#eves abstract things.

[nostraightgloops]

I think Yinu is sweet and kind quite often but she does have her chaotic and fussy moments. Very fun to think about it with the personalities that the NSRtists have

[rainydayathogwarts]

No more ink - Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: reader goes undercover for a mission and the team discovers all her tattoos. Tattoos which might be the reason her life ends. sprinkle of spencer x reader. Warning: gore, blood, SA kind of (if you blink you'll miss it), reader is undercover, reader becomes a stripper for like 2 secs.

Staring at the images of several murdered women, all sporting countless tattoos on their bodies, a chill is sent down your spine. What is so fetishising about tattoos? And more importantly, why were all these women so brutally killed after the assault? The uncomfortable silence in the station's big conference room is broken by JJ, who pulls out her phone, stating "Well I'm going to call someone so we can get the tattoos drawn on, Y/N are you sure you're comfortable doing this?" You nodded, adding "Yeah, but there's no need to call anyone."

Your comment had the entire team and police officers in the room looking your way, some confused, many surprised. You glance up at Spencer's reaction, hoping he didn't look disgusted at your confession. Did he dislike women with tattoos? His put together appearance always led you to believing so. "I mean, it's part of the reason I volunteered, I fit the profile the most." And it was true. Many of the women all had the same coloured and textured hair, body type, height and were all littered with tattoos. "How else are we going to get in?" You insisted, all well aware of the gang's strict policy when allowing people into the club. There would be no chance any of your male counterparts would be let in, because only women had ever been targeted by them, and looking between you and the other two women on the team, there was a clear difference between who hit the profile.

"Y/N, I've never seen you with tattoos." Things Morgan out loud, making sure he understood clearly what you meant by fitting the profile best. "People take me more seriously, professionally speaking, when they're hidden." You reply, shrugging your shoulders, which only puts an emphasis on the long sleeved top you're wearing. "Okay wait, just so we're clear here, you mean like you're heavily tatted? Not just one cute little smiley face on your ankle type of tatted?" You chuckle at Emily's small outburst, nodding along with her words. "You know what, why don't I just show you."

You end up revealing yourself to the team a mere hours later, tugging the mini black dress down your body, barely hiding your backside from any onlookers. You step out of the bathroom, basic black heels clicking loudly on the floor, attracting the attention of the team, packing up their things to head down to the van, fully equipped to keep track of you while you're inside. "Okay, I'm ready to go." There's a moment of silence in which the team fully takes in your appearance, or rather your tattoos.

A dark snake slithers up your ankle, and a mysterious year is written in bold above your knee, thigh illustrated with a mysterious design that resembles both stars and a vintage chandelier at once. Your second leg sports several patchwork pieces - an intricate compass and an angel - with two vine leaves curling around your knee, leading up to your thigh where you show off tattoos of a hummingbird and the sun. With your hair pushed back, they have a clear view of the design on your collarbone, dipping slightly into the gap between your breasts, leaving the rest to imagination. Your right arm is covered in a large abstract piece, and when you finally turn around, leaving due to the silence from your teammates, you allow them a perfect view of the wave tattoo on the back of your left arm, looping around your bicep, and a dagger tattoo on the back of your forearm.

Footsteps scurry after you, a soft hand wrapping around your wrist as you begin to leave the police station, pulling you into an empty hallway. Spencer tugs you to face him, eyes filled with worry. "Y/n, are you sure about this?" He whispers, his breath hitting your face with every word he speaks. "I'll be okay Spence." You reassure him, though you're sure he's already profiled you and can sense your nervousness.

In the van, Hotch reminds you of the protocol, securing the microphone into your dress and the clasping the necklace with a hidden camera around your neck, so that he and Garcia can monitor you from outside. They've given you a code word, and secured a silver bracelet around your wrist with a hidden alarm in the gem. Spencer squeezes your hand before you walk out of the van, a safe distance away from the cameras and insists one last time that you can back out any time you want.

You sneak into the hidden alleyway where the club is located, gulping slightly when you spot the bouncer before plastering a fake smile on your face. Everything will be okay, you repeat in your head, calming slightly when the bouncer steps aside for you to walk into a dark room. The door shuts behind you and your breathing quickens slightly, only to realise that the room isn't a room at all, because it's moving and is just an elevator instead. The doors open from behind you, welcoming you into a dark and mysterious, wide room. Red lights are on, and you can spot a stage with two poles, two exotic dancers performing a routine in exact synchrony.

Standing still, you have no idea where to start when a waiter, dressed in a black suit with his hair slicked back appears in front of you. "Champagne?" You nod, taking a glass from the tray not to look suspicious, but don't take a sip from it either. You make your way deeper into the room, swaying your body to the music, scanning the people in the club. For each man, there's at least two women by his side, giggling and brushing up against their arms, pressing kisses where skin is showing. Each woman fits the profile of those who'd been found dead, heavily tatted up, sporting the same features. Women lead men through red curtains, disappearing into different rooms, strutting proudly.

As far as the sex went, it all seemed consensual, meaning they couldn't have been unconscious or drugged before it happened, which completely changed your profile. "What's a sweet girl doing in a place like this all by herself?" You spun around, to face an older man, looking like he was in his late 40's. He sported a grey beard, and had a full head of luscious hair. He wore a crisp black button up with matching black trousers, and you could spot tattoos crawling up his neck and down his hands. "Looking for a man like you." You replied with a smirk, cocking your head to the side. He slid his free hand into yours, leading you into a round booth, where you had a clear view of the rest of the club.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself." You said before he could say anything, pressing your body up against his, and luckily for you, that's what he did. In the meanwhile, you observed the movement in the room, noticing waiters carrying garbage bags or cleaning empty tables. Weird. All the waiters seemed exceptionally muscular, but in a place like this, you would have assumed the waiters would be half naked and, well, women. "You alright, sweetheart?" The man asks, and you nod, smiling up at him sweetly. "I just need to use the bathroom. Do you think you could point me in that direction?" You ask, squeezing your thighs, where his big hand rests.

As soon as he gives you a direction, you hop up, following the first words he's told you 'Walk straight, take a left,' Once you've taken the left, finally out of the man's sight, you begin exploring the halls, becoming gradually more empty the deeper you walk into the club. For every 'private' room, which is only separated from the rest of the club by a curtain, there's a waiter (or rather security guard) standing at the entrance, protecting anyone from entering, or exiting. When you near the end of the hallway, you internally cringe. You had no where to go and a guard protecting the next room to the left. Exhaling, you stopped in front of the guard, looking up at him. "You the dancer?" He asks, and aimlessly, you nod.

You swallow when he steps to the side, letting you into the room. "Cover-up goes in the basket on your left." He instructs, before stepping back out of the room. You take a moment to take in the client, sitting on a red couch with his legs spread, shirt buttoned down all the way to his trousers. What have you done? You turn around, sighing, pulling your black dress over your body, just in time for music to start playing. You spin around, walking over the the man seductively, swaying your hips to the beat of the music until you stop in front of him, placing both hands on his chest. "Oh you're way better than the girl I had last time" The man mutters, groaning as he man spreads even more.

You have a clear view of the tent in his pants but blink a few times, trying to forget its image. Spinning to the music again, you face the wall, eyes glued on where you can see the guard's shoes in front of the curtain as you keep moving to the music. The man's hands settle on your ass, and you let him grope you, shutting your eyes in discomfort, cringing before he turns you to face him. His hands grip your hips instead, pulling you onto him and you follow, straddling his hips while swaying your body. You continue moving until the music dies down, slowing your movements alongside the decreasing volume.

The man puts his hands up, almost defensively, just in time for the guard to come into the room. He doesn't stop walking towards you until he stands right in front of you, and he grabs your arm, leading you to a different door than the one you came through. You try brushing him off you, chest constricting as anxiety builds up in you. "Can I at least have my dress back?" You ask, scoffing as he drags you into an empty room. "Sure, but I'm sure how much it'll do for you now." Instantly, you're pressing down on the gem on your bracelet, heart beginning to race as you look around the small room.

The cracks in the floorboards are stained a red-ish brown, and a single cuff is attached to a wall, where the man is trying to drag you. You recover quickly from you panicky moment, aggressively shoving him off you and bringing a leg up to push him backwards. He staggers back, but recovers quickly, bringing a knife out of his pocket and immediately charging at you. Ducking under his arm, you grab his wrist, trying to wrestle the dagger out of his hand. He stumbles, falling onto the floor, his grip loosening on the knife, which you tug back so hard it bounces back in your direction, cutting a gash through your arm. Just as you take a step forward, getting him whilst he's still down, the door slams open.

"NOBODY MOVE!" Just as you throw your hands up into the air, dropping the dagger onto the floor, a coat is wrapped around your shoulders and you're being pulled into a hug. You freeze for a moment until you smell the familiar essence of dark coffee and vanilla, melting into Spencer's arms as he whispers muffled 'It's okay's soothingly into your hair. Tears unwillingly build up in your eyes and you bring your hands up to grip the bits of Spencer's shirt that stick out from underneath his bulletproof vest.

Slowly, the coat dampens from where you cut yourself, and Spencer quickly realises, removing his arms from around you. "We need to get you to an ambulance." But even as Spencer leads you back outside, still whispering comforting words, that you'll be okay, you know it's not. Because in that moment you silently vow to yourself that you'll never get another tattoo inked into your skin ever again.

[hearts4hughes]

present wrapping - nicholas chavez x fem!reader

holly jolly november

you and nicholas are sitting on the living room floor surrounded by wrapping paper, ribbons, and half-wrapped gifts. nick, looking a bit lost, holds a lumpy, unevenly wrapped box in his hands while you can’t help but laugh.

��okay, so… what exactly is this?” you giggle, pointing at his interestingly wrapped present.

with a sheepish grin on his face, he blushes, “a masterpiece? or maybe an abstract art piece. wrapping paper’s like my worst enemy right now.”

