#even in my own flat which is a studio apartment

[actual-changeling]

how do people live without constantly being afraid. not in an anxiety way or having something concrete to worry about, i'm just constantly scared simply because i am alive and existing.

i know this is a consequence of all the trauma and abuse i went through but it's genuinely wild to me that people exist and go without their day feeling. normal. and not like this.

[slowd1ving]

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k  

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成���. Good things come in pairs. 

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives. 

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building. 

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often. 

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted. 

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs. 

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time. 

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition. 

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there. 

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head. 

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.” 

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious. 

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell. 

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men. 

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of. 

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt. 

But he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t. 

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze. 

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does. 

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger  in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth. 

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up. 

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material. 

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together. 

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin. 

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too. 

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break. 

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that. 

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way. 

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason. 

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking. 

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons. 

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more. 

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good. 

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front. 

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you. 

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away. 

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice. 

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor. 

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze. 

He’s never seen it before. 

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you. 

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips. 

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t. 

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene. 

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been. 

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste. 

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz). 

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow. 

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts. 

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of. 

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point. 

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence. 

You’re harsh as winter. 

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment. 

Or two. 

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen. 

Fucking his hand has never felt like this. 

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin. 

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing. 

But he forgets how cruel you are. 

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile. 

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred. 

What the hell? 

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock. 

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet. 

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously. 

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences. 

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange. 

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood. 

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense. 

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage. 

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night. 

“A-ze. What do you want?” 

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness. 

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you. 

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation. 

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke. 

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please. 

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons. 

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips. 

What a mess. 

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together. 

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him. 

Fuck. 

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from. 

He’s beautiful. 

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words. 

Well. 

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones. 

・゜゜

[drenchedfireworks]

The one where Nessian are roommates and the sight of Cassian in sweatpants cripples her.

Unedited.

_______________________________________________________

Nesta didn't know husky, croaky voices did it for her.

But pair that with the largest, most unreal set of muscles on a person's back, thick veins on display as they stretch and the happy trail leading to what she was sure was a happier place, Nesta knew it was a system overload even for her.

Slamming her glass of water down, she startled Cassian who had just walked into the kitchen, stretching and wishing her a good morning.

But it wasn't a good morning.

The slightly husky, deep undertone with which he had delivered it was hinting on thoughts that had no business taking up space in her head. Thoughts of tangled sheets, naked bodies on top of each other, same words but preferably whispered against her ear while the bed rocked-

"You feeling okay?"

There it was again. Goosebumps ran from the bottom of her feet to the tip of her hairline as she shivered.

This was not what she had in mind when she temporarily moved in with her sister.

Mold in her own house had forced her to find other places to stay except Feyre had stepped in and offered the spare room at her old flat to Nesta for as long as she liked.

And forgot to mention that someone else was currently occupying the other bedroom.

Nesta would never forget stepping out of her own room early in the morning and noticing the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on in her life, doing pull-ups on the makeshift rod in the kitchen entrance. Shirtless. In grey sweatpants.

Nesta had stood speechless until Cassian had noticed her, hopped off the bar and made his way toward her. Wiping his sweaty hands on the sides of his sweatpants, he'd offered her one "You must be Feyre's sister, I'm Cassian"

And because she was allergic to all things civil, Nesta had responded with "Why are you doing pull-ups in my house, Cassian?"

Cassian had laughed, undeterred that she had ignored his hand completely "Because it's not only your house, Nesta"

If Nesta hadn't desperately needed a place to live, she'd have strangled Feyre for putting her next to a man who would give Poseidon a run for his money.

Soon, she'd learned that Cassian was having his studio apartment renovated and had also moved in at the same time on Rhysand's suggestion. Feyre had apologized profusely for the miscommunication and offered to look for other places with her but Nesta was not going to trouble her sister any more than she already had.

"It's only a couple weeks" She'd said.

"Are you sure?" Feyre had asked anyway.

In hindsight, no. She wasn't. Every morning, day after day, she refused to be subjected to her own version of a strip show.

If Cassian wasn't doing pull-ups, he was doing something else that brought to attention all those God-like muscles flexing as he moved about. But Nesta's personal favorite was when he did the quad roll outs.

Oh, the amount of times she'd been making her morning cereal while he loosened his trunk sized thighs and hamstrings on those quad rolls picturing herself lying under him while he stretched.

"I'm fine. Coffee?" She coughed, hoping like hell that she wasn't drooling as she shamelessly ogled the veins on his arms.

"No. And you should stop drinking it too"

Nesta rolled her eyes at that "I will when herbal tea starts giving me the caffeine boost I need"

Cassian smiled at her quip but moved around her to start prepping for breakfast. They weren't the best of friends but they had a routine and like good roommates, they followed it. Cassian would cook breakfast while Nesta got ready and she would do the dishes in return. He vacuumed and took the trash out, she'd do all the grocery shopping and make a list of everything they were running out of. On weekends, if they were both home, Cassian would invite her to go to the gym with him (Nesta refused every time) and Nesta would ask if he wanted to watch a movie together (Cassian had watched more chick flicks than her and he was proud of it).

It was all because she had slowly developed the stupidest crush on her temporary roommate that she was still here, subjecting herself to torture like this. Her house had been mold free for two weeks but she refused to move back in, promising herself it was the last day she stayed but Cassian would do something ridiculous like leave her breakfast covered on the kitchen island on days he had to leave early or just have her favorite flowers in a vase on the center table (neither of them would comment on it) or softly flick her forehead if he caught her pouring herself more coffee and she'd melt on the inside every single time.

In the six weeks she'd been living with him, Cassian had never brought a girl home or even brought up the fact that he was seeing one so why he had never even hinted on asking Nesta out was beyond her. She wasn't above asking him herself, she was just too chicken to actually do it. So here she was, overstaying her welcome in hopes of something happening.

"Shoot. I forgot to take the trash out. When's the recycle day?"

Nesta glanced at the calender "Saturdays. That's today. I'll take it" She put her mug down and moved toward the trashcan the same time Cassian did.

"No, I'll do it" He pushed her hand away and Nesta could've sworn electricity charged between them. Before she could overthink it, her phone ringing snapped her out of her reverie.

"Eris Vanserra?"

Nesta favored delaying picking up the call as she turned to Cassian who had also noticed the caller ID.

"You know him?"

"Yeah. Sleazy bastard. Why is he calling you at 8 in the morning on a Saturday?"

"We're working a case together" With that, she picked up the call "It's 8 in the fucking morning, Vanserra"

Cassian laughed and Nesta smiled, putting the phone on speaker as Eris began talking "Weekends don't pay your bills, Archeron"

Nesta made a face at her phone before responding "As far as I know daddy pays your bills so I don't know what you're whining about"

Cassian shook his head, still smiling as he reached around her and took the trashbag out. Nesta watched him go, distracted by how his hair swished, wondering if the strands were as soft as they looked. So distracted she was, she barely caught the end of what Eris was saying.

"Enough chit-chat. You better have a valid reason for calling me so early in the morning"

"We have a lead"

And Nesta was paying attention.

By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was hunched over the island, listening intently on the phone that was off speaker now as she rapidly made notes in the notepad she kept exclusively for grocery lists.

Half her torso was leaning on the island as she supported the shoulder balancing her phone while she wrote. The arch in her back really brought to attention the curve of her ass and those long, long legs Cassian had dreamt of resting on his shoulders too many times than was appropriate.

Hair flowing down her back, her tiny pajama shorts riding up, Cassian wanted to stop watching but couldn't. Nesta Archeron was the Psyche of Greek Mythology on most days, untouchable in her tower, a beauty that rivaled Aphrodite's. But in the mornings, oh she was a sight to behold.

Face free of makeup, hair tied haphazardly above her head, wearing matching pajama sets and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Cassian had never found a woman attractive like he did Nesta.

But if there was something he liked even more than seeing Nesta ruffled and rolled out of bed in the morning, it was the slight part in her lips, the darkening of her gaze as she'd take him in doing whatever exercise he was when she caught him.

He was aware of the effect he had on her, he just didn't know what to make of it. Most days, Nesta would snap out of it in record time and bark at him to put on a shirt but some days he'd catch her looking on with a gaze so inviting, he almost took her up on the offer.

If only he hadn't promised Feyre that he would make absolutely no moves on her sister, act respectfully at all times and make her feel welcoming, he'd have acted on his baser instincts much faster.

"I'll make a draft that you can proofread but I'm not coming into the office on a Saturday, Eris" Nesta was saying on the phone, straightening as she closed her notepad "Whether I have a social life or not is none of your business"

She was listening to whatever Eris was saying, getting more and more heated by the second before Cassian plucked the phone from behind her.

"Get fucked, Vanserra"

And hung up.

Nesta watched with her mouth slightly agape before she burst out laughing, Cassian joining in.

"Seriously though, Nes. You don't have to verbally spar with him every time, you can just hang up on him, y'know?"

"I know but what if it comes off as me throwing in the towel, waving the white flag, surrendering? I'd rather die"

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Cassian moved closer, unable to help himself as he unconsciously trapped her between the counter and him "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Even your surrender may come off as a threat for a secret coup, I assure you no one would ever assume you're waving the white flag"

"Good. Because I'd- what are you doing?!"

"You can tell me your plans to take over the world while you sit there looking pretty" Cassian had already moved on to taking a pan out like he hadn't just tilted her world upside down by casually lifting her and setting her on the counter next to him like she was as weightless as a piece of tissue paper.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"I'm not blind, Nes. You're easily one of the hottest chicks uptown. No wonder Eris Vanserra has the hots for you"

"Eris Vanserra has the hots for me?"

Cassian shrugged, his back to her "You're beautiful and smart. Your beauty is striking cuz you can back it up with intelligence. You also won't take shit lying down and give back twice that you receive. And that mouth of yours..."

"What about it?"

Cassian set the pan on the stove, pausing. He was treading dangerous territory and he should retreat when he could still keep his head above water.

"What about it?" Nesta repeated, sharply enough that Cassian turned to her.

He grinned as he made his way toward her and flicked her nose "You should wash that mouth out with soap. You curse worse than sailors do"

"And?"

He wasn't supposed to secretly enjoy that she knew he had more to say that he was holding back on, that sitting on the countertop she looked like what birthday wishes and dreams were made of.

"And it's the most attractive thing in the fucking world"

Cassian could tell the exact moment her breath caught, the tensing in her shoulders and the way her fingers flexed on the edge of the countertop. He hadn't realized how close he was leaning into her space, the scent of roses and dark chocolate filling his nostrils.

He made a move to step away but Nesta latched her legs around his waist to keep him rooted. Cassian's eyebrows shot up in question as Nesta repeated "And?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

"Cementing in the fact that the guy I have overstayed my welcome for does think I'm pretty. Whether he'll ask me out for a date after this remains unconfirmed"

Brows furrowed, Cassian asked "Overstayed your welcome? What are you talking about, Nes?"

Suddenly, Nesta wasn't sure where her previous bravado had disappeared to. Lowering her gaze, she flexed her fingers "The work in my apartment finished two weeks ago, I'm not sure why I'm still...here"

Her voice had significantly lowered but Cassian's grin was widening every passing second. Nudging her chin up, he implored "Ask me"

"What?"

"Ask me again"

Nesta blinked "And what else, Cassian?"

"And I've been dying to kiss that mouth since you first moved in"

Nesta pulled him in, giving him permission to do exactly that.

_______________________________________

Initially, I was going to write an extended fanfic with spice, but this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I really just wanted to talk about Cassian in grey sweatpants so whoop- here it is.

I also love the idea of them being roommates, so I don't know, maybe I'll write a part two if I feel like it. For now, I'm working on an Elucien fanfic so hopefully, I'll finish that one soon.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VI ║ Mustang

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 5: Appaloosa | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Warnings: Angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, sexual innuendoes, oral sex (m and f receiving), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: I toyed with the idea of shortening the series by one part, but then - why would I? I want to give these two as much time as they deserve on this trip, so we have three more chapters after this. Enjoy my darlin's!

Mustang: An American feral horse which is typically small and lightly built.

It hits you a bit belatedly the next morning over breakfast - wholewheat toast with Poppy’s own churned butter and homemade jam - that it’s your fifth day on the trail. 

You dread to wrap your head around what that means. Today is the penultimate full day on the road. On the seventh, you head back to the ranch for your final night, and the next day, you fly home.

The realisation steals your breath for a second, and you sip pensively on the fresh orange juice that Jack squeezed by hand. 

You know he senses there’s something on your mind. You feel his eyes on you as you wash up the dishes while he does a final sweep of the house to make sure everything is in order, pausing every time he passes through the kitchen to press sweet kisses to the side of your neck.

Running out of excuses to linger, you make your way to the front door, the sound of your boots echoing hollowly in the living room, as empty as it was when you stepped into it two days ago. 

Except - it’s not really empty, is it? When so much has happened since?

You trace a finger on the kitchen counter where Jack made you dinner, drag your feet past the fireplace where you shared cake and confessions, and now you stand on the porch where he made you cry out his name into the dark of night.

The door shuts behind you with a heavy finality that physically weighs down your feet as you trudge towards the horses. 

Does any of this mean as much to him as it does to you?

Can it mean anything? You have three days left before you’re thousands of miles away, back to a crowded downtown studio apartment that barely has space for just you, let alone a cowboy, and a life that has no time for horses.

And here? There will be another rider in Scotch’s saddle next week, someone else taking your place by the evening fire and the bed you slept in - you bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from extrapolating any further than that. 

Jack looks up at you. ‘Got everythin’, darlin’?’

You put on a brave smile. ‘Got everything, cowboy.’

Scotch nuzzles you affectionately on the shoulder as you watch Jack finish up securing the last of the bags on Bourbon. Frowning at your forlorn expression, Jack He chucks you under the chin and  reassures you, ‘The house will be here when you come back, darlin’.’

When. 

Not if, but when.

It makes you smile.

While the shortcut is a less spectacular route as Jack forewarned, it’s still beautiful. Alternately cutting through swathes of flat land and dense forest, it’s certainly a less travelled path. There are parts of the track where Jack has to dismount to clear the overgrown vegetation, hacking away at wayward branches, so that you can go through.

After a whole day in the house - albeit a very good day - you’re happy to be in the open country again. You revel in the sun, your body loose and relaxed in the warmth, filling your lungs with the fresh scent of grass, trees and wildflowers.

Jack watches you from under the brim of his hat with a smile as you reach up while passing by a low-hanging tree, picking a bunch of flowers to tuck behind Scotch’s ears under the browband.

As much as he wants to push it out of his mind, his body is precisely finetuned to the schedule on the trail. Day five is when guests start to look back and reminisce, and he usually leads the charge with questions such as, do you remember what we saw on day three? Wasn’t that a treat?

Except this time, he doesn’t.

Instead, he holds his tongue, and the two of you ride quietly, side by side, letting the gentle rippling of grass in the wind and chipper birdsong do the talking.

And he watches you. No more furtive glances and stolen moments. He watches you openly and freely, catching your eye with a grin. 

He wants to remember you in the sun. Your back straight, but hips swaying to the rhythm of the horse. How gently your hands hold the reins, softly attuned to the horse’s mouth. The way you chatter to Scotch, and the punch he feels in his gut when you turn over your shoulder to smile at him. 

He’ll make damn sure he remembers all that.

Over a simple lunch - a much needed respite after the relentless feasting at the Halfway House - Jack mentions that the two of you will have to keep up the pace in the afternoon to get to the next camp by sundown. 

A bit fresh from the unexpected lieu day, Whiskey and Scotch keep trying to one up each other, nipping competitively for the lead. Bourbon, laid back as ever, is content to trail behind.

On a particularly flat stretch of land, you turn to Jack and ask, ‘Since we’re on the clock, how about a little race?’

He arches an eyebrow at your suggestion. ‘A race? So I get something if I win?’

You put on a coy smile and drag out the syllables teasingly. ‘Maybe.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

With a lopsided grin, you lean towards him and answer, ‘If you win, I’ll suck your cock, cowboy.’

His mouth parts at your unexpected proposal, his grip on the reins tightening, but he otherwise keeps his composure. Running the pink tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, he rasps, ‘And what do you want if you win, darlin’?’

‘What’s your best offer?’

Nudging Whiskey straight into Scotch’s side so that he can hook an arm around your waist, he purrs in your ear. ‘If you beat me, I’ll eat your sweet pussy.’

Turning to press your lips to his in a messy kiss, you grin. ‘You’re on, cowboy.’

There’s something magical - almost sacred - about galloping at full speed on the open prairie. 

Born and bred in the city, you’ve only done this maybe once or twice when you were younger, on family holidays in the rural backwaters. But damn, it never gets old.

The wind whistles in your ears as Scotch zooms across the plain. Despite the adrenaline of the competition, you are mindful to keep your contact on the bit soft, following the movement of his head so that he can move comfortably at full stretch. As it turns out, it’s surprisingly easy to sit in the Western saddle in the gallop, and you let your hips sway to the smooth gait. 

Ever the gentleman, Jack does give you a headstart, but not by much. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him level with you already. Catching your gaze, he gives you a cheeky wink before yelling yeehaw - at the command, Whiskey switches gear and starts to effortlessly overtake you.

Jack ends up beating you by a few comfortable horse lengths. Miffed as you are, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t condescend you by letting you win.

He’s jumped off by the time you arrive at the designated finish line, the beginnings of the forest that you’ll be crossing through to get to tonight’s campsite. Both man and horse are panting from the effort, and Jack doesn’t bother hiding his smugness when he flashes you a grin.

‘Good try, darlin’,’ he winks, passing you a water bottle when you dismount.

You snatch it from him and take a big gulp, before tossing it onto the grass and grabbing him by the deep, open V of his plaid shirt. 

‘Shut up, cowboy,’ you gripe and yank him in for a frantic kiss.

He groans, clearly taken aback when you reach decisively for his flask-shaped belt buckle, opening it with a clink, no hesitation in the way you unzip the front of his jeans and snake your fingers beneath his boxers. Pulling back, he hesitates, ‘Wait, darlin’ - now?’

‘Yeah, now,’ you insist breathlessly, feeling him harden in your grasp.

‘I should probably clean up first,’ he protests weakly, but lets you back him up against a tree a safe distance away from the horses.

‘Uh-uh,’ you tut with a shake of your head and sink to your knees, the leather of your boots creaking as you settle onto your haunches. ‘Want you like this, cowboy.’

He hisses at the drag of your nails against his skin as you pull his jeans down, his cock bobbing heavily when released from the confines of his boxers. You breathe him in - leather and sweat - and his eyes smoulder at the sight of your fingers wrapping around his length, something feral in the snarl on his lips. 

‘Fuck, darlin’, so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?’

You nod and a shiver chases down your spine. ‘Want you in my mouth so badly.’

Sliding his grip into your hair, he instructs, ‘Open those pretty lips for me. Wide.’

You do as you’re told, your pussy clenching at the tone of his voice that veers on dominant. Gripping the base of his cock, Jack guides the swollen, leaking tip between your lips, letting out an unsteady exhale. The sound swerves into a whine when he meets resistance halfway in.

‘That’s it, darlin’, feels so good,’ he praises you, a deep furrow on his brow as he draws back slowly. ‘Will you let me fuck your mouth? Hmm?’

You hum in acqueise, digging your nails into his naked thighs and hoping he gets the message.

‘So good for me,’ he growls as he pushes back in, inch by torturous inch. He fills you so completely that tears begin to sting the seam of your lashes, and with each smooth roll of his hips, one deeper than the last, you choke as you try to breathe around his girth.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ croons Jack above you, stroking the hinge of your jaw with a tender thumb, groaning when it unlocks and he slips in unexpectedly deeply. ‘Oh fuck, that’s it, beautiful. So gorgeous with my cock in your mouth. Look at me, darlin’.’

Peering up at him through your lashes, you decide that you like this view - a lot.

He’s still wearing his cowboy hat, which casts half of his face in shadow, but there’s no missing the flush on his cheeks, his jaw hanging open in panting breaths. Sweat has soaked through the front of his shirt, gaping open down to the middle of his sternum. Dappled shadows filtered through the treetops dance across his tanned skin, his chest rising and falling quickly.

His narrow hips buck as he slips in deeper, almost too deep, and you start to really feel the burn on your jaw as his cock stretches your mouth again and again, hitting the back of your throat. Drool begins to leak from the corner of your lips as you try to take all of him, struggling for air when it gets too much. 

Tears blur your vision and you gag, retreating with a wet pop, whining at the loss of his weight on your tongue.

Seemingly jolted back to himself, Jack thumbs your cheek apologetically, shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry, darlin’. I got carried away -’

‘Don’t, I liked it,’ you smile up at him almost drunkenly, pumping his length in languid strokes, so soaked in your spit that your grip nearly skids off him. ‘But now, I want to suck your cock.’

Basking in the sight of him biting his bottom lip and nodding frantically, the dynamics swing right around the very moment you slot your mouth over his length, and you swallow him whole.

Jack’s body language changes immediately, slumping against the tree behind him, choking out a low groan as you simply hold him there for a long beat. ‘Fuck, darlin’. Yes. Please.’

If you’re not already wet, you definitely are now from the muttered words of desperation that fall from his lips as you bob your head up and down his cock. You pace yourself, keeping a steady rhythm while Jack stammers incoherently above you, knowing that it will keep him on edge but not enough for him to finish. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re enjoying the way he’s begging you to take him harder, deeper, far too much.

‘Darlin’, need to cum. Fuck, need it,’ pants Jack, shoulders almost hunched over, as if in pain. ‘Just a bit harder, please, suck me harder, oh god -’

When his knees start to shake under your fingertips, and when his begging tapers off to disjointed whimpers, you finally look up at him.

Oh, but he is wrecked. Your cunt leaks as you take in his flared nostrils, lips pulled back into a pained snarl, pupils blown beyond recognition. Cupping your jaw in one big hand, he slurs, ‘Please darlin’, can I cum? Let me fill your mouth?’

A shudder runs through you and, holding his gaze, you hollow out your cheeks and suck, drawing a shout from Jack as he scrabbles for purchase, his fingers twisting into your hair almost painfully. Tightening your grip around the base of his cock, you fist him firmly while swallowing as much of him as you can, up and down, until you feel him swell on your tongue, just as he starts to tremble above you.

‘Oh god, oh fuck that’s it, I’m gonna cum, darlin’,’ he rambles brokenly, head falling backwards and opening up his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he babbles. ‘I’m gonna cum for you, I’m gonna - fuck, fuck, fuuuck -’

The first spurt almost takes you by surprise, hitting the back of your throat thick and salty. You moan around him at the taste, chasing him when his hips jerk and writhe as he empties himself on your tongue, until he has nothing left - your name on his lips as he catches his breath.

Jack stares down at you with dazed eyes, a groan deep in his chest when he spots the cum that pools white and sticky between your swollen lips.

