he meticulously started rolling his tongue along your nipples, in a oh too familiar motion that had you turning into a whiny brat within seconds!

“Namjoon!” He doesn’t even respond, just pulling off and flipping you right on to your stomach, hard and fast, making you damn near choke on your own spit. Face pressed into your fresh linen sheets.. You start to slightly arch your back on insctint. You feel him shift off the bed, peeping over your shoulder to see his sliding off his sweats, stashing his glasses in his side pocket. Namjoons length is just standing straight up, damn near laying flat against his stomach and you straight up moan, mouth-watering at the sight alone. A pleased hum leaves those plump lips of his as he shuffles back onto the bed. Kissing and licking his way up the back of your thighs until he reaches your ass, straddling your hips.

Palm rubbing at the swell of your ass before smacking it, lightly at first, and your hip twitches you actually have the nerve to giggle. “That all daddy’s go-fuck” Another. Scream. Literally. Scream as he reels back even harder than he did earlier, just keeping his hand intact too, wanting you to feel the trob, the ache, radiating off his palm to your ass.

“Hmm what was that baby?” Leaning down to spread your cheeks apart, just blowing a trail, against your pussy, watching the way your hole clenches from that alone. “Always so fuckin wet and ready for me…”

He groans and you, arch your back, even more, moaning out slightly at the contrast hitting your skin. Bracing both hands on your ass and he can hear your breathing shutter in your chest, already anticipating the first drag of his tongue. Dipping one thumb over you rim, just circling it gently, feeling you jerk at the sensation, no matter how light, fuck your still so damn sensitive. That will never stop amazing him, it’s been almost 8 years. Yet you still react like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you like he’s still helping you explore new places along your own body! Namjoon leans forward, nipping, licking, and sucking, open mouth kisses, against the backs of your thighs, before leaning down to kiss your clit. Tongue and all, sucking it straight into his mouth, moaning out deep and strong around the bud. Inhaling slowly as if he's breathing you in and your knees already start to buckle, nails clenching around the sheets.

A broken moan of his name being muffled into the fabric, as he rolls his tongue in deep, languid strokes up and down your folds, licking from front to back. Your wetness is already painted all over his face and he wouldn’t have it any other way, as he continuously, maliciously sucks down on your clit, gently grazing the skin between his teeth just enough to make you squirm. Bringing his tongue to lather over your rim and he feels how hard you start shaking, sliding in two fingers into your heat, knuckles deep at the exact moment he slips his tongue past your rim. The vision that is you, open, needy, and whiney, on all fours...is driving your husband absolutely insane! How quickly you’re falling apart, knees spreading even wider to give him all the access he needs to do with you as he pleases.

“Yeah..” You sign, blissed out of you goddamn mind ‘Fuck”

Your voice drips in the whiniest tinge of need imaginable like you’ve been aching for this, and the sounds richotect straight off your tongue and into Namjon’s lap! Your chest drops forward, letting Namjoon essentially all support your weight, as his tongue dives in even deeper, while continuously fucking you open with his fingers, he’s already added a third one. Mind completely spinning at how hard your clenching around all three of his fingers, cock throbbing at how good you’ll feel around him soon enough. You feel him pull back to spit right along your rim, watching it drizzle down toward your clit, he picks the trail up with his tongue and leads it where he wants it to go. Namjoon moans out, low, and content as he really starts to eat you out your tongue and fingers working your pussy open until your voice hitches in your throat and shatters. Ripping, a long drawn out whimper to leave your throat.

“That feel good?” He murmurs low and taunting, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, as if he can’t physically tell he feels good.

“I’ve had better”

He bites your cheek playful, a snort leaving his lips “Fuckin same..” slurs out against the swell of your ass and you can’t help but cackle.

“Fuck, I bet you have now, stop talking and get your fucking tongue back in ME!!” Bossy as ever, damn near pushing his head down and he reaches up, biting the side of your hand forcing you to stop.

“How about my cock instead?” Leaning back to smack his length aginst your ass a couple times, letting you feel how hard and ready he is.

“Yeah! God yeah, fuck yeah! Gimme! In me now! Fuck me!!” All your prior teasing is gone, just the mention of his cock has you needy and clenching painfully hard around his fingers, while also simultaneously rutting back against them as if you don’t want him to pull out. Pulling his fingers out slowly. Curling them upwards, purposely coating his fingers in your arousal to use to lather his cock which is so hard right now it’s almost painful.

“Daddy” Wiggling your offensively empty ass in his face, making him chuckle, and smack it lightly. before gripping your thigh and flipping you onto your back with such ease it was almost offensive.

“Nam-”

“Fuck off” Leaning down and stealing your breath and sarcasm away with a deep kiss “I wanna see my baby..” Lining himself up to your entrance, you exhale softly against his mouth as the blunt head of his cock breaches your entrance. Hiking your leg around Namjoon’s waist to make him slide in even deeper.

“Yeah, fuck”

“I hope you don’t think…” Shifting forward wiggly his hips a little, giving you half a second to adjust to how fucking big this man is! “We’re about to make love or some shit, because I’m about to break your ass..” There’s just as much of a smile as there is a dangerous edge to your husband’s voice, that has you beaming up at him. Before you even had time to think of a response he was snapping his hips forward hard enough to have the two of you scooting up the bed a little.

Namjoon, propped your leg even higher over his shoulder, as he snapped his hips forward again, even harder this time. You moaned out, and scurried to grab onto your husband’s neck to anchor yourself as he fucked into you hard and fast, you tried to arch and fuck him back but it was hard with how intense he was pounding into you!

“Oh my godddd” You drawled out, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Yup, Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that, in this position.....” You could hear the smile in his voice as he continued fucking you like he was trying to split you open with his cock. Nails clawing into his back hard enough to break skin!

You could’ve just laid there and took, it because fuck if it wasn’t good, but that’s not the mood you were in at the moment. So you dropped your leg from his shoulder and wrapped them both around his waist. Tipping your hips forward, clenching down hard around his cock as you started grinding your hips against him. Fucking him back the same way he was giving it to you. Hard and smooth..

“Y/n” He half growled half whined as you smiled up at him, something wicked, releasing your hold around his cock only to clench down even harder. He groans in what seemed like frustration reached down to smack pinch your clit between his fingers hard enough to make you cry out his name. Arching forward even harder.

“Yeah, daddy like that, fuck.Me.just like that” you were breathless but the sass was clear as day, a slight chuckle leaving your throat.

“Fuckin brat!” Reaching down with the same hand that was on your clit, wrapping it around your windpipe, adding just enough pressure to have your eyes rolling to the back off your head. The added stimulation throwing off your rhythm a little but you didn’t care, he had you…

“Yesss,yes, fuck!” His tattooed chest was flushed and covered in sweat as you continued fucking back against his cock, which was warm and continuously pulsing side of you. Filling you up and sliding completely out every single time. Your hole twitched painfully hard as the two of you worked in sync thrusting against each other in a smooth yet malicious rhythm, the sound of skin slapping you moaning, Namjoon grunting...

Fuck an edible arrangement maybe the two of you should treat your neighbors to a spa weekend or something because they damn sure aren’t sleeping right now!

“Ya know, if you would’ve came to bed earlier” He panted right into the side of your ear, still rolling his hips into you “I could’ve fucked you, came inside you” Leaning down to lick up the side of your jaw “Licked all, of my come out of you, and then” Pulling back and snapping his hips up even sharper, as if to accentuate every word “Fucked.You.All.Over.-Fuck-Again” Every thrust had the wind being knocked out of your chest “ But now..we don’t have tim-”

Reaching up to twist his nipple between the tip of your nail, kneeing him in the stomach just enough to make his hips stutter and have him shuffling back so you can push him onto his back which he falls to willingly. That is, until you literally bounced down onto his dick, damn near gagging in the process he feels so deep in this angle. Almost tempted to feel up your sternum and see if he’s poking through.

“You little bitch” Chokes from his throat with a stated smile the tones playful and airy, digging his nails into your ass, letting out an involuntary gasp as he rolls his hips up. Only for you to start rolling your hips back, again, and again, and again, in deep, slow, circles, switching up the pace a little from what it was before. Making sure your clit grazes against his pelvic bone every time.

“Yeah, fuck you” Your breathless, and tired, but you can’t help but smile at how completly fucked out he looks right now, eyes barley ajar, jaw tight, he looks so damn good!

“Yeah, yeah, fuck daddy baby..fuck me..” It’s clear he’s only egging you on but fuck if it’s not working,he sounds down right sinful as you ride him. His moans are deep, loud, almost needy, at every roll your hips make, and it’s intoxicating! Reaching up and grabbing you down by your neck , licking his way back into our mouth, his grip is strong enough to without a doubt leave a bruise. Both of you moaning out pleased and needy as you start slamming your hips down meeting his upwards thrust. Instantly matching the pace he’d set. Namjoon pulls back, and slips three fingers into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat to make you gag a little. Exchanging the grip he held on your neck for the back of your hair, as he brings his other hand down between your bodies to play with your clit, before licking his way back into your mouth.Feeling the way your thighs start to shake as you cry out against his tongue barely able to kiss him back at this point .

“Your fuckin close baby, your pussy’s just screamig around me..” He’s breathless, not even trying to hide it anymore, voice horse and dripping with arousal. “Goddamnn I love you…” You clench so damn hard around him at that..I actually don't think anything turns you on more than hearing your husband say that. Especially sounding all fucked out and needy.

“Love you too baby..so fuckin much… “

“Good” He chuckled low and dark agaisnt your lips “Now come, all over my cock like a good girl” Fucking into you faster and harder, hand still rubbing blunt circles around your clit, tightening the grip he holds on your hair until your roots burn “Y/n , baby, my baby, come for me, come for daddy...”

It only took a few more thrusts before your orgasm ripped through you and you were crying out your husband's name, body spasming on top of him. Yet you still didn't stop rutting against him until he came in. You couldn't, you needed to feel it, body running away from him just as much as it was running towards him! You can feel how hard your clenching and its involnaty this time,so he reaches up with both hands rolling your hips against him one more time before slamming you down onto his cock. Just holding you in place while you continue to pulse around him, body shattering to pieces.

“Namjoonnnn fuck-fuck-fuck-” He grounds you agaisnt his cock as he jerks his hips up hard and fast, eyes squezzing shut, neck arching off the pillow, as his relase washed over him. A long drawn out moan of your name slipped off his tongue as he came, hard, hips stilling making sure to fill you to the brim, until he's sure he released every last drop he had to give..His own body shuttering in ovesentivty at this point. Namjoons fingers slowly soothed up your thighs, both of you panting painfully hard, wincing at the contact as you continue pulsing around him. Eyes locked in a half lidded gaze, a smile that started on your lips and ended on his as the two of you racked over each other's forms, hot sweaty, marked up, and fucked out.

“Namjoon” You finally say, breaking the silence, a slight moan hanging off your tongue and he smiled back at you, reaching up to grip the back of your neck.

“Y/n” Parroting your name with the same lust filled drawl that you had, making you moan…

Nam-fucking-Joon” Leaning down to place a firm kiss to his lips, humming out instanly at the contact.

“Y/n Kim….”

“Yup, that’s me!” Smiling out tired and dazed against his lips, while you felt his hand soothe up and down the curve of your back.

“I love you”

“And, I love you”

The two of you laid there like that for a moment, until his cock was completely soft and he gently slid out, still keeping you flush against his chest….just sitting in comfortable silence, breathing together..until..

“ Oww!! What the fuck was that for ?!” Your poor ass...at least it’s a pinch and not a smack this time...

“I mean it. I love what we do and I know sometimes realistically it happens there are only so many hours in a day I understand that. We wouldn’t be where we are if we didin’t work our asses off! But you’ve been doing this and running on fumes all damn week! I’ve just been watching from afar and keeping my mouth shut, hoping that you would sort it out yourself but I couldn’t watch you burn yourself into the ground anymore. Y/n. I’m serious! “

You can feel the weight behind his words, the way his heart seems to be beating harder now than it was when the two of you were having sex.

So you lean down to press a kiss on his lips that almost seems far too delicate and out of place for what just happened only moments prior.

“I know.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for a second longer before cupping the side of your face and kissing you firm and sweet, smiling against your lips once he feels you sigh into it. Hesitantly he pulls away and heads towards the bathroom and he already hears you whine in protest. Just flagging his hand in your direction, not even bothering to turn around.

“We literally have a 9 AM flight and an 11:30 business meeting at the Plaza! Meaning, you have to be dressed and fully ready when we hop on the plane. Your fuckin showering..now. I don’t wanna hear it. ”

Honestly, you were far too tired to protest and the tone of his voice let you know you wouldn’t win anyway! So I mean, fuck, at least there’s a bench in the shower!

“Ugh, fuck, fine! Come carry me! I have to preserve my energy to walk in my Louboutins tomorrow!!!” Making grabby hands in his direction knowing damn well he can’t deny you anything.

“You mean today!” You heard his voice echo off the tiles and hoenstly he seems far to chipper to remind you have of, which only makes you whine even louder!

Heading back out the bathroom with a smirk on his face, shaking his head in dismay as he scoops you effortlessly into his arms. “Come here you little brat!”

“Your brat!” You fire back, with nothing but smugness rolling off your tongue as you loop your arms around his neck, kissing his dimple.

“Fuck yeah you are, my brat, my wife, my fuckin baby” Inviting his tongue back into your mouth as he leads the two of you back into the bathroom!

The two of you moved together lazily whilst in the shower, taking turns washing each other, slow touches and kisses. Murmuring sweet nothings mixed in with business because though you tried to leave work at work...sometimes it’s impossible!