“yeah, i can tell.” you smile as he scratches the back of his neck. “give me that, i’ll teach you.”

half-wrapped present in hand, he shuffles closer to you on the floor. you take the present from him, removing the wrapping paper, and placing it down. as you explain to him the steps of present wrapping, he can’t help but be distracted by how pretty you looked under the christmas lights.

you and nick had always been close friends. you met through a mutual friend and clicked instantly. people joked around calling you platonic soulmates and nick always smiled, internally wishing for more. and now, with your soft voice and stunning face, it was harder for him to hide his feelings.

“earth to nick?” you snap at him and raise your brows. “are you even paying attention?”

he blinks his thoughts out of his eyes and nods. “uh- yeah.”

you roll your eyes with a playful smirk. “well, you better be because i’m making you do it yourself afterwards.”

he chuckled. you were always sassy and sarcastic, two of the many things he loved about you.

“and done!” you held up your perfectly wrapped box with a box fastened on top. “why don’t you try it? just fold and tape, it’s pretty simple.” you say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world as you hand him the roll of tape and wrapping paper.

his mouth is agape at how easy you made it seem. “you mean, try to not tape my fingers to the box?”

“exactly. small goals.” you begin laughing as he manages to tape down the paper without issue. he looks at you with a smug expression, taking pride in how he did the first step.

you watch as he focuses, carefully folding the paper like you showed him, his brows furrowed in concentration. there’s something endearing about how hard he’s trying, and you can’t help but smile.

“not bad… okay, okay, you’re actually doing pretty well,” you say, grinning. “maybe i am a good teacher.”

“or maybe you just have the patience of a saint.” he chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder.

finally, he secures the last piece of tape, then looks at the gift, a bit crooked but charming in its own way.

“there,” he says, looking at you proudly. “what do you think?”

“i think you’re a natural.” you both laugh, the sound warm and easy.

there’s a quiet pause, and you realize how close you’re sitting. the christmas lights cast a soft glow, and for a second, you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

“thanks for helping me… and for putting up with my terrible wrapping skills,” he says softly.

“hey, anytime,” you reply, meeting his gaze, your voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s actually kinda fun.”

a beat of silence falls over the room like snow on christmas eve. the two of you gaze into each others eyes and for a moment, time froze and only the two of you existed. nicholas’s eyes flickered between yours and your lips.

without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle, unexpected kiss that feels like it’s been waiting to happen for a long time. it’s soft, warm, and perfectly timed, just like everything else tonight.

he pulls back with a smile. “sorry, i-”

you interrupt him, “i don’t mind.” your face is flushed with maroon hues. you try to regulate your breathing.

“good, because i’ve been wanting to do that… well, for longer than i’d like to admit.”

you lean into him with a content smile. in that moment, you felt whole. like whatever had been missing inside of you had suddenly been filled. you both let out a small giggle, content with this now cherished moment.

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[zedecksiew]

Monument vs Shrine

In "Replica, Aura, and Late Nationalist Imaginings", the political scientist Benedict Anderson (most famous for his Southeast Asia scholarship and that definitive critique of nationalism, Imagined Communities) muses on the Lincoln memorial:

Within a temple explicitly mimicking "the religious edifices of a safely pagan Greece";

Mazda Corp floodlights designed "to ward off unnatural, indifferent sunlight";

The abstract enshrinements of "Lincoln's memory" in the "hearts of the people", while neither Lincoln's actual remains or any rites for people to perform are present;

The sense that ultimately the most reverential thing to do there is to take photographs.

+

The Lincoln Memorial; the Jefferson memorial next to it; both figures repeated again on Mt Rushmore; both figures repeated ad nauseum on dollar bills.

These monuments are designed to proliferate. Not only must they create a sober, stately experience for the visitor---but they must also do so consistently, because they are built for visitors: the mass audience of the national population.

Otherwise they must be physically replicable: a memorial to a particular national hero, erected in every city.

The very format of monument-building get copied:

Post-colonial countries, in need of new myths, choose to manufacture national cenotaphs of their own, in imitation of Western models.

Malaysia has Putrajaya, a federal capital sprung ex nihilo from palm-oil agricultural land, its buildings all arches and onion domes and imitation arc de triomphes in inhuman scale, its avenues broad and utterly unwalkable in the tropical heat.

+

At such monuments the citizen is cast as tourist.

Of this state-sanctioned object of devotion you are encouraged to take photographs, sell merchandise---ie: continue the process of replication. With every copy nationalism is reified.

God forbid you tweak the official monument with your own meanings, though! While writing this post, I found the following story, from December 2023:

"Lincoln Memorial temporarily closed after being vandalized with 'Free Gaza' graffiti"

+

Anderson's essay cites instances where the personal and irreproducible sneak back into, or leak out from, or vandalise, national monuments:

"Early in the 1910s,"---in Manila's Cementerio del Norte, a municipal cemetery planned by an American urban designer---"a small pantheon was constructed for the interment of Filipino national heroes."

This monument was to emulate the Pantheon in Paris, where "great Frenchmen" of the national canon are memorialised.

But the Filipino version failed.

"Today, hardly anyone in the Philippines is aware of this dilapidated pantheon's existence ... What has happened is that the Filipino Voltaire and Rousseau have managed to escape, summoning devoted, often familial bodysnatchers, to convey them to home-town shrines."

+

Not that the municipal cemetery itself is deserted. Custodians and their families live in the very mausoleums they care for.

Further, Anderson describes All Saints' Eve in the Cementerio del Norte, when thousands pour into its precincts.

But these multitudes adjourn to their own myriad family graves and small ancestral shrines: spending the day with immediate loved ones, "drinking, praying, gambling, making offerings ..."

Most of the Philippines' presidents have mausoleums in Norte, "but no one pays attention to them ... and only their separate descendants come to attend them."

"There is something exhilarating here that one rarely sees in national celebrations, maybe because the structure of the ceremonial is not serial, but entirely cellular."

+

Hometowns re-exerting themselves within the nation; ordinary people scrawling meaning onto the edifices of the uppercase-P People. A multitude of the singular, instead of a single mass.

Despite nationalism's efforts to centralise and clone a national identity, still we mutate, still we bootleg, still we graffiti, becoming once again ourselves.

And---particular to post-colonial societies---in doing so we casually continue the work of liberation, sneaking the idea of freedom away from our own architects and elites and prime ministers, who would seek to seize its meaning for their own purposes.

The churches or mosques or temples to demos that the federal government builds are ours to transform. To take from. To ignore.

"No need. We've got our own shrines at home."

+

National heroes become local saints and slip out of national control.

Does the Filipino government really control the various Rizalista sects? Karpal Singh is now a datuk kong, without his political dynasty's consent.

Across Melaka and Negeri Sembilan there once existed shrines dedicated to Hang Tuah, Malay folk hero, now a powerful figurehead of Malay-Muslim ethno-nationalism.

One such shrine existed at Tanjung Tuan:

With a plain altar---more a porch, really---of poured cement, for folk to leave food offerings;

Sunlight mottled from the surrounding forest, and fluorescent lights from a nearby gazebo;

A large rock, with an indent on its crown, said to be Hang Tuah's actual footprint;

The idea that this was a sacred space, where you could come to ask the spirits of the place for love or children.

The shrine that existed was sited in a forest reserve. It was swept clean of leaves by locals; its adherents belonged to all faiths and ethnicities; following the transactional logic of folk religion, those who had received its blessing would've paid for its maintenance.

+

"Existed".

Because the Religious Department of the State of Melaka destroyed the Hang Tuah shrine sometime in 2022, for the crime of idolatry.

A double heresy. An affront to both orthodox Sunni Islam---

But also to the Malaysian state, that sanctions Sunni Islam as its official religion; whose nationalism requires its mythic hero to have only the attributes and magics the state ulama and historians say he must have---and no others.

Local shrines are destroyed, because the nation-state intuits them to be threats to its exclusive franchise.

+

Image sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_five-dollar_bill https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putrajaya https://www.facebook.com/PilipinasRetrostalgia https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/984521.shtml https://www.facebook.com/PerakPress https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malays_(ethnic_group)

[eepwtf]

HALLOWEEN BOTS ´ཀ`

note: happy halloween!! and oh yeah!! more halloween bots , some of these are inspired by songs some by my brain. i hope you guys like these, i was going to add more but i got lazy 😞, might add more ( i say while knowing i wont )

　

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ kai parker ␥ hallows eve ノ

kai certainly went all out for halloween, decorating the house, and to top it off, he’d given in to your idea of matching costumes. he'd groaned, rolled his eyes, even muttered under his breath when you first suggested it, but somehow here he was, suited up to match. but when it came to candy, there was no compromise. he’d stacked bowls of it on the kitchen counter—no cheap stuff, either. all his favorites, an indulgent stash that he had no plans of sharing with the hordes of trick-or-treaters who might dare to knock. and of course, he dragged you along to sit on the couch and indulge into the horror movie marathon with him.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ kai parker ␥ inside phone calls ノ

phone calls? sure, you’re all for those. phone calls from a smooth-talking stranger, especially late at night? even better. but phone calls from someone who’s also a killer—someone lurking in your house, who’s got a knife with your name on it? that’s where things start to get a little more complicated. but hey, he has a nice voice and you’re oh, so lonely from what kai can tell. and you have a nice body, god, these small blinds from your closet don’t really do justice for what he’s witnessing, but hey, he’ll take a free show of you stripping down anytime.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ klaus mikaelson ␥ perversion 99 ノ

klaus wouldn’t dare call it perverse, not when you were dressed like that. it made sense now, the appeal of halloween, the thrill that had you buzzing with excitement over what he called a silly tradition. but now he was starting to understand. with you wrapped up in this dangerously enticing costume, it was impossible to think straight. the fabric clung to you in all the right places, practically begging for his eyes to linger, his hands to wander. he resisted at first, simply admiring the sight before him, the playful glint in your eyes that dared him to try. but klaus had never been one for restraint. finally, he made his move, fingers inching toward the edge of your costume, ready to pull it from your body like he’d been aching to do since the moment he laid eyes on you. but before he could make any real progress, you somehow managed to get it back up throwing him a half annoyed half amused look.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ elijah mikaelson ␥ halloween cooking mess ノ