His voice is surprisingly steady when he orders, ‘Swallow, darlin’.’

You do, before he hauls you up onto your feet to kiss you.

The stars look different from where you sit nestled between his legs, head tucked under his chin, leaning back against the steady beat of his heart.

Jack’s zipped the two sleeping bags together to make a double, a log behind him to prop himself up. One blanket he wraps around his shoulders with the ends draped over you, and the other you’re tucked under cosily.

Having done this job for nine years, he knows there’s a natural rhythm to the pack trips. On the fifth night, inevitable as gravity, the fireside conversation turns to home. But with you ensconced snugly where you are, like the space was made for you, Jack can’t bring himself to ask you that.

Turns out you’d ask him first.

‘So, do you get time off after working a whole week?’

‘Yeah, I get three days off after each pack trip.’

‘What do you do?’

He rattles off his usual to-do list. ‘Catch up on sleep, go into town for a haircut, fix my bike -’

With a bark of laughter, you sit up and toss him a look of incredulity over your shoulder. ‘Your what?’

‘My bike. My motorcycle - Silver Pony.’

‘You have a motorcycle? And you named it Silver Pony?’

With a playful growl, he tightens his grip around your waist, making you squeal. ‘Why are you laughin’?’

‘It’s just such a cutesy name.’

‘It’s a very sexy bike, I’ll have you know.’

‘Do all the ladies swoon when you roar into town on it?’ you quip dryly.

He chuckles. ‘You bet they do.’

Shifting in your seat, you probe, ‘So - what’s in town?

‘Not much. Even less for a city girl like you.’

‘Where would you take me? Give me the whistle-stop tour.’

‘Well,’ he pauses and considers. ‘I’ll take you to the diner for dinner. Then we can go catch a movie at the cinema. We can make out in the back row, ‘cause no one is ever there.’

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘Done it before, cowboy?’

He grins. ‘Jealous?’

To his surprise, you answer evenly, ‘Not particularly - I don’t think anyone’s ever had you to themselves like I have these few days.’

His chest swells at the easy surety of your tone. Where has that confidence come from? Sure, there’s always been flashes of that boldness under the tentative surface, even from day one. But this is something else. Now that the shyness has lifted, a knowing assurance has taken its place - one that’s making his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He nuzzles the column of your neck, making you squirm as his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. ‘That’s right, darlin’, ain’t you a lucky girl.’

You pause. ‘And - do you ever go on vacation?’

‘I take Whiskey out to the mountains every year in the fall. Sometimes Teak tags along with Jameson.’

‘But what about a city escape?’

He hums noncommittally, but a smile tugs at his lips as he rests his chin on your shoulder. ‘Can’t say I have, darlin’.’

‘Would you like to?’

‘Depends,’ he teases. ‘What is there for a country boy like me to do in the big, scary city?’

You tick off each option on your fingers. ‘Museums, galleries, shopping, music -’

‘Don’t know. Sounds loud and crowded,’ he grunts.

You roll your eyes. ‘Fine. We could just stay in and order takeaway. There’s the best Thai takeaway round the corner from my apartment.’

‘Alright. Keep going.’

Peering at him from the corner of your eye, you add, ‘We can have lots of sex.’

At that, he perks up. ‘Really?’

You smirk, winding one arm around his neck and brushing your nose against his. ‘So much sex, cowboy. I probably won’t let you leave the bed -’

Your squeal trails off into a bark of laughter when Jack flips you onto your back, but your breath is quickly knocked out of you when his soft lips latch onto the spot behind your ear, the one that he’s noticed you always tremble at. His blunt nails scrape their way up your inner thighs, and he senses the tremble rippling under your skin.

What he says next catches you off guard.

‘That night on your birthday, you hesitated when I asked to taste you. Why?’

Jack smiles when you don’t stiffen like you did that night at his question, but still, you dither, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Freeing it with a swipe of his thumb, he smiles down at you reassuringly. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, but I gotta tell you - fuck, I want to eat your gorgeous pussy.’ He pauses and smirks when he feels you shudder at his words, your eyes darkening. ‘I want to know what you taste like, want to slip my tongue deep into your cunt when you cum -’

‘Jack,’ you whine, hitching your knees around his hips in search of friction.

‘You’ll like that, won’t you?’ he teases, tonguing your earlobe. ‘God, I want to suck on your clit, see how wet I can make you with just my mouth.’

‘Touch me, cowboy,’ you plead, shoving your sleep pants and underwear down to your knees. ‘Please.’

He rips the bottoms off impatiently and opens you wide with hands on your ankles, groaning at the wetness he sees between your legs. He doesn’t want to push you, but he has to know. ‘Gotta tell me darlin’ - you want me to use my mouth?’

Vulnerability lurks beneath the frenetic glassiness in your eyes, and you swallow thickly in a confession. ‘I - it’s hard for me to cum from oral sex. My ex - he always got frustrated when he tried and well, it was just easier to not do it.’

You jump when Jack’s rough palms smooth over the outside of your thighs, a question in his soft eyes. ‘Would you like me to try, darlin’?’

You shift. ‘But - what if I can’t cum?’

‘Well, luckily, I seem to be able to make you cum in other ways,’ he replies with an easy wink to diffuse the tension in your body. ‘You don’t have to cum from oral sex, darlin’, and I won’t get frustrated if you don’t.’

You blink up at him. ‘Promise?’

‘I promise,’ he says, leaning his forehead into yours. ‘And I promise, it will feel good even if you don’t cum from just my mouth.’

Running your nails through the dark strands of his hair that brush his eyes, you take a deep breath and nod. ‘Okay, Jack.’

Catching your hand and pressing a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm, he says, ‘You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?’

You can’t help adding with a quirk of your lips, ‘Yes, sir.’

The fire paints the cowboy in orange and shadow as he makes himself comfortable in the cradle of your thighs. His hair glistens when it catches the light, still drying from his shower earlier. You watch the reflections of the flames flicker over his serious eyes, down his straight nose, past his tidy moustache and to his wickedly curled lips. 

Your breath hitches of its own accord.

He really is beautiful. This is beautiful. Having this man all to yourself in the open wilderness, so eager to please you, under the blanket of inky darkness with only the milky way as witness - you’ve never known anything like this.

Jack starts slow. His breath skates over your sensitive skin as he presses leisurely kisses to your inner thighs, some with a scrape of teeth, some chaste, but with just enough heat behind them to draw you into rolling your hips in search of his lips.

‘Cowboy,’ you berate him half-heartedly, burying your hands into his brown locks and pulling.

‘Patience, darlin’,’ he murmurs, but he moves upwards so that his exhale brushes over your bare folds. Gently, he ghosts a finger over your slit, the almost contact making you cry out. ‘How much more soaked can this pussy get without me actually touching it, I wonder?’

‘Don’t tease, Jack,’ you seethe, fists hitting the sleeping bag underneath you in frustration.

He tuts, an insolent smile on his lips, before carefully pulling apart the outer creases of your folds with the tips of his index fingers, opening up your cunt to his gaze. He groans at the sopping squelch of the movement. ‘Fuckin’ drenched already for me already. How?’

‘Jack. Please.’

Slinking onto his front unhurriedly, as if he has all the time in the world, Jack hooks your knees over his strong shoulders, nudging his nose against your weeping seam and breathes in deep. He way he moans has you clenching around nothing in anticipation. ‘Fuck, you smell so sweet, darlin’.’

‘Jack!’ you can’t hold back the pathetic sob that bubbles up from your throat, trembling so hard you need his solid weight to anchor you to the ground. ‘Please, want your mouth, now -’

Your words morph into a mewl when Jack’s lips, wet and cool, finally make landing with a gratuitously loud suckle of your clit, which has your back arching clean off the pillowy sleeping bag underneath.

He takes it slow - so slow, almost too slow - his broad tongue (is there any part of him that isn’t?) questing deep into the pliant ridges of your cunt, tirelessly discovering nerve points that make you keen and wringing needy whimpers from you. His shoulders under your knees hold you open as you shudder and squirm beneath him.

‘Jack,’ you pant, the stars above you blurry one second and sharply focused the next as he laves your clit studiously.

‘Yes, darlin’?’ he slurs against your pussy, not really expecting an answer. Instead, he pushes up the sleep shirt you have on, baring your tits to the cool night air. He moans into you and reaches up to squeeze them before teasing the tips, which only makes you push your hips into his face harder, earning a satisfied grunt from him.

Fidgety fingers curl into the fabric of shirt on his back, the air wrangled clean out of you as you watch his eyes flutter shut, a deep frown of concentration creasing his brow when he drags the flat of his tongue over you again and again, patiently building a rhythm that has you writhing. The blankets twist into knots between the gaps in your fingers, patches damp with your wetness cold against your skin. 

Slippery with Jack’s spit and what he coaxes from you, your thighs quake when he rubs his moustache on the soft flesh. You watch the sodden bottom of the dark hairs smear the slick over you, sticky and messy, and that’s when you feel it - a crest rearing its head deep within you. Slack-jawed, you hold on for dear life, clinging to it as it swells. Air leaves you in shallow pants as his palms tighten their grip on you, anchoring you to his mouth so he can lap at you with unwavering intensity, a solemn determination to chase that high that has long alluded you.

When you do break apart on his tongue, the first time in too many years to count, it’s with a spine-shattering scream of his name that rips apart the stillness of the night, your gasps and pleads riding the evening breeze.

The echoes of your voice sail across the empty grasslands, carrying in the thin night air, and ring into the open arms of the mountains, where Jack wishes - no, where he prays - he could keep you.

Notes: These two have earned this filth, haven't they? I'm having the best time just writing them being horny AF for each other on the open plains, while weaving in the angst as the clock ticks down. Thank you everyone for your patience, I hope you enjoyed this update, and as always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🧡

Horsey notes: I galloped for the first time just a couple of years ago (no such opportunity for a city girl), in the shadows of the magnificent Pyramids of Giza first thing in the morning on a gorgeous Arabian horse. It was a magical moment that has stayed with me, and truly one of my favourite memories ever. I have never been so grateful for our four-legged friends than I was in that moment, flying over the golden sands.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

(you'll see full art when I finish because it's spoilery as fuck I realized (too late))

SUMMARY: You accidentally the whole Coca-Cola bottle summoned Raphael (or so you'd think) to Earth.

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 4

“Buonasera”, Raphael leaned against the doorframe, taking in your appearance. "You look ravishing," he said before giving you a brief kiss on the cheek. 

You could feel his light stubble grazing against your skin. Notes of cherries and leather wafted off of him. No sulphur.

Ravishing was perhaps too grand a term, but you put in your best effort. You wore a black dress. While choosing, you went through wanting to be extravagant, then classic, then unconventional, then elegant again, and landed on a little black dress because you thought the devil in a suit would like it.

He, for his part, looked immaculate (of course). His crisp white shirt was expertly pressed, a sleek black waistcoat around his torso. His trench coat hung open, and he played with his car keys.

That surprised you. You had imagined he’d have a chauffeur in a black peak cap, driving a long black limousine. Could Raphael even drive a car? Did he learn to drive for you? Is it difficult to learn to drive a car? You had no driving licence and no idea.

"Thank you, come on in," you invited, breathing in and out low and steady. Did this invitation hold any significance, like with vampires? "I'll just grab my bag and I am ready to go. Do I need to take anything? My wallet?"

You were slowly getting used to the thought of Raphael being real, you mused to yourself. Well, real. At least a constant hallucination in your life.

"Only if you are planning to offend me," he replied with a laugh. “And I hope you are not”.

Raphael followed you into your flat, taking in the surroundings with a half-pitiful, half-amused expression that said “I'm not saying anything because I am well-mannered, but I'm thinking a lot to myself." Well, yes. Not the House of Hope, not even an upper scale apartment, just a run-down studio, forty-six square metres, overdue for some renovation. What more could a young professional afford in today's economy?

Raphael briefly glanced at your open laptop with disinterest, then his eyes lingered on your neatly made bed with its white, slightly faded linen. A small smile formed on his lips as if he entertained a certain thought.

You had entertained quite some thoughts about him while lying on that very bed. 

Snatching your phone, keys, and card holder, you cleared your throat and put on an "I'm prepared for whatever comes next" expression as Raphael's eyes moved from the bed to settle between your breasts.

Not in a suggestive way.

"Oh...you are Catholic?" His tone suddenly shifted - was it cautious, repulsed, or bewildered? 

"No, I am not religious," you responded, shaking your head and taking a step towards the exit. Raphael didn't budge. The raised eyebrow at the cross around your neck hinted that he wasn't entirely convinced. "You mean the cross? My mother gave it to me for protection and… ugh, protection," you added.

“The age gap between us was not lost on me, but I never imagined you were still young enough to seek fashion advice from your mother," he remarked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was clear what he wanted - the cross had to go. You recalled the black screen in the video and your own possessed, sickly face.

The cross stays on. 

You didn’t believe in God (well, you did believe a bit more now), but the cross stays on. Even during sex. Especially during sex.

“Does the cross bother you?”, you asked.

"Why would it bother me?", he questioned. "Because I am the devil?"

Oh, there you go. Is it confession time already? 

You remained silent, refusing to fall into a trap again. Let him say what he wanted.

He did not say anything, but he extended his hand and gently grasped the cross. Shit. Shit. Raphael traced his thumb along the edges almost as if he was trying to decipher its meaning.

There was no recoil, no burning, no hissing. Part of you hoped there would be. Part of you thought there should be. Then again, there is no Christ in Toril. 

"Ah, the agony! It burns, the Holy Symbol, it burns!" Raphael made a half-hearted attempt at a pained grimace before letting go of your cross. "Yes, after you referred to me as Raphael twice, I did some investigating. A computer game devil, is he not?”

Referring to a video game as "a computer game" was a very authentic boomer move, you had to admit. 

Two can play this game, Raphael.

"Well, I wouldn't say Raphael is THE devil," you said casually. "He's just A devil."

Raphael tilted his head in amusement. 

There was something oppressive about his presence, the way he stood taller than you, the way he took up more space than he should have, making your apartment look tiny.

“To be fair”, you continued. ”He’s not even that. He’s a cambion, half human, one of the lowest beings in the levels of hells. He likes calling himself a devil for effect though; probably gets a kick out of scaring people.”

Definitely gets a kick out of scaring people. There, you said it. Now let's see if Raphael would drop the act.

You held your breath as silence stretched between you - five seconds...four...three...two...one...

Would your screams reach the neighbours?

Would they call the police?

And if they did, would the police even help? What happens if they shoot him? Will he bleed black blood? Why were you even thinking about that right now?

"Well," Raphael finally broke the silence and placed a gentle hand on your waist, guiding you towards the door. "Judging by his many admirers, it seems some people quite enjoy being scared. Shall we depart?"

God damn it.

You gave a quick nod, trying to subtly adjust your right stocking which felt slightly loose. You had bought them on Sunday but hadn't tried them on yet (which you should have done). Raphael noticed but pretended not to, his hand on your back guiding you downstairs.

The door closed and you wished it farewell. 

Who knows if you'll ever see it again.

****

Raphael's car was exactly what one would expect from him if he did drive one - flashy, shiny, predatory; a sleek beast painted in blood red. The kind of car that turned heads and started conversations among curious onlookers. 

The kind of car that made teenage boys gather around in awe, wondering how he could afford it and why he was driving it in this neighbourhood. 

And so they did, and so you stumbled upon it, surrounded by admirers.

"Nice car, sir!" exclaimed one of them. "Is it a Maserati? A Gran Turismo, right? How fast can it go from zero to sixty?"

"In less than four seconds. Work hard and you might own one someday too, boy," Raphael replied. “More than one if you are any good”.

"Uh-huh," the teenager said, not entirely convinced. You couldn't blame him; you were not entirely convinced either.

You considered yourself a socialist and always voted left (well, you voiced your opinions more often than you voted, but still), but a socialist getting into a Maserati was a bit of an oxymoron, so you decided to put politics aside for tonight. Besides, you weren't sure you wanted to hear Raphael's political opinions on... well, anything at all.

"Or you could always sell your soul to me. Is that not right, Anya?", Raphael turned to you with a playful wink. Now it was your turn to say "uh-huh" and adjust your stocking again. 

The gaggle of boys took their cue and dispersed as Raphael stepped forward to open the passenger door for you. You tried to sit down as gracefully as you could, but the leather creaked against your skin and your dress rose to obscene heights. 

Quickly, you tugged it back down.

Without a word, Raphael started the car and pulled away from the curb. He was no stranger to this routine - following traffic laws, navigating through the city streets. He felt at ease behind the wheel, it’s not the first time he has driven a sports car.

Something didn't feel right. It all seemed like too much effort; the complicated act, blending into society, creating a false background. Raphael knew who he was, and so did you. So why did he insist on pretending to be someone else? Not even someone entirely different, someone so clearly inspired by himself.

He must be testing you, but for what reason, to what end, for what? Loyalty? Endurance? Ability to take psychic damage?

There is always another truth: there is no bloody devil (of course there isn’t). There is a young woman going through acute psychosis in isolation. You might be now banging your head in a room with very soft carpets on the walls, imagining yourself to be driving in a fancy car with a man you fancied-oh-so-much. 

You need proof. You need solid proof. For your own sanity. The thing is, when you need to prove that you are sane, you are half-insane already. 

"I must say, this is not the safest neighbourhood for a young woman living alone," Raphael said, scanning the area with a wary eye.

Oh, the neighbourhood was fine, he was the most dangerous thing around these parts by far. At times, you would encounter a few junkies asking for spare change or hear about your neighbour getting mugged. 

“I am afraid that’s all I can afford. Have you seen the rent prices nowadays?”, you chuckled. “Well, you probably haven’t.”

“On the contrary,” Raphael shook his head. “I am well aware. I have several investment properties inside and outside the city.”

“Well, that is exactly why I cannot afford anything nicer.”

"That can change at a moment's notice," he said and gave you a sly smile. "Quicker than you might think."

You couldn't suppress your coquettish grin; his words reminded you of his generous gift from earlier - a cool grand handed over just like that. Not that you were mercantile (not that you ever had much of a chance to be, either); but if you were living in an imaginary world, might as well imagine yourself wealthy too.  Socialism is…

Well, for real life.

"Where are we headed?" you asked as he merged onto a busy street. “Is there an address?”

"Why? Do you want to send it to your mother?" Raphael's eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. “For protection?”

Still cannot let go of you wearing the cross?

"Yes, I do. Just in case you decide to keep me locked up in chains in your basement," you joked. 

Sort of joked.

He glanced at you, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had finally hit a nerve.

"On our first date? I am a gentleman, an old-fashioned one at that," he retorted, feigning insult. "I'll ensure you reach home safely, plant a goodnight kiss and wish you sweet dreams."

Not exactly how you envisioned the night ending, but you chose not to argue.

“The address is Grand Rue 3, the old theatre,” Raphael said. “If you do not make it home tonight, tell your mother to check the basement.”

It’s the centre, the very centre. Nobody gets killed in the centre of the city. In the bushes, in the slums, in the outskirts, but not in the centre. It’s too much hassle.

Right?

“The one at the street corner? I didn’t think it was open.”

“For the general public, it is not”, Raphael said. “For the few who are invited, it is.”

You drove in silence for some time, and then you spoke up:

“So, is there a play there or…”

Hopefully there was also a dinner, you thought as you nervously adjusted your stocking, because you were so bloody hungry.

“You will find out enough”, Raphael said. “Anya, dear, I have seen the lace on your stockings in every little detail already, so do not bother pulling them up.”

You hastily pulled up your stockings.

“They’re new...I think I took the wrong size. Too large.”

"Well then, take them off. There is no use trying to keep them from slipping down, and it is quite a distracting sight."

You gave him an incredulous look; unsure if he was serious.

He seemed pretty serious about it. That’s some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Take them off?", you repeated.

As the car slowed down to halt near a corner street, you contemplated checking if the doors were locked but decided against it - no subtle way to do that.

"You heard me correctly," Raphael confirmed, leaning back and taking his time to examine you. 

Yeah, okay. Okay. That’s a perfectly normal and a justified request, or at least you would act as if it were.

With some hesitation, you removed your shoes first and then gradually rolled down your stockings to reveal your freshly waxed legs. You tried to make it look sensual but ended up feeling more like a rookie stripper or a soldier executing orders.

His eyes were glued to you as you undressed. It was the sort of stare that makes skin tingle.

It felt pretty good.

By the time you pulled your stockings off, your panties were much wetter than when you got into the car. Raphael knew it, and you knew that he knew it. He had access to every dirty little fantasy in your browser history. 

On the other hand, you were completely oblivious to his kinks; the only hints you got were Haarlep and the debtors in the House of Hope. It's hard to say which of those is the most disturbing.

"Such exquisite feet," he complimented. "Lovely nail polish. I do adore crimson red."

What was it about the way he said it that felt so... dirty?

Raphael then glanced at the scar on your knee and asked, "Now, is there anything else you bought just for me that keeps slipping?"

Everything you wore you bought new for him, panties to bra, except for the cross.

"I am just teasing," he chuckled, cutting you off just as your lips parted to retort. "We have arrived."

Raphael signalled someone outside. A uniformed valet appeared at your side of the door, reaching for the handle with his gloved hand. The door swung open with a soft click.

A cool gust of wind brushed against your bare legs as you stepped out into one of the quieter corners in the city centre. You couldn't exactly recall when this quaint theatre was built but if asked, you'd guess it was a relic from early 20th century opulence. Red bricks and stone columns stood tall amidst modern buildings like a stubborn old man refusing to budge.

Raphael casually tossed the keys into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. 

The valet caught them mid-flight.

***

You were not sure what you had expected.

A password in Latin to enter, people in mysterious white masks, cultists chanting in circles around Raphael, hailing him as their new god, something out of Eyes Wide Shut. The reality was much more mundane. Still high-end, but lacking the unhinged allure you might have imagined. Just the private turf of the rich, the only odd thing being the electric entrance sign that read:

"MAGIC THEATER. ENTRANCE NOT FOR EVERYBODY. FOR MADMEN ONLY!"

Since you could pass the threshold, you assumed you were mad enough to pass the bar.

As you stepped inside, your eyes met those of an older man with a rugged face and a thin scar under his eye in the cloakroom. Raphael handed him his pair of identical black iPhones and AirPods, and then it was your turn to do the same.

It took you a moment to process the fact that Raphael had gotten himself not one but two iPhones just to pass himself off as a human, high-profile lawyer. You followed suit, handing over your electronic devices after one last long look. The last hour was the longest you'd gone without looking at your phone.

queen-of-the-bored: look we are all freaking out after what happened to your twitch

queen-of-the-bored: that’s some creepy pasta shit PLEASE write something PLEASE

“E’ un piacere rivederla capo! Che bella ragazza che ha rimediato!”, the man's words were directed at Raphael as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Vero, vero”, Raphael nodded in agreement. “E’ stupenda e non sa nemmeno di esserlo”.