Not even bothering to look at the clock once you finally melted into your bed, honestly, you didn’t even wanna know.

~~~

Far too soon the sound of all 6 of your alarms went off, ya know, the “Okay I should get up but I don’t have to get up” All the way to the “Fuck, I’m late!” Alarm! They all went off until you found yourself practically being scraped off the floor and led into the guest room that the two of you converted into an additional closet and a place for you to get ready in peace!

Sitting down, Starbucks in hand as you set out to beat your face, do your hair and try not to look like you stayed up until 1 am then got fucked into the mattress until you damn near cried!

The Starbucks was curiosity of Taehyung who had keys and free reign to your apartment whenever we felt so inclined. The redhead welcomed himself into your space, waltzing over in your direction with an all-knowing smile on his face. Ducking down to leave a slow lingering, open mouthed kiss along the one mark on your shoulder you apparently forgot to cover this morning. You can feel him smirking against your skin,as he pulls back to flop down on the pink furry chair currently covered in rejected outfit choices. Trying to force yourself to ignore the sudden chill that rang through your body because you didin’t have the time or the engery for anything else.

‘Why aren’t you wearing this? Your ass looks fuckin great in this!” Holding up a black halterneck Jumpsuit, brows furrowed in the center of his face.

“I know, but, it needs to be steamed and I don’t have the time..” A feigned pout playing on your lips as you batted your lashes at him through the mirror. Watching as he slid off the chair, with an exasperated huff, eyes rolling to the back of his head more times than you can count. Heading towards the steamer you had hanging along one of your many clothes racks.

“Thank you, baby!!” Blowing him a kiss that he swatted away in the process!

“Yeah, yeah! Soo I see someone was impatient and went through the resumes last night…At fuckin midnight!” Eyes glaring in your direction, you could hear the frown in his voice. “Y/n-“

“Don’t!” Eyes narrowing in his direction through the mirror “Daddy Joon already got in my ass enough about last night for all of you!”

“As he fuckin should! That’s what you have me for baby, so you aren’t doing that shit to yourself anymore!” You can tell he’s trying to sound authoritative but instead, he just sounds sad and equally disappointed!”

“I know, Tae, I know, I’m fuckin workin’ on it!.” Your delivery comes out a little sharper than you intended but he’s known you far too long to take it personally or even fully acknowledge it honestly!

“Speaking of, I actually met this kid, not fully a kid he’s like 21, but anyway he just graduated from USC, for some sort of Film. I actually ran into him at Starbucks today and he’s supposed to be sending me his resume and some video reels in a little while.”

A low hum ringing in the back of your throat, far too focused on carving out your brows to talk...but he took that as a hint to continue.

“His name is Jungkook, he seems somewhat promising just from talking to him, so, I’ll feel it out and if it seems worth your time I’ll forward over his information! I’m also going to try and set up a couple of interviews for you and Joonie next week!”

Offering a faint nod in response, still far too focused on your makeup to give much else, or realize the sudden fire burning in Taehyung's eyes as he watches you get ready. Silk robe hanging loosely off your frame, a pair of white lace panties peeking out...

“What time were the two of you trying to get dropped off at the airport?” The sudden shift in conversation, and the blatant octave change had your eyes meeting him through the mirror. Trying to feel out his mood…

“In the next hour or so…” Then there’s Namjoon, standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his dress pants, an unbuttoned silk shirt, and a smirk that screams nothing but trouble.

“Come’re” The bass in Namjoon’s voice alone has chills running down your spine, a second away from shifting out of your seat until you realize he’s not talking to you. Flicking his finger in the redhead’s direction, edging him off the wall slowly. Biting his lip as he sways coyly in your husband’s direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE! FOR NOW, IF YOU LIKED IT.. ,SHOW THIS SOME LOVE AND I’LL CONSIDER ADDING TO IT! I DID MAP OUT THE FIRST 3 CHAPTERS LAST YEAR WHEN I STARTED THIS BUT I DIDN’T PHYSICALLY WRITE THEM! BTW I KNOW I DIDIN’T MENTIONED ALL OF THEM, BUT ALL O BTS MINUS KOOK WORK FOR THE OC AND NAMJOON!

MASTER LIST

#namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon au #bts #bts smut #bts au #bts fanfic #bts poly #taehyung #taehyung au #kpop #kpop smut #kpop au

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judgement-free-sideblog · 5 years ago

Text

Blood, tears and sea breeze

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

Notes: My OC Derek Ramos is basically Anthony Ramos (Hamilton) I love him, he is cute and sexy and so freaking talented, and I frankly just wanted to write a story about him, but the In the Heights movie won't be happening any time soon, so I settled for this.

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Chapter 16: Inappropriate

Common sense and logical thinking, as Doctor Florence used to say when you were just a kid, whenever you felt ike you were losing control you needed to found the logical thing to do, and that would calm your anxiety before you have an episode, and usually it worked, most of the time anyway.

What was the logical thing to do now? None of the actions you have been taking the last weeks were logical, and common sense was urging you to stand up and run away from him, but the soft touch of his hands on the small of your back and the warm breath of his mouth were proving to be more calming than any rational thinking.

His lips felt soft on yours and maybe also scared, but he had no hesitation and you have seen the quiet need in his eyes, and you could almost cry since this was the first time in weeks since someone had kissed you, and sadly the first time in months since someone had that actual desire and need on his eyes before kissing you, he doubted for a second the moment you start returning the kiss with the hunger and longing for physical contact that had been denied to you; but he kept you close to him enough for you to feel his heart beating hard and fast on his chest, and you were desperate to know how would it feel under his shirt.

His touch became tighter on your waist and your body was moving on it's own trying to climb on his lap obeying some muscular memory on how familiar it felt, not like they were similar in any way, but he gave you the safe feeling He used to provoke on you, and you finally open your eyes... for a moment you were convinced that a pair of playful blue eyes will receive you with a cheeky grin, but instead there were those sad brown eyes darkened with desire, and logical thinking choose the worst possible moment to start working again.

You broke contact immediately, and felt a little hurt that he didn't tried to stop you when you muttered a little "I'm sorry" and run straight to his room closing thee door behind you and finally letting the tears consume you.

Jonathan's memory deserved better than this reckless and selfish behavior, and Detective Hardy deserved a free woman, free from all the horrors in your past, free from a dead fiance whom you still loved deeply, and free from all the problems you tended to cause. Also you were not entirely sure but it seems like he and Detective Miller had a thing going, and you would never get in between two people, it was a harmful and indecent thing to do specially to people who were as nice and considerate as them.

You could hear him pacing on the hallway outside the door and you wanted to get outside and tell him how much you really wanted to kiss him and maybe more, but you were broken at the moment and how bad idea it was, you wanted to tell him desperately how much you enjoyed kissing him, how his lips bring you back to life and how for a moment all the sadness disappeared, and how much you appreciate all the things he have done for you, and how you bring sadness and trouble to anyone around you so you have to walk away from him before you drag him to your darkness and ruin his life.

Because for god sake Y/N! Your mind told you once he stopped and turned off the light of the hallway, you were a fucking witness/ suspect on a murder case, his bloody career will be in the trash if someone knew that he did as much as looking at you as something more.

No, this was better, you could hide there at least until he left for work the next day and after that... well you will figure it out once the sun were up. You sitted on the bed trying to take Jonathan's disappointed and hurt face away from your thoughts, but two hours later when Daze entered the house you were still awake, ot wasn't until after 4:00 am that the fatigue defeated you and finally closed your eyes.

***

Olly Stevens was waiting outside Ashley Langford's La Boheme deli, holding a tray with two cups of coffee, and saw detective Harford approach him in civilian clothes she pointed to an empty table in the terrace and he followed her.

"Detective, you look as gorgeous as usual, may I offer you a coffee" He said again with exaggerate reverence but before the woman could roll her eyes at him a strong hand took the tray off his hand and gave Harford one of the drinks and took the other for him.

"Oh that's really considerate from you sir" a handsome man with short curly hair and sweet and compassionate eyes sitted next to Katie and offered him his hand. "I'm DC Ramos, you can call me Derek"

"Hi Detective, I'm Olly Stevens, I'm the Broadchurch Eco editor, how can I help you?" Harford smile to his inside since Stevens would act professionally now that other man was in the scene, I was completely ridiculous and insulting, but she had to admit that Ramos had potential and she secretly wanted to spend some more time with him.

"Did you found what I asked you?" She said once he put out a couple folders.

"It wasn't easy, I had to promise a janitor a two page story on how unfair their working conditions are" he said giving her what seemed to be photocopies of a C. Langford medical record.

"And they don't have unfair working conditions?" Harford asked.

"They do, but that doesn't sell newspapers" he said and have her a wink that was received by a dead glare. "Anyway here are the old newspapers you asked for" He said giving a voluminous binder that detective Ramos took. "Now what can you tell me about Jonathan Norbury's case, anything interesting?"

"Absolutely nothing, but we appreciate your collaboration, and once we have something that would sell newspapers you'll be the first to know" Detective Ramos said with a bright smile and Olly couldn't hide the disappointment on his face and after some more small talk he left them alone.

"Did you get the old records that I asked you?" She said once they were on her car.

"I did, they are not digital so is a lot of paperwork he said pointing at a voluminous box in the back "Is gonna take us forever Katie"

"Us? They are not paying us for this you know? I mean you don't have to be here" she said and his eyes went sad for a second and she feared he felt unwelcome when she was actually delighted that he wanted to help.

"Well I know that the files came from a shady reporter, I can't leave you alone now" He said hopefully and she put a serious face for a moment.

"Fine, but I can't take work home, my apartment is tiny and they are renovating the ceiling so is a lot of noise"

"Well you can come to my place, I mean if you want to" he said nervously, and she found him endearing.

"Sure, we can order take out if this gets too long" He smiled with that happiness that reach his eyes and gave her the address so they would start search on Charles Langford's past.

***

"I'm going to beat that bastard" Father Coats said loudly causing a few of the penitent in the church to look at the confession booth.

"Seal of confession father" You said and you could guess the way he was brushing his hair to the back of his head as he used to when he was nervous or angry, or in this case both.

"That only works if I didn't knew who you are" He said sarcastically, since he would have recognized your voice in any place.

"Well then pretend you don't, or better yet, talk to me as my friend" you said to him in the stubborn tone you knew drive him insane.

"If this was a talk among friends I could actually have a word with detective Hardy" He said and you rolled your eyes angry because he was right.

"Well then father, tell me if I'm burning in hell for being a loose woman" you said after a while.

"No more than him" He started and you knew he was joking, was that allowed? For him to make jokes in there? "I can only absolve you if you feel repented, but something tells me you don't, and if that is the case I think there is not such thing as a sin, is terribly inappropriate, and I'm sure if you choose to continue with this you would be jeopardizing Jonathan's murder investigation" He said after thinking throughly the situation.

"Well we wouldn't be the only ones misbehaving right?" You said and you could swear you felt the color rising to his face.

"We are not discussing my personal life here, and there is nothing happening there for your information" He said defensive, he finish with the confession and you follow him outside where Daze was helping some children arrange some flowers for the altar.

"It looks amazing Dasy" you said and she smiled, apparently she pretended to become a teacher eventually and she was searching for opportunities to be around children.

"Thanks Y/N my dad is coming to pick us, I text him we were here" she said and your plan to avoid him fall apart.

"DI Hardy" Father Coats said once he got inside the church.

"Paul" he said with a dry tone, he look sadder than usual and you felt guilty for it. "Are you ready?"

"Can I stay longer?"Dasy said and you wish she could read your mind so she won't left you alone with him, although you hope he would say no, but for your surprise he agreed.

You didn't have time to think when you were already walking towards his car, but before you get back to be reclusive in his room yo thought at least you owe him an explanation.

"Alec I..."

"Y/N I'm sorry..." you spoke at the same time and he immediately shut up when he heard his name on your lips, you haven't call him that yet, but he didn't seem mad. "Go ahead" he said and he stop walking next to the car.

"Can I drive?" You said after a moment and for all answer he gave you his keys and you climb on the driver's seat.

The drive was silent, but relaxing somehow, you had a place in mind to go, and you were sure he knew where were you going but he seemed uneasy once you start walking up towards Danny Latimer's cliff, your pants were now damp by the grass but you didn't care.

You finally reached the top and sited on the grass looking at the ocean, he looked at you concerned but eventually he sited next to you.

"What are you sorry for?" You said finally.

"Well my behavior last night was... " He started taking off guard by the question.

"Inappropriate?" You said remembering Paul words "Well is not like I didn't wanted you to kiss me" you said and you could see relief in his face, and suddenly it was clear, he wasn't mad with you for running away but with himself for making advances on you. "He proposed here you know?" You said fighting the tears and trying to search for the right words to explain yourself.

"Did he?" He said with a cautious tone.

"Yeah, he hated being outdoors, city boy you know?" You laughed remembering Jonathan tired face when you reached the top and he finally put down the picking basket on the floor, and the pain start pressuring your chest "He bring me here because he knew I love this place"

"It's quite nice" he said and offered you a handkerchief.

"Thanks" you took it and clean your eyes smearing some lipstick on the fabric. "I keep thinking about how manny weeks are until our wedding day" You said and he looked confused "I keep questioning me if things had been different... I want to believe that if things had been different I would have ask you your name in one of your appointments with Dr. Florence, and maybe... I don't know maybe I would have postponed my wedding because I was not sure anymore..." you said elaborating the childish dreams and ideas that you told yourself to justify your actions.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have postponed it" he said not understanding where you wanted to go with this.

"Or maybe I would have married him anyway and eventually I would have cheated him with you" You said bitterly "Not like what I did was much different"

"You didn't cheat on him" He said vehemently and he didn't need to elaborate because you could imagine that by now he must know more about Jonathan life than you.

"We hadn't have sex in months and I felt like he was repulsed by me in the end... I'm not justifying him, but that's the truth, I thought that it was wedding nerves, but I was to naive apparently, you must know of course if he cheated on me" you said.

"You know I can't discuss deatails of the case..."He said but that was all the confirmation you needed.

"I know that, and if he was it doesn't make right what I did, I was just not ready to have feelings for someone else so soon, and I feel like by having them I somehow love him less... I should be the one apologizing because I wanted you to kiss me and more..."

"You don't have to apologize, I shouldn't have act upon my feelings, but I'm glad you are not offended by them" he said and you gave him a small smile.

"Why would I? You are a handsome wonderful man, and if I'm honest I feel more free next to you than I have in the last five months of my life, I just wish that maybe the timing had been different"

"I would have asked you your name" he said after a while and you nodded, it was so peaceful up there. "Maybe several months after we met, maybe too late for anything to happen"

"Now what?" You asked standing up after him.

"We go back, and we pretend this didn't happen" he said, and you agreed, logical thinking "and maybe when this over..." he started with hope in his eyes.

"Alec, could you be honest with me?" He nodded as a response "Do you think I did it?"

"I don't" he said, it wasn't a emotional declaration, it was just a fact for him, he was completely sure you didn't do it.

You look straight into his eyes and evaluate the situation, he was right that was the logical, rational, and correct thing to do, but...

"I don't want to be too late" You said and you kissed him, waiting that maybe he would be rational and reject you, but he closed his arms around your back and kissed you with the same intensity of the night before or maybe more, both of you knew this was dangerous, reckless, irresponsible and completely inappropriate, but you couldn't care less.

Tag list:

@allonsymexgirl @laciesaito @tf18unipups @dazedkrosupreme @timey-wimey-lovi @coffees-and-constellations @ladyaziraphale @acid-gurkerl

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tsarinastorm · 5 years ago

Text

Season 7-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 2

Word count: 3.5k

Ratings: Explicit.

Chapter 1

Adam watches you walk away stunned, and he is fuming at Jessa. He feels like breaking something. Right now. Fuckin’shit. He gets up to leave, pushing his chair out aggressively, once outside he screams. He turns arounds and sees the last person he wants to be near right now: Jessa.

“She was a fucking bitch. I did you a favor. It never would have worked anyway,” she says as she cools takes a puff of her cigarette.

“No, Jessa you’re the fucking bitch here! You only think of yourself and you need to make sure that everyone around you is just as fucking miserable as you are! Dammit! You destroy everything you touch!”

He punches the closest brick wall, and his hand begins to bleed. That is going to hurt in the morning, he thinks. Jessa throws the cig down, and grabs his injured hand with one of her hands, then touches his face with her other hand.

“Listen, Adam. We have a connection, something that no one else has or understands. That has to mean something, and you know it.”

“Jessa, the only connection we have is common unhealthy behaviors, Hannah-hating, and fucking. The only thing we’ve had left out of those for a long time is fucking and now we won’t have that! You’ve humiliated me, which tells me everything I need to know about how you really feel about me!”