if elijah knew better—which he does—he’d think the house had been ambushed by a mischievous child on a halloween sugar rush. the evidence was everywhere, from flour dusting the countertops like a ghostly fog to sprinkles scattered like confetti on the floor. smears of chocolate and icing trailed across the counters, smeared together in abstract, sugary artwork. eijah could hardly tell if they were supposed to be cookies or some strange, deformed creatures. maybe ghosts? or perhaps a very experimental version of pumpkins? but there was something hauntingly charming about the way you'd gone about it. each cookie looked unique, each one a slightly different shape, as if you'd tried to craft them into adorable little halloween creatures but got sidetracked halfway through.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ elijah mikaelson ␥ corpse bride ノ

you looked like you—the same person elijah had married. the familiar silver band on your finger testified to that, grounding him in the reality that you were, in fact, standing before him. but somehow, you were not you. there was an emptiness in your gaze, a hollowed, distant glint that robbed your eyes of their former light. a subtle, unsettling scent clung to you, something acrid and faintly metallic, laced with an unmistakable trace of decay. yet, you held onto him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. it was as though your fractured mind could recall only him—a beacon in the fog of your shattered recollections.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ dean winchester ␥ mx sinister ノ

halloween parties weren’t his thing—too much noise, too many people—but this one came with a purpose. somewhere inside was a demon, feeding off the energy of the oblivious crowd. at least he could enjoy some things, like the candy—and the costumes, or lack thereof. he could easily get used to this part of the job. he even let a smirk creep onto his face when he saw a woman pass by in a devil costume that was more suggestive than sinister. it was easy to let his mind wander, just for a second. then, you appeared out of the crowd. dean’s gaze fixed on you, and his entire focus shifted. you wore a costume that was… well, maybe ‘costume’ wasn’t the right word. it was as much about what you weren’t wearing, as what you were. maybe the demon would just have to wait for a while, at least until he could charm that costume off you.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ dean winchester ␥ teenage neceophillian love ノ

dead and okay, maybe somewhat hot? not deans type, at least that’s what he told himself. but when it came to you… well, those thoughts made it difficult. watching you bloody with sharp fangs, he should’ve just killed you, like countless others. yet, he stood there, cleaning up your mess, wiping the crimson off your mouth. the rational part of him, buried under the weight of his desire, reminded him that he was supposed to be the hunter here. he was supposed to kill creatures like you—mercilessly, without hesitation. and yet, here he was, staring at you like he was under some spell, some inexplicable fascination that kept him tethered to this moment, unable—or unwilling—to break free.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ sam winchester ␥ 13 jack o’ lanterns ノ

sam knew, from the moment he saw halloween decorations creeping out of every corner, that there was no escape. you’d gone all-out this year, like a fiend possessed by the halloween spirit, turning your home into a spooky paradise. every inch of the house was draped in something ghostly or ghoulish. he had to admit, it was… impressive, in a way only you could pull off. now, here he was, seated with a carving knife in hand, elbows-deep in pumpkin guts, his own attempt looking a little… well, wonky.

𓉸 　 　 　╰ ﹒ tom hanniger ␥ from your windowsill ノ

it started off small, like most crushes do, tom thought it was normal. watching you from afar, taking in how you seemed so blissfully unaware of the green eyes following your every move. but small things have a habit of growing when you let them fester, and suddenly being too far away from you was not enough, now being able to see you this close—well, as close as he can from your windowsill of course. he was content, if only for a moment.

𓉸 　 　 　　 　╰ ﹒ stiles stilinski ␥ claws and fangs ノ

vampires and werewolves don’t mix. it’s practically written into the dna of supernatural lore, and stiles finds himself agreeing with every ancient text about it. because—god—you reek. normally, he wouldn’t tolerate your presence, not in a million years, but here he is. side by side with you, wedged into the garish, pulsing chaos of a halloween party that’s far more “over the top” than he would have ever chosen for himself. stiles finds the whole scene obnoxious, crowded with fake vampires and cheap costumes. maybe he hated the idea of vampires and werewolves mixing. maybe your scent was like nails on a chalkboard to him. but here he was, next to you, the one part of the party he was more willing to tolerate than he’d ever admit.

𓉸 　 　 　　 　　╰ ﹒ stiles stilinski ␥ the dead don’t rise ノ

it was a simple law of nature—one everyone knew and respected. the dead were supposed to stay dead, unmoving, silent, absent from the world of the living. but apparently, those assumptions didn’t apply to you. not that stiles was complaining, in fact he was utterly captivated by you. teaching you how to function again, it was amusing, how you would just stare and groan trying to mimic him.

𓉸 　 　 　　 　　　 　╰ ﹒ jennifer check ␥ pale skin , sharp fangs ノ

you were absolutely her favorite, jennifer had come to realize. once she noticed how similar you two were, sure, there was some differences between the two of you. one being well, she was a succubus and you were a vampire. and once the two of you got hungry? that was where the magic began. her gaze would fixate on the moment your fangs descended, gleaming dangerously as you closed in on your prey. you were intoxicating, an unholy vision with blood smeared against your lips, that crimson stain slipping down your chin like some twisted homage to the life you took. and fuck, did she want it to be her. she fantasized about the rough scrape of your fangs against her skin, the pinpoint sharpness pressing just beneath her pulse.

𓉸 　 　 　　 　　　 　╰ ﹒ billy and stu ␥ smile pretty f’me ノ

billy and stu were always up to something, a pair of wolves with an eye for danger—and an even sharper eye for you. it wasn't that you were naive; you were aware, acutely so. you knew what they wanted every time their eyes raked you, and well… you knew how to put on a show. that’s what made it fun. halloween night brought it to a head. the boys, true to their dramatic flair, arrived with a surprise. bringing vhs camera along to record them having fun with you, it was all harmless after all. you just happen to be their star for tonight, and all they wanted was for you to smile pretty for them.

[cowgirlcherrie]

georgia canned peaches — ⋆｡°✩ 🐎 cowboy! ellie

pairing: cowboy! hitwoman! ellie x black! fem! reader. wc: 5.0K

synopsis: on the run was Tennessee’s peach, who trades a life of discomfort for security with a Texan stranger

warnings: 18+, MDNI! mommy issues, slight religious trauma if you squint, heavy touching, ellie has an accent, mentions of death and loneliness, heavily inspired by Bones and All ( minus the c*nnibalism and gore), dom! ellie, domestic! ellie, heavy use of petnames (peach, sweetness, sugar, doll), stranger danger lowkk…, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, mentions of weapons, killing, black feminine coded reader, running away, taking care of injuries, injured ellie (so mention of blood, bleeding),

━━━ ♪ peach & georgia by kevin abstract

a/n: heyy everyone!! here's a quick lengthy one-shot for cowboy-ish Ellie! if you enjoy it babis my ask button is open and I'm always accepting requests if you want headcanons, etc, but enjoy!! ⊹˚. ♡⊹˚. ♡

✧˖°.

Mama didn’t raise no bitch! Or a conniving little thief either. 

You tested that theory. Your hands became sticky with anything remotely flashy. Perhaps that was how you found out how to survive on your own. Times like this you wondered where you would be if your mama had just been a perfect Mary Sue. Made dinner, taught you how to wash your clothes and braid your hair, tucked you in at night, and just maybe taught you how to be better than a man. But now you were alone, in the hot Texan heat, and it felt like a smack to the face. Similar to her handprint the night she let you loose and hissed that you are on your own. You didn’t wanna cover the bills anymore or hear her bullcrap about how it was Adam and Eve — not Eve and Eve. You grew tired, and so did your feet that seemed to get you as far as you were now. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to smash your piggy bank taking the $500 dollars you spent bussing tables to go and a messenger duffle that could fit 3 heads. No plan either, which was significantly negligent, but your sticky fingers got you farther than you ever could, and they made sure you were fed. 

That would explain why you were stealing in a gas station grocery. Crouched by the nonperishables stuffing anything and everything into the duffle bag. Georgia peaches, check. Canned pineapple, check. Dried beans and nuts, double-check. You weren’t exactly careful, but the place loomed with unfamiliar faces who certainly were too full of themselves to stop you. So you kept going, a first aid kit for the bruises that were forming on your knees and sewing material to fix the rip in your jacket. Well not your jacket, but your dad's jacket. Brown thick cotton over your shoulders to cover the long dress you were in, it was a smart decision. The jacket kept you warm on the desert nights, and it made home in your hands during the day. The little pockets are perfect for stuffing loads of crap you don’t need. With the crack of another can hitting the floor, it paralleled a shiny brown boot. Drenched in leather and gold detailing as it smacked the tile. Left foot – right foot – left again. Your eyes followed the trail of feet, ignoring the can that rolled away from you as a hand reached down to pick it up. A roughened, bloody, feminine freckled hand. Now the mystery girl was looming over your figure, in an authoritative stance, as if her ego had been bigger than her height itself. But she was also bleeding. Her right arm clenched to her hip as blood seeped between her fingers. 

“Yers’ drop somethin’ peach?” The accent sent a shiver up your spine. It was thick and unfamiliar but maybe the word peach, at the end masked her roughness. You now made eye contact with the girl, green eyes looming into yours as you shakily took the can of peaches.

“M’sorry that was my bad,” you mumbled taking the peaches back and tucking them into your chest. You couldn’t slip it back into your bag now, next thing you know she would yell THIEF! and drag you by your collar to the front counter. But the woman was in such poor shape to do so, her freckled face wincing ever so slightly with every movement her body made. She was a cowgirl, you’ve heard all about them in the papers but didn’t take them for the real deal. Her hat told you all you need to know, brown to match her thick belt and blue bell bottoms. Oh, she was the real deal.

“Could ya be a doll n’ grab me a kit” The woman groaned out, pushing her body weight in front of you. Her standing position contrasted yours that was crouched down, at eye level with the material. “You’s a real catch ya know? Put the peaches back in. I know you were stealin’” This made you freeze. Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Your brain shouted you were screwed.