What were they saying? They were talking about you, you could feel it.

“Non c'è niente di meglio!”, the man continued with a sycophantic grin on his face as he took Raphael's trench coat. He had a rose and a skull tattoo on his wrist.

“Beh, è completamente fuori di testa. Pensa che io sia il diavolo, in senso letterale”. 

“Le più sexy sono quelle pazze, capo!”

Your knowledge of Italian was minimal at best. The only words you understood were "devil" and "sexy." Neither of which gave any insight into the situation, and that these words fit perfectly together you had known before. 

The theatre was converted into a private club and restaurant, keeping the stage, but adding the chairs and the table and the sofas, the leather-bound books on the walls, the mahogany tables, the smell of cigars and whisky in the air. The only infernal or infernal-looking symbol you could spot was a square and a compass sigil on red velvet curtains. 

Everyone knew Raphael. 

A crowd of well-dressed men and women reached out to greet him; they exchanged words, smiles, kisses on the cheek (was that an Italian thing?), pats on the back. They looked at you as if you were beautiful or interesting. 

Was it because you were supposed to be beautiful, accompanied by such a man?

Raphael’s hand never left your back as he exchanged pleasantries. He seldom spoke English to them. French, Italian, German, Russian, Turkish. The sound of a foreign language can be pretty, but it can also be eerie, discerning, the us-versus-them thing. Hearing them speak was rather the latter.

You couldn't guess who these people were. There is very little difference between how a businessman, a politician or a criminal look; besides, these three professions were perfectly compatible. 

The debtors, probably; not literally in chains yet, but certainly owing something and in some kind of servitude.

The prime spot in the room was yours—or rather, it was Raphael's. The table had been marked, a lone initial "R" carved into its surface.

When the waiter suggested an aperitif, you selected a Negroni Sbagliato, because you thought it sounded sophisticated (and so did Olivia Cooke), Raphael ordered "bourbon and blood" because of course he would. You didn't even question if he meant actual blood.

As you chewed on your lip, your eyes darting around the room, Raphael reached across the table. His fingers brushed against yours before he lifted your hand to his lips. “Anya, may I make a small confession?"

"Yes?"

A soft kiss was pressed into your knuckles as he murmured, "I am delighted to have you here with me tonight. Believe it or not, I am but a lonely tired man in a dire need of pleasant company."

His genuine sincerity, the lines around his eyes and the hint of sadness in them disarmed you for a moment. 

Who the fuck was this man?

Before you could answer, the curtain opened to reveal a small figure behind it.

It was a dwarf. Not the fantasy dwarf, an actual dwarf - you struggled to recall the politically correct term for them - was it "little person?". He was like something from a lucid dream: crimson suit-clad, slick-backed hair on pale skin, moving with an almost rhythmic grace.

Right. Twin Peaks. Could Raphael read your thoughts? Did he know you were thinking about Laura Palmer?

Or perhaps he too was a David Lynch fan?

"Welcome, dear ones," the little man said, his voice surprisingly deep. "I am grateful for your presence tonight. Some of you I have known since the millennia, while others are new to my realm."

He was looking at you. He meant you.

Raphael squeezed your hand tighter, fingers intertwined, an oddly intimate gesture, as if you’d been dating for a long time. You squeezed back, feeling comforted and sheltered in his touch.

“There are rules that govern this place”, the little man continued. “Rules, as well all know, are under no circumstances not to be broken, or there would be consequences. Same rules apply to everyone”.

“What are the rules?”, you whispered.

Raphael flashed you a wide smile, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“Patience, he will tell us”, he whispered back. “They are never the same. If they were, would that be interesting?”

Consistency would be nice, you thought.

“You, little miss!”, the little man pointed his finger at you. “Yes, you, you specifically, little miss, little-miss-with-the-cross. Tell me, how well can you distinguish reality from fantasy?”

Oh, how you despise being the centre of attention. All eyes on you. All of them. These rich, strange, scary people looking at you and your naked legs and your weird knees and your…

“Not very well”, you said. “Not very well at all, I am afraid”.

The dwarf cackled, Raphael followed suit, everybody laughed, and you were not joking at all. 

“Yes, she is remarkably honest”, Raphael praised, giving you an adoring kiss on the cheek. “A wonderful quality, is it not?”

“Shall we give it a little try, little miss?”, the dwarf asked.

Why you? Out of all people, why did it have to be you? Because you were with him?

"Come now, don't be shy”, Raphael chimed in. “There is nothing to fear in this place."

(Except me).

"Would you lend a hand, R?" The dwarf turned his attention to Raphael.

“It would be my absolute pleasure," he replied and positioned himself behind your chair. "Eyes forward," he instructed as you attempted to swivel towards him.

Raphael’s fingers gently grazed your cheek before sliding behind your head. 

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold being secured over your eyes and instinctively clutched the armrests of your chair tighter. The room was plunged into darkness, every sound amplified; the rustling of his clothes, the creaking of the chairs beneath you, the whispering and giggling of others in the room, and your own heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. 

Raphael's hands rested on your shoulders.

"I want you to try this and tell me what it tastes like", came the dwarf’s voice from somewhere ahead, as the waiter (you presumed) set the table before you. “Let imagination be your guide.”

Taste? Taste without looking? You heard the sound of Raphael picking up a fork and piercing something in front of you. 

“Open wide”, Raphael said. 

If you could say no when he would make such a request, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

So open wide is what you did and let Raphael push something between your lips and onto your tongue. You sucked and then bit down. 

The texture was unlike anything you had ever tasted before - bubbly, tenderly sweet with a savoury undertone, slightly slick and a bit challenging to chew. 

You didn’t have the faintest clue what it could be.

“It’s an…”, you took a wild guess. “it’s a.. it’s a piece of lamb in some sugar sauce, I think?”

There were a lot of excited laughs and giggles at your response. 

What did you try? 

What the fuck did you try? Your hands darted to your eyes to remove the blindfold, but were halted mid-way by a soft but very insistent touch.

“Keep the blindfold on until instructed otherwise,” Raphael warned before removing it himself.

You looked down at your plate and let out a loud exhale. Tiny glazed apple pieces, arranged in this typical Michelin restaurant artsy fashion, sat innocently on the large round dish. Why did the thought of meat cross your mind? What triggered that thought?

"Did your imagination run a little too wild there, little miss?" the dwarf laughed. “Seeing things that are not there?”

I know what you are all playing at, you thought bitterly. And I know who the fuck you all are, Raphael from Baldur’s Gate and the little man from Twin Peaks and I am not fucking crazy despite all your insinuations. 

“Dear ones, tonight we will serve five courses in complete darkness. Under no circumstance should you remove your blindfold; if needed, our waitstaff will guide you to restrooms. Guess what we serve tonight - at evening's end, we reveal the truth of it all”.

You said nothing while looking at the glistening apple. You never thought so much of an apple before; of how structure and taste and smell should be, of how it would (should) feel against your gums and teeth.

You kept staring at the glazed apples and thought of all the disgusting things it might have been instead. Brains? Tongues? Worms? A roasted dwarf leg?

“Rapha..”, you began and quickly corrected yourself. “Raul, just one thing, I… I do not eat human flesh”.

His response came after two slow blinks.

“Thank you for that wonderful piece of information. What am I supposed to do with it?”.

Not serving human meat would be a good start.

"Oh my little girl," Raphael cooed as he tenderly stroked your cheek. 

(why do you allow him to call you his little girl why this is disgusting this is so hot)

"You don’t seriously think…”, he continued. “Even if I had such inclinations - which I don't - cannibalism is illegal in this country.”

Oh yes, of course, he was a very lawful, very rule-abiding devil.

“And if it was legal?”, you asked.

"Anya," Raphael sighed heavily, "Your questions intrigue and frighten me in equal measures. Now, put on your blindfold." He added when he saw your hesitation: "Of course I will do the same - same rules apply”.

You trusted him to do as he said, since you put on your blindfold first. 

"As a warm-up, we have something that may bring back memories of your childhood," the waiter announced as he set down a dish in front of you. Your fingers searched and found the accompanying spoon. 

You breathed in the scent, which was so mild it told you nothing. Even if it turned out to be terrible or disgusting, you still wanted to taste it; you still wanted to do rather than not do; after a lifetime of not doing rather than doing.

The first spoonful exploded with nostalgia – kindergarten, afternoon naps, finger paints. The creamy texture and subtle sweetness with a touch of honey. 

Quite lovely, actually.

On the other side of the table, you heard a strangled gasp as if someone had just been forced to eat live worms.

"You don't like it?" you asked.

"I do not," Raphael responded gruffly. "But I am well aware that was the intention, so my compliments to the chef."

You wondered that a lot about him. The motherless childhood, growing up in hells, an evil bastard for a father. A chanceless, bleak fate, to be born evil, among evil, for evil, all privilege and no hope. If only Raphael would answer truthfully about that instead of spinning tales about some Italian village.

"I remember when we first met when you mistook me for an actor," Raphael mused out of nowhere. "That's when I first thought we had a certain… connection."

“I thought it happened way earlier”, you said, because it happened way earlier for you.

"Ha! True, I thought you were an exquisitely stunning woman the moment I walked into this cafe, if a little... skittish... which, I must say, adds to your allure. But then again, I've had my fair share of beauties... No matter. You see, I do have an affinity for the theatre".

“Oh really? How surprising”, you laughed pretty humorlessly. The ongoing joke about "I am not who you think I am" was getting rather stale for your taste.

"Indeed," came Raphael's self-assured response. "This place owes much to... ever heard of Antonin Artaud and his Theatre of Cruelty?"

"No, but it sounds like something you would love," you said.

"You hardly know me well enough to make such judgements," he said. "And if you're implying that I'm cruel, rest assured that I am not; merely just." He paused before asking nonchalantly, "Do you mind if I light up?"

You shook your head, though he couldn't see it through his blindfold. He proceeded to light his cigarette regardless. You noticed a dance of light behind the fabric covering your eyes as Raphael took an indulgent, addicted inhale.

A twinge of regret stirred you; witnessing Raphael taking a drag would have been a sight. You’d bet that looked very old school and very villainous. Your Negroni was long gone, replaced by overly potent wine which you sipped on nonetheless.

“The problem with art, Arnaud thought, was the distance between the audience and the artist. The safe space. The little cosy chair you sit in, detached, protected, at a comfortable distance; never truly allowing art to flow through you”. 

"I thought the purpose of art was to explore dangerous themes in a safe space," you said.

"That's not exploration then; it's voyeuristic entertainment, nothing more," Raphael countered. “Art and safe space should not coexist in the same sentence.”

His cigarette smoke wafted towards you - sharp, biting, pungent with a metallic undertone not unlike rotten eggs left under the scorching sun for too long.

"Does it smell somewhat... off?" You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your stinging eyes.

You never smelled sulphur before, but you knew what it was the moment you smelled it.

“I beg your pardon?”, Raphael asked.

“The main course shall make you think of something - or someone - you crave for”, the waiter’s voice went straight into your ear, and you didn’t even hear him coming.

"I know exactly who it will make me think of," Raphael said slyly.

You took your first bite as if trying to drown out the scent. Spice, cherries, and raw beef so tender it practically melted on your tongue. Delicious. Sinfully delicious.

Just as you were about to enjoy your third bite, something warm and sinuous wrapped itself around your bare ankle and began to crawl upwards. Your meal lodged in your throat causing a coughing fit that rocked your body.

"Is the flavour too intense for your palate, my dear?", you could hear Raphael grinning. 

His tail, you realised as it ventured further up. The nerve of that fucking devil! Groping you with his tail and STILL pretending he was fucking Raul from a fucking Italian village!

"So, as I was saying," Raphael continued, his fork scraping against the plate as if nothing unusual was happening under the table. "Artaud wanted to eliminate aesthetic distance."

You reached down for his tail underneath the table. The thing had a mind of its own though; it slithered away swiftly before you could touch it. You tried to grab for it again, but the sneaky little bastard darted away, causing you to stumble under the table and end up between Raphael's legs in your blind chase.

"By transforming the theatre into a place where the spectator is exposed rather than pro..." You felt his hand rest gently on your head, "Anya, may I inquire what you are doing under the table?"

You froze. His hand gave you a light caress. 

"You know exactly what I am doing under the table," you managed to say through gritted teeth. "Looking for your goddamn tail."

Raphael's hand stopped in a half-stroke. For a fleeting moment, you imagined him pulling you closer by your hair until you were right up against his crotch.

"A tail?" He seemed genuinely perplexed at this point. "We may be lost in translation(*) here, but I assume what you're looking for is somewhat more... up."

Your mind conjured up an image of him showing you exactly where it was; unzipping his trousers and placing his cock between your lips.

Would you then open wide and give him a head right there, blindfolded, no questions asked, in a room full of strangers (and a weird dwarf) watching?

You would, wouldn't you? 

You wanted to touch him so badly, just one touch to see how hard he was for you; just one fleeting touch, maybe he wouldn't even notice?

"I am delighted that theatre talk has put you in such a playful mood," Raphael purred. "I did presume we would at least make it to dessert before…”

A wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. You tumbled backwards onto the floor, right on your bum; bumped your head, too, pretty badly and pretty awkwardly.. 

"I wasn't... Damn, that's not what I..."

Raphael chuckled (you hated him in that moment) and your cheeks turned red. How dare he think you'd suck him off like that, in front of everyone?

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you tried to escape the four-legged table trap, bumping into everything you could bump into. The world turned on its axis for a moment as you finally crawled out from under the table, your legs shaking beneath you.

The smell of sulphur again. You lunged for where your glass should be, found it, almost knocked it over, caught it in time and drank the wine. You thought it would make you feel better, but it made you feel worse.

The tail decided to make a comeback and patted your thigh affectionately.

"I...excuse me," you stammered out, pressing a hand to your mouth. "I need to use the bathroom."

“I’ll escort you, ma’m”, the voice next to you said, and you jumped in surprise. Was the waiter here the entire time? Did he watch you stumble underneath the table?

What else was here the entire time? Who else?

Christ.

Well, fuck, no, not him. Anybody but him.

****

"R's new little pet, aren't you?" the words echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom as you entered. You saw a woman in the mirror, tracing her lips with a ruby red lipstick that matched her hair, and she said: "Careful."

She was older than you, but not old, mid-thirties maybe, but she looked like a woman who was thoroughly done with her life. A stale kind of beauty.

"Why?" you asked, your eyes never leaving hers in the reflection.

She laughed, as if you were asking something utterly ridiculous. Without ever giving you an answer, she gestured to four meticulously arranged lines on the marble countertop. "Want some? It's primo stuff. You won’t get any better"

You've never tried cocaine, nobody's ever offered you cocaine, you wouldn't know how to order it and you certainly wouldn't have the money for it. 

It's something that other people have done in the movies. The villains, the debauched, the corrupt elite.

"No thanks," you replied, "I'm already unhinged enough, I think."

Her high-pitched laughter filled the bathroom again. "Oh darling, we're all mad here. Absolutely fucking mad. Even me... Especially me."

"Who 'we'? What is this place?"

"The lodge? Why, a private playground." She gestured vaguely with her lipstick tube, as if to encompass everything around you. "His rules. His people. His theatre."

"And by 'him' you mean..."

Theoretically she could also mean the dwarf…

She laughed again, and you wished she'd just stop. "Oh, how sweet! You know exactly who 'he' is. The man who is going to fuck you tonight."

Okay, you hope it’s Raphael.

"I know who he is," you said, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. "But I thought Raphael had just arrived on Earth... I thought I was the one who summoned him here..."

"Summoned him? Like a demon or something?" She put another layer of lipstick on her lips, now facing forward. "'Raul likes them crazy,' they say, and boy they don't lie." 

She had just called him Raul.

What the fuck was going on?

"The one to summon him, ha," she sneered, spinning around to face you directly, her face inches away from yours. “We all think we're so special”.

"No, I don't," you said. "I never thought that. Never. Because I never was any special".

"Well that definitely makes you the special one. How about a kiss, special one?" 

How about what?

She leaned in closer still; her breath smelled of champagne and burnt caramel. You took a cautious step back.

"Oh-oh, look at her, such a tease. I can see why Raul brought you here."

That name again.

“Tell me about him”, you asked. “Tell me about that Raul”.

"Nah. No kiss, no tell", she replied nonchalantly while returning her gaze to the mirror. “Enjoy your evening.”

Next: Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 2).

(*) In some European languages, tail = cock (e.g. “Schwanz” in German).

[kurooscoffee]

Bojan Cvjetićanin: Furnishing a flat is a nightmare

(Article for Primorske Novice, published on 10.1.2024)

Joker Out's frontman Bojan Cvjetićanin has moved out on his own. He furnished the flat himself, but, as he admits, it was far from easy.

PHOTO CAPTION: Joker Out frontman Bojan Cvjetićanin has moved out on his own. Photo: Marko Vavpotič

LJUBLJANA > "Furnishing my flat was the biggest frustration I have experienced in my private life. All the shops close when our schedules free up and then you have to choose furniture at very short notice and they never have what you want in stock. Usually, you cannot even put a piece of furniture where you want it because of the different dimensions. You wait forever for the handymen and you feel helpless because they dictate the rhythm of your life," says Bojan Cvjetićanin.

Handymen don't care about celebrities

He had to renovate a little bit of the apartment on his own. Otherwise, he says that he likes the living room best in his new home, where he has both a place to hang out and a home studio with a gramophone and antique sofas.

It's not a "fancy" apartment

"If you come to my place, you will see that this is not a 'fancy' apartment, and not a single piece in the apartment is ultra-expensive or custom-made. I like things to match visually, so in the kitchen, which was already inside, I found chairs that matched the elements. I like antique elements more than new things. Some of the finer pieces were even picked up from my parents' house."

Occasionally he calls the cleaning lady

He also admits that he is not very good at cleaning. "I'm bad at it and I really don't like tidying. I kind of like ironing, but I don't like vacuuming. My roommate is vacuuming now because it's not a problem for him. The rest I clean a little, and every now and then I call the cleaning lady for a general clean," said the Slovenian singer, who is probably the most popular singer at the moment. SJ, BP

(Translation by @kurooscoffee, if you repost please LINK BACK!)

[ax-y10]

Fresh Starts

In which: Wilbur moves in next door, and readers child does something a little different

A/n: this is a random dadbur drabble/blurb based on this prompt list (prompt five). I'm going to add this to the masterlist in a while (after I wake up and get out of bed).

Chapter info: Single parent reader, single parent Wilbur, he has a daughter and reader has a daughter (I can only write girls 😭), mentions of parents leaving, doubt, let me know if I said "mum" in it and I'll change it.

Pronouns: Mention of they/them, mainly you/yours

Masterlist:

You doubted yourself. Simple as that. Before you had your daughter, you didn't know if you could ever do what's best for her. But the minute you saw her wonderful face and beautiful smile, you knew you were going to do your best, even if it was the bare minimum.

He doubted himself. How was he going to look after the carbon-copy of himself? After his girlfriend left him, he didn't know how he was going to help the young one. But everytime he saw his daughters face, he knew he was going to do something.

When your daughter grew up and gained some traction in the world, she was unstoppable. "Come on! I'm going to be late for school!" She would yell each morning at exactly 7:45 in the morning. "Yes, sweets," You'd say, finishing tying her shoes up, and off she ran down the stairs of the apartment complex.

As soon as his daughter was grown up and exploring the world, he was never going to be able to stop her. "Dad! Dad! Come on! You're going to be late for the studio!" She'd remind him of his daily task as they were in a rush, and tried to calm his nerves. "We're almost there. You can see the boys soon," He'd finish, pulling up out the front of the studio.

The front desk lady, or your bestfriend, had told you there was someone moving in next door. 'Next door?' You'd thought. 'But that's where my daughter loves to play?' You'd ramble again. "But next door? What's she going to do?" You questioned, motioning to your daughter. "Oh, she'll be fine. The man has a daughter of his own, and he'll completely understand if he sees a little girl wandering in through his door," And that was the first impression Wilbur would get of you.

His daughter was grabbing at his pants leg, desperately wanting to hide and get into their room, but he had to talk to the front desk lady before doing so, so he slung her over his hip and held her. "Is there anything else I should know?" He queried, knowing the need of his daughter's was growing. "One more thing. Your little one is getting a bit needy so I'll make it quick. There is an absolutely lovely person who has the flat on your right. They also have a daughter around the age of yours," He nodded, thanked her, and off they went. And the first thing he saw as he was unpacking was a small girl wandering through his door.

"Sweets? Where are you?" You said as you walked around your flat. You hadn't told her she couldn't go next door, as to not hurt her feelings, but your heart dropped when you heard a familiar giggle from the room over. Your daughter was with the man who'd never seen your face before. And that in itself scared you so much. Moving to the room over and slowly knocking on the door, a kind smile welcomed you.

"Darling? Where's your parents?" He'd asked your daughter, her smile dropping when she saw him, for more than one reason. A tall man with funny glasses, a messed up collar tucked underneath a grey sweater, and a beanie pulled over his mess of brown, curly hair. The giggle that spilled from her lips couldn't be anything other than joy as her fingers laced through his hair. He heard rushed footsteps, and a knock on the door soon after. Pulling your daughter up onto his hips, he told his own daughter, wherever she was, that he'd be back soon. He opened the door, and greeted your shorter figure with a warm, welcoming smile.

You stood at the doorway, introduced yourself as 'the girl he was holding's parent', all the while your daughter made grabby hands at you, whining when she didn't get held by you. "Oh sorry, probably should have given her back. I'm Wilbur, by the way," He introduced, handing your daughter back to you, and welcoming you through the door. You sat down at his half put together table and got comfortable.

"Uhm, hello, I'm the girl you're holding's parent, if that makes any sense," you introduced yourself. He noticed the girl's desperate grabby hands, and held her out to you, "Oh sorry, probably should have given her back. I'm Wilbur, by the way," He held out his hand behind his back and welcomed you through, and watched intently as you found a seat at his half built table.

Before you both knew it, you were both a daily occurrence in each other's lives. Whether it was passing each other in the hall, bumping into each other when dropping your daughter's off at school, having dinner at his flat, and watching him at studio while he recorded songs. You both knew each other more than you'd known any other person you'd met, and you both saw no end of the friendship, and even hoped it moved last a friendship.

You offered to help drop off his daughter when he had to go to studio early that morning, now that your daughter and his had gotten along, and he happily obliged, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Finally having someone to be by his side and offering to help was such a blessing in his eyes. He absolutely adored your daughter and loved the way your eyes sparkled when she did something, whether it was big or small.

How long till you got to see him tonight? One hour. An hour until he was picking you up, driving you to the restaurant across Brighton and dropping your daughter's off at his studio. God, and this is like every rom-com you've ever watched. The man arrives early, you're not ready, he watches in disbelief at how stunning you are... But that isn't how it plays out. Even though he does arrive early, he waits patiently in the living room with the two girls, happily chatting along with them, until you walk out of your room. It's simple, a plain black shirt with white patterning scattered across it, a pair of jeans stuffed in the back of your closet, some random converse and your hair done up in plaits.