Jessa looks like she’s trying not to cry while simultaneously being infuriated. Adam stalks off thinking to himself that he’s blown his chance with his dream girl. Jessa runs after him saying, “Adam, come back!”

“I should have said this long ago: I never want to see you again Jessa!”

Apparently the last comment was enough to stop Jessa from trailing behind him. He hadn’t been this tempted to drink in years. He reminds himself that he has auditions coming up and he can’t risk his career, or it will all be worth nothing. He’s sure him becoming a drunk mess won’t help him win over Y/N. Imploding the rest of his life won’t fix the situation. He then remembers that he has Y/N’s number, and he smirks. He won’t call Y/N tonight or tomorrow because she probably needs time to cool off, but he will get a hold of her, hope is not lost.

It had been four days since your explosive conversation with Adam. For the first two days, you had heard nothing and that was oddly comforting. The silence allowed you to work on forgetting how you had felt about him, and gave your attraction to him time to cool. All of that was lost on the third day, when he began calling you. You know it was him because he’d now left you eleven voicemails asking to talk, or for you to call him back, both requests were accompanied by streams of curse words and the sound of things breaking in the background.

There is a part of you that wants to breakdown and reach out to him, to see where this connection goes. But the rational part of you refuses to go down that road. If he could do that to Hannah, he could do that to you. You know tons of details about his relationship with Hannah because of her writing, and you know it was full of issues. Then there was the apparent soap level drama of Adam and Jessa, then throw Hannah into the mix, and you’d be asking for a load of headaches. You also considered just hooking up with him because you had never felt such a raw desire for a man, you tried to convince yourself that you could fuck him and get it out of your system. You subsequently reminded yourself that you’d likely not be able to stop at just one time, and you’d be directly inserting yourself into that mess. You could be just friends with him, but you knew you’d likely only feel stronger about him than you already did and you’d end up getting hurt.

You put your internal dialogue aside as you adjust your skirt, and make your way from your first meeting of the day: your editor. The conversation went as it did typically. She had suggestions for your work that is about to be published, and you made notes from her grammar checks. Now to meet with your agent, even though you knew what that meeting would consist of: planning the new book tour, promotional schedules, paired with strong hints for you to immediately start writing your next work.

“Y/N! Y/N” You hear and turn around to see Adam following you. Great, guess there goes your whole plan of ignoring him and continuing to repress your feelings. He catches up to you easily.

“Are you stalking me? How did you know I’d be here?” you say in an annoyed voice. You’d read Hannah’s works and you knew all about how he would just turn up in places she’d be. Now you think that you must be his new target. How were supposed to ignore him and move on when he refused to give you space.

“I googled you and I found out who your agent was, and figured there was a good chance that you’d be around her office.” He says as he keeps walking with you, your attempts to outwalk him fail because his long legs make it easy for him to keep pace with you. He keeps on talking as you say nothing.

“Look, I am so sorry for what Jessa did. That’s a bad situation but it’s over now. It has been over for a long time. I should have told you who I was to begin with, I’m sorry for that but I was afraid you’d shut me out. I was right about that part.”

“Adam, I really don’t want to be involved in your melodrama. It’s not my thing. It has never been my thing, and it will never be my thing. You must know that this can go nowhere, I’m friends with Hannah, and I know way more about your relationship than anyone should. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” You walk away. Once you’re a reasonable distance away, you look back and notice that he stopped following you. You feel bad and you kind of wanted him to keep following you, but you know it’s for the best.

After being pushed away by Y/N, Adam goes to the only person he thinks can help. And one of the people who doesn’t want to get involved: Hannah. He figures maybe Hannah can give him advice, console him or something. Now, he’s sitting her apartment again watching as Grover plays with some baby blocks. Hannah hands him a glass of milk and sits down.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, Adam? Or do I have to guess?”

“Hannah, I really fucked things up with Y/N. I saw her today and she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“Having one of your ‘exes’ drop bombshells on her in a public place is probably not a good way to start a relationship. I’m sure she’ll cool down with time. She’s really guarded, I’m her friend and I never know what she really thinks or feels. I’ll get hints from her writing but aside from that, she usually keeps it all to herself.”

“I know if I could just get her to talk to me, or really listen, things could work. Hannah, I know I’ve only known her for a short time and only scratched the surface, but I already feel things for her that I never thought I could feel. I’m going fucking insane here.”

“Look if you want to talk to her, or more precisely, talk at her: we have writing group tomorrow. Just stop by after. I’ll be there and maybe that will make her more agreeable to hear you out.”

Adam nods his head and thinks that may work, or it may make Y/N think he’s more a stalker than she already does. He supposes that’s a risk he’ll have to take. He can’t get her off of his mind.

“But before we agree to go through with this, are things really over with you and Jessa? Because I’m not going out on a limb to get my friend to give you another chance if you’re going to run back to Jessa in a few months after your first fight.”

“It’s really over, I let it continue for too long anyway. I told her that we had no real connection and I never want to see her again. I’m pretty sure she’s skipped town like she always does when she’s fucked things up.”

“I’m holding you to that Adam. I’m doing this because you deserve to be happy too. I meant that when I told you at my party. I also think you and Y/N could be really happy together, but she is very stubborn so you’ll have to deal with that.” Adam can’t help but laugh at that. Both Hannah and Jessa were extremely stubborn and so was he. He knew he could work with stubborn.

You pull your jacket up closer around your neck as the wind blows and gives you a slight chill. You listen to Hannah go on and on about her current life dramas (something about a girl she knew from undergrad who’s been published, you think) and about how she worries about Grover. At least being around Hannah gets you out of your own head for a while as you were instantly sucked into her issues. When you look up, you see Adam walking your way. He must really be stalking you. You grit your teeth in response. Hannah speaks first.

“Hi, Adam!” Adam grumbles something in response to her as he focuses on you instead.

“Y/N, will you please just listen to me. We can talk over dinner or something. Whatever you want to do. If you never want to see me again after that, I’ll stay away.” Adam begs. You desperately try to look away. You can feel Hannah watching you, and you wonder why she is being so quiet about this. It’s her ex-boyfriend, begging you to spend time with him. Her silence is then broken as she turns to face you.

“Look, Y/N, just go to dinner with him. Even if you don’t want to, it may be the only way to get him to leave you alone.”

“Are you sure it’s okay with you? It’s not weird for you, or anything?”

“It’s totally fine. Adam and I are friends now. You and I are friends. I want you to go. Go, and have fun.”

Hannah waves you away and she goes in the other direction, leaving you and Adam alone. You look at Hannah as she walks away, then set your gaze back on Adam, “Fine. One dinner. Take me to a place that still serves breakfast. Breakfast food is my favorite, in case you care to know. And you have to promise to leave me the fuck alone after this if I ask you to.”

“Pinky promise.”

Adam nods, and offers you his pinky. You shake your head and start walking. Every time you think you have him figured out, you learn something about him that throws you for a loop. You and Adam make your way to a small diner in his part of Brooklyn. Neither of you talk along the way, but the tension can be felt in the air. The diner is certainly not what you were expecting at all. Adam said it’s one of his favorites, and you could see why. It looked homey, like the type of place you could find in any small town in America. It was a nice change from the normal tempo of New York’s restaurants. You order coffee, and a breakfast platter of bacon, and pancakes. Adam orders biscuits and gravy. When the waitress goes to the next table, you raise your eyebrows at Adam and say, “So start talking. Make me understand your past relationships and why I should give you a chance. Because I really don’t understand this insanity.”

He recounts his history with Hannah, the start as fuck buddies, and how that blossomed into a relationship. You’re shocked to learn that he was hit by a car while trying to get away from Hannah after she decided she didn’t want him to move in and blindsided him with the news at Jessa’s surprise wedding. She had left those details out of her writing. He talks about a girl named Natalia that he briefly dated who called him out in public but he probably deserved it, the next tale is him helping Hannah with her OCD, followed by his first role on Broadway, and Hannah’s unilateral decision to go to Iowa. Then he gets to a woman named Mimi Rose from Hannah’s time in Iowa and how she dumped him, and he gets to Jessa. You ask him to sum up his emotions for both of them. You can’t help but worry that he’ll one day go back to Jessa or Hannah, and if you’re going to move forward in anyway, you need to know his feelings. You sat and listened to quietly until now, and you were entitled to one question.

“Can you tell me how you feel about both of those relationships now?” You finally ask in a voice that’s soft, not combative.

“What Hannah and I had was real and intense. Because of the intensity, I think we both held on longer than what was healthy, or at least, I did. I assumed what if it was real, it meant it was forever. I liked that she needed me, and she’s a bit self-centered so as soon as I did my own thing, she checked out. We both were attached to ‘us’ for the wrong reasons and ultimately kept each other from growing.”

“I actually understand that. It’s easy to think that because you feel something real it can’t go away or change. And it’s understandable that the intensity of your feelings can blind you to reality. Happens to people all of the time.”

“Has it happened to you, too?”

“Since you’ve been honest about this, I’ll be honest too. Yes, there was a guy I fell for, hard. We were on-again, off-again. It was real love: passionate, poetic, and raw, et cetera. It didn’t work out, we were always on different pages, but for the longest time I thought it would somehow last, that somehow it would all work out in the end. Then once I was outside of it for long enough, I realized it wasn’t healthy and you can love someone deeply and they can still not be the love of your life, or the one you’re meant to end up with. Tell me about Jessa.”

“Jessa and I bonded over our addictions right after Hannah dumped me. We understood each other and we both wanted to screw over Hannah. We encouraged each other’s bad habits; it was like when two fucking hurricanes meet. Or fire and powder as Shakespeare would say. I mistook our similarities for compatibility. It was like seeing yourself in another person and it seemed right for a while, but I was really seeing all the worst parts of myself being reflected back at me. I ended our relationship a long time ago but she would turn up at my place, and I would let her stay, regret it, then the cycle would repeat. I let her stay because it was easier than finding something real, or something good with someone else.”

“And it was easier than being alone, right?” He looks at you and nods. You feel the warmth of the back of his hand gently brush yours. Still feels like electricity as it had when he touched your knee that night in the bar. You find your hand moving towards his without permission. The waitress then sits down the check in between you and that action breaks the spell, you move your hand away swiftly.

“So what are you guys now then?”

“Nothing now, we’re completely over. I told her I never want to see her again that night at Hannah’s party after what she did. She’s skipped town like she normally does once she’s ruined someone’s life.”

“How do you know that you won’t end up in the same cycle again with Jessa or Hannah?”

“Because I only want you. I know what better is now.”

“Well my opinion is still the same. I don’t want that drama and I won’t ruin my friendship for a man. But maybe one day it will work out. I’ll stay open to that possibility, just not now. I mean we can still talk and stuff, just no relationship.” He walks you back to your apartment, your shoulders can’t help but bump into each other along the way. He begins singing some ridiculous song that he said he had to sing once at an audition. When you arrive at your building, you turn back to him and give him a weak smile.

“See you around, Adam.”

“See ya around, kid.”

You’re running later than what you’d like, but it’s a Saturday morning so you decide that it’s not that big of a deal. As you exit your building, you see a tall, broad shouldered man with dark hair leaning against the gate. You think he looks a lot like Adam from behind but you think it can’t be him. Adam would have no reason to be here. The man turns around when he hears you approach.

“Adam, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, obviously. What are you doing today?”

“Just errands…what is your deal? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“You know what. Waiting outside my building to see me.”

“I happen to really fucking like you and I want to spend time with you. I want to know more about you and you said we could still talk,” he informs you in an exasperated voice as he moves his hands to emphasize his point.

“I’m not interested in anything romantic. I just can’t do that. I can’t sacrifice who I am. But we can be friends, I suppose. And I did say we could talk… You can join me if you promise to behave.”

“Scout’s honor”

“Were you even a scout?” He laughs and shakes his head no. The two of you begin your day. You go to the grocery store where you learn that he really loves milk for some reason, and you tell him that you have no domestic skills at all as you pick up some microwave dinners. You buy yourself a bouquet of flowers, then he pulls out one bloom and puts it behind your ear so it rests against your hair. When you’re looking around at a market, he mentions again that he can make furniture. You sit down at a little café and you each grab a quick sandwich. Then he asks you why you ghostwrite when you’re already successful.

“As a matter of fact, I happen to ghostwrite because it gives me a change of pace, and a way to get out of my own head for a while. It’s a great cure for writer’s block. It also pays well and I happen to like the supplemental funds in my bank account…Now I can ask you about your career since you opened up the door.” You say as you take a bite.

“That is how a conversation typically works, Y/N…SHIT! They put mustard on my sandwich.”

You ignore his outburst and continue with your question, “How do you choose your roles? You clearly don’t do traditional or mainstream.”

“I look for something that makes me feel something, something that’s real. You know the kind of thing that people can watch, feel it deep down, and it stays in their minds for a while. For me, that is art, and isn’t that the point of it all?” You ponder that answer for a minute before moving on.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

He thinks about his answer for a minute he leans in towards you as he reveals, “To live a life that’s meaningless, to sell myself out.”

Wow, you weren’t expecting him to go that deep, you lean in, putting your elbows on the small table in front of you and look at him to decipher if he was being a sarcastic ass or being serious. His hands shake your arms and he looks you straight into your eyes with his amber ones as they bore into you, he adds, “What’s your biggest fear, kid?”

“Kid? Are you ever going to explain that nickname? I fear failure more than anything. I also fear that one day I’ll wake up, be old, and realize that I’ve never did all things I wanted to do and it’s too late.”

“Then make sure you do all of those things now.”

You slowly make your way back to your apartment building as the two of you chitchat the whole way, you don’t want the conversation to end. You enjoy Adam’s presence more than you would ever openly admit. Today was a really good day. When you get to your door, Adam catches you off-guard by leaning in and gently kissing your forehead. He then turns and walks away. You’re half infuriated that he kissed you, thereby breaking the friend thing you’d agreed on, and the other half of you wanted to melt into him or chase after him for a real kiss. Instead, you turn the door into your apartment.

You feel Adam’s cock thrusting into you from behind, his pelvis grinding into your ass, while you’re on your hands and knees below him. His finger crush into your hips so deep that you’re sure that you’ll have bruises there for the next few days. Then as one hand remains on your hip, the other hand slaps your ass with a whack! You can’t help but moan and ask for another one, harder than the first. He switches hands and slaps the other side of your ass. You can feel your orgasm building as the pleasure increases and you feel your hips buck back into him as his hips slam into yours, forming a rhythm. You hear him groan in your ear, and it sounds delicious. He reaches his hand down to play with your clit, and you moan loudly and place your hand over his as you rock into his cock and hand. Your climax is moments away and you can feel your muscles clench, and you swear you can taste the pleasure.

Then you wake up, alone in your bed. You’re dripping wet from your dream, and you have your thighs pressed together for some friction.

Jesus

, you think, you need to get this out of your system. Isn’t it enough that Adam has taken over your waking thoughts, but now he’s taken over your dream conscious as well? You knew you shouldn’t have gone to dinner with him, you knew this would happen. You were falling for him, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

@og-selene @shesakillerkween

#adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #adam sackler smut #hbo girls #girls hbo #girls fanfiction #lena dunham

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rottenbrainstuff · 4 years ago

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Twilight Zone Cookbook part 7

Let’s see what wonderful recipes are in the July section of my cookbook that fell through a time warp:

Ah my favourite, “Asian” recipes. Stuff like this was pretty standard fare in retro cookbooks. The reason this is so weird is that, I keep pointing out, I bought this in 2018. Mmmmm, I just can’t stop imaging the wonderful texture of all those soggy canned chop suey vegetables.

Wait wait wait....

Actually you know what, now that I’m looking at this, I realize that I recognize this recipe. When I did my retro cooking week on my art blog, I ran across this recipe, like this exact recipe, published in a magazine, as an ad for the brown gravy sauce. There was an interest in “Asian” influenced cooking after the Second World War, because rationing was over, and people had access to “exotic” ingredients like soy sauce and wanted to try them out. No, this isn’t Chinese cooking by any stretch for us today, but the point is, at this point in history, people were starting to experiment with new things available, and that’s fine.

The crazy thing is what the hell is this crap from a 50s magazine doing in a book that was published in the year 2000?? That’s what I want to know.