Your hands now moved slower reaching for the kit in front of you, and you suddenly realized how overly close the woman was to you. Almost blocking your field of vision from anything to your left. You ignored her statement, as you shakily lifted the first aid kit to her hands. 

“Peach…you are a delight, but now you listen,” The woman didn’t take the kit, “A camera has been pointed at ya for the past 5, and now you got Tina’ at counter watchin’ ya. You are gonna live up to bein’ delightful and pay for this one thing” The woman was scrounging in her pocket and you took the moment of silence to think to yourself, you had barely any money. $500 was something you needed to make stretch.

“What?”

“I don’ take you for a fool, I’m Ellie, and I mean no harm.” Ellie took off her hat placing it over the left side of her chest at her heart, giving you a simple nod before putting the dusted brown hat back on her head. Ellie this time put a stained $10 bill on top of the first aid kit that had been suspended in the air by your hand. This action made you stand up – eye level with this time. Noticed the girl has a height to her, her figure looming over you as you stood.

“Give me the bag [what?] your bag sweetness! we don’t got all day, dammit I’m hurt” Ellie stated bluntly. There was no more time for jokes or stealing any more Georgia canned peaches. There were better things to worry about. Like the fact that you can go to jail for stealing and Ellie who was bleeding out in front of you. You slid your brown bag off your shoulder handing it to Ellie who swung it over her left shoulder. 

“Go see Tina with ‘er blonde hair, act sweet, say your visitin’ family. If they ask, say the Williams Ranch, she’ll give you no hard time” Ellie started as she was giving you instructions, “When ya finish, keep the change, meet me at my car I’ll be outside. You get your bag – I fix my wound, and you get the fuck outta town.” Ellie finished. This time her look was stern, and aggressive as if she was testing you. Testing your loyalty, your honesty, your act. She wanted to see how you worked under pressure, she wanted you to suffocate from fear. All you could do is nod, swallowing harshly, as Ellie turned her body walking down the Isle to your left.

You took the initiative to make your way to ‘Tina’. Ellie was right, the blonde had been suspicious of you. Asked you all the questions that Ellie said she would, but she backed off once you mentioned the Williams Ranch. Handing you the exact change of 0.50 cents and a hospitable smile, saying “Have a great day.” Tina’s defensiveness changed with one simple title. This made you wonder how much authority Ellie had over the place, questions flooding through your brain as you pushed the door and walked out, being met with the setting sun.

The sun was getting low, and there wouldn’t be a motel for another mile out. Sure you could do the walk but you weren’t guaranteed anything. A whistle brought you out of your trance, belonging to Ellie who this time had a toothpick between her cushioned pink lips, as her body leaned against a ran down red car, with muddied wheels. You jogged over this time seeing that your bag was missing from her shoulders rather this time in the passenger seat of her car. 

“Here you go, what you asked.” You pushed the first aid kit into her hands like you’d done back in the store. Ellie mumbled a thank you, as she nibbled on the toothpick. This time, taking the kit and putting it on the hood of the car. 

“Yous’ as quiet as a mouse, but orders ya take well…Peach could you help me patch up, I ensure you a place to stay and food in return – all comfort no lies…” It took you time to think about it. What did people call this…southern hospitality? She was sweet to you despite not really knowing you but the situation was still tit for tat. You do for me, I do for you. Wax on, Wax off. You weren’t gonna say no to a place to crash, where you didn’t have to worry about the faucet being broken or water barely coming out because the bill wasn’t paid. You were certain her bills were paid. 

“Yes, please…uh thank you!” You exclaimed as you began to dig through the box, taking out a bottle of water from your coat pocket, also stolen using it as a hand wash and something to clean the area, temporarily where the wound is. “doncha thank me just yet, you’re just getting started, peach.”

 Ellie was surprisingly still gentle with you, taking her time to crouch into the backseat of the car, while you sat next to her with the kit on the center console. Ellie took her time to untuck the white button-down shirt, as her hands shakily fiddled with the buttons. Due time, her snail speed started to irritate you making you smack her hands away doing it yourself. The exchange was silent, but you preferred it to keep the awkwardness at bay. Ellie shook off her white button down, leaving her in a white tank top — Ellie this time took the initiative to roll the tank top up to right below her boobs allowing you to wince at the large gash on her hip.

“Holy Sh—”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Not my first Rodeo” Ellie continued as you poured water on the wound making Ellie grit her teeth. Tilting her head back as whimpers left her mouth at the sudden coldness. All of it was hard to do when you’re in the back of a car trying to patch up a borderline dead woman. But before you could ask any questions, Ellie took the initiative to do it herself. 

“W-Where you headed, whats yer’ story?” Ellie grimaced through the pain as she held her head against the headrest, pants escaping her lips at an alarming rate. “God…I’m sorry,” You hesitated, you couldn’t even answer one simple question, your hands shaking at the blood that was covering your hands as it just wasn’t slowing down.

“Jeez– I hope a lil’ blood don’t scare you peach, I woulda done it myself baby,” Ellie hissed, trying to stay moderately sweet as she was now gripping onto the door handle, her right hand finding its way to your thigh, squeezing for the endless support. That’s when you noticed her tattoo, a death’s-head hawkmoth, and vines. Beautiful, yet chaotic, she had a story. Ellie squeezed again your thigh again making you look back at her. “Eyes up here baby [sorry] where [shit] ya’ from?” You couldn’t lie, the rifle at the back of her car taunting you. If she wanted to kill you she certainly would have done it by now. She wasn’t a threat, and she proved that in the store.

“I’m from Tennessee, I’ve been traveling on foot. I’m runnin’ away” You confessed as Ellie nodded her head in response, Your accent was slight, barely noticeable making more sense in Ellie’s head at why you struck her as different. Your beautiful brown skin glowing under the setting sun, you were a beauty to her. “Figured, how old?” Ellie questioned as you continued to stay frozen, eyes on her face to continue the conversation. “21” Ellie nodded again. 

“Thought so, 22” Ellie responded. There it was again, the tit for tat. 

“You seem like a good girl, far away from home aren’t cha. What’s wrong with yer family? Perhaps your mama?” Ellie tilted her head watching as your face transitioned from bliss and tranquility to fear and panic. She knew she struck a nerve, your mama was the problem. She didn’t wanna pressure you, hell it didn’t matter now. You were on your own, like a scared little lamb that has been deterred from its family. Possibly you were the black sheep, different from the rest. Ellie, once again, didn’t wanna pressure you. 

“You look like you need someone to take care of ya, don’t worry Peach I’ll take care of you” Ellie whispered, her voice all velvety like icing a chocolate cake. Smooth and sweet with care and caress. Ellie was unlike others you’ve met. Or any ex-lover you had. This time you weren’t afraid to let her in or take care of you. Hell you wanted that, you’ve been craving it for all years of your life while you had to do it for others. Maybe it was time someone exchanged the favor. The good karma bell rang in your ears, as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Make sure you cared for, if you let me” Ellie whispered some more, her hands this time traveling to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze, to which you could only hum in response. She was a charmer and knew all the right words to get you sunken in with her. Mama always said to not trust strangers, but why didn’t she feel like one? Her scent was intoxicating all you wanted to do was lean down and sink your pointed fangs into her shoulder, hearing her cry of satisfaction while she continued to call you Peach. Peach…Peach…Peach. You liked that name, no one called you that but considering that's what she handed you when you first spoke, it didn’t run as a surprise. 

Ellie squeezed, “Words, sweetness?”

“Yes” you squeaked, which probably sounded oddly sexual now that you thought about it. Unholy thoughts plague your brain at the sight of the Texas beauty in front of you. Realizing your task still was unfinished you got back to work. Hands working fast as you took your time, threading the suture thread through the needle as it came in contact with the flesh that was Ellie’s loose and separated skin.

Ellie wincing as you dug the needle in, and back out with an exhale. It was a semi-shitty stitching job, but you were able to tightly close the wound and stop the bleeding. Ellie didn’t speak, considering she’d risk completely yelling every curse word and potentially scaring you off, she settled on biting the hem of her tank top instead. Thick black lashes coated with tears at the sudden pain and blood crust. You were gentle though, Ellie caressing your waist as you put down a gauze pad, followed by wrapping it with the gauze roll and securing it with the adhesive tape. Patting to let her know that you were finished. 

“Yer’ such a good girl you know?” Ellie cooed as her hands found their way up to your braids, bringing your head down so she can give a chaste kiss to your head. Right…Right… Southern Hospitality. The feeling almost made you cry. Praise, followed up with affection? Like nothing you have felt before – hell you only thought they did that in movies. Ellie, however, was like a movie. Purley a fever dream, you were scared to fall asleep, what if you imagined the whole thing? You were enjoying your runaway escapades too much for it all to be fake. 

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Ellie gave a smile, making her way out of the back, suggesting that you do the same. So much for not trusting strangers.

✧˖°.

Father, Forgive me for I have sinned… it was blurry 

As we forgive our trespassers…still blurry

Trespassers…clear

You were a trespasser, is what you were getting from Ellie’s narration. Over the 30-minute car ride to her Farmhouse, Ellie explained to you the whole ordeal. Her cowboy hat was on your head as you listened to her tell narration of the cowboys' sealant for the townspeople. Why Tina, at the gas station tried to make you a friend. This Texan desert, farmland was constructed with the passage that cowboys and cowboy decedents protect the townspeople from narcs and trespassers, which in this case you could have been either. Debunked neither. It was one of those towns that people suggest you pass, hell probably inquire why it's still on the fucking map.

Ellie confessed that she was also a trespasser, just like you. Taken in by her late found father Joel who showed her how to run the rodeo. How Millers Ranch, became Williams Ranch. It was impressive, your eyes gleaming with admiration. Then it hit you, why she had the shotgun she did bounties on narcs, drug smugglers, the whole ordeal. People who came in to steal, wreak havoc, and destroy the peace. She was the town's grim reaper. She was the one who knocks. You felt faint, as the realization knocked into you like a brick. Nothing was truly sweet about her, that accent was to mask how with one click she’ll hunt like they were rabbits. You were trapped in her cage.