He was stressed. He said casual dress for the date, and here he was stressing over wearing a sweater and sweatpants. After running his hands over his sweater, through his hair, and along every smooth surface, he was finally ready to pick you up. Arriving earlier than planned, he knocked on the door and your daughter ran up to him, before running inside with his own. "Y/n, I'm here. Come out when you're ready," he called out, hearing your approval from the few rooms away. When you walked out, however, he had to register for a second what he was looking at. Yes, it was simple, and yes, probably not your best outfit, but you looked good in everything you wore.

Arriving home after the date, hearing Phil interacting with your children, Wilbur stopped you just before you walked inside. "I need to tell you something," He spoke.

"I need to tell you something," he spoke, awaiting your answer. "What's wrong?" God, he loved how you cared for him so much. "I want to go on another date with you. It's fine if you don't want to, and I don't mind, but I just need to do one more thing-" He finished his sentence, leaving forward, flicking his eyes to your lips for a split second, and he was filled with joy the minute your lips met his.

A little knock on the door, and a child running into your legs, you immediately pulled away. "Why were you kissing Dad?" Your little one asked, and your gaze flew to him to see what he thought.

His face was red as he heard the word 'Dad'. He'd never thought of himself as a dad. Could have never dreamed of it. But here he was, falling more in love with you and your child by the second. "Do y- you, uh, do you want me to be your d- dad?" He asked your daughter, only for clarification so he knew she meant it.

And off the little one went, standing on his feet and clinging to his pant leg "Yes please. They seem very happy when their with you, and I see the way you look at them. You love them, and I think they love you," and off he went asking you.

---

This was so shit and rushed but anywho... I'm starting a taglist so either dm me or request to be added to it.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Smile For the Camera (Geto x Black!Plus-Sized!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) 

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Black!Plus-Sized!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you decide to volunteer to model for your friend’s lingerie line photoshoot when the original model gets sick and meet the very sexy photographer who isn’t letting you leave until you realize how gorgeous you are. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Flirting; Inappropriate Touching; Sexual Tension; Alcohol Consumption; Geto Calling You “Mama”; Strangers to Lovers; Tongue Kissing; Striptease; Mutual Oral; 69ing; Facesitting; Edge Play; Consensual, Inappropriate Pictures; No PIV Sex; Facial; Exhibitionism; Aftercare Cuddles 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This is my first JJK-based fic AND plus-sized girl fic!! I love me some Geto & I know this man loves ALL women, no matter what size. I hope I did this justice. -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

*********

“I-I don’t know about this, Maki.” 

About two weeks ago, you were initially okay with taking semi-naked and possible naked photos for your friend’s lingerie shoot since her model got ill. It wasn’t on short notice since the date for the shoot was during the weekend and you were getting paid for your time. Plus, spending a hot afternoon trying on cute lingerie and sipping on Moscato seemed like a great afternoon, indeed. 

But now that you’re standing here among the lights, luxurious furniture, and the rack of lingerie with your sundress draped across your plump body, all of that easiness is gone and not even a glass of Moscato can fix it. Especially when you just found out a few minutes when you arrived here at the studio that Maki wouldn’t be taking the photos but her friend, who is a man you’ve never met before, would be. 

“Why not?” Maki whines disapprovingly. She is standing by one of the lights, trying to get it right so it illuminates your skin and brings out the soft glow of your makeup. She gave you time to do your hair and makeup when you got here since the walk from your home to the studio was a hot one. Even though your apartment is only five blocks away, the hot weather has a vengeance, and you showed up coated in sweat, glad you took a shower and applied extra layers of spray deodorant to your inner thighs earlier before leaving your crib. 

Though you know look and smell good with your pink, gloss lips, glittery eyeshadow, and rose-scented perfume, neither does much to curb your anxiety. You fidget with the hem of your dress, unable to look Maki in the eye. “I’m just not comfortable with this guy takin’ photos of me,” you mutter. 

“Y/N, I told you,” Maki sighs, “Geto is a professional photographer. He’s taken many shots for my business before! Did you look at his portfolio? I sent it to you two weeks ago.” 

You timidly nod because you did. Though you have no clue what Geto looks like, you will admit that he has immense talent. While you sat on your laptop with your Chinese takeout two weeks ago, you scrolled through his photos that ranged from nature for National Geographic Magazine to photos of the prettiest women for Maki’s lingerie line. The way he managed to capture each thing, whether an animal or a human, and bring out the best in them was incredible. 

But your anxiousness isn’t just the fact that he was a man that happened to be taking your photos today since the original photographer had to go out of town for her sick mother. It’s the fact that each woman Geto photographed for Maki’s line don’t look like you. They’re much smaller with perfectly flat stomachs and hour-shaped figures; perky breasts and thighs that have not an inch of cellulite. 

You’re unlike any of them. You have stomach; triple D titties that you have to pay an arm and a leg for when it comes to bras; an ass and thighs dimpled with cellulite; pudge that makes your arms bigger than you’d like them to be. Your size is the reason you tend to stay away from bikinis and crop tops in the summer; opting instead for sundresses that reach your ankles and even jackets that hide your shape. Your shape is why you don't date as much, too afraid of rejection despite your pretty face and cute smile. 

You’re used to men ghosting you or standing you up after getting a look at you below your chin. It’s humiliating to be in your body and to be treated in such a way. What angers you most is that you take care of yourself–you eat your fruits and veggies; you drink water; you exercise–and yet you’re still criticized by society for the body you’re forced to live in. 

That’s why when Maki asked you to model for her new summer lingerie line, you were more than happy to participate, thinking it’d be a great way to boost your confidence. Plus, you get to keep the lingerie you like. But now, all you want to do is hide away from the blinding lights above, feeling too hot and exposed beneath them. 

Maki puts a hand on her slim hip, fixing you with a stare. “He’s not gonna hit on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” she sighs. “Geto doesn’t really date since he’s always working. And we don’t have time for you to change your mind, girl! I need these photos in by next week!” She turns to her sister. “Mai, back me up here!” 

Mai, lounging on the couch for the shoot with her legs crossed, looks up from her book with a bored expression. “I’m not in this,” she deadpans before looking back down and flipping a page. Maki growls in frustration at her sister’s refusal to help before turning back to you. “Are you sure this is just about the fact that a guy, who is a professional photographer, is taking your photos today?” She cocks her head to the side, still giving you that fixed stare. 

You flush in your sundress. She knows exactly what’s going on and wants you to say it. 

“The girls he shoots for don’t…look like me,” you carefully confess. “I’m much bigger and I’m afraid that–“ 

“Okay, stop.” Maki walks up to you and puts her hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. “First of all, shut up. You’re fucking beautiful, no matter what shape you are, and I specifically picked you because you know how to work a camera and I want this new line to be inclusive to all sizes.” You flush at her compliment.

“Second of all, Geto is going to take these pictures regardless of your size because it’s a fucking job, Y/N! He doesn’t care how you look!” She pauses, reiterating, “Well, he does, but only in his photos. Your body is your body. Plus, he is fully aware that the model today is a plus-sized woman and he still said yes.” 

“What’s the big deal?” Mai asks, shocking the both of you. She is looking up from her book and at you from under her black bang. “It’s not the end of the world that you’re fat, Y/N. You’re actin’ like fat women exist.” 

“Mai, come on!” Maki scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t have used a better word? Maybe plump or chunky?” Mai shrugs, flipping another page in her book. “Maki, they all mean the same thing,” you giggle. “Fat isn’t a slur.” 

And it isn’t. Despite what you’ve been taught and shown by society, “fat” isn’t negative, bad, or ugly; it is exactly what you are. You know you aren’t negative or bad and you sure as hell aren’t ugly just because of your extra pounds. And you know that this photoshoot can show you that.

“Mai is right…you both are.” You squeeze Maki’s hands still on your shoulders and nod at the little table where a chilled bucket of Moscato and glasses sit. “Maybe I just need a glass of Moscato.” 

Maki squeals excitedly, wrapping her arms around you to give you a hug. “Comin’ right up, girly!” She races over to the bottle to pour you a glass, but as she does, she becomes distracted by the sound of pounding footsteps. “Oh, and look who’s here! Right on time too, but then again, he’s always punctual.” She grins happily, giving you a wink. 

You look toward the open door where the studio’s staircase lies–the ones you had to walk up and nearly pull a muscle because the elevator is broken. There, you find a pair of big ass boots attached to an even bigger, taller man. 

You realize that you’ve never seen Geto’s photo before, so it takes you a moment to register that you’re looking at him in the flesh. To say he is hot is an understatement. He has to be about 6’3, or maybe taller, with a large build. His muscles push and flex under his black tee that is soaked in sweat and his jeans are tight on his thick, muscled legs and slim waist. His long, black hair is pulled back into a high bun that accentuates the sharp lines of his face, especially his cheekbones and jaw. Dark ink cascades up and down his big biceps and arms, stopping at his hands where several rings adorn his fingers, and his ears hang with black gages.

Geto comes into the room, appearing like a giant with how big he is. He stands much taller than you, Maki, and Mai combined. He could probably break you in half. “Please tell me you’ve got some water up here,” he huffs, lugging his backpack over his shoulders. His handsome, reddened face is glinting in sweat, wet beads soaking his thick neck and the collar to his tight tee. 

Maki points to the table at the back where drinks and snacks are set up. “Right on the table over there. Just put your stuff down over there, too.” Geto nods and walks farther into the room. As he does, his eyes meet yours from across the room, rendering you speechless and suddenly in need of air. His eyes remind you of two purple amethysts–beautiful yet almost hard to look at. His gaze is intense and fixed as if he sees every single part of you under your dress. 

The spell is fortunately broken when Geto moves to the snack table and turns his back to you, allowing you to get a look at his ass in them jeans. “Close your mouth, Y/N,” Mai snickers, suddenly beside you. “You’ll catch flies.” You flush in embarrassment, feeling like a perv. “Shut up,” you mumble. Mai just snickers, knowing damn well you’re whipped. 

But you’d be stupid to think you have a chance with him. He’s just too damn fine! You’re sure with his looks and talent, he’s had women far prettier and thinner than you. Maybe dozens of celebrity models and actresses. Nobody like you. 

Once Geto finishes setting up his equipment from his backpack, including a camera, Maki brings him over to introduce you by his arm. “Geto, allow me to introduce the woman of the hour and my best friend, Y/N.” She motions over your body, making you feel even more exposed. “Y/N, this is Geto Suguru. We call him “sugar” for short.” 

Geto rolls his eyes, taking his arm out of Maki’s grasp. “You didn’t have to mention that.” His violet eyes meet yours, pinning you to your spot. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” And his voice! The deep timbre of it makes your pussy tremble. 

He sticks his hand out for yours. Tentatively, you take it, ignoring how big, calloused, and warm his hand is. “Y-You too,” you stammer. You give him a smile in an attempt to not seem awkward. “Um, I like your photos. You really have a way with your camera.” He doesn’t smile but you catch the corner of his lip twitching upward at your compliment. “So I’ve been told,” he replies, and you have to resist the urge to close your eyes at the sound of voice. You want to hear it all the time, in your ear. 

Realizing your hand is still in his, you release your hold and place your hands behind your back, feeling like the horniest perv alive. You catch Maki subtly smirking at Mai. “Mai, let’s give them time to get acquainted,” she giggles. “Help me organize the rest of the lingerie, will ya? Y/N, feel free to pick which one you wanna do first!” 

Before you can protest or beg for them to stay, they’re already walking away from the shooting area for another table covered in lingerie pieces. Though they’re a few feet away, you feel like now it’s only you and Geto in the room. You stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, not saying anything. The silence is thick with tension despite Maki and Mai whispering among themselves. 

“U-Um!” you loudly stammer, catching Geto’s attention. You walk over to the rack of lingerie near you and pick out a bright fuchsia bra and panty set. “Is this set okay to start with? I figured I’d do one with color for the summertime.” Geto’s eyes flick to the set before setting back on your face. “That’s fine with me. We do want you want.” 

“Cool!” you squeak, wincing at the volume of your voice and the way you’re acting. “I-I’m gonna go change now. I won’t be long.” Before Geto can say anything more, you take a glass of Moscato and hurry off to the bathroom to change with your set. Once you’re behind the four walls, you can finally breathe and settle yourself (and your body) down. 

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” you huff to yourself in the mirror. But you know exactly what’s wrong: that fine ass piece of man is the problem. He makes your body react in a way it never has before with any man. Your breathing is labored and your heart hammers like you just ran a marathon. Your head feels dizzy. Your pussy is throbbing and possibly soaked from the scent of Geto’s cologne wafting in the air. 

You know realistically that you can't go back out like this if you don’t want to jump Geto’s bones. So after downing your glass and splashing some cool water on your neck, you change into your set along with some gold heels to make the color of the lingerie pop. After fixing your hair and applying a slick of gloss on your lips, you put on your silk robe and slowly walk back outside for the shoot. 

Geto is setting up the camera on a stand while Maki and Mai stand around, sipping their glasses. 

“I’m finished,” you timidly announce. “Is it okay?” All three heads turn to you and you feel hot with embarrassment under their gazes. “Is it okay?” Maki guffaws. “Girl, you look like you need to be wined, dined, and given six orgasms! Doesn’t she, sugar?” 

You have no idea why she asks Geto, but you’re even more confused at the silent and intense stare the man gives you. His eyes roam over your body, drinking in the way the bra cups hold in your plump breasts, your thick legs shine with coconut oil, and your jiggly stomach is adorned in lace from the waistband of your thong. You don’t know if he likes what he sees, but it makes you feel uncomfortable either way. The way he makes you feel makes you feel especially uncomfortable. You have to squeeze your thighs together in an effort to lessen the throbbing you feel between them. 

Geto clears his throat and adverts his eyes. “I’m gonna go set up my laptop,” he mutters before storming off to his backpack. Maki turns to you with a knowing smirk. “He agrees.” 

“Stop it,” you groan, closing your robe to shield your body. “You’re gonna embarrass him and me. It’s not easy for me to be in this weird-ass position.” Maki rolls her eyes behind her spectacles. “Oh, come on! He knows he likes what he sees. Did you notice the “fuck me” eyes he gave you when he saw you in that little sundress?” 

You think back to Geto’s intense stare your way as he walked into the room and shiver. “I think you’re just tipsy, Maki.” Maki gapes at you, offended. “I am not!” she scoffs. “I only had two glasses!” Mai bumps her hip with her sister’s, giggling. “You know damn well you can’t handle your alcohol, sis.” 

Before Maki can jump down her throat though, Geto comes back with his laptop and a jump drive. “I’m all set up now,” he announces. Maki squeals loudly, nearly taking your eardrum out. “Great!” she cheers. “I’ll set up the music and let you guys do your thing. We’ll be right over here making sure everything goes well.” 

After a few minutes, the shoot is under way while the sisters stand off to the side, watching and giggling among themselves. Your playlist specifically made for this photoshoot is playing from her Alexa orb and you have another glass of Moscato in your hand. You can already feel the first glass affecting you, making you feel lighter. Geto stands behind the camera, fiddling with the buttons. “Let’s start with you standing with the backdrop.” He tilts his chin towards the blush pink backdrop. 

You nod and slowly walk over in your heels, feeling like Geto might be watching your ass despite the silk robe covering it. You don’t turn around to look at him when you finally, though hesitantly, disrobe and reveal every part of yourself to him and the camera. When you turn around, he is already staring at you, a small smile on his lips. “Why you look so tense?” he chuckles. “You nervous?” You huff with a shy laugh, your body feeling hot and shaky. “Does it show?” 

“A little, yeah,” he replies, snapping a quick photo as a tester. “Just relax and feel free to drink your glass…actually, keep it in your hand with some of the photos. It adds to the aesthetic with the lingerie.” You nod and keep your glass in your hand as you strike your first pose, one hand on your hip and your eyes set dead at the camera. 

The camera light flashes, nearly blinding you. Geto hums approvingly. “Perfect,” he says, his deep voice caressing you. “Stay right there…tilt your chin up a bit.” He bends down once more to snap a picture as you do as he orders, tilting your chin up slightly and mustering the sexiest expression you can possibly do. 

It starts to become easier and less awkward the longer you stand there, posing from the front. 

After a few pictures, Geto peers up at you from the camera. “Turn around for me,” he huskily orders. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the way your pussy excitingly clenches at him giving you orders. Slowly, you turn around, exposing your ass in the cheeky thong that makes it look extra plump and juicy. 

“Look at me over your shoulder,” Geto orders. You do so, peering at him over your shoulder, and he snaps a picture. “Perfect,” he chuckles, a gorgeous, white-toothed smile adorning his pink lips. “You’re a natural at this. You sure this is your first time?” 

“Thanks,” you giggle, flushing at the compliment, “and yes. I’m just a volunteer since Maki’s original model got sick.” You put your glass down and pose without it, putting your arms behind your head. Geto snaps a pic. “Is that all to why you decided to do this?” he curiously asks. "To help out your friend?” 

You shake your head, smiling into the camera tense. “Guess it’d be fun. Plus, I thought it might boost up my confidence since–“ 

“Shit!” Maki shouts, groaning in frustration at the end. Geto immediately stops his work, alerted. “What is it?” he demands, already storming over to them. You stand there, afraid to move in your heels and possibly break your ankle. Maki sighs, irritation all over her face. “I totally forgot we had a meeting scheduled with the Macy’s team today for a partnership. I have to go.” 

“And I have to drive her since her car is still in the shop,” Mai says as Maki begins to rush to gather her things. Mai turns to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, Y/N.” You look at the sisters, realization hitting you like a train. “So…you’re both leaving?” you anxiously ask. “Will you be back before the shoot ends?” 

Maki checks her watch as she shoves her tote bag onto her shoulder. “We’ll see, but most of the time, those partnership meetings last forever. But don’t worry; we’ll call to make sure everything goes smoothly and you have plenty of drinks and snacks.” She walks over to give you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

She leaves a ring of gloss on your cheek and anxiety twirling in your gut at her departure. “But–“ 

“We’ve gotta run,” she quickly says before you can protest. “Love you, see you later, bye!” She hurries over to the door with Mai in tow, giving Geto a wink as she does. “Thanks again, Geto! Expect your deposit by next week.” And then, just like that, they’re gone. And only you and Geto are occupying the room. 

“I guess it’s just us then,” he awkwardly announces, walking back over to his camera. You slowly nod, adverting your eyes from his to stare at the door. “Yeah…” You desperately want the sisters to come waltzing back in and announce that the meeting was cancelled, but you know that is but a fantasy. You’re forced to stand there in this damn silence with this hot ass man, semi-naked. Could things get any worse? 

As if sensing your discomfort, Geto clears his throat, gaining your attention. He stands by the camera stand, his tatted arms crossed over his broad, hard chest. “You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can tell you’re uncomfortable and I would be too if I was in your position.” He nods at your body, making your body flush with heat.

“I get it: strange guy with a camera; you’re semi-naked. It’s like the plot to a horror movie.” You crack a smile at his dark humor, giggling softly. “Well, when you say it like that…” You fiddle with the lace on your thong’s waistband. Geto continues to stare at you, making you feel like he has X-ray vision. “I don’t mean to come off like I’m scared,” you softly explain. "It’s just–“ 

“Don’t explain yourself to me,” he interacts, sounding firm. “Today is about you more than it is about me. I want these photos to please you too, so I want you feelin’ comfortable and at ease more than anything. If you say no, I’ll take care of Maki, maybe tell her somethin’ came up.” 

You blink at him, taken aback by his words. “You’d…do that for me?” you ask in disbelief.

“‘Course. I’m not an asshole, and plus, you’re her friend. I’d rather her be pissed at me than you.” He shrugs as if it is no big deal, and maybe it’s not, but to you it gives you a sense of how sweet and considerate he is. If only there was someone out there like that for you. 

You shake your head determinately, picking up your wine glass. “No, let’s do it. I’m here, you’re here, and we both want a check.” You take a long sip of your wine, letting the alcohol loosen you up further. “I’m ready,” you announce with a bright smile at the camera. “Let’s take some photos.” 

Geto looks surprised at your cooperation at first, but then smiles. “I like the attitude,” he chuckles. “And the smile. Keep that there for a few pics.” He bends down to snap a few as a light, feathery feeling overtakes your body and your confidence shoots to the roof. “Sure,” you giggle, already feeling the affects of the wine hit you…or maybe that’s just the smell and closeness of Geto. 

An hour goes by of photos you take in different lingerie by the backdrop. The lingerie you pick is bright in color, making your skin complexion pop, and makes you feel like the sexiest woman in the world. Geto’s looks shot your way also help. His gaze is so bold and intense behind the camera, though you’re sure it’s because he’s a photographer and is analyzing how he can get you to pose or something. The rest of the photoshoot is a piece of make and less awkward than earlier. You dance a little to the music from your playlist and giggle, oblivious to the adoring gazes Geto shoots your way behind the camera lens. 

When Beyoncé’s “Cuff It” begins to play, you are on your third glass of Moscato and Geto is on his first. After getting your photos taken in an aqua-blue lingerie set, he takes his camera off the stand. “We’re finished?” you ask curiously. 

“Just the first half with the backdrop,” he replies, nudging his head over to his laptop. “Lemme show you what I’ve got so far.” You unstrap your heels and follow him barefoot over to his laptop. He sits down in the wheeled chair and gets to hooking his camera up. In an instant, dozens of your headshots and photos fill his screen, each one different than the last. 

But neither one makes you feel any different than how you do staring at them: Sexy. Confident. Like the baddest bitch on the block. The lighting is perfect on your makeup and skin, and each color of your lingerie seems to pop. “Wow, Suguru!” you happily gasp. “These look amazing! You made me look so…so…beautiful.” 

Geto chuckles as he scrolls through each photo. “Well, I didn’t make you look beautiful, but the camera enhancements definitely help. Maki will love these, I’m sure.” 

“Of course, she will!” you giggle. “Photography is definitely you’re calling. Why’d you decide to make that your career anyway?” 

He shrugs, still lazily scrolling through your photos. “Photography is art,” he explains, “and I’ve always loved art. To me, there’s more to taking a photo than just snapping a camera. There are so many aspects and techniques that go into making one picture perfect, such as capturing beauty. You need to learn how to preserve it…worship it…” He pauses, his hand on the touch pad, and slowly turns his head to meet yours. “Care for it,” he murmurs. 

Your breath catches in your throat suddenly, realizing how close he is. You’re overwhelmed with his cologne and the smell of his shampoo–something spicy, like cinnamon, and clean, like rain. His violet eyes trail down to your lips, just for a second, before moving back to capture yours in an intense, heated stare that makes you want to strip off your lingerie and let him touch every single part of you. 