I’m starting to suspect that the bulk of the recipes from this cookbook are just magazine and back-of-the-box recipes this woman collected for a few decades. If that’s all it takes to get a book published, I can do that too????

Anyway moving on...

I have some serious questions about the portion sizes for some of the meals in this book. There’s absolutely no notes anywhere about how many people these recipes are supposed to feed, but wtf? That steak and potatoes recipe has ten potatoes. That pancake recipe has TWO packages of muffin mix plus four more cups of flour. I think even when I was living with my ex who had an enormous appetite, between me, him, and our three kids, I probably would still have to halve each of these recipes.

Angel food cake is trademarked as if it is a brand. ???

I’m trying super hard to ignore that this is called a stir fry, I’m trying super hard to instead envision this as simply a quick pasta sauce recipe using half of a bottle of salad dressing. But I can’t ignore that this is called a “spicy” stir fry despite having absolutely no spices beyond one single clove of garlic??????

Grilling canned vegetables... :( this just makes me sad. Also the recipe calls for canned pineapple chunks, and it does use the juice in the glaze, but there is no mention of the actual pineapple so you get to just guess where those go, I suppose: stick em on the skewer, stick em in the glaze, serve them at the end with the warmed up vegetables, the choice is yours.

There’s a lot of recipes like this actually, it’s like no editor actually ever look at this before it was somehow published.

Anyway there’s the recipes for July. Once again my shock isn’t so much that anyone would eat the food in this, and I always feel sad when I get comments like “I would eat this”, I’m not trying to be a jerk, I’m just shocked that I purchased this book in 2018 when clearly it fell out of a portal from some alternate dimension where everyone still cooks like it’s 1960. (And also that someone got paid to publish an unedited book with “recipes” like “follow instructions on the back of the shake n bake box”)

#food #gross food #twilight zone cookbook

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ginnyzero · 5 years ago

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Writing Romantic Chemistry: Pt 1

Recently, Becca who actually went to school for this stuff, wrote a good post about romance novels and how they’re different than other novels. For the full gist, go ahead and read it for yourself. What I took away from it is that in romance novels, unlike most other novels, the main conflict is between the two main characters. There is something keeping them apart, poor communication, denial, secrets, or lies. At the same time, there has to be something pulling them together both personally and socially. An outside force is attracting these two people who normally wouldn’t be together into each others orbit where they have to overcome their difficulties and ‘give in’ to that personal attraction.

Romance is pretty popular as a genre and as a subgenre in books and shows and movies and some are better at it than others. (Most action movies are pretty bad at it.) There are procedural shows like Castle that were built around the entire idea that someday the two main leads would get together and have a happily something or something. There are procedural shows like Bones where they tried to push it, forgot about it and then fell back into it when they were running short on plot ideas for the main characters. Then there are procedural shows like Rizzoli and Isles where the love lives of the main two women are cliff notes in the overall friendship.

I’ve read a lot of urban fantasy where romance is a major subplot and I’ve mentioned some of the tropes I’ve seen in previous blog posts. Tropes like serial dating and love triangles and the type of drama that if two people actually had a conversation like grown adults everything bad could have been avoided. Or peril could have been avoided if the main characters were actually doing their jobs instead of trying to solve crime. A lot of the time, these romances don't feel successful.

And in order for a romance to feel successful the characters in question need to have and keep or maintain that ‘spark’ or what we generally call chemistry. And let’s face it, there are a lot of characters out there that don’t have a lot of chemistry with each other and we’re supposed to go on faith that they’re good for each other. (I’m looking at you Letty and Dom.) And as writers we have to know where that spark is at its brightest point and if the characters don’t move to the next level then that spark is going to flicker and die. (cough, Castle and Beckett.)

The first thing I’ve discovered about creating chemistry is that you need to get the audience invested. In order to care about your couple, your readers or watchers need to care about them as people. There are a lot of books that I can’t get invested in the main characters because the book is so focused on the plot, the mystery, the not so great adventure, that the writer has either not written about the character in the first place or has been encouraged by an editor to cut all of it out in the interest of word count. (Most highly recommended urban fantasy.) Leaving the characters to the reader to feel like card board cut outs that I just can’t get invested in. In order to care about the character, I need to know about the character.

Problems with his female characters aside, Jim Butcher is actually fairly good at this. In the first book about Dresden I learned that he likes to open doors for women, he enjoys steak sandwiches and warm beer, his alarm clock has Mickey Mouse on it (because no one with a heart can hit Mickey Mouse), he is owned by a big cat and his place is a hodge podge of textures, old paperbacks and yeah, he’s a magic geek. It may not seem like a lot, but that is the type of information and the way it is presented that lets me get to know and get invested in the idea the Harry Dresden is not that bad of a guy and I could like him.

A lot of books that have romance as a subplot especially if they are going the serial dater or the love triangle route, only take the time to flesh out the main character. Sometimes they don’t even do that. If the writer doesn’t flesh out the main character or the other side of the love plot, then why do I care? (I don’t.)

After you flesh out the characters and get the readers invested in their lives, then you can get the characters invested in each other. Sure, they’ve got outside forces working on them to get them into the same orbit. But once these outside forces are removed, what do the characters see in each other that will make them stick together. Yeah, people feel intense emotions under stress. They often feel attraction and investment in the other person just because of those high stress situations. But what about after that?

A good example I feel of this is Kent and Jane from Rizzoli and Isles. Sure, the show got canceled before they really did anything with Kent and Jane and in the last few episodes they threw an entirely out of left field FBI guy for Jane to 'feel attracted to.' (Note: This is bad. We didn't know this guy. We didn't care. It felt pushed and rushed because it was.) But Kent and Jane had chemistry. They had sparks. And the way it started is that first, given that Kent was such a late comer into the series, they let the watchers get to know Kent a bit first. As we already knew and are invested in Jane and her happiness. He's an odd ball, but professional, limited social skills with a sense of humor. They 'revealed' that Kent had a bit of a crush on Jane after some distraction hi-jinks with Maura (moral and ethical quandary there as a conflict) and started having Jane and Kent bounce sarcasm and jokes off each other. Jane tended to ignore him but his puppy dog eyes were adorable. The question was would Jane ever notice Kent as more than a colleague? (I think they were going for yes... I mean come on, the whole bit with the watermelons in that one case. "But Kent, what did the watermelons do to you?" And the kilt!)

And then the series got cancelled. And we lost this great romantic conflict which drives me crazy. (And I didn't like Kent at first. I swear. I despised the way they introduced him. Ugh and then he grew on me and yes, see, that is good writing and I fell for it!)

There are different types of attraction. There is physical attraction, usually the first thing a person notices about the other. There is mental attraction, appreciation of their brains and the way they think. There’s verbal attraction, a liking of the way they talk, how they talk and what they talk about. There’s emotional attraction. They like the way that person feels things. What makes these characters compatible that there is chemistry between them?

And what is keeping them apart? Things like other relationships, getting out of bad relationships, not being ready for a relationship, trust issues, moral quandaries (such as not being a person who does casual sex,) and the ever easy, DENIAL. Maybe there is a power imbalance or an age gap or job restrictions (can't date within the office or superior officers.)

Then as a writer, we have to fine tune the sense of ‘now is the time.’ A romance plot follows the same rules as every other plot. At the highest point of the conflict, the character has to act or the relationship will wither and die. And if the characters don’t act, the opportunity is missed, the readers are disappointed and they start looking for the next two big relationships for those characters to get invested into. If those aren’t presented in a convincing manner, then they might just stop caring about these characters all together.

It can be easy to try and drag a relationship out with them almost getting together and then last minute something interfering. All of this is for the sake of drama or trying to up the ante or push it off or make the tension that much greater. And a lot of times, this fails dramatically. (See Castle and Beckett.) The writers may still try to push the characters together even though they missed that natural point in the conflict where it was the right moment, the right time story wise to do so. And then, they have to find a new conflict to keep the series going.

Because, once that conflict is resolved a lot of writers and writing rooms don’t know what to do next. They have to manufacture another conflict in the place of the ‘will they, won’t they.’ A lot of times it ends up being on the woman’s side of “am I really good enough for him?” (Men in fiction never are as insecure as they are in real life. It’s not “macho” enough.) Even if that woman has been extremely self-confident before then and pushing the guy away because she doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. There are a lot of other conflicts than that, money and child rearing and living arrangements and 'how do we tell our friends, do we tell our friends?' come to mind. (But maybe they are just too boring.)

There was a lot of outrage in the fandom of BBC Sherlock when Watson got married and had a baby with Mary. “How is Watson going to go on adventures with Sherlock with a baby?!” Well, you do what normal and rational people do, you hire a sitter? You take the baby with you? (Doyle wasn’t good with female characters to begin with, BBC’s interpretation didn’t help matters.) But these are the adult problems. How do you juggle a job and a family and hobbies and friends and keep your romance alive? Everyone has to do it. But media just tries to ignore it because UST is so much more entertaining. (Supposedly.) Babies have a bad habit of ending up kidnapped or disappearing for the story entirely (Bones.) Women who may be rivals for the main character’s romantic affections are killed.

Or there ends up having to be a conflict in the marriage that may mirror how they got together. Bad communication. Denial of self or the opposite, selfishness. The characters may get involved in a new danger. Maybe there is an affair and trust is lost and has to be regained. Hardships like disease and accidents are all tests of character that really show what people are like on the inside.

There is a reason why most romance series focus on a bunch of couples one right after the other who were introduced in previous books rather than focusing on a single couple. Every time a reader gets a new book there is a new thrill of ‘will they or won’t they?’ And the possibility of a different couple conflict. (Of course most romance novels are happily ever after or happy for now, so it’s more of a how than a real question.)

So, romance is tricky to write because it so depends on the fleshed out personalities of the characters. And how the reader feels about the characters is really going to depend on their own biases and views of romance too. From my observations of fandom is that somewhere out there in the great wide internet, there are going to be people who are going to put the oddest people into relationships and can get behind almost anything. And it may not at all be what the creators intended. But the people who consume the media see chemistry or a spark and decide to view it as romantic rather than filial love.

Just goes to show you can't predict anything!

#writblr #wrtblr #writing advice #writing tips #romance #writing romance #romance writing

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otp-armada · 5 years ago

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A Time Capsule

I’ve been lurking across several fandoms spanning a decade now, since my days of reading “Bones” fanfics on fanfiction.net. Before any inkling of Ao3’s existence. Maybe longer, my memory is murky at times.

I’ve never made a splash in any fandom, so to speak. I’ve always been content to stand shrouded in anonymity, residing on the edges of fandom, never an active participant. Perfectly at peace to never have a voice. Never brave enough to want to be heard. It has only been in the last few years that I discovered Tumblr and felt comfortable enough in taking advantage of its anon feature to interact mostly with The 100/Bellarke crowd, “conversing” with one user in particular. In the instances I chose to speak, there was safety in knowing my words never had an identity attached. A safety that lent itself to sending anon asks a fairly common activity until I wrote one recently sharing a remnant of my “The 100” viewing experience. The warm response from the users who read it left me smiling for the rest of the day. Their reply took a direction I didn’t expect. They encouraged me to take credit for my words under my username, which of course, I didn’t have, not being a Tumblr user.

I was flattered by the response, bolstering me to continue the line of conversation with another ask and was met with reiterated sentiments.

In the wise words of one of those awesome people,

“I was the ultimate lurker for a long, long time. I had a Tumblr account for four years before I ever made a single post, and even then I had to be talked into it. And you know what? When I finally starting “talking,” it was so freeing! Even if no one else was listening, even if I was speaking into the void, I was no longer dependent on anyone else to share my thoughts and opinions. I could do that myself.”

I took the compliment but waived the advice. Tumblr is made of communities built upon sharing and I have always been unto myself an island. It goes against my shy, introverted nature to take part in a community. I have no business pretending I have a place there. None at all.

And yet, despite my misgivings, the idea wouldn’t leave me as I believed it would. I started to genuinely ponder the merits of creating a blog.

There are strong reasons to support the affirmative.

First, the utilitarian benefits. In the absence of a blog, I turned to alternative methods of archiving appealing posts. If by some miracle, the item count of my browser reading list hasn’t yet ascended to the thousands mark, it most assuredly rests in the hundreds. My camera roll queue has indubitably reached the thousands count, currently sitting pretty at 3,300. I shudder to think of the sheer number of my bookmarks. One hundred and eighty notes on my phone. The final frontier has been broken, at last, habitually inundating my laptop with screenshots. Long has it been overdue to clean house.

Second, I find writing to be a herculean undertaking I enjoy in the moments it doesn’t drive me to the brink. A slow-going process, but when I’m able to appreciate the fruits of my labor, marvel at the polished product, I often feel quite proud. Writing is a skill I’ve lost touch with over years of disuse but found incrementally returning while expressing my opinions via Tumblr asks. Like any skill, it can be honed with time and practice. Transferring my streams of consciousness onto written medium challenges me to think critically, ask myself if my POV genuinely holds true or falls apart, requiring further reflection. If nothing else, it’s a good way to process thoughts and emotions. I find it easier than and therefore preferable to oral communication. I am a perpetual editor, always amending my statements which can’t really be done as effectively in speech.

Third, if there was ever a time to join the Tumblr fandom I’ve found a home in for the last three years, why not in time for the show’s last ride? The night I signed up for Tumblr coincided the first day of “The 100” cast and crew filming their 100th and poetically final episode. Around the same space of time, we got a release date and the nostalgic goodbyes of a few cast members rolled in. I know when Bellarke crosses the last threshold, I’d want it plastered all over my dash and I’d be able to make it happen.

But where there are pros, the cons inevitably follow.

Do I really need a further distraction from my responsibilities, spending additional hours and expending more energy I should not spare online? The too easy potential for more hours behind a screen when prone to headaches and horrid habits of not regulating my eating and sleeping schedules? The answer is a clear and resounding “No.” Would maintaining a blog be harmful to my mental and emotional health? Remaining anonymous has historically done a fine job of insulating me from general rebuke, which has mitigated the risk of reproach at least. No corner of the internet can be designated as a safe space. I knew I would in all likelihood have to work diligently to curate and be responsible for my experience, leading me to doubt how the effort could possibly be worth it. How could it be worth feeling exposed, self-conscious? Constantly second-guessing myself, debating whether or not my thoughts are best kept within the privacy of my mind to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes? Combating the periodic skepticism that my thoughts possess value worth writing?

There was always the lingering possibility I was overthinking the decision to my detriment, as is my norm. After all, it seemed silly and dramatic to regard one obscure little blog in a sea of hundreds of millions of social media users as momentous. But I know myself better than that. It is a really fucking big deal for me.

I vacillated between both sides of the argument for days before deciding not to follow through with the venture.

And then one night, a single stray observation ran through my mind. One observation became another, became another and before I knew it, I had formed the grounds for an entire meta post. It didn’t end there. More ideas filtered through. I expanded on those ideas. More traction gained. Another meta formed. More jumping off previous points. Before long, I had mentally written the foundations for four metas. And I was so excited and proud of forming these connections to this puzzle without even trying that I wanted to share it. I sat down to write them in my trusty Notes, outlining, trying to jot the main points down before they fizzled away from memory. I saw how long-winded these spiels had gotten sans the full writeup, subsequently rationalizing…well, not blowing up someone’s inbox is just good manners, isn’t it? And terribly inefficient to boot. More to the point, it seemed a disservice to myself to censor my rumination to fit the small confines of a Tumblr ask box.