Upon arriving at her farmhouse which was large enough for more than one, it made you sad to see. She was alone, by herself. No wonder it was easy for her to drag you into her company, human interaction seemed obsolete out here. A dim light shown from what you assumed to be the horse stable, that was rather quiet as the nightfall had put you at ease. You held your jacket to your body tighter at the sudden gust of wind, hearing the weeds brush against each other — almost screaming in the wind. You held tightly onto your bag while Ellie limped past you, with the white button-down rested over one shoulder. Fiddling with the keys in her pocket. 

“Shoes off at the door, watch your step,” Ellie spoke up as she opened the door, you were hit with the sudden aroma, it smelled like fresh wood, pine, and just a hint of freshly baked cookies. It was how you pictured going to visit your grandmothers to be. Warm and welcoming. Complying with her wishes, you took your boots off, leaving you in mix-matched socks with funky designs that you have bought out of quirkiness. Ellie found this amusing. White ones to contrast your colors, the two of you had a lot of differences. But for the lack of similarities came an understanding. A mutual grounding between the two of you. A grey area. Ellie was behind you this time, taking her hat off your head, hooking it onto the wall, your thick jacket as well, and placing it on the hook beneath it. 

“Welcome, home” 

Now that made your stomach curl, you didn’t know what home is, besides yourself and your belongings. Attaching your home to people, not places. It was a wave of worry and fear that hit you. Your feet stuck as it felt like someone took a hammer and nailed your feed to the wooden floors. It was lively and well-decorated for someone that lived alone. Breaking free from your sinking feet you started to observe the living space. There was art, tones of it, stumbling across a photo in the bookcase of a much younger Ellie and an older man with salt and pepper hair who you had presumed to be Joel. The name fit his face well, A small smile creeping up to your face at the closeness of the two. Ellie seemed happy – carefree now that you look at her, that happiness seemed sucked away from her life, she didn’t smile quite like that anymore. Not until you cracked jokes in her car and made her laugh.

“Ya thirsty peach?” Ellie questioned her voice coming out muffled as her figure was far away in the kitchen area, hearing as the refrigerator closed. “I’m good, thank you though.” You put the photo back where you found it, following the trail of her voice. She was very trusting for a stranger, you were already infatuated with the woman, yearning for more. Yearning for her to give you a taste or perhaps a touch. Now you were sitting on her marble countertop, placed there by Ellie as she moved quickly around the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water from the glass pitcher, drowning it all in one go. She wiped the falling water around her mouth with the back of her arm eyeing you in the process, Ellie laughed. You knew her for a short amount of time, but long enough to know that laughter from her was rare – take it as a compliment, you thought. 

Ellie made her way over to you, her hands now on your knees, moving them further apart as she pushed her body in between her legs. Her arms resting on the counter space behind you,  trapping you in her arms.

“Mama didn’t teach you no good...to trust strangers? Oh…Babygirl you’re dangerous” Ellie scolded, laughing as you give the girl a doe-eyed look – your hands finding a  home on her arms. Wrapping your hands around her biceps, as your thumb move up, down, and in a circle. 

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you already would have done so.” You mumbled as Ellie’s face got a lot closer to yours now. You can see the freckles that decorated her cheeks, her hydrated pink lips from the water she just had, the slit in her eyebrow, and her eyes. The piercing green forest that was her eyes, but it was beautiful, reminded you of the trees that you had seen when you walked. The storm that was your life, before Ellie became your superhero, the knight in shining armor. She saved you, and you owed her big time.

“Bingo! I know you smart peach, and that’s why imma tell you once, listen t’me real good.” Ellie specified, bringing one arm up to grip your chin gently, not allowing you to look anywhere else but herself. Ellie seemed possessive, maybe she lost too many people or her lack of social interaction but she didn’t want to let you go, and you could tell. She needed you just as much as you needed her, a packaged deal.

“You don’ trust nobody that ain’t me.” Ellie began, “Someone’s overly nice to ya’ you tell me. Mean? You fuckin’ tell me. Both don’t fly with me baby, if it ain't from me” Ellie finished, letting go of your jaw to which you nodded. Ellie was a fuckin’ force to be reckoned with, It was like digging into a mystery box, you were unsure of the flavors and layers she had to herself. Hell, she could be manipulating you and you wouldn’t even notice. Hospitality for comfort or comfort for hospitality, it all looked the same.

“Ay Ay, captain!” You playfully military saluted the girl, making Ellie roll her eyes at your statement, you were exceptionally fun. Which Ellie didn’t have anymore...fun. If you classify a night at Typsy Bison as fun then so be it. “You hungry? I can run you a shower before you eat – it’s leftovers if that's alright with yourself?” Ellie questioned and that’s when it hit you, you’ve been traveling afoot all day, and the thought of even having a meal slipped your mind, but you were famished, stomach lightly growling at the mention of the word food.

“I could use food, yeah — as long as there’s no cheese.” You challenge making Ellie back away this time as she took out a glass plate, a fork, and a knife. “No cheese sugar, but something to get you settled – I always have dessert peach if you want that instead?” Now you felt like a kid in a candy store. Dessert was a rarity and boy did it sound delightful right now. Ellie smiled as she watched the way your eyes gleamed at the mention of dessert.

“Got a sweet tooth huh?” Ellie smiled, making you laugh in return. You did have a sweet tooth, anything sweet was enough to bring a smile to your face. That’s why you had a love for canned peaches. The taste reminded you of peach pie that you would get at the diner as you worked a closing shift. Sitting at a booth as you devoured a piece of peach pie, it was heated, like a warm hug in the winter. You cried every time you had a piece. It reminded you of all the good things in life – like how good your mother could be. 

“I hope you have pie” you pleaded, making Ellie nod her head. “You aren’t pressin’ yer luck! I got an apple pie from a good friend of mine, I think you’ll love it – not too sweet, but fillin’” Ellie smirks in satisfaction as she placed one hand on her hip. 

“Let’s run’ya a shower” 

✧˖°.

How were you supposed to explain to Ellie why you were crying? Pajamas that you stored in your bag resting on your body as the matching white tank top and light blue shorts attached to your frame — you just had the best shower you’ve ever had in a while. Not only was the water hot, but it didn’t cut out every five minutes, and the faucet wasn’t leaking, everything was comfortable, perfect. Ellie herself took the time you were in the shower to clean up herself, now in different clothing —  a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that clung to her body nicely. The two of you sitting at the dining table as Ellie watched you eat the warmed pie, a tear fell from your eye with swiftness. Ellie’s gentle gaze transitioned into confusion and eventually fear as she watched you cry. 

“Oh god, wait!... I’m sorry” you laughed in between sniffles, taking the back of your hand to rub your face.

“Jeez, I thought I did somethin’ sugar” Ellie exaggerated holding her hand over her heart as if someone pierced an arrow through it. Now it was your turn to reveal your story, like how you cried every time you ate pie, specifically with peaches. It made Ellie give a small grin. Feeling as though she did something right in her life where she wasn’t playing god,  It was wholesome that’s for sure. The redhead found it odd, but it was a sweet moment and she understood it. Ellie’s smile fell when she noticed the clock behind your head striking 10:30pm making her frown. The good times she was having at the moment were coming to an end, for both her and yourself. 

“You go’n watch the tv til your tired, I have some business to take care of before tomorrow” Ellie didn’t wanna scare you, her business was taking the grey cloth, as she wiped down her guns and reloaded them for tomorrow. She didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.  

“Can you watch it with me?” You inquired, ignoring the part where she said she had business. 

“I’m cleaning guns.”

“So? You don’t scare me cowgirl” You wiggled your eyebrows as Ellie snatched the empty plate from your hands, placing it in the sink as she let the sponge soap up to wash the plate clean with hot water.

“Fine. I see you jump – I’m goin’ to another room, I don’t mix business with pleasure” Ellie confessed as she was less focused on you this time. You chose this time to leave the dining area, entering the living room as you hit the squared television's 'ON' button. It was small and run down, similar to the one at your moms before you left. You pulled at the antenna to catch a signal. The static glitching before on came Looney Tunes. You enjoyed the show finding amusement in the animals chasing each other and the crescendo of the music at all the right moments, it was comical and amusing. You spread your body out on the couch, laying on your side as you watched the television in silence, laughing every few minutes at something that you found funny. Ellie walked into the room with a black box and 3 guns in her hand. The redhead gently settled down the weaponry, being careful not to startle you, as she slipped into the seat on the far left — your legs now found a home in her lap, Ellie gently sending a rub at your legs. If someone walked right in, they would assume the two of you were probably married for some years now. 

“This okay?” Ellie whispered as you mumbled a “yes” while your focus was still not on her. Ellie could see that you were getting tired, the way your eyes were low, and your breathing slowed down. You were at peace with yourself and with Ellie, this was one of the times when the silence was okay, a mutual serenity, and understanding — everyone was mindful of each other and it was pure love and bliss.

Ellie eyed your figure as your eyes fluttered shut, this time you were sleeping, fully this time letting yourself melt into the softness of the couch as Ellie reached over to her left to grab the blanket and drape it over your sleeping figure. This was also the time she finally got started on cleaning her guns, knowing that you were relaxed and cared for. Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing, She felt vulnerable and that was rare, but she was doing what she said she would. Taking care of you, like you were taking care of her. You saved her life, and she saved yours, tit for tat.

Ellie in this moment craved nothing more than your lips on hers, perhaps your teeth to graze her flesh, biting…hard into her – wanting to connect and morph bodies. She craved for your love and your intimacy, she wanted you to love her bones and all. Ellie wanted you to love her past, her insecurities, her mistakes, and her wrongs. You were too good for her, she knew it, but there was nothing a sweet peach like you couldn’t fix. 