‘Girl, what the hell?’ you think, shocked at your naughty thoughts. It must be the wine. You clear your throat and take a step back away from Geto. “Um…we should get back to takin’ photos,” you softly mutter. “You know…so Maki won’t kill us. I’ll go change into the next set.” 

You quickly head toward the rack of lingerie and choose a random one before hurrying to the bathroom, abruptly ending whatever was about to transpire. ‘Which was nothing,’ you firmly think. ‘Geto is your photographer. A professional. And even if something were to happen, it’d be a mess.’ You keep trying to reason with your horny side as you change into the next set. 

When you come back out in a lime green teddy bodysuit with a push-up bra and thong, Geto is standing by the lion-claw couch with his camera. “Let’s take some with you on the couch, then we’ll do some on the bed and then on the balcony. Just sit down with your legs crossed for now.” 

You nod and take a seat on the soft couch cushions with your thick legs crossed over each other. You plant your hands on your knee and make a lustful, sensual face at the camera. “Perfect,” he compliments as the camera shutter flashes for a couple pics. “Now lie on your side with your hand on your hip. Use your other hand to prop up your head.” 

You slowly get into position, staring at the camera eye. “You want me to make love to the camera?” you giggle. Geto chortles, the sound of his deep laugher making your clit jump. “You’ve been doin’ that since you got in front of the camera,” he replies, but you don't think he’s joking about that. He takes a few shots of you in his desired position before moving on. “Now take your hand and hook it over the couch.” 

You do so, still staring at the camera and hoping you look just as good as you did in the first set. The song has changed to Beyoncé’s “Virgo’s Groove”–a song that somehow makes you believe that you’re the sexiest version of yourself right now. As you pose, you become aware that the atmosphere has changed to something more tense. Geto must realize it too because he suddenly rises from behind his camera and stares you down.

“You’re so damn fine,” he suddenly says. 

You scowl at him, confused. “I…what?” you dumbly ask. 

“I said you’re fuckin’ fine,” he repeats without a single beat. “Why you needed a lingerie shoot to make you feel more confident with a face and body like yours is beyond me. I’m just glad I get to see you like this.” 

Your heart thumps wildly as you continue to pose, not sure if you should stop. Geto snaps a photo regardless, acting as if he didn’t just say something so bold and flirty five seconds before. 

“You shouldn't say that,” you weakly say. He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Why shouldn’t I?” he teasingly asks. “Can I not admire a very sexy woman like yourself?” 

He snaps another photo, the flash of the camera catching you off guard. “You can't tell me you didn’t notice me checkin’ you out when I came in here. If you’d let me, I’ll take photos of you in that little sundress of yours too.” His gaze is way more heated than before, the flirty smirk on his face making you feel even more uncomfortable as you lounge on the couch. 

But not uncomfortable in the way where you want to be away from him. On the contrary, in fact. You want to be closer than close to him, no clothes in between. The tension you’re feeling in the air and the clenching of your pussy are starting to get to you, driving you crazy. Geto’s words are to blame for that. Though flirty, can tell he is deadass. He sounds so sure; so real. No jokes or nothing. He isn’t a profile on a dating app or a hookup who is only seeing you in the darkness. You’re in front of him–all of you–and he still is looking at you like he wants a piece. 

He takes your silence for something different and stops snapping photos for a moment. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he worriedly asks. You sit up from your position, planting your ass on the couch. “No,” you softly answer with a slow head shake. “I’m just not used to getting compliments like that. Especially from someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” he parrots, raising an eyebrow. You roll your eyes, knowing he wants you to elaborate and embarrass yourself. “You know you’re fine,” you sigh, “and men as fine as you don’t really see me as anything but…well, fat. If they don’t look at me as a hookup, they barely look at me at all.” 

Once the truth is out there, you feel stupid and small. Why did you tell him that? He could never understand or care. Maybe those three glasses were a bad idea. Geto only stares at you, silent and making you feel uneasy. Suddenly, he comes around the camera and strides up to you, making your heart pound with every step. When he suddenly sits beside you, the couch dips slightly from his weight. “What are you doing?” you softly ask, barely above a whisper. 

Slowly, he takes his hand and lays it on yours which is placed on your thigh. You shiver as if his hand is touching your naked skin. “I forgot to tell you the other reason why I decided to become a photographer,” he softly mutters, his voice like a rumbling earthquake to you. “To capture pretty little things like you.” His fingers on his other hand trail up and down your leg, as soft as a butterfly’s wings. “To make them feel beautiful with the work I do.” 

Your breathing is labored, your chest rapidly heaving up and down. “I-I’m not little,” you softly stutter. Geto chuckles, believing different. “You sure as hell are, even from where I’m sitting.” And he’s right–the man is still towers over you despite sitting down. 

You barely crack a smile. “I mean, I’m not…little like the girls you’re used to photographing.” You squeeze at your thigh fat, frowning. "I have arm and thigh fat, and cellulite, and–“ 

“And you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Geto growls, holding your hand tighter. He scoots closer to you, completely in your grill…but you don’t move away. “And I’m not leavin’ here today until I make you see that. So can I kiss you?” 

You gape at him, shocked at his brazened question and attitude. He stares at you, patiently waiting for an answer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips that look so soft and pink. You wonder what they feel like…taste like… You barely hear yourself whisper out “yes”, but Geto does. You barely have time to take a breath because he is leaning in and pressing your lips to his. It starts off innocent and careful, his soft lips slowly moving against yours. But once he finds that rhythm, the kiss becomes sensual; heated; panty-dropping. 

Geto is a fantastic kisser. Probably the best you’ve had. His lips are pillowy soft and his tongue tastes of mint gum and Moscato as he swirls it with yours. You don’t remember moving closer to him or wrapping your arms around his neck, but there you are, on the couch, making out with your photographer. At some point, he grasps your hips with his big hands and coaxes you into his lap despite your squeak of protest. You’re worried you might hurt him but from the way his hands are gliding along your ass, you guess he doesn't give a fuck. 

“We don’t have to go any farther than you want to,” he murmurs between heated kisses and moving lips. “I wanna make you feel good, but I don’t have to do that in any way you’re uncomfortable with.” Though you hear his words, you can feel the hardened bulge that has begun to grow in his jeans that you nudge against, rubbing against your clit. 

 You don’t know if it’s the wine, the music, or him, but something inside of you suddenly switches on, transforming you into the sexy version of yourself that are in Geto’s photos. You want to put the lingerie you’re wearing to good use and you know Geto is the perfect person to help you with that. “You could start by takin’ more photos of me,” you purr, peering down at him. “And I can take these off.” You take his hands and glide them down your sides, making him feel the sheer bodysuit. 

Geto’s eyes are hooded and dark as he gazes up at you, ready to do whatever you want. Then a mischievous smirk curls onto his lips. “Actually, I have a much better idea.” He slowly takes you off of his lap and hurries over to the camera, pressing a few buttons. “I’m gonna set the camera up right here on auto. It’ll go off every thirty seconds, so every time you make a move to strip, it’ll take a pic.” 

He slowly strides back over to you, making you tremble with every slow, teasing step he takes. “That means I’ve got my hands free to touch every part of you,” he hums, a slow smile stretching across his lips. As if backing him up, the camera shutter goes off, flicking a photo of you sitting there and gaping at him. He cocks his head to the side. “Well?” he asks. “Get to strippin’.” 

With trembling hands, you slowly begin to take down the straps to your bra, exposing your naked shoulders to him. Then you reach behind to unhook the bra but can’t reach no matter how much you wriggle around. Geto peers down at you, smiling humorously. “Need help, mama?” he chuckles. You nod sheepishly, flushing hot at the pet name curled around his deep voice. 

He gets on his knees in front of you, coaxing your thighs apart, and reaches behind you to unhook your bra. Once it’s loose, your tits come falling out of the cups like dripping fruit, your brown nipples erect. Geto almost looks pained at the sight of them. “God, look at these tits,” he groans. “You’re just as perfect as I thought you’d be.” 

He leans in and plants his face into your breasts, nuzzling his face in them. You squeak as he does so, frazzled by his action as he motorboats you. He must like titties. After getting his fill of your breasts in his face, he latches his lips onto one of your hard nipples and suckles on the sensitive peak. With his other hand, he toys with your other breast, gently folding and jiggling it, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

You whimper and moan at each of his ministrations, losing yourself in his touch. He is careful to not hurt you, but he isn’t being soft either. He is handsy and hungered like a starved man, switching between your breasts to give each nipple their own treatment until your tits are coated in his saliva. “Suguru,” you softly moan. 

“Hm?” he hums, still swirling his tongue around one of your areolas. You arch your back into his mouth, your hips grinding against the couch cushion for some relief. “P-Please…touch me.” He peers up at you from your tits. “Touch you where?” he teasingly asks. You whimper shyly, still squirming about. “Don’t be shy now, baby girl. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

The heated look in his eyes and the need you feel encourage you to leave that shy shit on the shelf. “Touch me here,” you whisper heatedly. You move your hand between your legs, pressing your fingers against the tiny cotton panty line pressing against your throbbing cunt. “Touch my pussy. And please, get those clothes off.” Geto smirks wolfishly at your dirty words. “I can definitely do that.” 

He gives your lips a heated, chaste kiss before he stands before you. The song bumping from the Alexa has now switched to Kehlani’s “Can I”–a tune that is fitting for what’s taking place before you. Geto keeps his eyes set on you as he begins to strip, starting with his boots and socks and then starting on his shirt, pants, and boxers. He peels each article of clothing off, flinging them across the floor, forgotten. He takes his hair down too, letting the long, black locks of hair to cascade down his back and shoulders.

Once he is completely naked in front of you, you’re able to indulge in all of him. His body looks as if it was carved from stone itself–each muscle ripples along his body like hard granite stone, not too overwhelming but definitely making you feel like he could break you like a toothpick with how small you are. He truly is a big man, with big hands, big feet, and an even bigger dick. He has to be about eight inches–thick, long, veiny, and dripping with pre-cum all for you. You can’t take your eyes off of it despite the rest of his body being delicious. 

“Like what you see, baby girl?” he hums, teasingly swinging his hips a bit. It causes his dick, thick and long, to swing like a pendulum between his thick, tree trunk-like thighs. You nod, moving to get your hands on him, but he takes your wrists firmly in his hands. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Not yet. You told me to touch you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” 

Without a warning, his hands move under your ass and hoists you up onto his waist. “Oh!” you giggle, surprised and extremely aroused at his strength. He plops you down onto the couch so you’re now lying on your back. He props himself up on his knees between your thighs, peering down at you. “As pretty as this lingerie, I need it off of you.” 

Helping you sit up, he gets the rest of the lingerie off of you and pulls it down your ankles that are still strapped in your heels. Once it’s off, you’re completely nude, just in your jewelry and gold heels. The fact makes you shy and want to hide away but Geto’s lustful expression stops you. His big hands slide up your legs and slowly pry your thighs apart, revealing your aching, glistening, wet cunt to him. 

“Fuck, you’re wet!” he chuckles, looking up at you between the V of your thighs. “All of this for me, baby? You barely know me.” And that’s true. You only know as much as his website and Maki have told you. But you find yourself not giving a shit. “Maybe we can get to that later?” you breathlessly suggest. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you over dinner.” 

Your suggestion registers across Geto’s face and his gaze darkens to something way more sensual than before that he knows that this isn’t a hookup. “I know a damn good pizza place near here, if you’re up for it. But lemme make you cum first.” Without another word, he tosses your legs aside and dives into your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and gently sucking on your lips. 

Yes, Geto is a great kisser, but he’s even better at eating pussy, you realize. His mouth alternates between using his lips to suckle gently on your pussy lips and clit to using his tongue to slowly flick the inside of your tight pussy walls. He takes his time, his movements deliberate and methodical, taking each moment to draw a moan or a whimper out of you. 

You’re losing it. You toss your head back against the pillow and grip the couch, your fingers digging into the couch cushions. “Fuck, sugar!” you shout to the ceiling, the nickname flying out of your mouth. How the fuck is he this good with his mouth? 

Geto looks up at you, his eyes shining from between the V of your inner thighs. “Call me that again,” he growls before spitting a copious amount of spit onto your pussy and slurping it back up, the lewd, wet sounds driving you farther to insanity. You grip his shoulders as he keeps his hands firmly placed on your inner thighs, pinning them up so your heeled feet are perched high on his head. 

“God, sugar!” you whine. “Please keep doin’ that! You’re so…so…” All words and thoughts leave you, the pleasure leaving you dumb. You want to control yourself, but it’s especially hard when he swirls his tongue around your clit and dips into your little wet hole to pay attention to you there. He slurps up every ounce of you, not leaving a single drop to waste. 

You hope he’ll be able to handle it when you cum because you can already feel it rising. That chord in your core is about to snap with how soft his lips are and the way his nose constantly keeps nudging against your sensitive little button. “Geto,” you moan in a warning. “I-I’m gonna–” 

“I can feel it,” he groans into your pussy, still lapping away. “Cum on my face, mama. I wanna taste all of you.” He grips your thighs and moves his jaw faster, coaxing you further toward that edge, his tongue flicking mercilessly against your clit. “Cum for me,” he demands. “Don’t fuckin’ hold back.” 

But you can’t. Not yet. “Wait!” you practically shot. He sits up, alarmed and his mouth coated in your juices. “I-I wanna cum with you,” you softly say. “I wanna feel you in my mouth…in my throat…” You move to fondle his cock, earning a lustful groan from deep in his throat. “Please, Sugu,” you whimper. “I need you.” 

Geto raises an eyebrow at you. “You wanna 69?” he asks, shocked. “You’d have to sit on my face for that. Is that okay with you? ‘Cause I’m close to cumming just by the thought of this ass in my face.” He reaches down to give your ass a smack, making you jump slightly. 

Though you’ve never 69-ned with anyone before, you know that you want to feel Geto’s dick down your throat now and nothing can curb that hunger until you do. So you nod, determined to not let your insecurities about you weight get to you. Without another warning, Geto lies flat on his back and pats his lap for you to climb up into. With a soft giggle, you twist around so your ass is facing him and you’re looking down at his hard cock waving in your face. 

You feel Geto’s arms instantly wrap around your waist, forcing you to plant your ass back onto his face. You squeak, instinctively tensing. “Shh, it’s okay,” he coos, gently stroking your backside. “I can take you easy if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want you to feel good.” His dick begins to bob up and down in front of you which you realize he’s doing on his own. Fuck, this man is dangerous. “Relax, mama,” he soothingly says. “I’ve got you. Just take what you need.” 

And so you do. With a fire igniting inside of you at the sight of his veiny, thick cock in front of your very eyes, you wrap a hand around the base of his dick, biting your lip at the fact that you can barely fit it all in your hand. You start by spitting a copious amount of spit onto his cock and stroke it up and down his shaft, making him shine with your saliva. Geto groans softly at the feeling of your tiny, soft hand wrapped around him from underneath you and begins to gently play with your pussy, gliding his finger up and down your twitching lips and clit. 

After lubing him up with your spit, you lean in and press small kisses along the head of his dick, throwing some kitten licks in the mix. He loves that. His toes curl and his hands clench at his sides as more porn-worthy sounds drift from between his lips. After gaining enough courage, you finally open your mouth wide to accommodate to his size and take him into your mouth. “Fuck!” he grunts as soon as your lips and tongue make contact with his dick. You begin to bob your head up and down along his dick, sliding him in and out of your mouth. You stroke in time with what you can’t gobble down, making sure to keep a secure grip along his slick, wet cock. 

He tastes good. He smells good. He feels good. He sounds good. All of your senses are completely taken over by him as you suck and gag on his dick, hollowing your cheeks and opening your throat to take him deeper. “Such a good girl,” he groans, one hand curling in your hair. “Takin’ that dick so deep in your pretty mouth like that. I bet a girl like you has been needin’ this, hm?”  

His lewd words encourage you to take him deeper, so much that you start gagging because of how thick he is. He practically fills your throat, making you nearly choke on it. Your eyes begin to well with tears, possibly fucking up your mascara. 

But you never give up or stop. You’ll be damned if the first blowjob you give him is the worst one he’s had. You take things slow, allowing yourself time to get used to his size as you slide your head up and down, up and down, along his dick. His moans get louder, his grip tighter on your waist as you gag on his dick like it’s no one’s business. Saliva drips from your mouth down his heavy balls, and you find yourself wanting to suck on those too. 

“Fuck, baby!” Geto growls, his hand coming down to spank your ass. The sharp sound of his hand recoiling against your plump ass makes you moan around his dick. “You deserve the same treatment,” he huffs, his hot breath caressing your twitching pussy. You suddenly feel his tongue begin to swirl around your clit, alternating between that and softly sucking on the sensitive, little bud. 

“Sugu,” you whimper, your words muffled around his cock. Drool pools from your mouth and down his shaft, dripping all the way down his balls and onto the couch below. You continue to bob your head up and down his shaft, adding your own sloppy, wet sounds to his as he plays with your pussy with his tongue like it’s his own personal playground. His big hands grab and massage your ass, spanking it here and there. Every time his hand comes down to smack one of your ass cheeks, your pussy clenches in his mouth. It’s just too much! 

Click! 

Your eyes shift to the left, finding the camera still on auto and taking pictures. You realize that it’s been on auto this entire time. You almost forgot that Geto set it up that way before he helped you strip off your clothes. How many pictures of you are there? And how many of them are with Geto? 

The idea of the camera taking such risqué pictures of you turns you on, especially if the photos are of you and him in this position–you sitting perfectly on his face with his long dick in your throat while your pussy is in his mouth, your thighs spread wide for him. How would Maki react if she saw such photos by accident? How would she and Mai look if they were to enter the studio right now and find you spread out like a dessert plate for your photographer? 

The naughty ideas make you gush much to Geto’s enjoyment. He hums into your pussy, causing your clit to quiver with pleasure. “Feelin’ good, baby?” he coos into your pussy. “Think you can cum for me just like this?” 

‘I…” You can’t even utter one coherent word as he widens his mouth and takes your whole pussy into it, his tongue swirling around your little hole. You quiet your desperate moans by gobbling down his dick once more, stroking your hand in time with the bob of your head. You’re so glad the music is still blasting because neither one of you are quiet. Moans and sloppy sounds of your activity swim around you, filling the air. 

Your jaw begins to ache and your eyes water the more you take Geto into your throat. However, when you begin to feel him swell in your mouth, stretching it out further, you know that you can't give up. Not until you make him cum. So you go faster, gluck-glucking all around his cock like your life depends on it. At the same time, you can feel your clit begin to swell and you start to grind your hips down into his face like he’s your personal surfboard. 

Geto chuckles from underneath you, holding your hips down against his face. “You gonna cum for me, mama?” he mumbles into your pussy. One of his hands move to your ass to press against your entrance, barely entering but still giving you all the pleasure you need. “Mmm-hmm!” you squeal around his cock. “M’so…so close!” 

You can feel that cord in your core about to snap again, the feeling rising every time Geto repeats his actions. You can tell he’s close to by how his hips begin to bump against your mouth, making you take his cock further down your throat. “Me too,” he grunts. “Keep goin’ and I’ll cum for you too, baby girl. Is that what you want?” 

His thick finger suddenly slides easily into your slick, wet pussy, practically making you scream. You pop off of his dick, gasping at the feeling. “Yes!” You sob in ecstasy. “Please, sugar! Please give me your cum! I wanna cum with you too!” 

That is all Geto needs to hear. Like a madman, he clamps you farther down onto his face so you can’t move, flicks his tongue along your sensitive clit, and strokes your walls a little faster, coaxing you to burst all over his face. “Cum for me, mama,” he growls into your cunt. “Cum all over my face, Y/N.” 

And as you bob along his cock, you finally do. The strength in his hands pinning your thighs open and his wondrous mouth push you over the edge. You begin to grind your hips into his mouth, chasing that orgasm like a high. Finally, with a mewl-like moan and your eyes screwed tight, you burst all over Geto’s mouth and the couch cushion beneath you. Your orgasm crashes into your body, making it shiver and shudder with aftershocks as Geto continues to softly lap at your pussy. 

After a few moments of continuous work, Geto finally follows you down that hill into the sea of bliss. “Fuck, I’m cumming!” he groans, and you suddenly feel him burst all in your mouth. His cum shoots out onto your tongue, immediate and creamy. It surprises you so much that you react your mouth a bit, causing his cum to spurt all over your lips and face, ruining your makeup. 

Geto groans appreciatively at your mouth and taste, eating you up like an hungered animal. Your mind is hazy and your body feels as light as a feather as you begin to come down from your high as you begin to lap up his cum, cleaning his cock for him. It is by far the best orgasm you’ve had. 

Finally, once he’s sure you’re cleaned up and way too sensitive for more, Geto removes himself from between your thighs. With his help, you slowly move off of him though your legs feel like jelly. “Easy now,” he coos, helping you sit down on the couch cushion. He sits up from his spot, his chin and mouth shiny with your cum and his saliva. “Mmm,” he hums, licking his plump, pink lips free of your juices. “Definitely better than Moscato. 

You breathlessly giggle, licking his cum from your lips. “You too,” you purr, earning a chaste kiss against your lips. “I may need a towel though.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry, baby. You just felt so good, I couldn’t help myself. Stay right here.” He gets up from the couch and walks to the bathroom, his tight, firm ass a sight indeed. 

After a few minutes of lounging on the couch, exhausted but satisfied, he finally comes back with a warm, wet towel and helps you dab off his cum, careful not to ruin your makeup. After you’re all clean, he wraps his muscular arms around you and slides you into his lap for closer access. “That was amazing,” you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

He hums in agreement. “It definitely was.” He moves his hand to your forehead, wiping away a stray piece of hair from your sweaty forehead. “Now do you see how fucking gorgeous you are? I bet you would from those naughty lil’ photos now.” He presses his lips to your neck, making you whimper as he kisses the sensitive parts of your skin. 

“We still have to finish the photoshoot,” you softly moan as his hands move to caress your breasts. “Maki will be mad if we don’t.” He groans in protest, but moves away from you anyway. “Maybe after some pizza?” he suggests, smirking at you. “I made a promise to you, didn’t I?” Realizing he was serious from the start, you can do nothing but giggle and press a kiss to his lips, feeling giddy at this new, blossoming feeling of something real starting. 

When Geto pulls away from the kiss, his eyes trail down to your body. “Damn; I really made a mess,” he chuckles. You look down, finding your tits and stomach to be coated in his cum too. You reach for the towel but he grabs it first and holds it out of reach. “Geto, I need to get clean!” you whine. 

“Not just yet, mama.” He smacks your ass before coaxing you off of him and moves behind the camera. You sit there confused and exposed, his cum dripping down your body, makeup and hair a fucked-out mess, and your pussy glinting in your cum and his spit. He grins behind the camera at you. “Stay like that,” he orders before bending down behind the camera. 

“Smile for the camera, baby,” he chuckles. Before you can protest, the shutter flickers. 

THE END.

[officialleehadan]

Travel Light

Confidence Scheme

+++

“I’d like to make a small detour.”