The part of me that wanted to push forward envisioned what the future of my blogging efforts may look like. That part knows that this blog is for me and only me. What makes me laugh, what makes me cry. Smile. Rage. Flail. Think. Whatever the hell I want. I get to say what I want, however, I want. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking. It’s also exciting, thrilling, and yes, freeing. The notion of carving out a tiny space for me to fill to the endless brim with whatever brings me joy makes me…really damn happy. It’s not an easy feat to accept and harder to retain. I should be ok, so long as I never forget that I get to be in control of what happens here. It’s within my right to block anyone I don’t want to engage or associate with. It’s my full right to not care what anyone else has to say if I don’t want to. Block out anything negative I don’t want to endure with only a few clicks. If I decide I want to walk away, permanently or otherwise, for any reason, it’s within my right to do that too. It’s comforting.

There was a time when I “knew” I would never sign up for an Ao3 account until one of my favorite authors withdrew the majority of her stories from public consumption. I “knew” I was never going to post commentary until I did. I “knew” my username would never be seen by anyone aside from me, never to be affiliated with my commentary until it was.

I did. Each and every time I thought I would never, I did. I broke my own barriers with patience and some courage. Maybe the most intimidating aspect of something new is simply the beginning. I said earlier that I’ve been an island for nearly as long as I can remember. It’s still true, I don’t expect overnight results. It’s probably going to be true for a long time. Perhaps forever. But maybe it’s all the more reason why I should take this step toward peeking out of my self-imposed shell. Do what scares you, or whatever it is they say.

I wish I could say it was enough to reverse my earlier verdict.

Nope, I had to agonize some more.

What can I say? Fear is a damn powerful inhibitor.

Lo and behold, as if the universe took pity on me, I got the chance to communicate directly with the same awesome lady whom I quoted above and she kindly offered some more merciful wisdom to a truly maddeningly indecisive individual:

“When you create a blog, you are STILL anonymous. You have a username, yes, but it doesn’t lead back to you unless you want it to. You still have your personal privacy. Tumblr isn’t Facebook. If you want to disclose personal information, you can, but you certainly don’t have to.

And second, your blog is for you, not for anyone else. It’s for you to express your own opinions. Or create gifs or other visuals. Or just repost what other people create. You can be on every day, or just once a week. It’s also a great way to save stuff you might want to look at again. And then… and then… when brilliance suddenly hits you, you have somewhere to let it hang out! 😁”

It was much I had already considered, but it helped immeasurably to have my reasoning reaffirmed from an external source I respect. I logged into Tumblr for the first time the very same night.

After much deliberation, an uncharacteristic burst of bravery and a grueling four hours I owe to technological ineptitude, I have, tentatively and cautiously, opted to give this Tumblr thing a go.

With luck, a day will never arrive when I dust this preamble off for a much-needed pep talk. Instead, it is my hope that one day, this memo-to-me will stand as proof that I don’t always need to be afraid of the unknown. Not all endeavors have to be as frightening as they may appear. And if I can apply this attitude to all else suppressing my personal growth, I might just be peachy someday.

Bearing this in mind…

…here we go.

#about me #personal

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years ago

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Why do I keep doing this?

It’s nearly over, there are fewer than 100 pages left in the horrid thing after this one.

((Oh also, these few chapter contain a hell of a lot of really casual racism mostly against Native Americans and whatever “half-breeds” are, because that’s not specified.))

Okay, chapter 18 starts with finding out that the stroke didn't kill Mother it did, of course, exactly what Mizpra wanted: Left her a mostly paralysed invalid.

Despite that, she's written as still being pretty mentally lucid, just not physically capable of doing much but being propped up in a chair facing a window. Now somehow she's being called "The mother of Leigh" instead of Mrs. Newcomber.

Anyway, she's staring out the window, occasionally being annoyed by the fact that her nurse is a "strange and harsh woman" and how she's a toy of Mizpra's now somehow.

It's also somehow "perverted" of Mizpra to let her mother reminisce about when she was younger but okay.

Watching birds is supposed to make one cry; I'm guessing mabye I watch birds incorrectly because, while interesting, I've never really felt any sort of urge to cry over them.

Mizpra evidently thinks, "partially paralysed from a stroke" means "also deaf" and is now always written shouting right into her mother's ear. Also, she was sick of her mother watching birds because "the mist will soon commence to fall" whatever that means.

Back to insulting Mizpra again, "With her energy, moral palsy, masculine effrontery, and unbridled control of a large fortune, she moved the men and women around her." He's writing that like it's a bad thing.

I mean, it'd be a lot easier to dislike her if he focused on the things she's done rather than the fact that the author just thinks she's a little too "masculine" because, really, by this point we know she stripped down a teenage girl in front of her class to berate her about wearing corsets, married a guy just because he knew how to use a typewriter, and planned her mother's stroke and had the thought of, "It'd be super inconvenient if she dies but whatever, I'll make it work if that happens." You know, legitimate reasons to dislike someone.

"There was not enough of sex instinct in her to enjoy being flattered as a woman," well, who the hell could blame her? Flatter her based on the abilities she's shown, none of which are remotely terrible (by modern standards at any rate).

The author doesn't seem to think highly of women as doctors either because the first one described is, "one of the big-footed, short-haired kind" you know, manly.

Oh, but, "a mild sort of fellow-feeling--not womanly--brought about business arrangements between Mizpra and the female physician."

This is such an exhausting book to read; no wonder so few copies still exist, even in reprint. Normally, I can’t get enough of getting my hands on and reading rare books that only have one or two copies still left anywhere but this? This one is a harsh reminder that some books may actually be better off eventually fading completely from anyone’s memory.

"The older inhabitants of the surrounding country had become interested in Mizpra. The Spaniards, Mexicans, half-breeds, and Indians, all bigoted and ignorant, were now singing her praises." I'm--pretty sure the only bigoted and ignorant one here is the author.

MOVING ON.

Oh look, someone brought her one of her Genius Brother's books: "Insanity in the Adolescent Caused by Religious Rites and Mysticism in the Catholic Church," by Leigh Newcomber, M.D.

There's also a typo in the book that the editor apparently missed, "It had been a distressing day for Mizpra, and she was ugly in mood, and agitated in feeelings."

Feeelings.

""I saw a pretty Indian girl to-day. I'll have as many as--" at this moment the blood rushed to her heavy cheeks and her hands and feet began to feel cold. She grasped the back of a chair to steady herself for a moment, then strode to the bed to throw herself down upon it."

Well, that came out of nowhere. Pun intended.

So now she's going to pretend she's Catholic and devote her time and money to teaching "the Indian and half-breed girls". I'm just going to assume she's moved beyond stabbing sleeping men with scarf pins and is moving on to--that.

Ordinarily, that wouldn't be all that off-putting sounding if not for the use of the term "half-breed" and girls. Girls--that often indicates that they're not adults.

Anyway, she gets a telegram presumably from Rev. Bald indicating he's ruined Leigh's life but, since I've read the previous chapters and the author is about as predictable as the tides, I'm going to assume Leigh sent the telegram and is planning a surprise visit.

Oh look, more casual racism: "An Indian lad, a protege of Father Francisco, arrived at the house with a note from that priest. He was a fine specimen of his race; lithe, bright-eyed, and cunning." He also doesn't like Mizpra, probably because she keeps calling people half-breeds and savages.

Wonderful! He even talks in a perfectly stereotypical racist manner, "Big bone squaw. Too much talk. Want chief."

So, she asks when "the woman" arrived at the priest's house, he answers, "Yes, bad squaw come."

Which makes her angry because he apparently said it in a defiant tone so she grabbed him and demands he explain why she's bad and if he doesn't she'll have him flogged.

I can't exactly parse the racist as hell way he's writing this kid but it seems something to do with an Indian who converts to Catholicism gets salvation?

So Mizpra slaps him because that's a rational reaction but then he keeps talking and I have no idea what the hell is going on, "Indian boy understand. He white squaw no Christ squaw; Indian boy no white papoose. He squaw, look out."

He leaves, no further explanation, time skp three days later from "Rev. Bald" who basically details what Bald had intended to do but ended up getting tag teamed by Leigh and a prostitute. So, definitely Leigh writing that letter. I mean it also said that Mops was poisoned (diphtheria, for the last. fucking. time. infects you; the bacteria can produce toxins, which are what can cause the range of symptoms, some of which can be fatal, so unless you're just injecting the produced C. diphtheriae toxins right into someone, you are not poisoning anyone by exposing them to diphtheria, you are infecting them and I know that seems like semantics but the author is a doctor and should know better than to think infect and poison are the same thing) and died.

Anyway, Mizpra believes the letter is from Rev. Bald, so I'm sure that'll end well for her.

"Mizpra had but one thought, one passion now; that was, to wallow in her perverted pleasures to the saturating point of satiety." All right.

Chapter 19 begins with "The reader has probably already surmised from the letter received by Mizpra that Bald had recovered."

In the sense that he wasn't dead, yeah, I guess.

Leigh told the hospital Bald was hit by a trolley car and Bald is just, "Well, since I can't remember what happened, that must be correct!"

So Leigh shows up the next day because Rev. Bald is his patient and the first thing the author does is write something creepy in the narrative, "Leigh now noticed a distinct refinement in Bald's features. he was pale, and the whilom sensuous lips had lost some of their grossness."

Who--thinks like that? So he sits there watching Bald sleep for awhile then leaves after leaving some magazines and "a basket of luscious fruit".

Weirdo.

Nurse starts in with some story about how Leigh lost his wealth or something, then Leigh shows up again and Bald immediately goes turncoat on Mizpra.

So Leigh decides that Mizpra is "undoubtedly mentally ill" and "he would see her placed where she could no longer do injury to herself o rothers."

And they’re headed to California; of course, Leigh had Bald write the telegram and letter to tell Mizpra her plan went off flawlessly.

Predictable writing.

Leigh insists the issue is that Mizpra is insane, not a criminal, and that she's "not responsible for her actions". I mean, mentally ill or not, she's still responsible for her own actions unless someone else is forcing her hand, which they are not. That's been made clear.

Only about 100 pages left, thank everything.

Now they're talking about one of the other sisters, the older one who married a lawyer. That turned into a rambling story about how the lawyer "misappropriated" funds and somehow that landed them under having to get an allowance from Mizpra.

Chapter 20 appears to be Leigh is Stressed and Wants a Drink.

Manages to get home without doing that and apparently Obera's only method of showing support is to just fling herself around and cry.

"Leigh went to work instantly to eliminate the poison which his faulty nervous system had allowed to accumulate in his body and thus produce a self-intoxication." ...what?

He calls Dr. Bell to come and write something to Bald and Leigh has to be whiny about it, "Well, I don't believe you or any other man can understand what I suffer."

Please stop being 13 at some point, Leigh, you are an adult.

Now he's relating his life to Poe's stories and needs to stop--but I guess this book is where the whole "psychic incubus" thing came from because he's talking about one now.

And that sort of drifted in to him rambling incessantly about Edgar Allen Poe and how Leigh is just like that, only with more friends and less good writing, I guess.

I might have added the last two things.

Dr. Bell insists on heading out to California with Bald and Leigh and that's the end of that chapter.

It was 85% Leigh rambling on about Edgar Allen Poe while saying very little about him and just sort of quoting random bits of his work.

No surprise the author of the book had a weird obsession with the same thing.

#books #hp rp #casual racism #old books #this is still the worst thing I've ever read #and not because it's shocking #because it's just so disjointed and poorly written #and the author is an idiot #it has a typo #it has a legitimate typo #I found a typo in a book from 1901 #and it immediately jumped out AS a typo because #feelings #is not ever spelled feeelings #typos

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shewhowantsmouseears · 6 years ago

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Shattered, Chapter 4

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

TW: Suicide Idealization.

Ratface is a "new" addition to the story when it was made in my head, although by new I mean about a year or two.

Summary: As Minnie makes a major decision about her future, she finds an unusual ally for her journey.

Despair and agony didn't stop time, but they did make Minnie less aware that it was passing. When Minnie was put to bed, she didn't get up for hours, which turned into days. When her parents tried to speak to her, she didn't hear them. When Mama tried to put food in her mouth, she didn't acknowledge it. Although her body ached from hunger and grew sore from lack of movement, it seemed incredibly small compared to the pain in her heart. Mickey was gone, and it was her fault. In retrospect, everything was pointless.

Eating was pointless. Sleeping was pointless. Talking was pointless.

On day three of Minnie's mourning, Papa entered her room quietly and sat down on the bed, taking off his hat. He didn't say anything initially, thumbing the hat in his hands and observing his daughter who was becoming thinner by the day. When he finally thought of something to say, it was as if he was making it up off the top of his head. “You need to get up,” he said softly, not looking at her. “School's over soon... you'll have to start your new job. Sewing's a fine thing. We need all the help we can get with our clothes... we're not getting new material in. And your mother is wasting food if you won't eat it.”

He didn't think this would be enough to stir Minnie, and he was sadly correct. He reached out to touch her hand, squeeze it, but even that didn't get her to as much as look at him. He sighed deeply, getting up and placing his hat back on his head. “Better him than you, Minnie. You're a good girl. You always have been. What good does it do anyone if you lay here the rest of your days?” With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

Night had already fallen, and Papa and Mama went off to bed. But as Minnie lay there, she finally heard what someone had said – unfortunately, she understood it a different way. Yes, it wouldn't do anyone any good to lay there forever.

It wouldn't do anyone any good if she continued to exist.

She wordlessly rose from her bed, aware of what needed to be done. If everything was pointless, that included living. Why burden her parents? Why burden the village? Ultimately she had even been a burden to Mickey. If not for her, maybe he'd still be here. Without making a sound, she found the string to the attic, and pulled it down, climbing up the stairs to the forbidden room. It had become even mustier, and the singular window even dirtier. This time she paid no attention to the alluring mysteries of the room, and headed to the window with one goal in mind.

Yes, maybe from this height, she could...

The snow had stopped falling, though she couldn't say when. Didn't care, either. She stepped out into the night, letting the chill embrace her. If Mickey was dead, she'd merely be joining him. Yes, this was for the best, wasn't it? Everyone would be better off without her. She stepped onto the terrace, and then onto the edge, looking out across the village. Nothing here would ever change, even if one by one they were snatched away by the Snow Queen. Even if one girl ceased to be, it would still go on. No one would miss her. No one would care.

Everything would feel better if she just gave up.

She inhaled deeply – and then flinched as a harsh wind blew around her. It felt like a slap to the face, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a red petal fly in front of her.

The color stood out so brilliantly that it stopped Minnie completely. She blinked several times, assuring herself that it wasn't an illusion. But where had it come from? She faltered, and then fell backwards with a little “Oof!”, sitting on hard dirt. But what was dirt doing...? The memories came back all at once – Mickey's attempt at a garden.

There, surrounded by dozens of other dead attempts at the same flower, stood one singular red rose. It was even more beautiful than the illustration in Mickey's books, a red she'd never seen in any food or clothing before. She felt her mouth open in shock, and as she observed the area around the rare flower, she could see this hadn't been Mickey's first attempt. He'd dug various holes, planted many seeds, and although each one kept dying, he still attempted. He never told Minnie about this, perhaps not wanting to get her hopes up until he finally succeeded. How many times had he tried? Five? Ten? Twenty? She was losing count. And he'd done this for years, and years, and years.

An image came to her then, of little Mickey stubbornly making another dirty hole with his fingers and planting the seed, tucking it in gently with a proud smile on his face. He didn't have any proof it would work, yet he saw no reason to stop. He kept trying. He never gave up on it.

And he never gave up on Minnie, either. Even as the Snow Queen had loomed over him, he had told her to leave Minnie be.

Minnie heaved, and then covered her mouth for what she knew was to come – a scream. An agonizing, horrible scream as her body allowed her to properly grieve. Hot tears flooded her eyes, making the world a blur. Here she had been ready to throw away her life, when Mickey had done everything in his power to protect her. What had she been about to do? She choked hard on her sobs, wishing she could apologize to Mickey for her selfishness. He had been trying so hard to convey what she couldn't understand until this rose showed her – she had a reason to live, and he was that reason.

Her hands dropped, clenching the dirt. She couldn't go on living without him, so what was there to do? He wasn't going to return, no one ever came back from the Snow Queen's grasp. As her cries died down, her eyes staying on the rose, the rest of her mind began to settle. If one took away all obvious options, such as staying here and waiting, then... really, there was only one thing to do.

Minnie had to get Mickey back.

She blinked at the rose, not surprised when a slightly rational part of her chided this idea. What could a stupid, weak girl like her possibly do against the powerful Snow Queen? How would she even find the magical witch? What if she got a shard in her just like Mickey did? There were a million reasons not to do this. Yet they all seemed inconsequential to the one obvious truth.

Minnie wanted him back. So that was that.

After swallowing once, she brushed down her clothes, and then crept over to the rose. Mickey had left some tools around the garden, and she used his small pocketknife to chip away the thorns on the rose. With that accomplished, she plucked it out of the dirt and placed it behind her left ear. It would do well as a reminder of her goal, a part of him that was always with her.