[bluebayousblog]

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 17)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: Christmas Eve night

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART SIXTEEN

Drew had never been perceptive of his emotions that weren’t obvious and easy to identify, and he was never ready to internalize the big emotions—the ones such as fear or grief—until it was too late to stop the feelings from infiltrating his mind and body. He’d been that way all of his life, and age had done nothing to change that. It was sort of like getting hit with a wall bricks, and not registering until the feeling of the harsh solid is piercing, scratching, and abusing your skin. And the breath is knocked out of you.

Drew reluctantly pulled his lips away from Isobel’s only to suck in one gust of air before reconnecting their lips once more. This kiss was different than the ones before, but this one, just like the others, fueled that foreign feeling he felt deep inside his chest for Isobel. It felt like he was somehow getting closer and in that moment he realized on a tipping scale of how close he could get to Isobel whether it was intimately or emotionally, he’d barely brushed the surface.

They fought for the first time as two people who were intimately involved. It was dramatic and tumultuous and everything he tried to avoid when it came to other women he’d been with before, but he would do it again if the person he was fighting for was Isobel. If having to experience that new found fear of possibly losing her meant he got to have her in his embrace after it all mellowed out. Because like the kiss, just simply having her in his arms again felt better than it ever has before.

Isobel felt so good in his hands he couldn’t help the groans of satisfaction rumbling in his throat from just running them across her thighs and over her silk pajamas that were driving him insane. “Show me your little outfit, baby.” Drew mumbled in her ear while grabbing a handful of her ass causing her mouth to fall agape against his cheek before slipping from under her and tossing her gently onto the center of the bed. Drew stood there as his eyes roam over every inch of her body. He absolutely could not figure out how someone could look so adorable yet sexy all at the same time, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She grinned up at him, baring all of her pretty white teeth and he melted at the sight. That toothy smile alone always knocked the breath out of him, even before that day in her apartment.

He’d been such an asshole earlier in the day to her and now he couldn’t imagine how he could ever say the things he did to the same sweet girl lying before him. It actually made him sick to the think about, so he backed away and twisted away from her. She told him the last thing she wanted was any of their parents finding out about them, and when she reacted like she deserved to he couldn’t handle it.

“Drew what are you doing?” Isobel asked with her eyebrows furrowed in concern. She saw something pass over his blue eyes before he turned around, how whatever it was that dawned on him happened as he was gazing at her.

Isobel and Drew weren’t the same and the mental voice inside of her told her that’s why they were good together. Drew let her walk away from him the previous night for his own reasonings they had yet to discuss. Isobel, on the other had, never let him get away from her without a fight whether it was something as little as him trying to pump the breaks on a heated kiss or something such as this moment where she could tell he was second guessing everything between them.

“You said you couldn’t do this.” Drew motioned his pointer finger between the two of them after he turned back towards her where she was now sitting up, “I need to give you space-”

“I don’t want space, Drew.” She interrupted, her voice was full of varying emotion. She usually hated it—how her voice betrayed her and revealed what she was truly feeling inside—but she didn’t hate it when it came to him. Because it gave opportunity for her to see that Drew really did know her like he said that he did, that he’d been paying attention, and absorbing everything he could about her because he cared that much. She could see it now in the way he flinched at her words as if he didn’t expect them and then in the softening of his twinkling eyes as he interrupted her thoughts through her chocolate orbs.

“-we have to stop making decisions for the both of us and focus on what is happening right now.” She continued on, the conversation with Charlotte still fresh on her mind, “I want you, Drew.”

He began to walk back over and she got up to stand on her knees at the edge of the bed so they were facing each other. His hands slowly found her hips and squeezed so tightly she gasped. Her arms sliding over his shoulders and around his neck and just like that they were practically in the same position as when she first walked in and he pulled her into his lap.

“I want you, Isobel.” He stated while staring deep into her eyes. He said it with generality like he wasn’t saying it just to agree with her, but to convey that he wanted her now and he would continue to want her when she left this room.

Isobel’s hands found either side of his face and rubbed his cheek bones with the pads of her thumbs, her tinted orbs looking up at him through her eyelashes with her teeth piercing her bottom lip. Then in a bat of an eye Drew was leaning in and carefully running his tongue in a linear swipe across her teeth trapping that lip. As soon as she released it, they were kissing once more, tongues immediately involved as they sensually swiped against each other. Isobel’s fingers conservatively scratched the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck while his large hands ate up every inch of her waist and thighs just grabbing and squeezing his favorite parts of her.

Isobel was the one to pull away this time and Drew was about to chase hers until the feeling of her moistened lips under his jaw registered and his eyes wrenched open. Her little kisses felt cold to the touch but it made it feel like his skin was on fire, “You always feel so damn good, Is.”

She just hums and continues to leave sweet pecks with her full lips as she moves on to his throat and eventually his shoulders. Drew watched intently while her hands spread and rubbed his chest, “Fuck.” He grunted when her nails grazed his nipple on their descent down to his stomach.

The girl was obsessed with his body and the energy he gave off around her. He just always felt so manly when they were with each other like this. It was how he was always towering over her, that predatory look he had in his eyes even when he was telling her they needed to stop, and how he was so lean yet stacked with muscle—muscle she wanted sticking to her sweaty skin when he finally gave himself to her. It was absurd how hesitant she was to address her feelings when it came to Drew, but was so willing to be with him in intimacy.

Suddenly, Isobel lowered her body back onto the bed, her gaze unwavering until she slowly twisted her body around and arched her long, slender back so her ass was pressed against the front of his pants. “Drew.” She dragged out in a needy whine, the thin material of her shorts and his thin pajamas doing nothing to prevent the feeling of his arousal from nudging her dampening silk covered cunt.

“You’re so fucking nasty, Isobel.” Drew said through clenched teeth as he harshly ran a hand down his face as if he were in disbelief at what he was seeing.

Desperate for some friction, Isobel shook her ass against him until the fat of it being began to ripple from the sensual motion. When she turned her head to the side to get a glimpse, Drew seemed to be in a trance—God, she loved teasing him. “You like that?”

“You know I like it.” Drew managed to get out before he placed his hands on her mesmerizing backside and watched as his hands moved along with her. He had always preferred a nice ass when it came to women, but Isobel turned that preference into a necessity. After about a minute he moved southward between her legs, his thumbs entering her shorts through the leg holes and rubbing circles into the skin just outside the crotch of her panties. Isobel’s movements stalled and now he could just barely hear little high pitched pants leaving her mouth, “I’m not going to fuck you like this, Izzy.”

Isobel was fully prepared to throw a temper tantrum at this point, all the times Drew had stopped them from going further flashing through her mind and their last time together when she got to get a taste of what he was holding back from her. But when she opened her mouth she could only blubber in protest, “No, Drew please.”

“What is it, baby? You don’t want me to stop?” She heard him asking behind her and his tone of voice, the slight taunting, had her pushing her hips back for more contact as she shook her head in protest. “I’m not gonna stop Isobel, but I’m also not fucking you like this.”

Isobel sucked in a breath when she felt his knee dip into the bed then remove his thumbs from her shorts to grab her hips and flip her over, moving them both up to the top of the bed. Drew placed himself on top of her so that his chest just barely brushed over her breasts and his face was hovering directly above her own.

The smirk on Drew’s face fell before he murmured his next words like some sort of vow, “I’m not going to fuck you in a position where I can’t see your pretty eyes.”

“I want to see you too.” Isobel whispered.

He leaned down and gave her a kiss before disconnecting and leaning in once more just like he always did. Giving her at least three more pecks to the lips before lingering on the last one and finally pulling away with satisfied groan vibrating in his throat. “I haven’t stopped thinking about that night in your room, how good you took my dick.” Drew spoke into her ear as he somehow made it even more unbearably hot in the room.

Isobel was dying from his teasing, her legs squeezing together as an attempt to release some of the tension. And she was about to complain like a brat until his pointer and middle fingers founds her top lip, tracing it then doing the same to the bottom. They were both silent, Drew seemingly calm while she was panting from anticipation. All the while their eyes remained on each other and he slipped his fingers between her lips. It was so quiet in the room that they both could hear the saliva in her mouth as he tried to fit his long fingers in there. When he spread them and closed them on her tongue and she gagged around him, she swore she felt his dick twitch against her hip.

Isobel’s eyes were already watering from his fingers just simply sitting on her tongue but she began to suck the flesh, twisting her tongue all around and between them, and grabbing his wrist to push them further into her mouth making herself retch again. Drew’s eyes screwed shut for a few seconds as he cursed to himself before returning her gaze and slid his fingers from her lips. “I love doing that for you.” Isobel told him.

“Sucking off my fingers?” He asked with a squint in his eyes.

Isobel giggled at the question and pulled him down to kiss him quickly before pulling away to speak, “No, Drew, just you in my mouth in general.”

She could visibly see his eyes darken to a deeper blue just as the sea does when the moon replaces the sun. They both remained quiet even when he began running the same fingers he had in her mouth down her stomach until he reached the top of her shorts where he rubbed the skin there in a horizontal motion for a few moments.

“Lift the waistband of your shorts for me.” He directed and watched carefully when she reached down to do as told, his eyes falling on the red underwear he knew was probably barely covering anything.

Using the opening she was making for him, Drew slid his hand inside of her shorts then slipped them under her panties. When his fingers traveled deeper and found the pool of arousal soaking her cunt she was instantly a moaning mess. That was the first time since she’d entered his room that she remembered there were other people in the house with them, but it did nothing to shut her up not with his fingers teasingly rubbing and prodding her slit.

“You gotta quiet down just a little, Izzy.” He warned and she listened for the most part. She laid there holding her shorts out of the way while he played with her pussy. Her moans were quiet and mainly in his ears then suddenly he was sliding a finger inside of her. When he began pumping into her she tucked her face into his neck knowing she wasn’t going to be able to keep it down.

“So damn tight.” He sighed to himself.

She knew there was probably a smirk on his lips as she whined into his skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up and glare at him. She just continued hiding her face while he picked up speed inside of her and eventually he added another finger—slowly easing in and giving a few experimental thrusts before fucking her with them just like he did in his truck weeks ago. “Drew.” She sounded like she was sobbing when really she was just breathless and turned on which made for uncontrollably loud cries to leave her lips.