Will was surprised by the request from Leonardo on the way back from the DoJ’s art department. The thief was settled in the passenger seat of his car, but wasn’t’ making eye contact, which suggested he was nervous about the request.

“Where to?” Will said, amiable to the request, but curious. “Grocery store?”

The joke made Leonardo chuckle as Will intended, and also made him relax. “My current safe house. As welcome as you’ve made me, I do need clothing that fits me, and I’d like my own toiletries.”

Will was pleased that Leonardo wasn’t protesting his ongoing stay with him and Vanessa, although he suspected it was as much for Will’s very potent security system as for their company. It was one thing to jump a thief in a public building. It was another to assault the home of a DoJ detective. Will even arranged surveillance on his own house, just in case someone started sniffing around.

“Give me directions or put the address into the GPS,” Wills said with a wave to the gar’s navigation. He carefully hid his excitement at getting to see where the thief lived and, presumably, worked at least some of the time. Then again, he also suspected Leonardo had at least one studio he kept secret, or leased a studio from others, to hide his tracks. He was a professional, and took covering his tracks very seriously. “Where are we going?”

“I have a flat in Little Italy.” Leonardo said, which wasn’t really a surprise considering where he was working the job that made him call Will in he first place, or his knowledge of Little Italy’s better criminal restaurants. “Don’t get too excited, Cowboy. There isn’t much there but some clothes and my bath products, and some art supplies.”

“And your tea, presumably,” Will teased, although he did accept the warning for what it was. Leonardo was too careful to let him see anywhere that meant anything to him. He might trust Will to keep him safe, but they were still on opposite sides of the law. Leonardo hadn’t stayed free and practicing his preferred flavors of crime for so long by being careless. “Speaking of, I know you do legal commissions now and then. How much will it cost me to get a portrait of Vanessa?”

“Pen or paints?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

The change of topic eased Leonardo’s tension more, and the drive, which was shorter than Will expected, delivered them to the garage of a very nice, well-secured apartment building. Leonardo keyed in a long code into the secured parking so Will could part, and then guided him to the elevators. Will wasn’t surprised to see he lived on a high floor, but preferred not to live in the penthouse. Too much attention, most likely, and harder to rent short-term, assuming the apartment was rented. It was possible Leonardo owned the condo and kept it as a safehouse.

The condo itself was elegant, but almost entirely lacking in personality. It was as much a very expensive hotel room as anything else.

Here and there were small markings of the man himself, but Leonardo wasted no time in pulling a medium-sized suitcase out of the closet. He emptied the closet first and didn’t bother folding anything on the way, before he collected a pair of books, both romance novels, Will noted with some surprise, and ducked into the bathroom. When he emerged, it was with a heavy plastic bag of his bath products, which went into the suitcase as well.

The final contribution to the suitcase, handled with far more care than the clothing or toiletries, was a neatly-packed travel-easel that boasted several drawers that rattled when Leonardo carried it over to the bed and set it carefully next to the suitcase.

Through it all, Will found himself seeking any sign of Leonardo in the condo, and found absolutely nothing. There weren't even magnets on the fridge, and when he checked inside, there was nothing but condiments and a small container of milk. The milk was bad. There was no food at all.

“Leave that stuff. I’ll have a cleaner handle it,” Leonardo said when he came out of the bedroom, dragging the suitcase with the easel carefully fastened to the top. “There are two containers of tea in he cabinet to the left of you. Grab them, will you? My hand is full.”

“I got it,” Will assured him and cleaned out the cabinet into a handy plastic bag. He noted the way Leonardo was moving, wary of his bad arm, and kept ahold of the bag when it was packed. “Do you cook at all?”

“Not here,” Leonardo said wryly and left the suitcase to do a quick sweep of the apartment. Will already knew there was nothing left to find. Leonardo, it seemed, packed very light. “But I can, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I was more judging your empty fridge.”

“I prefer takeout when I’m in a safehouse. Less opportunity for trouble at a grocery store.”

That made a good deal of sense. With takeout, he could have the deliverer leave his food outside the door, although admittedly, there was a higher chance of drugging. Presumably, that was less a concern for Leonardo, but it was a consideration.

“Fair enough,” he conceded as they made for the door. The whole stop took less than fifteen minutes. Will was impressed. No wonder he had been such a pain to try and catch. He traveled so easily, that it must take him minutes to leave a whole city, and everything in the safehouse was disposable. Even the art supplies, although it was clear Leonardo cared more for those than anything else in the apartment. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Before Leonardo could try and take it himself, Will took the suitcase in hand and only smiled when Leonardo raised a brow. Until Leonardo was healed up, Will didn’t mind being the muscle.

it was easy. Too easy in a way that raised the hair on the back of Will’s neck.

So he was almost expecting it when a gunshot thundered through the parking garage just as he finished loading the suitcase into his trunk, and shattered the window of the car right next to Leonardo’s head.

+++

Confidence Scheme: (FULL COLLECTION)

Deliberately Careless (Subscriber Only!)

Pure Guess

Phone Trace (Subscriber Only!)

De Vinci Terrace (Subscriber Only!)

Criminal Portraiture (Subscriber Only!)

Evidence Report

Bring a Crowbar

Proposal Lasagna

Hang from a Ledge

Taken Home

Oath Named

Cops and Robbers

Smudge 

Under the Edge

Travel Light (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[dickinson-devotee]

Kevin Shirley's Studio Diary — The Final Frontier — 2010

January 6, 2010 Los Angeles - Nassau Been working flat-out at home in Malibu. I'm pretty burnt out. I've just remixed the classic Deep Purple album, Come Taste The Band over the New Year, and just recorded six new tracks with a brand new band this last weekend. Glenn Hughes, Joe Bonamassa, Jason Bonham and keyboard wiz Derek Sherinian (tentatively calling themselves Black Country). So, I am pretty wiped out. The next adventure on my horizon is producing the new Iron Maiden album - this one to be recorded in the Bahamas.

Left the family, sadly, in the early hours of today, and met Jared Kvitka at LAX. He is to be my assistant and the engineer on the new Iron Maiden album. We fly together to Nassau in the Bahamas, where we'll cut the new album at Compass Point Studios. Maiden have made three of their huge albums of the 80's there. Piece of Mind, Powerslave and Somewhere In Time, I believe. It's cold in Nassau when we land -- highly unusual, but all of the States is mired in a "Deep Freeze" and the Bahamas are experiencing the runoff. Studio manager Sherrie Manning meets us at customs and immigration, and once the work permit thing is ironed out, she shows us to our accommodations. In the early evening I see Steve, Adrian and Janick at the local pub for a beer and walk back home. A cold night.

January 7, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Bump into Steve in the apartment complex parking lot - I have opted not to have a rental car so Steve kindly takes me to the supermarket and we push trolleys around like two old queens, doing their weekly shopping. Quite a sight! Nassau is expensive -- half a trolley of basics is just shy of $300!

Off to the studio, and the gear has just arrived - mine from L.A. and the band's from England. The crew, Sean, Charlie and Michael begin unloading the equipment. Not much for Jared and I to do at this stage as drums, amps, guitars, etc start escaping their packing cases.

January 8, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Drums are up, Guitar cabs are up -- the day is spent wiring, plugging things in, putting microphones up and doing line checks by studio owner and tech-wiz Terry Manning and Jared. It's a very complex setup -- the studio is basically one big room, and there are not any isolation booths in which to put guitar amps to avoid the leakage into the other instruments as we do record the basic tracks with the whole band playing together live. So 'Arrys bass speaker goes in an adjacent office -- the three guitar cabinets go into a second studio, with about 100 feet of high quality speaker cable running from the amp heads, while Nicko's huge drumkit is in the corner of the main studio, so they can all play together and interact with one another. The little tiki-hut vocal booth, originally made for Mick Jagger in the eighties, is where Bruce will sing to get a little separation, but it's still in the main room and there's just no escaping Nicko's booming bombast! The old Neve V series console at Compass Point isn't on it's last legs, but it's definitely seen better days. We don't use any of the console channels for anything other than monitoring -- every microphone has it's own preamp and feeds the Pro Tools recording system. Most channels won't be recorded with EQ. The exceptions are the kick and snare drums, which have copycat Neve 1073 EQs across them. Nothing much, a little top on the snare and a little scoop on the kick -- as Nicko has no padding and the drum sound very resonant. January 9, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Final touches are made to the guitar rigs -- the crew string the guitars and the studio is made ready. We get sounds on everything and the road crew play AC/DC's Highway To Hell to test the systems. Ironic, as the iconic Back in Black album was cut in this very room! We finish up about 6pm, and Jared and I head to Compass Point Resort across the road, and have a drink as we watch American NFL football and the Eagles lose their wildcard game. Jared is from Philly. Michael Kenney drives back from the apartment complex in the rain to pick me up and get me back home. I have hiccups...

January 10, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Day off today -- the weather is miserable. Rainy and windy. I'll stay home and watch football, and work on the "Black Country" Hughes/Bonamassa recordings. I have Pro Tools on my laptop, and quite enjoy the zen of working at my own pace, on headphones. Enjoyed watching an NFL playoff game in my apartment and then Steve Gadd, Maiden's Road manager called, saying Bruce and Davey were getting in and wanted to meet me. So off to the bar and dinner and a chat with the lads, then it's off home.

January 11, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Started tracking today -- was very funny seeing all the band assemble at Compass Point, and they all share a similar headspace, all exclaiming "holy fuck, remember when we were here 25 years ago -- it's still the same!!!!" First we worked on getting everyone's headphones sorted etc. Cut the basics for the ballad Coming Home by 2.30pm, then went on to track called El Dorado. Got 2 takes done, when technical gremlins jumped in -- Adrian's headphones became intermittent, Janick's guitar kept cutting out, then Bruce's vocal microphone fried, then the vocal compressor fried -- but despite all these, we still managed to get 7 takes done -- one of which I'm sure will be quite good enough to begin with. Then at Nicko's bidding, it was off to the Travellers Rest for all of us and a dinner of banana daiquiris and minced crawfish -- apparently band staples 25 years ago.

Haiti just had an earthquake this evening which looks to be devastating... and as we are on a tsunami warning for the Bahamas, we headed back to the studio and retrieved the hard drive for storage on higher ground for the night.

January 12, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Cut an awesome track called Isle Of Avalon today. There were no high waves overnight, and no tsunami here, but we hear reports that Haitian capital Port-Au-Prince is in ruins. I donated to Red Cross this morning as they'll need all the help they can get. My family are home in L.A. and are off to Disneyland today. I miss them...

Wednesday January 13, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up early and swam across the bay in front of the apartments. Glenn Hughes rang just as I was leaving, to discuss Black Country, (his new band) -- and then I drove to the studio with Steve, Janick and Charlie (Nicko's tech). I had to stop for a cup of Starbucks en route. Once at the studio, I reviewed the track Isle Of Avalon and overdubbed new guitars with all the guitarists - the Three Amigos - playing together. They have a unique chemistry playing together and the signature gallop in the guitars is a result of their individual rhythms combined. After that was wrapped up, it was everyone back in the room and we cut a new song - Mother of Mercy...

Banana Daiquiris have started something -- Bruce came in this morning with a brown paper bag filled with alcoholic ingredients to brew disaster -- 63 proof rum, etc., and after they had cut the track, Nicko and Bruce proceeded to "experiment" with making the perfect banana daiquiri -- blowing up the blender in a stinky electric puff of smoke in the process! Really......

Finished the new track at about 6.30pm, then Nicko, Bruce and I went in search of more daiquiris, Nicko was on a mission and wanted to take in a bit of adult entertainment and do some gambling, and he wanted me to tag along and be his foil -- so I said I was up for a little fun, but that I needed to get back home by midnight - after all I do have a job to do! A determined Nicko went off and I ended up having a beer with Jan at the end of the night, who's about the most normal of the lot I suppose!! Charlie appeared later after putting Nicko to bed about 10ish, after Nicko had cleared the casino at the Sheraton on Cable Beach and lost a bit of money! That's our Nick......... we do love him so!

Thursday January 14, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Not everybody was up to cutting a track today so the band had the day off, and I went to work alone, to go through all the takes and compile a great performance of Mother Of Mercy.

Friday January 15, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Today we cut a Janick song: The Talisman. It really came out great and after the session, Adrian, Dave, Adrian's wife Nathalie and I went to dinner at Nobu in Atlantis. Chocolate martinis and wine started the evening, and then it was off to a late night rock 'n roll bar called Crazy Johnny's where the night turned into morning... I lost my driver's license and credit card and we got home in the very early hours - all the worse for wear. I'm getting too old for these shenanigans!

Saturday January 16, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke with a teensy hangover -- to the wrath of my wife back in the States, as she says she doesn't want to be a widow just yet, and I headed in to work nonetheless, after a swim in the ocean, to sort thru the track The Talisman. Sounds amazing, even if I do feel like Death warmed up! Home to recuperate and watch the NFL playoffs... Saints and Arizona...

Sunday January 17, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke feeling almost normal! Crazy Johnny, proprietor of his eponymous club -- scene of Friday night's debauched shenanigans - took a bunch of us out to Rose Island with his kid, Dylan, where he has a house on the hill overlooking an absolutely perfect gorgeous white beach -- a great day out. His 400HP Yamaha engines zipped us across the ocean in his boat at "a strong 50" knots, and it was very enjoyable. Janick was the only one from the band to come along; the rest either busy or perhaps even still suffering -- so tech Sean from the crew and his girl Sarah, Tour Road Manager Steve Gadd, and engineer Jared Kvitka made up the rest of the pirate crew. Back in time to watch the New York JETS make it to the conference championship! After living on the U.S. East Coast for 16 years, I'm a declared supporter

Monday Jan 18, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up at 7am, a great way to start this beautiful day with a visit to the Dentist this morning (I chipped one tooth and a crown fell off another over the weekend). Seems I'm just falling apart! A pretty Bahamian dentist Dr Coverly worked on my teeth in her high heels and a nicely coiffed do. A first for me!

Nicko flew back from Florida today so we didn't start until 1pm. Cut a great proggy tune of Adrian's called Starblind -- which came out very strongly, I think....

Tuesday Jan 19, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Having trouble sleeping -- seemed to be up all night long last night. Late-night text chats with Joe Bonamassa seem to be the case most nights these days, as he sleeps weird hours, planning and scheming... and chatting with his girlfriend in a far off land. I'm the therapist... Recorded another new Maiden song once we finally got going today. It was a late start at the studio as there was no power at all -- Bahamian Electricity was off until 1.30pm, but the song was quite straight forward - even quite simple for Maiden but very powerful: The Final Frontier -- almost more like a rollicking Mellencamp or Tom Petty type song than a Maiden song, but it looks like being the anchor tune for the new album. We kept it pretty raw!

Wed Jan 20, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Didn't sleep last night. Cut a highly complex song today, one of Davey's I believe, The Man Who Would Be King -- one which the band hadn't managed to rehearse beforehand as Janick had cut his hand very badly just as they were starting to learn it and run through it at the pre-recording rehearsals in France -- so he had been rushed to hospital and had surgery on his hand and fingers - the upshot being that the song was cut in sections and pieced together today. It was very difficult. Bruce has decided he didn't want to stay in the fairly boring accommodations we're in, that are a residential complex, so has moved to the Sheraton which is probably a lot more fun and goes on much later than we do, and consequently was a little tired today, which didn't really help. Well, he's at least not flying anywhere…….

Thurs Jan 21, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas I've been having trouble sleeping at night, so Maiden Road manager Steve Gadd gave me a sleeping tab, and I finally slept great all night. Got up, went to the gym and worked out with a trainer (first time in years), and really enjoyed it. Cut a great Deep Purple-ish tune today -- tentatively titled House of Dr. D! I'm pretty sure that title won't stick as it's pretty uniformly sneered at. (It was renamed The Alchemist. KS) Nicko, normally loves the way his drums come out on all the albums, and asked respectfully if I minded if he watched while I edited the takes, and he promised to not say anything -- I of course said I didn't mind, but once I began working, he couldn't stop talking and admonishing me the whole while, about his mistakes, which he calls "Nickoisms", and which I was attempting to repair, so I had to stop the session. Update tomorrow, when we cut the last song, which Steve is still working on tonight and it promises to be an epic... ahhh, the Mighty Maiden!!!

Friday January 22, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas We cut a very intricate piece today. Where The Wild Wind Blows. Nobody had heard it at all and Steve had all these ideas, so we cut about 10 totally different melodic pieces -- he'd show the band then we'd cut a few takes. He shows everyone the song and whistles the melodies to everyone. Nicko was unusually reserved today, but played very solidly and well. We ended up with over two hours of recorded music, which I attempted to start editing as the evening closed in on us, but Steve was totally wiped out - he'd forgotten to eat and drink all day, such was his concentration -- and I don't even know how the song pieces fit together yet, so it will have to wait 'til we get together on Monday! Steve won't come in over the weekend normally, as his weekends are mostly chock-full with his kids activities, and he is first and foremost a dedicated father.

Saturday Jan 23rd, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Went to workout at the gym early then on to the studio, and spent the entire day editing some tracks recorded for Black Country in Malibu -- Black Country is the group I put together with Glenn Hughes, Joe Bonamassa, Jason Bonham and Derek Sherinian. Met Nicko, Davey and Steve Gadd in the Poop Deck bar in the evening, and we drove to the big Atlantis resort where we had dinner at the fancy sushi restaurant Nobu, and then went to see Jerry Seinfeld doing standup. Davey is a big fan and really wanted to go, but it was just OK - nothing special actually. We had a little to drink over the evening... and invariably ended up at the Daiquiri shack chatting to some Irish wedding guests.

Sunday Jan 24, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke late -- a little tired still. Relaxed around the condo, made coffee and watched some Gridiron football. Adrian dropped by around noon and borrowed my iPod to listen to the rough mixes of the tracking recordings we have done thus far.

Monday Jan 25, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas The lads took the day off and 'Arry and I went to work about 11 o'clock and began the big job of editing the multiple takes of Where The Wild Wind Blows together. Nobody but he has any idea how it ultimately goes, and the structure altered a little from his original idea in the assembly, but it fits together and flows very nicely. An ironic epic about a suicide pact in the face of a nuclear explosion. And very Maiden!

Tuesday January 26, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Workout with a trainer again at 8am - he kicked my butt! All the band - bar Bruce, who's gone back to London - meet at the studio to listen to all the tracks we've recorded and get a good overview of the album. All the guys seem excited after the playback, and we start work embellishing the rough recordings of Coming Home with some overdubs. Adrian puts an acoustic guitar picking through the verses and choruses, which we double track for stereo imaging. Then Davey plays the first of the guitar solos on his Les Paul guitar, which ironically sounds like a Strat! it's a very Hendrixy Little Wing-ish solo, and he's happy with the result. He's always happy! Then Adrian added the second solo. We assemble a different monitoring system for him in the studio, so he balances his own mix and listen on Genelecs. He's uncomfortable initially, but after a while we get a great solo from him. The raw sound bothers him, so i add a little Pitch Shift, and he's happy. End of the day. Off to the local bar called The Poop Deck for burgers and beer. And coffee tequila. And a last cleansing beer. Nicko and his chef mate, Frankie, visiting from new York, leave first. I leave Jan and Davey chatting at the bar.

Wednesday January 27, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Start the recording day by having Janick add an upper octave to his guitar line in the choruses of Coming Home. This is the end of guitar overdubs on this song.

Then we move onto the song El Dorado. Adrian does a guitar solo, quite a few takes - which I then compile. He's happy. Steve doesn't stay around for things like the guitar solos necessarily, but he likes to hear everything at some point. Next Janick has a go at the guitar overdubs, adding an octave to a prechorus line, then doing his solo. Davey comes in for a late start having had a little beach time and does the middle solo. We listen back quite loud and everyone seems very happy with it. They all leave and I stay to sort through some takes of Mother Of Mercy, so it's ready to be overdubbed. Dinner of fresh fish and a beer at the bar, and I'm home just after 7.30pm. Early night in....... speak to my babies on Skype.

Thursday January 28, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas A very full day in the studio today - Davey starts the day with a bunch of overdubs on The Man Who Would Be King - Harmony guitars on the outro and on the chorus - we try a few on the intro, but they don't really work. Then we do a quick solo, which I reverse a-la-hendrix, and he loves it! We do some other weird noises - divebombs, etc., which go alongside the backwards solo, then Janick does a little tag, after which we do a 3 part guitar harmony with all the guitarists on the second part of the solo. It was originally going to be an Adrian solo, but the track felt so out of control after Davey's musical madness, that we introduce the harmony melody guitars which brings some order into the chaos. This song is now done for the day, and we move to the overdubs on The Final Frontier. Adrian does a big strumming acoustic guitar on the choruses, and then adds a tenor guitar line which echoes Steve's bass line on the chorus - and last he does the solo on his trusty Strat...... and that's it for the day, and the week!

Friday January 29, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas My family are arriving at 1pm from Los Angeles, and we all take the day off work. No one complains! Well, Delta screws up my family's flight, and leaves them with an enforced long layover in Atlanta - so I take the opportunity to go grocery shopping. I need everything at our condo - toilet paper, water... you get the picture, so it's a godsend to have time to prepare for them. The lifestyle of a bachelor doesn't necessarily meet all the needs of a young family, and once I've sorted out the house I head to the airport with Steve Gadd and Mike Kenney, who've come to give us a hand with the luggage and kids. (They offered and are very gracious and friendly - it's no Producer control-freak thing!). They finally arrive at 5pm and as they come through the Arrivals and I see them, I get a little misty as my 2 year-old Talon yells, "My daddy, my daddy, my daddy" .... sweet!! Weekend off playing with my kids in the pool and on the beach!!!!!

February 1 and 2, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas More recording on some of the other songs - it gets a bit "Groundhog Day" in the telling and diarizing of it all, as it's a very similar process every day for all the songs and overdubs. We do various guitar overdubs, solos, harmonies, acoustic guitars...... the Three Amigos take turns and occasionally we record all three together to get that great rolling, galloping rhythm that only Maiden can really create - there's nothing mathematical about it, it's all feel. If you sort it out in Pro Tools, all that feel goes, so we don't!!!

February 3, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas It's my wife's birthday today, so we take the day off and I spend the entire day at the Atlantis resort with my family. A great day, playing on the beaches, sliding down the water slides, floating on rafts on the artificial rapids and rivers, and viewing the absolutely amazing aquarium they've built there! In the evening, we leave the babies with my mother-in-law and go out for an intimate adult evening, but we're so shattered by the day's activities that we end up crashing at about 9.30pm!