She looked back at the window, and understood she had to do this now, and quickly. If her parents discovered what she was going to attempt, they'd surely stop her. No doubt the rest of the village would feel the same way. It was now or never. She came back to the window, crawling inside, and left the attic. She found her school satchel, and emptied the books out – she could only afford to grab a few things, and she didn't want to risk making too much noise and waking up her parents. She held onto Mickey's pocketknife, tucking it in first, along with a few vegetables for food. She didn't want to deprive her parents of anything necessary, and genuinely didn't know how long this would take.

With her satchel over her shoulders, she headed out into the snow. Minnie knew that the Snow Queen's sled had come from the woods, so, logically, she must go into the woods. Surely if she walked around long enough, she'd have to come across her lair eventually, even if it meant going all over the world. Her knowledge of what laid beyond the village was minimal, as the school hadn't seen any worth in teaching it. Part of her knew she was wholly unprepared, but she still walked forward, the world silent save for her footsteps crunching on powder.

After a certain point, they crunched something else. Minnie stopped and looked down, seeing a familiar glint buried beneath the snow. After a moment of hesitation, she bent down to dig it out – and there lay the necklace that Mickey had bought for her.

“Will you be my bride?”

She never gave him an answer. He deserved one. If she couldn't bring him back to the village, she could at least give him an answer. She brushed the snow off the necklace, seeing her unwanted reflection in the red, and tucked it into her satchel. She didn't feel she was worthy of wearing it. Not until she told Mickey what she wanted to say.

With that settled, Minnie continued walking towards the woods. She had never ventured in there before, and the closer she got, the taller the trees became. By the time she was definitely inside the woods, they seemed to stretch on forever into the heavens. She walked on, eyes flitting here and there, rather curious about this place she'd never reached before. She had expected to be frightened, and while she was, it didn't wholly consume her. She walked and walked and walked, walked as hunger began to nibble at her belly, as exhaustion tugged at her ankles, as sleep tried to nudge her eyelids.

She walked on as the sun began to rise, and the tree's shadows crisscrossed over her, and she felt an odd comfort in that. It was if the trees were watching over her, and giving their blessings for her journey. She knew it was a silly thought, but one Mickey would chuckle one. At first she heard him chuckling, but then realized what she was actually hearing – there was a rustle in the tree's branches in front of her.

Minnie slowed her walk to a stop, and it was only due to the dawn's sunlight that she saw what was making the sound. There, at a very low branch, was a large black raven, cleaning its wing with its beak. Minnie found herself smiling – animals were getting rarer to see with every passing year, so this was a treat. She observed the cute thing with its dark feathers and green eyes. The bird finished cleaning, and then met Minnie's eyes, blinking at her.

“Hello, pretty bird,” said Minnie.

“Hello, pretty girl,” said the bird.

Minnie almost walked on, except – wait a minute. She then whirled her head back to the tree, startled. While her education was severely limited, even she knew that birds weren't supposed to talk. She stared hard at the raven, wondering if she'd lost her mind. She was glad she was alone when she asked, “Did you just speak?”

“It would've been awfully rude if I didn't, don't you think?” the raven replied, leaning his head down to get a better look at her.

Minnie waited a bit, then pinched her cheek – this was real life, all right. “But... but birds don't talk.”

“And yet here I am, talking away.” The raven clicked his tongue. “You may be a pretty thing, but you're not terribly bright, I see. After all, what is a young one like you walking alone in these woods for?”

It was a fair question, and Minnie decided that trying to find sound reason in the bird's existence wouldn't get her anywhere. “I'm... The Snow Queen took my friend, so I'm going to bring him back.” It sounded so simple when she said it out loud, despite the very words themselves being impossible.

The raven appeared to think the same way, as after he was finished gawking at her, he began to laugh, one wing on his belly. “You? You think YOU can bring back one of the Snow Queen's prisoners?” He laughed more, hopping on the branch, and Minnie patiently waited for him to run out of breath. She was rather annoyed at his reaction, but couldn't blame him, so there was no use in getting angry about it. “What makes you think you can do what no one else has done? You're not even headed in the right direction!”

Minnie's eyes widened, and she sprinted towards the tree. “Does that mean you know where it is?”

The raven snapped his beak shut, and then looked away, pretending to be an average, ordinary bird. He even tried to chirp, but it sounded more like a grown adult mimicking a pitiful bird call than a real one. Minnie gave him a curt look, and he grumbled, “So what if I did know?”

“Oh please, pretty bird,” Minnie begged, her hands on the tree, trying to tippy-toe up to implore as best she could. “Please show me where the Snow Queen lives! I must get my friend back, I must tell him what he needs to hear!”

“And why should I do such a thing?” the raven asked her, its beady eyes squinting. “What can you do for me?”

It only occurred to Minnie now that she hadn't brought any money or anything truly worth exchanging. She felt dumber than ever, and fished around in her satchel for something she hoped a bird would crave. “I have some tasty vegetables!”

“Pass. I'm full.”

“How about a pocketknife?”

“Pass. My beak and my claws do plenty.”

That left her with just the necklace, and Minnie was reluctant to part with it. She glanced at the raven, and then at the satchel, before closing it up and walking away. “All right. Goodbye, pretty bird.”

The raven stared at her back, incredulous, and then jumped off the branch, flying to the next tree. “Hey, hey, hey! What's wrong with you? Aren't you mad at me?”

“No,” which wasn't entirely true, but as always, Minnie felt no need to feel. “I don't have anything to give you, so I'll just have to find her myself.”

“You'll never find her on your own! You'll wither and die long before that! If you had any brains between those big ears of yours, you'd go back home.” But no matter how much he insulted her and informed her about chances that she was more than well aware of, she didn't stop. Minnie continued to walk on, face forward, never looking back. The raven flitted from tree to tree, and Minnie found herself walking towards the trees he occupied.

Was she just lonely, or was he leading her around? Minnie quietly hoped he wasn't trying to take her back to the village, but to her relief, they came upon a riverbank. A few empty wooden fishing boats lay on the shore with abandoned nets, with Minnie remembering that the fish supply was getting low. The raven flew to the closest boat and sat on the edge. “See, you'll never get anywhere now. The river is barely moving. It'll take you forever and a half to get there, you'll never last.”

Minnie raised her eyebrows. “I was thinking of walking along the river's edge. Are you saying it's faster to get there by boat?” When the raven said nothing, she spoke again. “I think you do actually want to help me, pretty bird. You're just being very silly about it. Would you like to come with me?”

“What I said still stands,” the raven huffed, turning his cheek away, ruffling his black feathers. “Look at the river, it's at a standstill. You can't force the tide. You'll have to walk, and then you'll get tired and cry and give up. You people aren't made for the stuff it takes.”

Didn't that just raise a whole new field of questions? But Minnie was certain if she tried to ask directly, the raven would dodge them. She looked at the river, and then approached it until the water almost touched her shoes. She saw herself reflected in the clear water, and thought, and thought, and thought.

“Do you know what they call your village?” the raven asked, leaning back and forth on the boat. “They say it's the land of the walking corpses. You people may as well be dead already, if not on the outside.” Minnie didn't know if this was true, or if he was just trying to rile her up. He certainly was a strange one, and thus Minnie decided she had to embrace just how weird her entire trip was going to be. It gave her an odd sense of freedom, and she nodded to herself.

“Maybe if I give the river something, it'll help me,” she decided out loud.

The raven stared at her, and then scoffed. “Give the river something? You are truly insane, pretty girl. What sort of gift could a river want?”

Minnie couldn't imagine a river could want, but that wasn't the point of the gesture. She thought of the villagers who complained when they lost things when fishing, only to be educated by their peers that complaining would solve nothing, they should be grateful for what they kept, so on and so forth. “People lose things by accident in the water,” Minnie concluded, and then bent over. “But no one's ever given you anything on purpose, have they?”

The raven shook his head. “The girl's talking to a river. What a loon.”

Unfazed, Minnie went on. “It's not much, but it's what I can afford to give you. I don't know if you can take me all the way to where the Snow Queen is... but if you could give me any sort of help, I would be grateful. My friend was taken away, and he asked me something very important. I need to give him an answer.” With that, she slid off her shoes, and pushed them into the water.

“That's not going to...” The raven began, trailing off as the shoes floated in the water, and then were pushed back onto the dry shore.

Minnie took a deep breath. “Please, river! Please, take them. I must see my friend again, please, please!” She bent her head low, and the raven noted this was the first spot of emotion, aside from surprise, he'd seen from her.

The water pushed forward, and then back, swallowing up the shoes. The river rippled, and then began to churn forward, slowly, and the boat the raven was sitting on began to rock. Minnie sighed in relief, and then began to climb into the boat. “Thank you very much, river. When I come home, I will tell everyone to clean you up.” The boat was small, simple, able to fit two, which for Minnie was more than enough. It floated quietly on the stream and began to leave the shore.

“That shouldn't have worked,” the raven grumbled, though he didn't move.

Minnie placed her satchel down on the bottom. “Maybe it was just good luck,” she offered in an attempt to appease her companion.

However, it did the opposite, as the bird suddenly jerked, and its green eyes hardened. “What... did you say?”

“I said, maybe it was just good luck?”

Suddenly the bird flew at her face, screeching, “DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT WORD AGAIN!” And Minnie gave a cry of surprise, gripping the boat's side so she wouldn't fall out.

“W-what word?” She stammered, worried he might try to claw her face with his sharp talons or his rough beak.

“LUCK!” he snapped at her, and although he came close to her eyes he didn't once hurt her. “Luck is the mindset of the fool! The epitome of stupidity! Anyone who relies on luck should be hung from their feet and made to suffer for all eternity! If you ever say that word in front of me again, I'll leave you and never return!” He then flew to the opposite end of the boat and sat, his wings shuddering, his back to her.

Minnie blinked slowly, natural curiosity making her wonder what in the world could have happened to him to make him despise such a word. She sat up slowly, smoothing down her dress, and tried to think of what to say. They floated along the river in silence for a moment. “I'm sorry,” she finally attempted. “I didn't mean to upset you, pretty bird. You have my word, I'll never say lu-... that word again.”

The raven turned his head, although he didn't look back at her yet. “I suppose you have little fault, you didn't know.” His voice was much softer now, and he appeared to be looking at his form in the water. When he spoke again, it was once more arrogant and haughty. “But if we're to do this impossible quest, you need to give me your name. Can't go calling you pretty girl all the time, it will give you a swelled head.”

Fair enough. Minnie sat up straighter. “My name is Minnie... but, then, what do I call you?”

Again, the raven looked at himself, and then with one hop, he turned around. “You will call me Ratface,” he declared, as if he thought it to be terribly clever.

Minnie blinked slowly. Whenever people discussed rats in her home, it was usually as a derogatory term. “Are you sure? It doesn't sound very nice.” It seemed very rude to call someone that, especially one who was going to help her, reluctant and strange though the help may be.

“It's what you will call me,” Ratface replied, waving a wing to dismiss the matter. “And I will respond to nothing else. If you can't handle that, you may as well go back home.”

She sighed quietly to herself. “Very well... Ratface.” In her mind's eye, she could see Mickey reacting to the raven with a mixture of annoyance and bemusement. She couldn't recognize that these were actually her own feelings, as they were so foreign. “Ratface, may I take a nap? I have not slept in some time, and if this is going to be such a long journey, I'd like to get some sleep. Will you wake me up when the boat has reached the shore?”

“I might,” Ratface said, and Minnie understood this was as good as she was going to get from him.

“Thank you, Ratface. For everything.” She then moved until she was on the floor of the small boat, and rested her head upon her satchel, her eyes closed. Ratface walked along the boat's edge, observing her quietly. His eyes were on her lips, which smiled so strangely, as if she could not tell she had been smiling. This was the sort of girl the world of the Snow Queen produced, so he thought. What would she have been like if there wasn't a Snow Queen?

Add that to his extremely long list of “what if”s. He waited until he saw the natural rise and fall of her chest, and then dipped his wing into the river. The water was warm, which didn't surprise him any. He'd lived long enough to know that the whole world was full of mysteries and monsters, and sometimes you'd never get an explanation for things. Some rivers listened. Some did not. Some people listened. Some did not.

He then walked quietly onto the boat's floor, and used his wet wing to lightly clean bits of Minnie's hair that been ravaged by her dormant stages of grief, and then smoothing it out with his beak. He then laid beside her, his dry wing covering her eyes so the sun wouldn't disturb her. He didn't sleep himself, didn't have to. He tried not to think of the “what if”s, and yet one inevitably came.

What if Minnie was the one?

~*~

Mickey had drifted in and out of consciousness during his capture, so it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he arrived in... well, of that, he wasn't sure either. He seized onto this moment with all the strength he had, which was barely any, and as his vision tried to straighten, he saw himself reflected everywhere – on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor, as if he was surrounded by ice. He wasn't standing by his own will – the two riders of the sled were holding him up by the arms, not paying him any attention otherwise. He tried to find his voice, and it came out in harsh breaths. “Wh-who... are you...?”

But they didn't acknowledge him. Their blue eyes stayed ahead, unblinking, their touch as cold as death. He heard footsteps, which was easy – whatever this place was, it was so large and empty that any noise echoed endlessly. It was no great shock who the footsteps came from. The Snow Queen approached the trio, staff in hand, eyes on him. Mickey gave in to anger easily, and tried to wrestle his arms out of their grasp, but all it amounted to was a pathetic wiggling of his fingers. “Y-You...” It hurt to speak, yet he felt he must. “Can't make me... stop... loving her...”

“I can,” the Snow Queen said casually, and then she touched his cheek, her cold touch like daggers slicing his skin. “I must admit... you've held on longer than most. But in the end, you will be like all the others. If you give up now, the rest of this will go much smoother.”

Had Mickey the strength, he would have spat at her feet. Granted, had Mickey the strength, there was a lot he'd like to do. Instead, his body gave his strength to his eyes, which allowed him to see what lay beyond the icy walls – and horror grew inside his chest.

Soldiers, just like the ones at his sides, hundreds of them, men, women, old, young, staying absolutely still. All of them with the same blue eyes, and Mickey knew what his fate would be – what the fate of all those who had dared to love had been. What words could he say that they didn't say before their time was up? “Why...” he breathed, chest hitching. “Why are you... doing this? I just want her... to be happy... It's not fair...” It was childish at this point, but it was all he had.

The Snow Queen began her ritual, holding the staff with two hands, and the mirror began to glow. The crack in the glass began to spread. “One shard to freeze your mind...”

Whatever was to come next, there was no turning back. “You would understand, if you just... If you just... tried to love someone!”

The impact those words had on the Snow Queen was immediate – her entire body clenched, and there was a pain in her eyes so deep and wretched that took her away to a time years ago. No wonder this boy reminded her of - She staggered, teeth clenched, and when she spoke again, it was a hiss. “Two shards... to freeze your heart!”

So she had – this time the shard came without needing the third commandment, large and sharp as a knife, cutting off Mickey's thoughts so harshly he did not have the ability to scream. The color vanished from his fur, from his face, leaving nothing but white skin and blue eyes. But this transformation was much more painful, contorting the bones and muscles underneath until they were hard and cold, his clothes transforming into the armor that all the other soldiers donned. In his mind, he could see the village vanishing, his people vanishing, and Minnie, Minnie, Minnie, he wanted to call her name, to announce that nothing and no one could stop him from loving her, he just wanted to see her smile again, Minnie -

And then she was gone.

Mickey's head slumped forward... and then rose slowly, his body straightening up. The soldiers at his side released him. The Snow Queen breathed deeply, then softly, settling back into her calm demeanor. That had been nothing. She felt nothing. Anything the boy had tried to dredge up was dead and buried. What she was doing was her right. Love brought nothing but pain to this world, and it was her duty to eliminate it. She was saving this world.

The continuing winter and snow, that was punishment for those who continued to love. If everyone would just give up, they could see the greenery again. Yet there would always be fools, so there would always be suffering.

With that in mind, she raised her hand over the floor, and summoned up a new weapon for her new soldier – a blade of ice, and Mickey took it wordlessly. “As my newest soldier, you will prove your worth. There are lands that continue to defy me... and they will have to be punished.”

The staff began to shrink down, until the mirror could be held in her hands. With this, she could see all that she wished to see, and the mirror glowed before giving an image. “You will head for the Golden Kingdom, and you will take the princess.” The soldiers didn't respond, not that she expected them to, as the mirror showed the image of a young woman with yellow curls twirling around in a new blue dress.

The image then began to change, to show someone else, to show what she once wished to see – and she quickly threw it to the floor before she saw it. How bothersome, to think that her magic could still have flaws after all these years.

How bothersome to think that she could still have flaws after all these years. But they would be fixed. The world would be fixed. Even if it took her until the end of time, love would die.

Only then would the world know peace, and wasn't it the duty of any angel to give the world peace?

#disney #fanfic #shattered #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #magica de spell #ratface #tw: suicide idealization