She’d let go of her shorts by then and was using both of her hands to blindly grasp on to his arms, desperate to find something to anchor herself to. When her moans were back to a dangerous octave he didn’t stop, he just moved her face from his neck with his free hand and place his mouth on hers.

His kisses and the lewd swipes of his tongue distracted her from how deep he was inside of her until he created a scissor motion hitting that sensitive spot and erasing all the progress they’d made keeping her quiet. Her mouth was now agape, though still pressed against his lips as he repeatedly brushed over the spot until she was gasping from the feeling of it. Now, he was pulling away, shaking his head in amusement at her incompetency, “How am I supposed to eat it if you can’t stay quiet, baby?”

Isobel squeezed her legs together at his words, which still has his hands between them, making his eyebrows to raise in mirth. The thought of having his tongue on her and inside her made her entire body convulse. This was new territory, he’d never been able to touch her like this because they never had the opportunity. And now wasn’t the best opportunity seeing as their entire families were probably fast asleep and completely unaware of their actions.

Still, Isobel gave Drew an innocent look and moved to wrap her legs around his waist, “I’ll be good.”

“You promise?” He was looking at her with eager eyes as if her agreeing would dictate his next move, but she could also see how captivated he was and knew he would have her regardless. She nodded her head with their eyes locked, and that was all it took have him dragging his lips down her body.

Isobel had been with one other person who showed her how bad they wanted her, he swept her off her feet and made her think she was the best thing he’d ever had. It took a lot of trust and naivety to believe that someone can think so fondly of you, and just as quickly as she’d given away her trust he stamped on it, on her hands, on everything she’d given in love until she remained like a child who’d put those hands somewhere they weren’t supposed to.

Drew made her feel the same way, making it easy to trust that he really wanted her as bad as he made it seem. And it scared her to see a man be so infatuated with her again. It would be different if Drew didn’t always look at her with so much emotion, if this was what it was supposed to be, just two people hooking up—but it wasn’t. They both knew it, it was obvious in their gazes, in the way they disagreed, and most importantly the way they risked it all to be together despite their families.

There was so much history between them that they could ruin, yet they proceeded despite it. Isobel had loved blindly before, but with Drew it was like getting on the same rollercoaster they’d been on together since they were barely teenagers—that had been stagnantly moving for close to a decade in a route they’d grown accustomed to—but now they’d chosen to take a different route and speed. One that was new and unfamiliar but they were still together just moving through life differently, learning how to be together under different conditions until it wasn’t so scary anymore.

The silk fabric of her shorts tickled her smooth legs as he slid them down her body, throwing them on the floor beside the bed when he got them off completely, “Sit up a little for me, Isobel.”

She immediately obeyed and slid herself up so her shoulders were resting on the pillow leaning against the bottom of the headboard. In this position her hips were angled up so her panty covered heat was directly in his line sight, and when he grabbed her knees to spread her legs open the girl was practically gnawing at her bottom lip from the way he was gazing at her cunt.

“You’re just pretty all over aren’t you?”

If Drew was truly shameless he would let the drool seep from his mouth, that’s how pretty Isobel’s pussy looked spread out for him. She was dripping and puffing from his invading fingers, and the way the red material of her panties looked to be suffocating her was a provocative sight. He’d never seen her like this, lying before him like a soliciting invitation asking him to take her. Drew was greedy when it came to women before Isobel, but he had never felt such greed for just one woman like he did with her. Never wanting someone to himself so desperately that he couldn’t stand the sight of his brother hugging them, so desperate it had him recklessly thinking that this was who he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

A languid, wet lick of his tongue over her underwear was all it took to have her babbling again and covering her mouth with her hand because she didn’t want it to end. From there he was all in swiping his tongue, sucking her clit with his slobbery lips, and spitting globs of saliva on her pussy all without pulling down her panties. Isobel was spiraling like she’d taken just a shot too many or taken one too many hits of a joint that would send her to the point of no return.

Her legs closed around his face, and he welcomed them with his hands squeezing her thighs in encouragement as she trapped him against her core. She felt him groaning and mumbling incoherent sentences while eating her like he couldn’t keep quiet either. Then his tongue expertly slipped past her underwear and circled her throbbing clit just one time and she was falling, her legs shook around him as he continued to lap at her bare cunt.

This particular orgasm felt as if the blood running through her veins had been replaced with concrete as her body tensed and her back froze into an arch off the mattress. She was silent, all ability to produce sound had been stripped from her by the man below her as she just held her mouth open in pleasure. She could feel him watching her like a predator watching in awe as his prey fell apart right in front of him.

Drew stopped licking her when she relaxed again into the bed and her breathing mellowed. He left wet kisses up the inside of her thigh, he could still taste her in his mouth and his dick thumped with arousal at the feeling.

“Drew.” Isobel pathetically called out his name and reached out for him with her arms. Drew immediately abandoned her thighs and moved back up the bed where she was, wrapping his arms around her waist when he was back above her and looking into her deep, brown eyes. She kissed him softly for a few seconds tasting herself on his lips, but eventually pulled away and rested her head on the pillow still breathless from her orgasm.

His body rolled off hers onto the bed, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of his dick in between his legs. He hissed when Isobel threw her leg over his lap just as soon as he dropped down beside her. She looked so tired and innocent, but her hands were grazing his lower abdomen—driving him mad.

“I want more, Drew, I want you.” She murmured, pressing her mouth onto his shoulder as she spoke, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Drew just stared at her having an internal battle with himself on what to do, what to do with Isobel. It had been convenient for him to always stop Isobel before they went too far while being home, but he really did need that control because he had a feeling that when they had sex only one of them wouldn’t be able to go on as normal. He knew that he wouldn’t be the same Drew he was before Isobel.

“Isobel, are you sure?” He had to ask because her answer would determine how things went from here.

She didn’t have to consider the question at all, Isobel had been wanting Drew since they left for home. So much so that she was the one making the first moves despite telling him they were putting a pause on their physical relationship, and every intimate moment they’d shared since then had brought her to now. Wanting to be as close to him as humanly possible, in a way that she knew would be emotional, in a way she knew would change things but for some reason she wasn’t afraid, “Yes, Drew.”

Isobel exhaled when he hungrily kissed her waiting lips, so hard she could feel the tip of his nose nudging the side of her own. His kisses were desperate, but his hands were shy on her body. He took his time trailing them down her body before slightly lifting her to cup her ass and blindly dragging her underwear down her hips with his thumbs. Isobel snaked an arm around his neck when his tongue entered her mouth and moved the other between them to tug at his pants. Drew ignored her silent request and dropped his hips down so his dick was nestled right against her core. Then he began to rock them slowly, the cotton fabric of his pajamas quickly being soaked by her arousal and slipping easily up and down the mess between her legs.

“Fuck.” Isobel dragged out in a curse as Drew’s groans harmonized with the sounds she was emitting.

“That’s it, Isobel.” He panted when her hips began to lift to meet his thrust, only adding to the building pressure, he sped up his movements causing the bed to creak beneath them, “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me.”

Isobel watched him as if she was in a trance, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration, his mouth open as his breaths escaped him, and his blue eyes when he opened them and found her brown ones already on him.

“Fuck, we have to stop, you’re going to make me come.” He rasped and got off of her.

He stalled for a minute or two to calm down she presumed, then he grabbed his wallet off of the night stand beside her where his condoms obviously were, and she rolled her eyes at how much of a guy he was.

“Wanna put it on for me, Izzy?” He offered while taking off his pants, and she nodded before snatching the condom from him.

Drew chuckled, letting her push his boxers down his hips, and she watched awestruck when his hard cock slipped out and tapped his stomach. It looked angry and sensitive just like it did before she had it deep in her mouth last week, so she figured she’d be gentle as she rolled the condom onto his hot flesh—but he was already moaning by the halfway point. She loved how he couldn’t control himself when it came to this, how she could turn him on so much it was incomparable to his other experiences. Drew got back on the bed when she finished, and grabbed her thighs so they were wrapped around his hips.

He kissed her neck and lingered there for a moment before moving to her jaw then forehead like he was leaving something behind with each kiss. She felt a flutter in her chest by the time he claimed her mouth until the feeling of the tip of his dick on her pussy claimed her attention. He smirked when she gasped against his lips as he slightly pushed into her before pulling out again.

“Are you hot, baby? I don’t want you to get uncomfortable in this.” He mumbled into her as his hands moved to her top and began unfastening the buttons. When he finished the last he pulled the fabric away from her chest and broke their kiss to look down at her heavy breast, her dark nipples erect from his touch, “Isobel, fuck.”

She needed him to do something, anything or she was going to scream in frustration.

“Drew-“

Isobel barely got out his name before the sensation of him pushing inside of her rendered her speechless. He was slow yet deliberate like he wanted to be balls deep, but also wanted to be gentle with her because this was Drew and he was probably considering the fact she hasn’t been with anyone in almost three years. When he was fully inside he just waited as she remained beneath him trying to adjust, “You okay, Izzy?”

She bit her lip and hummed because she was afraid if she were to actually open her mouth she would wake the entire house—that’s how deep he felt. Drew began to move when she kissed him, giving her slow strokes as he rolled his hips into her slick opening making her moan uncontrollably against his mouth.

Drew was choking, he wanted to say so much but the feeling of her melting on his cock was too much. She felt so good to him, she always did. That showed in the ways he couldn’t help but slide into her so unhurriedly his mouth widened with each thrust because he was feeling all of her. She let him have her in the most intimate way possible and the feeling and the simple thought of it was overwhelming.

“You feel so good, Drew.”

Her praise made him snap his hips into her just a little harsher making the bed began to creak again. Her moans grew and he couldn’t help himself as he sped up his thrust even more, her cries and the sounds of the bed groaning with them spurring him on. He leaned in her ear and gave her comforting shush, hoping she would keep it down for both of their sakes.