February 4 and 5, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Same agenda as Feb 1 and 2. We've almost finished the overdubs on the last song, guitar-wise. Just a last guitar solo of Adrian's to do on When The Wild Wind Blows on Monday, then we'll all gather for a final collective listen, and that's all the guitars on this new Iron Maiden album. We'll add keys for the rest of the week, then it's home for me next Saturday, and Steve and Bruce arrive the following week to finish up the vocals and mix...... February 6, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Windy and stormy today. No studio. Wife and kids are all packed as they leave Nassau for Los Angeles tomorrow - so we had an early dinner of fresh fish from the Poop Deck, then my wife, Dev, and I joined Steve Gadd and his better half, Jen; Janick and Adrian Smith and his wife Nathalie, for a late evening drink. A very nice time and it was fun socialising with just adults for a change.

February 7 - Superbowl Sunday. Gaddsy and Michael Kenney took me and my family to the airport as they left for L.A. today. Janick went off for his first scuba dive ever, with the crew from the Aga Khan's yacht, Shergar, and he really loved it. Gadd and I joined them on the boat about 4pm-ish, had a couple of beers onboard and got the royal yacht tour. Amazing! $100million worth of boat - each tank of gas costs $75,000!! It has two jet turbines, and at 100 ft long reaches about 50 knots! That's flying!! Then off to Crazy Johnny's we all went, to watch the Superbowl, and perhaps a few drinks.......

February 8 Not everyone looked like they were ready to run a marathon this morning, after a long night of Superbowl revelry. Our engineer Jared arrives a little puffy, and As 'Arry said of his eyes, "they look like two piss holes in the snow!" Well, as Jared has a vague connection to New Orleans, he was forgiven! We need to do a few updates to the last song and so Adrian started off the day recording a solo on When The Wild Wind Blows, after which we did some melodic lines on the same song with Davey, some guitar jangle chords in the verses, and that is the band tracks for the new album complete! I let everyone go for the day, and spent the rest of it getting the complex tracks in order so when we do some keyboards over the next few days, we hear everything as it's meant to be heard, and nothing clashes musically or sonically. Had a very English dinner of Bangers 'n Mash and a pint of stout at the Nassau Cricket Club, and home earlyish to watch a movie.

February 9, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Slept great, but woke feeling very stiff. Off to the gym for a gentle workout and then set off to the studio at the normal time of 10.45am, with an obligatory stop at Starbucks en route. Finally we got stuck into keyboards today. Michael Kenney set up the keys and Steve poked away at them, hunting for the melodies running around his head like a chicken pecking the ground. Simple lines, but effective and we accomplished a lot of work. We finished keyboard overdubs on seven tunes today then headed to Poop Deck for a quick drink with Steve before heading home to make dinner.... for myself.

February 10, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Today we finished the few keyboards overdubs left to do on the album. Janick's family arrived from England today, so he asked me to send him an MP3 of the solo he did on The Alchemist, which I did, and he called me later asking if he could redo it, so we'll have another crack at it on Friday. Adrian listened to all the tracks and has a few things he wants to add as well. We all went to dinner at The Poop Deck but as the weather had been a little rough, there was no fresh fish on the menu, so we had burgers while sitting at the bar. Nicko sent us his love from sunny Florida, where he's working on the official opening of his restaurant, Rock 'n Roll Ribs, in Boca Raton or somewhere in the vicinity, this weekend.

February 11, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up early and I swam across the bay - didn't feel like the gym today. Headed to the studio about 10.30am after a quick stop for a "grande-four-shot-non-fat-wet-cappuccino" at Starbucks and once we got up and rockin', Adrian replayed the verse on Mother Of Mercy and added a harmony guitar to the pre-chorus. 'Arry didn't make it in to the studio today, and while waiting for some computer thing to be done, I was noodling around some blues scales on one of Janick's acoustic guitars, which prompted Terry Manning to show me an old National that used to be blues icon Robert Johnson's dobro! It was very humbling and awe-inspiring to hold it and slide a little on it, and I felt more moved even than when I met Jimmy Page or B.B. King. Its serial # is T968. Back to work, and we listened through a few things and I did a couple of edits that needed doing and we were done by 7pm, off to .........yep you guessed it, the Poop Deck again. It's the only place around, as you've probably gathered, that doesn't require getting a taxi. At least they had fresh fish today, and I ordered one to go and had it at my house while watching the news - boring but very tasty!

February 12, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Adrian and Nathalie, his wife, left early for a week at Parrot Key. It's the last day in the studio today. Janick came in and redid the solo on The Alchemist. He was much happier than before - the first solo had been much more "in the meter", but this one crossed the rhythms, and he liked the fact that it sounded like he wasn't going to make it, and then did. He felt it sounded more "incendiary!". His phrase. Looked over the tracksheet of Where The Wild Wind Blows and sorted through the multiple parts, and made a cohesive tracklist - then made 2 safety copies of the Master drive, and said our goodbyes to the Mannings in the studio, took Steve two masters - one to leave behind, and one to bring with him. I have one to carry back to L.A. tomorrow, and that's all three master drives. We have a big art canvas in the studio, which has all the album titles and plots the progress of the recording session as we go. So I dropped the big canvas at 'Arry's house, and then went with Steve Gadd and his best gal to the Cricket Club, for bangers 'n mash. Again. Yummy!

February 13, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas The wind howled all night and the rain bucketed down. I woke at 3am and couldn't get back to sleep. Packed, and checked the flight details. Atlanta is covered in snow and is a frigid 25 degrees. All good, it appears. Left for the airport to find my flight cancelled. Managed to get a coach flight (all Business was booked) back home - it adds another six hours to my flight!!! which means 13 hours from check-in til landing, if all goes to schedule. I'm in Nassau airport now.......

February 15, 2010 Malibu, California Finally got home late last night. My luggage didn't. Lots of scrambling and frantic running between gates, but I finally had a good flight back and it is great to be home in Malibu on the beach. I had a very chilled Sunday with my family and now it's back to work in my studio today, going over all the tracks. They're not really ready for my studio, so had to spend the day preparing them to suit a different console, etc. Also, the big storms in California recently have knocked my studio about - all the lightbulbs downstairs had blown, as well as my Summit TLA- compressor, so the day was spent in repair mode, as well as getting the studio bedroom ready, where Steve Harris will stay for the month ahead - he arrives tonight.

February 16, 2010 Malibu, California I'm in the studio early today. I FedExed my blown compressor out for repair - Brent Spear, my tech, is coming in for the day from Las Vegas to make sure everything is working perfectly, the Cable TV repairman is coming today to make sure Steve's English Premier League soccer is available on the telly, so it's all systems go around here. Bruce will be in from London tonight to sing ......

February 17, 2010 Malibu, California Vocal day - Bruce arrived, with stories, as usual. Tales from flights around the world - Russia, Iceland, Niger..... Today he sang Coming Home and El Dorado, then we had a break for lunch, after which he nailed the lead vocal for Mother of Mercy! It's very, very high...

February 19, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce sang again today, then left to fly back to London tonight and on to Africa as Capt. Dickinson tomorrow - I compiled the lead vocal on El Dorado, and then I mixed it. Went to the store to pick up dinner on the way home and my car got wrecked in the parking lot by some Bonehead. Exhausted!

February 20, 2010 Malibu, California Knackered - feel brutally tired today.

February 21, 2010 Malibu, California Had to go with the family to a kids birthday party - I realize I have to do these things, but I really hate doing them. Went for a bicycle ride when we got back, and decided while riding, that I'm going to cycle to San Francisco to do my next job - which is producing Journey's new studio album in April.

February 22, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the lead vocal track from three or four vocal performances which Bruce has sang for Coming Home and then I set about mixing the song.

February 23, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the lead vocal track for The Final Frontier today - then mixed it - Steve came in at the end of the day and thought it sounded a bit roomy, so I'll do a drier mix tomorrow.

February 24, 2010 Malibu, California Did a dry mix then some updates on ..The Final Frontier. In the end we went with yesterday's mix - my original mix. After that I began comping the vocal on Mother of Mercy - Steve has a very particular vocal melody in his mind, which Bruce didn't really get 100% correct. It's close tho..... but needs a few tweaks. Left the comp about half way through - it was mind jumbling. Got home to find two sick babies....

February 25, 2010 Malibu, California Last night was a rough night with our poor little sick kids - so not too much sleep at all for any of us last night. Got to my studio just after 11am to find Steve doing the crosswords - he loves them! I had to dig back into Mother of Mercy and complete the vocal compiling!

Adrian came by The Cave for a listen - he thought the tracks sounded good but "a little too much like the band in the studio". He thought more reverb to make them sound more "majestic" and "epic". Steve disagreed strongly. Honestly, they are both right. The thing I personally like about the dry, honest mixes, is that it sets them apart from any other Classic Rock or Metal band. They're not really metal anyway, in the present day sense of the genre, but they're more of a hard progressive rock band. I promised to run some mixes each way and decisions can be made down the road, if necessary.

February 26, 2010 Malibu, California I started the day with an early 30 mile bike ride along the coast and went in to the studio at normal start time of 11 and finished the mix of Mother Of Mercy. Bruce came in from London this morning and very kindly brought me a stack of Formula 1 magazines - it's my passion and the States only sees them about 6 weeks after their appearance in England, so I was particularly thrilled! He listened to a few things we'd been working on - had some issues with a couple of vocal lines he'd sung, and disliked a particular guitar solo we'd recorded at Compass Point, but said "whatever!", and then dug into the work and sang Isle Of Avalon and Starblind. Both are very high - I suggested a lower vocal line in the Isle Of Avalon chorus, which he tried, so perhaps we'll have a harmony - we'll see.

February 27, 2010 Malibu, California A massive 8.8 earthquake hit Chile early this morning. We were on a tsunami advisory again, and as we live on the ocean, we left for higher ground over the lunch hours. The waves were only about 2 feet higher, which didn't really affect things too much up here in Malibu. I'm sure this will prove to be catastrophic again.....

It's Adrian's birthday today! His wife, Nathalie, threw a great party for him. Gorgeous food, great ambience - Steve and his beautiful daughters Kerry and Faye attended, as did Bruce and a host of people. A lot of fun - she had been quite explicit about overstaying our welcome with "Carriages at 11" on the invitation, but by the time it came to go, Adrian wanted everyone to stay longer. Nathalie said, "but it's what you wanted!" We had sickish babies at home, and couldn't stay in any case.........

February 28, 2010 Malibu, California Last day of the month - relax!

March 1, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce came in from Marina Del Ray and sang two songs today - Satellite 15 and When the Wild Wind Blows. Started working on the Wild Wind mix.

March 2, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the vocal for When The Wild Wind Blows and mixed it! Steve's daughters, Faye and Kerry, came by and listened to all the music completed thus far, and they went with Steve to the local Italian restaurant, The Sage Room, for dinner.

March 3, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce came by today to hear the five mixes that were done. Did a little touch up on When the Wild Wind Blows mix, compiled the lead vocals on The Alchemist and mixed it as well.

March 4, 2010 Malibu, California Started compiling a lead vocal on The Talisman. It was a nightmare to compile! Adrian dropped in late afternoon to pick up a CD of the mixes thus far.

March 5, 2010 Malibu, California. I mixed The Talisman, the second bit. Not the quiet intro bit that sounds like a haunting kids sea shanty. I think fans are going to love this song! March 6, 7, 2010 Malibu, California Weekend - happy to have a break! March 8, 2010 Malibu, California Finished mixing Talisman (the acoustic intro) and compiled the vocal on The Man Who Would Be King. March 9, 2010 Malibu, California Mixed The Man Who Would Be King. Adrian came in and said it all sounded good - and said he was 95% happy with the album mixes and we should look at them and tweak them slightly - I am perfectly happy to reassess any of the mixes, as daunting as the prospect of revisiting everything is, changing sonics etc., but Steve and I are quite happy with it and neither of us can really afford the extra time it would take to remix, so Steve jumped in and basically said we're going to be done this weekend and we are not remixing the entire album. Adrian ultimately understood but wasn't thrilled about it! March 10, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the vocal for Starblind, and began the mix of it - it is proving to be a complicated mix and quite difficult.

March 11, 2010 Malibu, California Mixed Starblind today. Adrian came by to hear it - and was desirous of more reverb on some things - it's a little bit of a continuous internal battle, and is essentially just a different way to hear things. Def Leppard on one hand, something garagey on the other. Extra reverb was not added to anything. Adrian left happy and understanding, I thought!!! March 12, 2010 Malibu, California It's Steve's birthday today! I've just finished mixing the entire album - mixed The Isle of Avalon and Satellite 15 today. The mixes went very well then I assembled the album in order - putting all the master mixes in sequences and adjusting the gaps or segues between the songs. Steve is packing to leave and I'm planning on having a glass of wine with Adrian at 9pm - both lads appear ecstatic! We're all off for dinner...... Friday May 7th, Oakland, CA Well, it's almost two months later. I've completed the Black Country Communion album and am in midst of producing a new Journey album since we wrapped up the Iron Maiden album. I'm sitting in Oakland airport (I'm producing Journey album in San Francisco) - waiting for a one hour flight to Los Angeles where I'm going to play the folks from Universal Music the new Maiden album later today. We've had the album mastered three times, and have ultimately decided to go with my flat mixes over any of the mastering versions. I think the mastering place did a great job, but Steve, while liking these versions, feels that the integrity of the original mixes has been compromised somewhat and so it's coming out flat. No equalization, no compression, just as it was when Steve heard the MP3s of the mixes and just as it left my studio. Tuesday June 8th, Malibu CA Home after recording the Journey album - in the studio mixing a South African band called Panic Circle today. The first Maiden single, El Dorado, was released yesterday as a free download on the ironmaiden.com website and immediately clogged up the server, but I woke to about a hundred emails from people that have loved it - so, THANK YOU!!! And that is how I spent the early part of 2010 - producing The Final Frontier. Hope you enjoyed that....... - Kevin Shirley

[docholligay]

Your posts about being the one to host the things you want to go to always get me so fired up, but I live in a flat the size of a shoebox. Do you have any tips for hosting when you just don't have any space? I've tried picnics but I live somewhere with volatile weather and we were rained out 3 of 4 times. I don't want to wait some hypothetical amount of time until I can afford a place that can fit a dining table!

This is hard without seeing your place, because while its usually easy to figure something out when I can see the setup of a place, it’s really hard to do in theory. All spacious apartments are alike; each tiny shoebox is insane in its own way, and all that. 

But I think its important to remember that an event doesn’t necessarily need to be huge or grandiose to be fun! You can have 2 or 3 friends over to have a wine tasting and cheese night, which lends itself very well to small places. I actually recommends an afternoon tea as something that I’ve assembled using some cheap trays from Goodwill and making my bed up sort of like a day bed/couch situation for people to sit on! Cups of tea and little sandwiches are incredibly economical, and by going to thrift stores and picking together a few things over time, you can lend it a sort of occasion and drama that you wouldn’t assume you could get out of a tiny basement studio (“Studio”) 

Space is nice, do not misunderstand me! Very helpful in hosting, changes the kind of events you can have, but even small spaces can have small crowds. You don’t need to be a duke to have a festive occasion. 

You’re in the UK, by the sounds of the word “flat,” so I have literally no idea how it works there, but for those of y’all reading in the US, the parks systems have places you can rent, often for nominal or low cost! The park by my house has a little shelter you can reserve for free where people OFTEN hold birthday parties* and would be a great place to have a picnic-style event or…I don’t know, lawn bowling, or have a stupid roaring 20s croquet party where you’re pretending to be the nouveau riche. Possibilities are endless. 

Also! When I lived in a real shithole, I had a friend with a much nicer apartment, and she hated the work of hosting but loved the idea of having a party, so we split our invites and basically divided and conquered! She had the place, I came up with the menu and did all the cooking, we both helped with the dishes. It was an out of the box solution for both of us, that let us have a really great dinner party by playing to what the both of us had. 

*One time, I was running outside and I had a mile lap sent up in the neighborhood, so I kept running by the shelter, and every time I ran by this family having a big birthday party would whoop and cheer me on. When I finished, (after 8 laps) they insisted I come have a beer and some food. I love living in the Mexican neighborhood**, I don’t care what anyone says about it. 

**I live in “the Mexican neighborhood” which is not impressive in hispanic residents for, say, California, but for Montana is in fact the densest Mexican-heritage population in any city.

[disneyparksattractionstournament]

Extinct Disney Parks and Attractions tournament round 3: Bracket AB

Reminder, you don't have had to experience any of the attractions/experiences to vote! Just read in the info and/or watch the vid,then vote for which you wish you would have experienced more/which sounds cooler!

Videos and propaganda/info dumping under cut

Great Movie Ride: Hollywood Studios/MGM Studios (1989-2017)

Propaganda:

"This ride was SO fun! It was such a great dark ride; all the sets were so detailed and evocative of their movies, especially Alien. When that xenomorph came down, I was always startled, even as an adult, and it flat-out scared me as a kid. Spooky! And the little plot the ride had with the ride being hijacked by a gangster or a western outlaw who then fell victim to their own greed was absolutely delightful. It was such a great show of sets and animatronics, and I miss it so much."

"I genuinely loved this attraction as a weird autistic kid who couldn't really do anything else in Hollywood Studios and I'm really sad to learn that it's gone. I loved the atmosphere and the slow-moving ride vehicles and from what I understand it took a lot of skill to be a host on that ride."

"The animatronics were great for their times. I loved the two different versions of the ride (gangster/Wild West). The cast members were so much fun during the ride. A great tribute to great movies. The rotating props in the line queue was neat too."

"The best 22 minutes in AC on a hot Floridian day that will forever be missed."

"IT WAS SO IMMERSIVE!!! And the guides were apart of the ride and there were 2 different path at one point, the Western or Gangster, and hiding in the animatronics would be a real person and they would take over the ride from the host, then in a later scene in Indiana Jones part, the host would trick them into a "curse" and take the ride back! (just watch the video xD)THEN you went through freaking Oz! There was no ride like it before or after and I will never get over them getting rid of it!"

Maelstrom: Epcot (1988-2014)

Propaganda:

"This ride had everything. Troll animatronics. An off shores oil rig. A waterfall that they tricked you into thinking you were going to go over. Yes it was outdated but it made up for it in charm. Truly an experience the likes of which we’ll never see again in a Disney Park."

"Replaced by Frozen ride despite the culture being the point of epcot, was the highlight of my one trip there and had some super cool sadly retired animatronics"

[blueironywrites]

My fics feel a bit disorganised so this post is as much for me as it is for everyone else.

All my fics are well tagged on AO3, so please read all those tags carefully. The list below is a summary and therefore doesn't include everything.

Happy reading!

-Jaz

WOLFSTAR

Multi-chapter fics:

Mahogany (M): Remus and Sirius are living their dreams. Remus is about to open his own photography studio. Sirius is a successful musician on tour. The two are going to learn that, sometimes, dreams fall apart. A story about love and longing.

Wolfstar are absolutely obsessed with each other. Lots of pining. The hardships of an established relationship. They both need hugs.

The Coffee Shop (PG): A story about love from the eyes of a barista, in six parts.

Meet-cute in a coffee shop. You'll grow to love the barista. Soft, hazy, loving.

Beauty in the Breakdown (M): As James’s best man, Sirius has one task and one task only: make sure the wedding goes ahead without a hitch. Everything is going well. He just has one problem: Remus Lupin, his best friend who he can’t stop thinking about.

Oblivious Sirius. Pining Remus. Himbo James. All-knowing Lily. Dorks in love who don't realise it.

Series:

Bite-sized fics that are a lot of head-canons and small slices of life into what Sirius and Remus's life could (and should) be. Some of it is hurt/comfort, but nothing is overly depressing.

With the exception of the last series which is a fixed number of microfics, all are continuously updated.

Wolfstar One-Shots (PG): Non-magic one-shots, mainly modern AU

Wolfstar at Hogwarts (M): Magical one-shots set at Hogwarts during the Marauders era

Wolfstar Microfics (M): General microfics, mainly head-canons from the Marauders era at Hogwarts

Wolfstar Olympics Microfics (M): 31 microfics specifically for a series of prompts in August 2024 relating to the Olympics, all fics are modern AU

NON-WOLFSTAR

Multi-chapter fics:

Iris (PG): Though their eyes spoke of their different experiences, thoughts and beliefs, the one thing the men in Ginny Weasley’s life could never escape from was their unwavering love for her.

Character study of Ginny who is middle-aged-ish. Each chapter is one significant man in her life. Mix of sad, happy, sweet and hopeful. One of my best works.

Series:

Conviction (M): Two important moments in Teddy and Victoire's relationship, where Teddy is terrified.

Soliloquy (PG): Two significant moments in Sirius and Dorcas's lives.

One-shots:

Acceptance (G): Harry shares a sweet moment with Lily before she gets married.

Breaking Even (PG): Bill loves his siblings. Supposedly. (Bill/OC)

By the Firelight (G): James watches Lily one night in the common room. (James/Lily)

Equilibrium (PG): James and Albus take it upon themselves to make sure Santa knows what they really want for Christmas.

Moving On (G): Ginny makes a decision. (Ginny/Harry, Ginny/Michael)

Paper Cuts (M): Sometimes, the smallest of pains hurt the most. (Ron/Hermione)

Raindrops (M): Charlie says goodbye. (Charlie/OC)

Repentance (M): The final moments of a character in the Final Battle.

Rooftops (PG): George has a moment alone.

Shades of Grey (M): After a strange encounter, Hermione learns from the most unlikely source that, friend or foe, healing is never easy for anyone.(Ron/Hermione)

Such Sweet Sorrow (PG): He had always loved her. Even though she was never his. (Remus/Lily, James/Lily, Remus/Tonks)

The Black Dress (G): While packing to move to a new flat, Cho comes across a black dress that evokes memories she thought she had forgotten. (Cho/OC)

[popculturebuffet]

Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole Review (Comission for Rewandemontay)

Hello all you happy owlet's and it's a happy day as I got another new comission person. Welcome Rewandemontay, sorry this took so long as a back injury, stomach issues and other things have taken a hammer to my productivity. Thankfully we're finally here for another look at a creator I think is talented with a fanbase I think is

It's Zack Snyder's Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hool

Guardians comes to us from Animal Logic, a studio I haven't talked about yet. Their a big time effects studio, first hitting it big with babe, who eventually branched into animation, mostly focusing on photorealistic stuff with the occasinal branch out like the lego movie (which still fit to a degree since they wanted it close to stop motion as possible). As you can see by the ENTIRELY ill fitting poster's tagline, this came on the heels of Happy Feet: that film had been a massive success for Warner Bros and they wanted more, aquiring the ya book series legend of the guardians.

Now picking these books.. wasn't a bad idea. I didn't get a chance to read them before this review, so sadly I can't fully evaluate how this works as an adaptation apart from what I could glean from tv tropes and wikipedia, but the basic concept, an epic fantasy story in an owlcentric world that has the owls still function like owls, use owl terms, and fight like them that dosen't sugarcoat the violence.. is an awesome concept. It was also a noble stab to try and make a film that was just straight up an epic fantasy in animation. There's comedy here and a few bits we'll get to that REALLY smack of 2000's animation, but as far as I can remember it'd been a while since someone had done a full on attempt at an epic fantasy story.