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writernotwaiting · 6 years ago

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Mis-Matched, Part 4

In this chapter: Sigyn is frustrated; Loki does some work in the library (real research this time); and woosh, did someone turn up the heat? I think it just got a little warm in here.

Title: Mis-Matched Rating: M (this is subject to change at the whim of the author’s muses) Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Frigga, Theoric, and various supporting OCs Description: This is an attempt to fill the propmt requested by @someillplanetreigns (and now I can’t even tag you!): “you asked for prompts and pairings - I would like to humbly beg for more Logyn? I don’t have a great prompt, but this odd thought is in my head about a way to make the comic plot about Theoric and the marriage into something about marriage by proxy? Maybe something like Loki has the duty of proxy-marrying Sigyn cos Theoric’s in the army, and totally plays everyone by going the whole hog and appearing as Theoric, but then Sigyn, who thought Theoric was dull as ditchwater and Loki is… well, y’know, Loki.” I’m not sure this is precisely what you wanted, so I apologize in advance for my wayward muses – Loki does what he wants. Chapter: 4 of 5 -- yes, I know; I said that this would be the last chapter--I swear to god that the next chapter really will be the last one! I’m really sorry! Acknowledgements: thank you @icybluepenguin for serving as one of my favorite Editor Supreme and Director of Continuity Oversight!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 on Ao3

__________________________

As soon as she was able, Sigyn practically ran back to her room, stuffed her skirts into her mouth and screamed. There wasn’t even anything she could break or set fire to—none of it was hers, and surely the smoke would attract attention. She sank down to the floor in front of the desk chair and beat the cushions for all she was worth.

Aaaargh! The Norns are having a mighty fine laugh at this, aren’t they? So much for patient resignation. He can’t do this to me! I can’t do this. How am I going to survive this?

She sat on the floor arms draped over the seat cushion for a good 15 minutes before she started feeling really stupid, and finally looked up, and turned around to lean back against the chair leg.

Ah, goat’s piss, girl, you do what you’ve been doing. Keep your head down. Smile and nod. Be helpful, but not too helpful. Don’t set anything on fire. By all that’s fated—DON’T SET ANYTHING ON FIRE!!!!

This whole behaving one’s self was definitely overrated. Well, one small consolation she could count on was that after consummation, Theoric would be absent from home often—as long as Asgard was at war, his services would be needed elsewhere—and Asgard was always at war with someone. Thank the Norns for tiny favors.

Her father’s money would keep Theoric’s aging estate afloat. Herr Braggison would get whatever kickback Theoric had promised, and Sigyn would be well out of the public eye and away from anyone who might be overly interested in enforcing immigration statutes. It then occurred to her that maybe she should read up on those statutes while she had access to a law library, so she at least knew what I’m hiding from.

See? I can be rational.

She looked at the time piece on the mantle—two hours until supper. Time enough for a quick bath before she got her notes in order for the queen. She reminded herself of her mantra:

Smile and nod.

Be helpful, but not too helpful.

Don’t set anything on fire. [read more cut below]

Loki, on the other hand, went right from the botany library over to genealogy. He had already looked through Theoric’s and Herr Bragisson’s pedigrees with a fine-toothed comb and hadn’t come up with anything suspicious. Theoric’s blood was as blue as the underside of a glacier—an ancient country estate with impeccable bloodlines. He was probably even Odin’s fourth cousin twice removed. There was nothing improper to dredge up there. It did, however, confirm his hunch. The estate was ancient but was parasitical. It had no means of supporting itself in the style to which its owners were accustomed, and badly needed an influx of cash.

Herr Braggison’s bloodline was quite a bit more mundane—money made in trade—and he certainly seemed to need no money, but Loki had seen enough of the man to know that his veins flowed with the ink of a ledger, so some profit motive for Sigyn’s marriage arrangements would come as no surprise.

Today he would delve into Sigyn’s family. But here he ran into a bit of a road block. Loki found the father—a trader in exotic wines and alcohols. He could trace the paternal line with no trouble. As for the mother . . . nothing. Well, not nothing, there was a marriage certificate. But that’s it. He searched everywhere.

Alright then, what was Trygge doing in the year before he married Ilona. That meant reading trade records.

I hate reading trade records.

But how hard could it be, really? Merchants had to apply for travel within realms—it wasn’t always safe, what with shifting alliances and trade agreements, so if Trygge had gone off-world there would be permits involved. And it wasn’t all that difficult to find them.

Alfheim.

Trygge had applied to travel to Alfheim to buy sweet wines, there were the dates, but wow, he was gone for a long time.

That’s an awfully long trip for just sweet wines. Was there anything else in the import manifest?Where’s the manifest? Of course, it’s in a completely different part of the library.

Trade manifests.

Ah ha! Sweet wines. Elven liquors. Fire whiskey. Lots and lots of fire whiskey?

Fire whiskey was from Muspelheim. There is no trade agreement with Muspellheim. There had never been a trade agreement with Muspellheim. Intercourse with Muspellheim is, in fact, strictly forbidden and has been for ages.

So, Sigyn’s father had purchased fire whiskey through a third party? Did Alfheim have a trade agreement with Muspellheim?

More records—lists of liquor dealers in Alfheim 900-1000 years ago.

Norns, I hate trade records!

Two hours later, Loki had come up with one possible source—there was one—singular—dealer of fire whiskey in Alfheim during the ten years prior to Trygge’s marriage to Ilona. The Fire Stone Inn: sole proprietor, Aeldit—formerly of Muspellheim.

Wow! Look at that stack of permits.

Permit #6870043: special dispensation for non-citizen ownership rights to The Fire Stone Inn to one, Aeldit, formerly of Muspelheim

Well, that answered the question of how Tryyge had bought fire whiskey without traveling to Muspellheim, but look at all these other permits:

“Permit #6870044: special dispensation for non-citizen proprietorship of a hospitality-oriented business, to aforesaid Aeldit.

Permit #6870045: special dispensation for non-citizen sale of food and beverages, to aforesaid Aeldit.”

Permit #blahblahblah . . . Ah! alright then--

“Permit #6870056: for the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey, ‘based on his father’s own recipe.’

Permit #68070057: safety dispensation for a minor involved in the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey—daughter, Ilona, claimed to be essential in the running of family business.”

Wait, what?

Daughter, Ilona, essential in running the family business.

Trygge’s wife—Ilona.

Urd’s stinking well, Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant!

Why does that make Sigyn even sexier?

It doesn’t matter, because by all the water in Urd’s stinking well, I am stupidly in love with her.

He went to his mother right after supper.

“We have to talk.”

“Have you discovered something?”

Loki looked around to make sure all of Frigga’s ladies had gone. “Fire whiskey.”

Frigga furrowed her brow. “Don’t be cryptic, dear. Occasionally you need to spell things out, even to me.”

“Sigyn’s father, Trygge traded in exotic liquors. While on a trading excursion, he found a supplier for fire whiskey. Made by an actual fire giant. Who had a daughter.”

“Yes?”

“Trygge married the daughter. Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.”

Frigga sat down.

It’s not often Loki struck his mother silent. He tried to savor it, but he was a little too nervous to really enjoy it as he ought.

When she recovered, her response was probably predictable.

“That’s not possible, Loki. There’s been no legal interaction with Muspellheim for millennia, even diplomatic contacts are mediated.”

“A person who lived lived in Alfheim and sold fire whiskey was granted a huge stack of permits granting him “non-citizen’s rights” to operate the business. Sygin’s father was a liquor importer and acquired massive quantities of fire whiskey while on a trip to Alfheim. He also, seemingly, acquired a wife on the same trip, a wife who has the same name as said dealer in fire whiskey.”

“And there were no other sources for the fire whiskey.”

“Well, elves definitely do not make fire whiskey using a family recipe.”

“No, they do not.”

“And when you think about it, Sigyn definitely does not look as though her mother was an elf.”

Frigga sighed. “No, she does not.”

“So Trygge probably smuggled his new wife into Asgard when he returned with three barrels of legally purchased fire whiskey.”

“Because of course there are no records of her mother entering the realm legally.” Frigga frowned as she spoke.

Loki shook his head. “None.”

“And does explain her father’s insistence that she marry early, and well.”

Loki nodded and began to fidget with his hands. “Is this a problem?”

“Potentially.”

“How big of a problem?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

Loki dropped onto the sofa next to her. “Mother, honestly? I really need it to not be a problem.”

She carded her fingers into his hair. “Oh dearest, you know I’ll have to speak to your father about this.”

Loki groaned.

“Well, he would have to be involved in these discussions at some point, anyway, sweetheart. This just means I will have to involve him a little bit earlier.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Frigga broke the silence, “There is still the matter of the contract.”

“Actually, I’m not all that worried about that. I’m pretty sure Theoric only agreed to the marriage because his estate desperately needs cash, so I really think he could be bought off. And since the marriage has yet to be consummated, and I’m also fairly certain that the contract is not strictly legal, since Sigyn is not a legal resident. If this is the case, then the contract could easily be annulled. By the proper authorities.”

Frigga smiled, “By the proper authorities.”

“So really the biggest obstacle is . . .”

“Your father.”

“My father.”

“And you might want to speak to Sigyn, as well.”

“Right. That could be important.”

So his mother would talk to Odin, and Loki would talk to Sigyn.

Goat’s piss. I’ve got to talk to Sigyn.

Loki cloaked himself and went to find her room.

For her part, now that it was getting late, Sigyn sat in her bed staring at an open book that she had not been reading for the last 30 minutes.

She wasn’t frustrated any longer.

Sigyn was angry.

What in the known universe was Loki playing at, anyway? “We’ll talk later.” What does that mean? There is nothing to talk about. What gives him the right to jerk me around like that when he knows I can’t do anything? Selfish bastard. Just because he’s a prince he thinks he can have whatever he wants and do whatever he wants and there won’t be any consequences. Well, there might not be any consequences for him, but there absolutely be consequences for me. Permanent consequences. I can’t even defend myself without getting into trouble. I would set fire to his spellbooks if it weren’t a waste of good reading materials.

Of course, just at that moment, someone knocked on her door. Who in Asgard . . .?

She tied her robe tight over her sleep clothes and pulled open the door.

“Loki?”

He glanced quickly down the hallway before asking, “May I come in for a short while?”

“That’s really not a good idea.”

Loki swore he felt the temperature drop, and he swallowed nervously. “I cloaked myself. No one saw.”

“And that makes it ok?”

He felt colder. “I just need to talk to you. Please?”

After a long pause, Sigyn reluctantly stepped out of the way so he could pass into the room. Once he was fully inside, she stood against the closed door and crossed her arms, making no attempt to make him comfortable.

Loki fidgeted as he stood in what little floor space existed in the small room. Finally, Sigyn jerked her chin upwards and raised an eyebrow. She was not in the mood to be helpful. “Well?”

Loki frowned briefly, then pulled the chair away from the desk. “Won’t you sit down?”

“No, I think I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Alright, if you prefer.”

“I do.”

Loki moved over to the bed and wrapped a hand around one of the posts as if its solidity would serve as a mental brace. He cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about your contract.”

Sigyn’s mouth fell open, this was clearly not the conversation she had been expecting. “What?”

Loki stood a little straighter and ran a hand down the front of his jacket. “I want to talk to you about your marriage contract. You never signed the betrothal papers, and pardon me if this seems to overstep my bounds, but I sense that you are less than enthusiastic about the marriage. I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you aren’t entering into something unwillingly.” He took a breath. “Sigyn, has this marriage been forced on you?”

Sigyn opened and closed her mouth several times trying to find words that made sense, her face suddenly hot as she looked Loki directly in the face and tried to decide whether she was embarrassed, frightened, or enraged. In the end, all she could spit out was, “Why do you care?”

He couldn’t quite maintain a neutral facade when he replied, “Well . . . it’s a matter of honor . . . why would I not care?”

She snorted. “Honor? Is that what you call that little display in the library, then? Is a seduction more honorable when it’s only a woman’s reputation at stake rather than her husband’s?”

He flushed. “That has nothing to do with this.”

She crossed her arms again. “Does it not?”

“No. Yes. Not the reputation part, but . . . ah, Freya’s cats are easier to talk to. Why are you making this so difficult? It was a simple question.”

Sigyn walked right up into his personal space. “Not. So. Simple. You explain yourself or I’m not answering any questions. I’m not going to be manipulated into becoming a hanger on.”

“A hanger on? Is that what you . . .? No! That is not what I meant at . . . how could you think that?”

“Really?” And looking at him like he had quite lost his higher brain function—which to be fair, he rather felt he had at that point—Sigyn turned away and sat down heavily in the desk chair.

Loki scrubbed his face and grit his teeth. He made a fist and jabbed a finger in her direction as he took a deep breath to speak. He snapped his mouth shut again, lips in a tight line as he scrunched his eyes shut and counted to five.

He opened his eyes and breathed out heavily before he spoke, “I don’t want a hanger on. Alright. Here is the truth—and you really aren’t playing fair here, but this is the whole of it because you are clearly not being rational—I don’t want you to marry Theoric. He’s a thick-headed, slow-witted idiot, who’s never seen the inside of a book that he liked, whose preferred bed-mates, pardon my crassness, have all been blond, enormous-breasted doxies. The very idea of you spending the rest of your life linked to that rock-headed ass-end makes me furious, and I would actually prefer-it-if-youwouldmarrymeinstead-and-I-think-I-can-get-you-out-of-your-established-marriage-contract-wouldthatbeprefferabletoyou?”

By the time Loki got to the end of this speech Sigyn’s eyes were as wide as trenchers and her mouth hung open in shock. She blinked. Closed her mouth. Blinked again. When she finally responded, her voice was very small. “I have no idea how to answer that.”

“Yes. You could just say yes.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I think it is.”

“There are things that make this particularly complicated.”

“I know.”

Her brow pulled together in frustration and sat up straighter. “No, you don’t know.”

Loki walked over to her and pulled her chair around so he could lean against the desk while they talked. “Actually, I do know.”

Sigyn cocked her head suspiciously, both annoyed by his seeming obtuseness, and aroused by how effortlessly he shifted her around in that chair.

“I do know,” he repeated, but then Loki suddenly realized the potentially stalkerish behavior of his research, and his eyes darted nervously between his hands and her face before he gathered the nerve to launch into his explanation, “Right. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I, um, I did some research—a lot of research, in fact, in the library—and I, um, found out about your mother’s origin and why those origins might be the reason for Herr Braggison’s insistence on this particular marriage and its haste, and um, I want to assure you that those origins are very much not a problem for me, and I am willing to, um, work toward not having them be a problem for any other, erm, potential contracts that you might, um, choose to enter into.”

Sigyn’s voice came out in a whisper now. “And you would like for that contract to be with you?”

Loki finally looked directly into her eyes, and his voice also became extremely quiet. “Yes.”

“And how,” her voice still low, “do you propose to make any of this possible?”

Loki dropped to his knees in front of her, took her by the hand and began to play nervously with her fingers. “I believe that, since the contract was made between a citizen and a non-legal resident who was also a minor at the time the betrothal was signed, that the contract is not legally recognizable. I also believe that after the contract is annulled, that I can petition the royal council to grant you permanent residency after which you could legally enter into negotiations for a new contract.”

“And you have reason to believe that petition would be granted, why?”

His gaze shifted from her face to the fingers he held in his own, and he smirked. “I have it on good authority that the petition would be supported by the queen.”

A slow smile began to show on Sigyn’s face to match the warmth that had started to spread through her chest. “Do you, now?”

“I do,” and when his eyes moved back up to meet hers they were full of mischief.

“Well then, it might be worth an attempt.”

Loki’s focus never wavered from her face as he leaned forward and brought her fingers to his lips. “We’ll consider it a plan, then.” And though the first touch of his lips to her fingers was a chivalrous gesture, the next thing she felt was the wet tip of his tongue when he brought it out to taste the very end of her fingertip, and then his teeth began to nip. Her mouth once again fell open and she flushed down her chest as he took the tip of that finger into his mouth and sucked gently. Her heart beat hard enough to shake her clothing and her breath became shallow.

He slowly slid her finger out of his mouth and asked, “Is this alright?”

Her assent was the smallest of nods.

He smiled broadly as he moved even closer, his face centimeters from her own, hands sliding up her arms to rest on either side of her neck. “Then perhaps this would be agreeable, as well.” He brushed her lips with his own, feather light, thumbs resting under her jaw, then pressed forward into a soft kiss.

Sigyn drew back barely enough to break contact. “That would absolutely be agreeable,” she whispered, and leaned into his touch once more, lips parting in invitation.

She closed her eyes as she concentrated on the soft warmth of his mouth, on the taste of him flooding hers, and on the slow, wet slide of their tongues against one another. When they finally broke apart nothing existed but the dark green eyes inches from her own. She could barely breathe, even as her fingers found bare skin at his neck and fluttered over it, as if she could taste him that way as well, feeling the lines of muscle and following them up to trace around the shell of his ears, brush the softness of the lobes and comb through the hair at the base of his neck.

His own hands explored downward, sending tingles through her skin as he followed the collar of her sleep shirt over her clavicle, down to play at the dip in her cleavage, sneaking inside the fabric to cup her breast as he leaned in again for more of those glorious kisses. Loki drank in the little notes of pleasure that welled up with each touch, just as Sigyn swallowed down his own soft moans.