Even Zack Snyder was a good choice. As I said in my watchmen review last year he's not a bad director.. he was just a very bad fit for the DCEU, where he just flat out didn't give a shit about the source material. Here while he changed a lot of shit like dc, it's clear that he at least liked the core idea and really showed some reverance to it.

So why didn't we get an epic lord of the rings style trilogy but with owls? Well simple really: from what I can gleam just from an image search and my own memories.. the film was marketed terribly. Besides the very misleading posters for a film that's main plot kicks off with a child kidnapping and quickly gets into child slavery, facisim, race suprmacists, indocrination, the realities and cost of war and death. There are a lot of deaths.

Advertising wise I remember, as I watched all the cartoon channels back then, it being just kind vauge "It's magical, it has owls and some shit, it's from the people who made happy feet". And as someone who really never liked happy feet, I stayed far away.

So the film didn't do great and while a sequel was hinted at in the film and by Animal Logic, it never happened. What's left is a curious piece of a director's filmography and what might of been a hit with better marketing. So come fly with me under the cut as we swoop in and see what this film is.

The film STARTS well. In a land of owls, and a few other critters, a father tells his children Soren, a kind owl and your standard "hero who dreams of something grand" type, played by Jim Sturgess who also did well with a deconscrution of this sort of roll in across the universe, his jealous , bitter and angry brother Kludd played by Ryan Kwanten and his sweet baby sister Eglatine, of the guardians, great protectors who long ago fought a war against the "Ice Claws", who are never really elaborated on but who the guardians beat. But by this time the guardians are a myth: Soren and his dad (played by HUGO FREAKING WEAVING), believie as does his sister.. but Kludd is steadfast it's not true.

Really the family interplay in this first 15 minutes is well done: Noctus soren's dad is fair, kind and patient with soren and kludd. But we also see WHY Kludd is so resentful: Soren naturally takes to flight better and gets his dad's praise.. while Kludd gets gentle reremands for his overconfidence. His dad means well but in Kludd's eye's he's non supportive and his brother being a natural only widens the gap between the two brothers and sets the stage for the tragedy to come. It's also a nice deconstruction of our main hero having natural talent: ti's great and doe shappen and Soren's inexperince and navitie keep him from being TOO sueish, but to someone who struggles to do the same thing it's easy to resent them even if they did nothing wrong. Soren even tries to help Kludd by using a visulasation trick (I.e. thinking of where your going to land. )

The boys lives are changed forever when they acccidently fall out of their tree and nearly die at some wild animals before being saved/kidnapped by Jatt and Jutt, our standard comic relief villians.. who work a little for me. Their banter is fun, yet it dosen't undercut their menance: in fact the fact they are so goofy while being genuinely threatning and kidnapping children makes them more unsettling. The problem is they just don't really fit into the orginzation their in, the Pure Ones. The Pure Ones are our main antagonists, an owl supremacist group who seek to conquer the world and gladly kidnap children to either indocrinate into soldiers or brainwash into soldiers by "Moonblinking" them (forcing them to stare at the moon till their mind blanks out), which trust me is way more horrific than it sounds. The dead eyes it leaves.. truly haunting.

The Pure Ones were the main antagonists of the books, but are given elments of St Aurelious, another villian faction and the ones who kidnapped Soren and had the whole child kidnapping ring int he book. Honestly this change at least makes sense. If it's a good one I can't say but it seems like st auarelious eventually gets overtaken by the pure ones anyway and the children are never rescued. Combining them if your going to try and make three books into one narrative just makes sense.

IT also allows for them to do the other big change and the one I truly love. Again I can't PURLEY judge it as I haven't read the books but apparentlyt here while eventually the big bad, more on that later, Kludd is also just.. evil. He started evil, he sold soren out to the pure ones outright, he's just bad. THat's it. And that's.. boring. You CAN have a character whose just pure evil, but in this context it's just "okay this guy was just always an asshole. "

Here... we actually see Kludd transform from Raph from the tmnt, angry and feeling his father has favioritism but not being a bad sort, to a throughly loyal solider of a facist and racist movement. The film does a really good job showing HOW these movements slowly indoctrinate people: It starts slowly with them encouraging him to not throw his lot in with Soren with soren bravely defends a fellow prisoner.. and gets sent to pick pelets. They then pit the recurits for the pure ones against each other, both feeding into the pure one's apocalypse-esque survivial of the fittest philosphy and into how these sorts of movements breed obidence rather than unity. The focus is on impressing the leader rather than helping each other. The praise gives him what he wanted, while leaving him blind to the fact he's being brainwashed. It's far more compelling ot see clud slowly slide into an all too familiar sort of trap than just be bad

On the opposite ends the owls dig in pellet. Pellets are one of the few things the film goes out of it's way to explain about owls, the rest left to context clues which can be a touch disorenting at first but honestly the film does such a good job using those clues over time you get what this thing is. With pellet's it'd be a bit harder to do that but they simply had Soren and Klud's sister have her first. For the record their basically hard things owls cough up consiting of the exoskeltons and what have you of whatever they ate. It's as gross ass it sounds. And these pellets contain little magnetic bits, which are used for a giant magnet pit that's used for.. something. What that something is I either miss or simply isn't explained in the film version. It IS used for a trap later, but otherwise there's no clear reason for it. THey just have a spooky magical magnetic vortex.

They use moonblinking as mentioned before, but SOren is able to resist simply by closing his eyes when the guards aren't looking. He helps his new friend, the owl he stood up for, Gylfie (Emily Barclay) also avoid it and promises to break them out.

The two eventually get help from Grimble, one of the guards.. who turns out is working with the pure ones under duress. Their allegedly holding his family hostage but they subtly hint he knows by this point their likely dead or brainwashed, and the pure ones are lying to him. So he helps the two young owls learn to fly so they can escape.

This leads to the climax of our first act: Nyra the queen of the pure ones and their real leader (Her husband Metal Beak, while fierce and horrifying, comes off more as a figure head and battle commander while Nyra does all the actual day to day work), played by of all people HELEN FUCKING MEREN. Who does a phnemominal job, of course she does but in a cast that's mostly mid 2000's stars or unknowns, it's weird to see such a huge name plopped in their. Nyra catches them so Grimble bravely holds her and her soldiers off while the kids escape.. and in a heartbreaking momement Soren and Kludd come to a parting of ways as Kludd refuses to leave with him. It's a tense scene that really pays off all the expert build off: Soren is free and can go get help .. but has lost his brother while Kludd's actions prove him to Nyra.. and she manipulates him into falling futher, pointing out his sister to them. What I like though is while what Kludd's doing at this point is horrible.. in his mind.. he thinks it's a GOOD thing. That his sister will be able to grow stronger find the purpose he did... that he dosen't even realize he's handing his baby sister to a CULT.

So our heroes barely escape and soon meet your usual misfits TM , Digger and Twilight, two rapscalions. They also reunite soren with his nursemade whose also a snake, Mrs. Pthiler.. she sure is in this film. Seroiusly she has no real purpose in the plot after this. She facilitates a chase when some ravens snatch her and waste a good two minutes of film but otherwise she contributes not a lot. And that's a problem the film picks up in the middle stretch: it just starts adding characters. I mean the first act had PLENTY sure, but each had a good purpose and reason for existing. After this point they just keep piling characters in like a clowncar who have little to do but fight some bitches later. Digger himself is more there to play off twilgiht's constant love of making songs by dreading it every time. It works. Twilight gets a pass since he DOES contribute. Also he's awesome, adding a lot of fun and helping the heroes simply because he and his friend are lonely and figure why not come along on a grand adventure.

But after a neat sequence of our heroes actually getting to the great tree of Ga'houl and finding the guardians are entirely real, the film just kinda.. stutters It's pacing isn't bad and there's a really good scene with klud after he took his sister, with her wanting their brothe rback.. and klud later being revealed to have moonblinked her in revenge and as bait.

And that stuttering is due to introducing a LOT of characters at once who were likely either filtered in better in the book or simply got introduced in big scenes like this but got fleshed out. It's a problem with the last act of the film: it tries to cram three books woth of stories (going by the outline) into the film and make it one coherent narrative. It dosen't TOTALLY fail at that, the film is still fun to watch.. but it's biggest weakness is one many adaptations before and after it have: it tries to cram in TOO much into one movie. The film would've worked better had it either been JUST the slave camp, which I admit is a hard sell so I get why, or they'd just adapted two books, having it focus on our heroes trying to get to the guaridans. You coudl've even had kludd and some other goons sent after them, so you stil lget that final battle, just with less clutter. You have to pace yourself.

For a contrast I've been reading Pirates: An adventure with scientests, the book that lead to the movie. And while this book is rather short, the movie simply .. worked with what it had: it shuffles things around a bit to give it a more coherent narrative then ADDS some stuff to make it stronger. You can ADD shit. Or you can take shit from later books and put it front and center. Instead it just feels rushed. Like a complete film but still like a film trying to do too much. As such the guardians leaders feel REALLY underedevleoped> Their a king and queen.. for reasons we never get to. Why are they hiding? Why are they just a myth despite existing in large numbers? It's never actualyl explained. The guardians just.. still exist. We also get sam neil wasted as allomere, a traitirous owl whose sent ot investigate soren's claims. And the scene of Soren presenting his case is really well done, and I like how he makes a good case why this isn't a lie: the guardians were a myth. There's also the fact four owls flew all this way to something they didn't know existed. If soren just wanted to join.. that alone would've been enough to get him enrolled as a trainee. He has no reason to concoct an elaborate, easily disproven lie. I mean he's also supposed to be a kid but he sounds like he's 20.

What also drags it is we just get a LOT of compression: we get a montage set to an owl city song which.. just dosen't work. I do like what i've heard of the band, when can I see you again worked great in wreck it ralph. But a pop song. .just.. dosen't fit into this films world at all. IT'd be like if the battle of helms deep suddenly had the simpsons go calypso kick in

They also introduce a love intrest for soren. She sure does exist.

What keeps the film from falling apart and makes the bits at g'ahoul itself work is one man. My faviorite part of the film and a truly awesome character, Lyze, played maginifacantly by geoffery rush. Lyze is a beat up barn owl, our heroes mentor. We get the only real training bit of the film, again it's mostly done in montage, and one I really like. Shonen Anime quailty training exercise. Lyze takes the cadets (our heroes plus love intrest) flying in the rain. Besides building stamina, a good reason in of itself, it's also to help the cadets trust their gut and get used to flying in conditions where they can't see. We get a beautiful sequence where he has soren fly in a current and soren really makes it work. I tonly fails when he can't figure out wether to trust his gizard, a part of bird anatomy tha tI assume helps with flight and navigation, the latter due to later events, and Lyze explains he needs to trust it. We also find out Lyze, who'd been using another name i'm. .just not bothering with, is Soren's hero.. and Soren finds out from his writings the wars his dad told him as fairy tails were bloodier, rougher and less glorious. Lyze himself gives the best line of the film on the subject as he berates the boy for thinking it was that black and white.

"Well fancy it must be hard meeting your hero and seeing he's real and not a myth. What did you expect, some tyto owl with gleaming armor and battle claws with the moon behind him? Well this is what it looks like when you've actually fought in battle. It's not glorious, it's not beautiful, it's not even heroic. It's merely doing what's right and doing it again and again, even if you someday end up looking like this. " That speech. .is so fucking awesome. It's Lyze making it clear what the reality of Soren's dream is, what fighting the Pure Ones, who turn out to have been one of the guardians enemies, REALLY costs... and making sure the boys knows he has that sacrifice in him. Lyze is harsh with the boy sure.. but it's a harshness that's clearly simply to prevent a young idealistic owl from dying needlessly in battle trying to live up to a person who never existed. He has faith in Soren, he belivies in him, as shown with the training.. he's simply being honest. I also like how they explain why lyze has a diffrent name and why no one else needed this told to them: for the former he simply got tired of his old reputation, and for the latter.. everyone at the tree KNOWS who he is, or like Soren find out eventually. The people who NEED to know so he can add in his expertise or fight when needed know. Lyze is a truly awesome character and a large part of why I want to now read the books to see more of him. It's a shame such a great mentor character is packed into such a dense film but he makes the most of it.

So right after Traitor Mc traitorpants returns with two owletts, including Soren's sister. With the threat now clear and totally not a bad guy leading them back the guardians all head back. Soren WANTS to go to free his brother and get revenge but I like how Lyze handles it: he throws soren a weapon, a claw clove that both sides use as their weapon of choice, and not only does the boy not really manage to lift it but Lyze makes a VERY valid if , unsuprisingly, curt point: Soren is better off here watching his sister than dying needlessly as canon fodder.

Of course as I haven't remotely attempted to hide this is all a trap: an earlier scene showed ja'cuse leading two other owls and the other two were implicitly died at the end of that scene. Nyra just has him killed and the guardians are trapped in the magnet thing Thankfully Eglatine comes out of her moonblink int ime to tell the others she wasn't rescued.. they gave her to him, and our heroes head out. It's here where Twilight shows how awesome he is as , being the older and more experinced oneof the group he holds the fucking line while soren risks life and limb to save the guardians. IT's a really awesome sequence. Soren barely manages to save them, their gizzards fucked up by the machine thing but soon fine enough and our epic final battle ensues. I REALLY love how combat is done in this film: tense, brutal and entirely how an owl presumibly WOULD fight.

So while Lyze and Metal Beak scrap we get the REAL main event, the fight this whole film has built toward: Soren, on his way back from the trap vs an intercepting Klud. Soren is horrified to see what his brother's become and tries in vain to talk some sense into him leading to a tense heartbreaking battle that ends with Soren trying to save Klud's life.. only for Klud to pull a frieza (or anakin given all the fire and the fact that if the series had continued he'd likely be the new metal beak as he picked up the mantle in the books) and try to attack his brother rather than accept help and possible redemption. Klud falls into the flames, though given no body is found he's likely still out there.

Soren then joins the final battle, defeating metal beak in one of the weaker parts of the film. I mean thea ctual defeat, impaling the guy, is fucking horrifying and mostly accidental, and Soren's horror after as Lyze tries to assure him, knowing the boys first kill likely weighs on the poor kid despite being self defense, is well done. I just feel metal beak is only here in this film at all because they felt we needed a final boss.. depsite the fact Klud.. REALLY fits the bill better. We see metal beak once or twice scowling and grimacing and what not , but Kludd is the real emotinal throughline and his tragic turn from gruff owl teen to child soldier is fucking horrifying, while it was never in doubt Nyra was the true force behind both. Not having hER die or be truly defeated, as she retreats after her husband metal beak's death,makes sense as they wanted sequels. But you still coudl've had a final fight with her. I guess it's a reason fo rher to retreat but it just dosen't quite land for me. The ending dosen't either as it's all happy and joyful and I like PARTS OF IT, I like sorent elling his tale to new owlets, just as his father had done for him.. but it feels a bit .. happy given Soren just had to kill for the first time and his brother is either dead or out for his blood. HORAY WE'RE ALL SAFE NO WORRIES EVEN THOUGH EVIL IS OUT THERE AND SOREN JUST KILLED AN OWL. YAYYY.

Overall Legend of the Guardians.. is good. It's not amazing, it has the bits I mentioned holding it back, trying to do way too much in one film instead of pacing itself, which CAN work (see scott pilgrim vs the world which while not a perfecta daptation is still pretty great), it just dosen't for an epic fantasy like this where details are important and build up is key. But there's enough great character stuff, breathtaking animation and top notch voice acting to make the film still a joy to watch and an underated classic. It's the best Zack Snyder film i've seen, and while granted that's a small pool (I've seen watchmen, man of steel , batman v superman and the theatrical cut of justice league) where two of them are infamously terrible and one is just.. eh, it's still a really fantastic film that shows off the man's talent. It makes me optimstic for his film Rebel Moon this year.

For now thought his was a treat. Thanks for reading.

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

@sohereswhatyoumissedlastweek replied to your post “Bro i'll have my own kitchen soon. I don't have to...”:

I need the full story!! I don't think I saw it on my dash

​I only mentioned it in passing while yapping about Kierkegaard's philosophy of hope.

Basically I've been living in this student flat since 2017 and it's fine. I am fine. I got very lucky from the start, since I have my own bathroom, living room and bedroom. All together it's around 23m2, so yeet. Then I share a kitchen, a shared space, a washing machine and a dryer with 5 others. And I never thought I'd move, partially because I was supposed to stop studying in 2023 and you need to be a student to live here. But then after finishing my master's degree I added another 2-year master's degree WHICH I then extended into a 3-year master's degree cause stress (lol) and initially I planned on living the full extra years here as well, since again, this place is fine. The location is great. And it's affordable for this city.

But then last December I met up with my ""sister"" who lives in another student flat of the same organisation and her place is around 10m2 bigger with her own kitchen and only, like, €20 a month more expensive. And my mind started thinking. The reasons I never looked into moving before were a) the aformentioned graduation b) the expenses and c) this current one has a separate bedroom from a living room which gives me so much peace for some reason and I was under the impression this was the only building that offered that (as in, the others offer studios or single rooms).

But a) the aformentioned second master's degree + you can live here for around 9 more months after graduation, b) de kale huur scares people but with huursubsidie it's doable (aka the new apartment is even around €100 a month cheaper!!!) and c) my sister showed that there were more buildings that do this lay-out, but with a kitchen.

So since January I have been reacting on places. It's a lottery system, so completely random. A computer puts all applicants in a queue at random and the one who's placed first gets the offer bla, bla, bla. I have been looking at the building my sister lives in. That is the one I really wanted, but not the one I got. Then there was one on campus, aka my second choice. This one I got was my third choice and there was also a fourth choice that I actually genuinely didn't like so oop. So I've just been reacting weekly and hoping for the best (aka Kierkegaard would fucking hate me).

The fact that I got this one is so fucking wild to me, because literally yesterday I had to be talked out of withdrawing my application. And not only that, but I did this application last-minute. I applied every Wednesday, when the new applications opened. The thing is, a week ago I applied for an apartment at my first choice building, only to find out on Sunday that it's an apartment for disabled students. The whole thing was that there were currently no students needing those accommodations, so non-disabled students could apply, but there would be a clause in the contract that says that the moment a disabled student needs the room, you'd move out with the organisation seeking a new place for you. I didn't like that, so I withdrew and then was wondering if I should either sit this week out or apply for my 3rd choice building.

The reason I was doubting is because, as I mentioned, the applicant who places first gets the offer, but if they decline, the offer goes to the second place, and then third, and then fourth, and then fifth.... and I was no. 4 on an apartment of my first choice AND that ad hasn't finished processing yet after 3 weeks, which means no. 1 and possibly no. 2 rejected the offer. If no. 3 were to reject as well, the apartment would be mine. And I really REALLY wanted that apartment. So I did apply, but as I mentioned, I was this close to withdrawing EVEN THIS MORNING (you can before 11:00), because I was wondering if I should maybe take the chance on it. After all, there was a 3% chance I'd get the current one. And this was my 3rd choice. Monday and Tuesday I basically spent all day writing down the pros of this 3rd choice to convince myself to keep the application going. It's a great neighbourhood. It saves money. It's not 10m2 bigger, but around 7m2 and that's still a lot. I HAVE A BALCONY.

And people told me I needed to keep the application running just in case, because that 3% would still be more likely than 3 people rejecting an apartment, especially since a rejection means you are barred from applying for 10 weeks. AND THOSE PEOPLE WERE RIGHT, CAUSE I GOT THIS ONE.

So yes, it's wild to me that I spent months dutifully applying for my first or second choice (or not applying, if they weren't available) and then the week I apply for my third choice and I go on a rollercoaster of emotions because of it, I get it. I was a bit in a shock, and even though it's my third choice, I am still very, VERY elated. I have accepted the offer. They need to send me the contract and then it's official.

FUCK YOU KIERKEGAARD.

[rainofthetwilight]

"I love her your honor I could ramble nonstop about this girl for days lmao" (<- from ur post abt hoor)

may i request some more rambles about her? :3 it can be literally anything abt her u want, idrc :)

ohhhh casey you don't know what train of thought you just started rn lmao

I hope you enjoy my long rambling abt my blorbo <33

okay, so, she's ambidextrous but has a prefrence for her right hand! she does most things with it, and barely uses her left hand sometimes.

her birthday is on 15th april! I'd say she's around her early-mid twenties in DR, not sure about her and bahr's age yet

compared to bahr, her arabic accent isn't that strong when she speaks ninjargon, meanwhile his accent is strong strong compared to hers

she and bahr lived in the same villiage (which was also the same villiage cole lived in), and they'd spend probably the entire day playing together outside ,but everything got gloomier when he left, which made hoor the saddest she'd ever been, she didn't know where he went either so it was even harder to process

hoor is also a fashion obsesser, and posts alot of her own outfits online and is pretty popular for it! she has alot of hijabs, some she doesn't even use, but she keeps them 'just incase' lol. she really likes styling them in different ways, and each outfit can sometimes get different styles, she gets reallyyy picky when picking colours tho

when she gets bored, she likes to embroider (which she is not quite good at yet) and likes to write!

other than being popular for her outfits, she's actually a journalist too! she has a love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with her studio, the only thing making her job fun being some of her coworkers at that point, but she doesn't hate the job itself at all

she's an absolute sucker for pasta, no matter what kind, she'll eat right away like she hasn't eaten in days 😭 she wishes to one day make some on her own, but with her awful cooking skills she'd probably burn the whole kitchen, she'd just head straight to her mother if she doesn't wanna eat from a restuarant

speaking of that, she lives in an apartment flat that's not so far from her mother's, but close enough so they could be able to visit and see eachother, and to also make sure the other's okay when there's danger. when she first moved in her own apartment, hoor would sometimes stay with her mother for a few days because she didn't like how lonely she felt, she preferred staying with someone than staying alone, so it took a while to get used to (fun fact: hoor's mother's name is tamara :D). hoor also doesn't own a car, but she doesn't see why she should because everything she needs is close to her in the street she lives at (except her studio, which is like, an hour away)

hoor loves to get nicknamed, and her mother knows that well, she calls her "hooriyati" (my freedom), "roh qalby" (soul of my heart), "qalby" (my heart) and every adorable nickname you could think of, bahr would also call her "hoora" or "ruru" as kids, and he still calls her ruru now sometimes

her father, mekawy, had died a few months before her birth, so she didn't know anything about her father other than his pictures and his handwritten notes (some of them being sappy letters that were meant for her mom), she knew he was a good man from the stories her mom would tell her

also, forgot to mention she's another fan of the ninja, and is actually mutuals with cole on chirper! she had the heart attack of her life when he followed her back, it's her biggest flex lmao (she and cole would also speak arabic to eachother in threads and no one would understand what they're saying [and yes, I hc cole as arab, it's real trust me on that 👍])

I think I should stop before this post gets too long lmao 😭 tysm for letting me ramble about my blorbo I love her <333