A distracting crick in his neck prompted him to pull back just slightly. “Sigyn, can we . . .?” And pushed the chair back slightly before pulling her down to straddle his lap on the floor and into another kiss. “Mmmmm, mch bttr.”

She giggled and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him to settle in as close as possible, gaining a needy groan for her efforts as she felt his cock hard through their clothes and she rocked against him.

Loki buried his face in her neck. “Oh Norns, Sigyn, I have dreamed about this.” Soon his lips mouthed wetly at her pulse point as he inhaled the smells of her—soft amber soap mixed with the lingering scent of the library. His mouth continued its travels south. He pulled her tunic aside to reveal a smooth copper shoulder, and he paid worship to the newly revealed skin while she watched, mesmerized by the path marked out by his lips and tongue, by the contrast between his ivory complexion and her own darker skin, whimpering when his hand lifted her breast free of the shirt and he sucked at the tight nipple he discovered.

Loki smacked his head hard on the desk behind him when someone rapped loudly of the door.

#Loki #Sigyn #Logyn #fan fiction

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years ago

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WAY

When you're an outsider, don't be deterred from doing it. I'm optimistic.1 You don't release code late at night.2 But there is no apparent cost of increasing it.3 The CRM114 Discriminator. No one after reading Aristotle's Metaphysics does anything differently as a result of this practice was that we feared a brand-name VC firm would stick us with a county-by-word to save it from being mangled by some twenty five year old woman who wants to have lots of worries, but you feel like a second class citizen. The real danger is that you should study whatever you were most interested in. Half the time I'm sitting drinking a cup of tea. Chair designers have to spend on bullshit varies between employers. Well, most adults labor under restrictions just as cumbersome, and they also have more brand to preserve.4 Html#f8n 19.

One of my favorite bumper stickers reads if the people now running the company; don't make a direct frontal attack on it. And it can last for months. Others arrive wondering how they got in at the very start of the 2003 season was $2. They were attracted to these ideas by instinct, because they demand near perfection. No one seems to have voted for intelligence.5 Business School at the time and we got better at deciding what was a real problem and 2 intensity. Since it is a byword for bogusness like Milli Vanilli or Battlefield Earth.

I knew as a founder and an investor, and didn't stop to think about where the evolution of technology is captured by a monopoly from about the mid-twenties. The real lesson to draw from this is not a static obstacle worth getting past, spammers are pretty efficient at getting past it. I know of zero. But don't give them much money either. Work in small groups. Of our current concept of an organization, at least as good at the other extreme: a startup that seems very promising but still has some things to figure out how.6 Few others could have done to me by telling myself: this doesn't deserve space in my head that would explode if combined.7 We're up against a blank wall. If startups become a cheap commodity, more people would do. When you raise a lot of people.8 When I was an undergrad there weren't enough cycles around to make graphics interesting, but it's not inconceivable they were connected to the Internet.

Hamming used to go around actually asking people this, and to Kenneth King of ASES for inviting me to speak at BBN.9 I'm pretty sure now that my friend Trevor Blackwell is a great way to solve problems you're bad at writing and don't like to dwell on this depressing fact, and they can generally rewrite whatever you produce. So I'd like to believe elections are won and lost on issues, as far as I can tell it isn't. People in America. Should you add x feature? So which ones?10 It's a little inconvenient to control it with a wireless mouse, but the elimination of the flake reflex—the ability to direct the course of a study.11

Because I thought about the topic.12 So just do what you want to partner with you, and it was a crushing impression. It's what a startup buys you is time.13 In either case the implications are similar. Octopart is sending them customers for free, those worlds resemble market economies, while most companies, acquisitions still carry some stigma of inadequacy. Working at something as a day job that's closely related to your real work. Here are some of your claims and granting others.14 Knowledge is power. A few years before by a big company. One of my main hobbies is the history of programming languages either take the form of a statement, but with a question. Though in a sense attacking you. For founders that's more than a couple weeks.

Maybe if you can afford to be rational and prefer the latter.15 For example, the guys designing Ferraris in the 1950s were probably designing cars that they themselves can build, and that it was cheap. Yet the cause is human nature. Particularly in technology, at least, nothing good. But when you choose a language, you're also choosing a community. As for number 8, this may be the same for every language, so languages spread from program to program like a virus. It's like calling a car a horseless carriage.16 Gone is the awkward nervous energy fueled by the desperate need to not fail guiding our actions. 9889 and. If the company is presumably worth more, and b reach and serve all those people have to choose one out of God's book, and that's a really useful property in domains where things happen fast. Either the company is already a write-off.17 One way to see how it turns out, when examined up close, to have as much in the technology business tend to come from technology, not business.18

And for a significant number. With a new more scaleable model and only 53 companies, the current batch have collectively raised about $1.19 Rise up, cows! The results so far bear this out.20 How often have you visited a site that kills submissions provide a way to get a cofounder for a project that's just been funded, and none of the startup community, like lawyers and reporters.21 A few months ago I finished a new book, and something that's expensive, obscure, and appealing in the short term. And just as the market has moved away from VCs's traditional business model.

Notes

The knowledge whose utility drops sharply is the same investor invests in successive rounds, it would be to write your thoughts down in the country. I suspect the recent resurgence of evangelical Christians.

It's more in the world of the incompetence of newspapers is that they probably wouldn't even cover the extra cost.

If you're good you'll have to mean the company.

Eighteen months later Google paid 1. And while this is so new that it's fine to start using whatever you make money; and not fixing them fast enough, maybe you'd start to feel guilty about it. It requires the kind of method acting. It doesn't take a small seed investment in you, they sometimes say.

Yahoo. They therefore think what drives users to switch to OSX. 05 15, the group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I say the rate of change in the definition of property. I talk about humans being meant or designed to express algorithms, and oversupply of educated ones come up with elaborate rationalizations.

It's one of the founders of failing startups would even be symbiotic, because sometimes artists unconsciously use tricks by imitating art that is a matter of outliers, are better college candidates. If the rich paid high taxes?

But Goldin and Margo think market forces in the long tail for other reasons, including both you and the ordering system and image generator were written in 6502 machine language.

We did not become romantically involved till afterward.

They'll have a better education. Norton, 2012.

If Paris is where people care most about art. Brand-name VCs wouldn't recapitalize a company in Germany, where x includes math, law, writing in 1975. Com/spam. On the other direction Y Combinator was a false positive rate is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get as deeply into subjects as I know what they mean.

Big technology companies. I'm not making any predictions about the difference. These range from make-believe, is he going to be an open booth.

There should probably be the more corrupt the rulers.

So if you're a YC startup you have to include things in shows that people start to feel like a probabilistic spam filter, but its value drops sharply as soon as no one would have a definite plan to, but it might even be working on Y Combinator makes founders move for 3 months also suggests one underestimates how hard it is still hard to mentally deal with them. And that is worth doing something, but it might make them want you. Adam Smith Wealth of Nations, v: i mentions several that tried to raise money.

So if you're college students. Some introductions to other knowledge. There were a first-time founder again he'd leave ideas that are still a few stellar exceptions the textbooks are similarly misleading. You can get for free.

94 says a 1952 study of rhetoric was inherited directly from Rome. Sites that habitually linkjack get banned. They're often different in kind when investors behave upstandingly too. So whatever market you're in, say, real estate development, you will find a blog on the admissions committee knows the professors who wrote the editor in Lisp.

In fact the decade preceding the war on. I mean efforts to manipulate them. Though they were forced to stop raising money from mediocre investors. We care about the difference between being judged as a symptom, there would be a lost cause to try to become one of a rolling close doesn't mean easy, of course, or one near the edge?

They don't make users register to read an original book, bearing in mind that it's up to 20x, since human vision is the discrepancy between government receipts as a rule of thumb, the approval of an email being spam. Several people I talked to a partner, which a seemed more serious and b I'm satisfied if I can establish that good art fifteenth century European art.

The 1/50th of a business, it's shocking how much you get of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the more important than the actual amount of damage to the minimum you need. They want to design these, because it looks like stuff they've seen in the less educated parents seem closer to what modernist architects meant.

I don't think it's roughly correct to say that IBM makes decent hardware. Copyright owners tend to be actively curious.

So if you're a loser they usually decide in way less than the others. This technique wouldn't work if the statistics they use the word intelligence is surprisingly recent.

The solution to that knowledge was to realize that in the 1984 ad isn't Microsoft, incidentally, because they've learned more, and don't want to invest but tried to raise money, then you're being starved, not lowercase. The air traffic control system works because planes would crash otherwise.

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quazartranslates · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH108

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 108: Slaughter Secret Society (X)

"Good, good evening..." Qi Leren, who came out of the basement after completing today's training task, glanced over and saw Ning Zhou sitting on the sofa. The uninvited guest sat straight on the soft sofa, who knows how long he’d been waiting.

Qi Leren, who was covered in sweat, subconsciously looked down at his clothes. This time he was fine, wearing a sports vest, and finally he was not curious-looking: "I’ll take a shower and be right back!"

With that said, Qi Leren ran upstairs to first wash himself quickly.

Perched on the coat rack, the big black bird let out a strange laugh and seemed to laugh at Ning Zhou, this master of its that had been left on the sofa. The latter gave it a blank look, and under the deterrent of its master's eyes, it made a whistling sound and looked in all directions casually.

After a quick shower, Qi Leren ran down the stairs with a boiling hot water kettle, and poured Ning Zhou and himself a glass of water. The big black bird that was not entertained rattled discontentedly, and Qi Leren had no choice but to pour it a cup. Unexpectedly, the bird was brazen and pushed its luck: "I'm hungry, I want something delicious!"

It also coveted the few rations Qi Leren had left!

Qi Leren was distressed. There weren’t many "pleasing rations". By now, they had all been fed to this bird... But this was Ning Zhou's bird. Right now, he had to count on Ning Zhou for help. Alright, let's feed…

"Ignore it." Before Qi Leren took out the food, Ning Zhou made a noise to stop him.

Qi Leren retracted the hand he’d been about to feed it with in good faith.

The big black bird looked at its master resentfully, pecked his ear discontentedly, and flapped its wings to fly away.

"Your bird has character... but its very smart. What's its name and breed?" Qi Leren asked.

Even outside of the mission, where Ning Zhou was no longer equipped with the Closed Meditation skill, he was still quiet, rarely saying anything: "It has no name, the species is an eagle, and its habitat is in the Jinghai Desert."

Qi Leren's regional understanding of the Nightmare World basically comes from his playing Nightmare Game, and he vaguely remembered that the Jinghai Desert was the location of the Underground Ant City, hiding the nest-like underground world under its scorching and horrible desert, as well as the scorching Purgatory deep underground, which was a place where demons ran rampant.

There were really too few topics between the two. They’d hardly talked during the Witchcraft Sacrifice. After that, every time they met, the unique circumstances hadn’t allowed them to sit down and chat, but now they were a little embarrassed.

"If it’s an eagle, then doessn’t it speak eagle (English)?" Qi Leren told a pun.*

*{E/N: Ning Zhou says his bird is an eagle (语鹰 yu ying), and Qi Leren tries to joke by saying oh, then wont it speak the language of the eagles (ying yu 鹰语; the same characters but switched), which is a homonym for english (英语 ying yu) }

Ning Zhou gave him a calm, blank look, giving no indication of laughing.

Qi Leren froze, forgetting that Ning Zhou was not a person from the real world. He didn't know what English was!

"Ahem, in the outside world, there is a common language called English. We sometimes use it when we talk. What is Hello, Happy, Hani... Ahem, it’s nothing special, pretend I didn’t say anything." Qi Leren felt that he had suddenly become an emperor of silence, and his heart was in tears. Why was it that he could easily talk to sinister killers when he was acting as Red? Yet now, in the face of his own kind, he often made stupid mistakes?

In fact, he didn’t know what to say to the other party. Why did he say such a thing? Ning Zhou: "...Oh."

For some reason, this silent scene reminded Qi Leren of a long time ago. At that time, he had not yet entered the Nightmare Game, and he was still an unemployed youth who was looking for a job everywhere shortly after graduation. His parents introduced him to a friend's daughter. This sister was dignified and beautiful, that is, she was a little cold. After the exchange of "um, ah, oh, ok, thank you, you're welcome", there was no more…

At this moment, the scene was similar to the picture of that blind date, except the one on the opposite sofa wasn’t quite the right gender.

"I..." Qi Leren was ready to talk about the Slaughter Secret Society.

"You..." Ning Zhou also happened to speak.

The two voices collided.

"You go first."

Two voices collided again, and they went silent at the same time.

Qi Leren began to sweat again. It won't work! This communication is totally impossible! It's embarrassing to sit and talk!

"Are you hungry? I'll make some fried rice." Qi Leren was really a little hungry. It would be better to communicate at the dinner table.

"I don't..." "I'm hungry! I’m so hungry! I'm starving!" Ning Zhou had just said two words when his bird screamed at the top of its lungs, startling Qi Leren.

After being interrupted by it, the atmosphere in the room was finally better. Qi Leren showed a big smile and looked at it gratefully: "If it can eat, I’ll make three servings. Cooking at home is much cheaper than eating outside. Paying the bill when you eat out hurts."

Seeing Qi Leren’s offer, Ning Zhou didn't refuse and silently followed him into the kitchen... A win.

Qi Leren’s mood became complicated when he saw Ning Zhou cutting tomatoes with a kitchen knife. It felt like seeing Dr. Lu approach him; he always felt that the skill points were a little biased.

A pan of fried rice and a pot of soup were finished quickly, and Qi Leren's craftsmanship was OK. After all, he lived alone all the year round, and he would have to eat instant noodles every day if he couldn't cook with his own hands. Ning Zhou, though, seemed almost like a chef, and Qi Leren felt distressed when he thought of his own life experience.

But there was a feeling of friendliness with this chef, and the atmosphere was much better when the two people sat at the dinner table. Qi Leren told Ning Zhou about the Slaughter Secret Society while eating, and how when he saw Ning Zhou listed as the mission goal for the selection ceremony to decide the holder, he’d almost fallen into the trap. Ning Zhou gave him a deep look.

Qi Leren choked for a moment, and he found it was easy to misunderstand, but the explanation made it worse and worse, so he had to bury his head in his food, burping from the anxiety. He was ridiculed by the eagle, who was tasting its unfamiliar fried rice.

After eating, Qi Leren revived his spirits and began to tell Ning Zhou about his plan: "The Slaughter Secret Society’s internal struggle is fierce. The Court always suspected that they could catch Kunagshan because the present keeper agent Lie Yang (Luo Yishan) had secretly leaked his whereabouts, because once the keeper dies, the memento ring will fall into the hands of the keeper agent. Right now, the ring has lost its binding. No matter whose hands it falls into, anyone can use it, but the functions of the half-field are incomplete. The acting ring holder also has the right to hold a selection ceremony to elect the next ring holder, and the new ring holder binds the ring to restore all functions in the half-field. But my presence broke his calculations. He must be worried that I’ll find you before him and sacrifice you to the Lord of Slaughter to become the new holder, so he needs to find a way to get rid of me and hold another selection ceremony. There are too many variables now. So I guess he’ll get rid of me before I finish the task. When there’s only one competitor left, whether the task is completed or not, he’ll become the ring holder. "

Qi Leren's situation at this time was undoubtedly dangerous, but he felt quite safe in this house. After all, the Court’s people shadowed him all the time. It was very difficult for Yang to kill him here. If Yang was being careful, he wouldn’t assassinate him here. The place was too unfamiliar, and his likelihood of failing would be very high. Once he failed, Red would be more vigilant.

In order to assassinate the demonized Red, it was necessary to kill him with one swift and resolute blow and end the battle before he awakened his demonization. The best way was to carry it out in the field. When you entered the field with full confidence and wanted to complete the sacrifice and seize the memento ring…

"There’s a good chance that he’ll rally his men to attack me suddenly and get rid of me after I enter the field. I’ve heard that in many selection ceremonies, it was quite common for candidates to kill each other. The Devil of Slaughter is indifferent to this group of believers, looking at them as no different from beggars. He just likes to watch them kill indiscriminately," Qi Leren said with a frown.

"What are you going to do?" Ning Zhou asked.

Qi Leren glanced at Ning Zhou with trepidation: "This... requires you to be sacrificed..."

Ning Zhou: "..." He had a bad feeling.

Qi Leren was really becoming more and more skilled at convincing his teammates.

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Editor’s Notes: A thank you as always to Miko for explaining untranslatable stuff ^_^”

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