She didn’t stop moaning but her hips did began to roll, meeting his every stroke as if him telling her to be quiet turned her on even more. He was moaning along with her, and losing all control despite being in such a dominant position.

“Baby.” He moaned in her neck at the sound of her squelching each time he plunged into her pussy. All of his senses were heightened when he was with Isobel, she made him feel so good so fast to the point where it was too much and he hated that she knew that.

Isobel’s hands sensually rubbed Drew’s back watching him with his eyes trained on her bouncing breasts and eventually his thrusts grew erratic telling her he was close, “You gonna come with your dick inside me, Bear?”

“You can’t do that to me, Is.” His forehead was resting on hers and they just stared into each other’s eyes only heightening what they were already feeling.

Drew reach down her body and found her clit and all her movements stopped, the grinding, her hands on his back, all of her teasing ceased. She allowed him two final strokes before she was coming on his cock. This time she came with his name leaving her mouth in breathless chants all the while her pussy convulsed around him as he ground into her. And just as her orgasm ended his began, his hips wildly thrusting into her. He clung onto Isobel at the high he was getting, the high that wasn’t ending despite the seconds that had passed and him slowing his movements, “I’m still coming, fuck.” He wheezed and started thrusting his hips again.

Isobel watched enthralled as he grabbed her ass and used her to fuck himself through what seemed to be another orgasm, drinking in every detail so she could commit his face while coming to memory. She could get addicted to this, she thought to herself.

Drew finally collapsed on top of her after pulling out, feeling depleted. Isobel had just unknowingly ruined him, he’d never be able to fuck another girl, not after tonight. His eyes found the digital clock and she followed his gaze where it showed it being well past midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Isobel.” He kissed her cheek and because he couldn’t help himself he said the one thing that had been caught in his throat the moment he slid inside her—what had the man at a loss for words, “I love you.”

Drew felt an invisible weight lift from his body, one he had no idea accompanied the feelings he had for Isobel. How it was getting heavier and heavier the more time he spent with her. He felt her stiffen beneath him, so he moved over and laid beside her.

“Look at me, please?” He tried and she resisted for a little before finally peering over at him, “You don’t have to say anything, just look at me.”

He needed to see her eyes because where her words strayed, her eyes spoke volumes—he wondered if she knew that. Her pretty, brown eyes didn’t make him regret his confession, they gave him hope for the future, just as they always did.

“Are you scared?” Drew whispered and she nodded but continued looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, me too.”

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART EIGHTEEN

[bisexualbrainrots]

Look, the show should definitely make use of Lou's artistic skills if they were to bring him back.

Picture this:

Just how Buck bakes as a coping mechanism and to avoid calling Tommy, Tommy paints and draws.

He always kept this hidden from everyone, it's his own thing not even Buck was aware of.

So, after the breakup he does it to let out his emotions, it's mostly abstract or scenery. But as the days go by the feeling of reaching out and text Ev-Buck grows stronger, but how could he contact the man whose heart he broke?

So, he keeps painting and drawing sketches and he notices a pattern: curls, blue eyes, a birthmark, that distinctive smile.

Now all he creates is a version of Buck. He stores most of it in a closet dedicated to his art, although as times goes by there's less space, and now some of them lie in his room.

He goes to sleep (if he can even) looking at them, covering and immediately uncovering the paintings over and over again.

He's had to buy new tubes and bottles of paint, since he's used most of it at this point, and he's pretty sure he's never going to get rid of the residue of paint trapped in his nails.

But he doesn't mind, not when he gets to create something so beautiful out of his own misery.

[narcissistcookbook]

Hi! I just found your Tumblr and I love your music! I have to ask, what was going through your mind when you made the 'apple' song? I absolutely love it so much! I love the beginning where it's a conversation between Eve and Lucifer, then the breakdown of him singing! Just the storytelling is amazing! So I really wanted to know what was your thought process through the song :3 🫶

thank you! 💜

I ran a songwriting workshop for a while, and much like @jammechanics today I'd set writing prompts for the group and myself. The prompt that week was apple, and I wrote two tracks - the first was a rough draft of Apple, and then when that didn't come together in time I wrote a dumb Prince pastiche called Golden Delicious

I've always been attracted (in a secular way for the most part) to Christian mythology/imagery and broad mysticism. I was raised atheist and didn't attend church except once a year early on as part of school, and it's so fundamentally strange as a secular child to hear this mishmash of stories indistinguishable from fairytales - the garden of eden, noah, the nativity, the crucifixion - except these ones are presented in a deeply formal context and are meant to be real.

That sounds super r/atheist of me, but that isn't how I mean it. I was sincerely intrigued by the stories and, since they were presented as Things That Actually Happened, I had a bunch of questions about the lore implications of the more abstract stories that no one could really answer. Why did the wise men follow a star? Why did the angels appear to a bunch of shepherds? Why don't angels appear anymore? Why was God such a tetchy butthole in the garden of eden? What was so bad about the apple and the tree? Was the snake the devil, because those guys are by far the most interesting characters in all of these stories and why aren't they featured more? Snake spinoff when?

So I guess I'd been writing that extended Snake/Eve fanfic in the back of my mind for ages. That specific interaction is meant to be the inciting incident at the root of the entirety of human history, and it's just brushed past in the most unsatisfying way.

To answer some other questions around Apple: no I haven't read or seen Good Omens; yes 'It's Dark Materials' is a reference to Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials; the snake calls God 'It' in a dehumanising way because It's literally not human and isn't there something unsettling about an extradimensional, incomprehensible entity going i̵m̷ ̷a̵ ̴b̷o̵y̵ ̷l̵o̸l̸

[hhbluedynamite]

A beautiful Kinger song.

A king who rules his castle (Yet he has no control) His kingdom's come unraveled (Already failed his goal)

These are the first two lines in the song...

These two lines had me thinking about what those first few years in the Circus like for Kinger.

I do think that Kinger had Queenie with him when he first arrived in TADC, thus making Queenie the second to arrive (just realized that this would make another biblical reference with the Adam and Eve story). Thus, they were the first to make sense of their new environment and would help the new arrivals and assisting Caine with any and all requests the new arrivals had.

I can see Caine turning this into a fun gimmick of sorts. He meets the very first two players of TADC and notices that they look like the king and queen chess pieces, thus naming them Kinger and Queenie. The king and queen of this little kingdom.

Of course, Kinger and Queenie know that this is purely symbolic. Their 'kingdom' is just a group of people trying to exist in this new reality and the couple are their de facto leaders with Caine being their (lack of a better term) guardian. They would ease the arrivals to this reality and even give them new names if they don't know what to pick.

Of the two, Kinger took his metaphorical position a little too seriously. I don't mean he starts thinking he's a king, but more that he needs to be a perfect leader for everyone. Not everyone in the group respected him, seeing him as under qualified with his more meekish demeanor.

This made Kinger try even harder.

A king who rules his castle (Yet he has no control)

Kinger did his damnest to help everyone (either by trying to find a way to escape or trying to give some encouragement)

In the end, he couldn't stop people from Abstracting. He couldn't save anyone from their despair. He made too many promises he couldn't keep.

His kingdom's come unraveled (Already failed his goal)

Kinger starts to lose himself with each person's Abstraction. He unknowingly ignores his wife and her reassuring words, no matter how many times she tries to cheer him up.

Seeing her husband despair would cause Queenie to spiral too before eventually Abstracting.

Kinger: In this world, the worst thing you can do is make someone feel not wanted or loved.

She was all he had left in this cursed existence. She had been his pillar, his shining light. He wanted to do the same for her. In his efforts to keep Queenie safe...Kinger lost her.

Baron Mildenhall: It's ironic, isn't it? In my attempts to protect her, I ended up becoming the monster myself.

Kinger's 'kingdom' (his mind and world) has fallen. He's no longer fit to 'rule', so Caine took it upon himself.

It's strange. It was through Queenie's Abstraction that Kinger lost his sanity but won back his will to live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whelp. Time to Wallow in Angst!

[ariiiiih]

Usually, we think He Xuan became the Supreme because of his hatred for Shi Wudu, which was also told by Xie Lian(“Hatred was what made Ship-Sinking Black Water”). However, the plots do not actually support this. And I think the contexts that MXTX created for the blackwater arc had some contradictions, or at least made the analysis of He Xuan’s character hard.

He Xuan became the Supreme before he went to the Upper Court (a ghost in a good disguise must be a Supreme—like XL checked HC’s hand and hair), and he went to the Upper Court to investigate what Shi Wudu had done. So, he had no idea about the fate alteration that Shi Wudu did when he went to Mount Tonglu. Then, how could his hatred for Shi Wudu support him to become the Supreme?

Therefore, other things supported him.

I have two possible ideas (one is more abstract, and one is more personal/specific):

First, his hatred for the unfairness and injustice existed in the society.

This was derived from his life experience (chap 53, pp.27-28): the officials hid his test scrolls and exchanged them for blank ones; fiancée and sister were forcibly taken and died; he was unjustly imprisoned…We could see his tragedy was caused by the powerful malevolent officials who bullied and oppressed the common people for their benefit, the unfunctional social system that couldn’t help the citizens seek justice. (Does this sound familiar? Yeah, that what was Shi Wudi had done, which makes me feel he was just a representative of the cause of this kind of tragedy among the common people in ancient China). Such injustice made him hate them, which made his soul unrested, like what Xie Lian said: “He died filled with murderous intent and resentment…I don’t think a soul hammered into shape by such means would easily rest in peace. Instead, he’d thirst for revenge.” (chap 60, pp. 135)

So, He Xuan went to Mount Tonglu to make himself capable of killing unjust people afterlife. 

There’s no direct description, but we could speculate it from the books.

First, each Supreme acted for their 执念(unshakeable and stubborn belief, the closest word I found in English is fixation, some translators will translate it to obsession, but it is not proper here). For instance, Bai Wuxiang hated mortals, so he created ghosts and monsters from Mount Tonglu. Hua Cheng loved Xie Lian, so he kept searching for him for eight hundred years and supported him no matter what happened. So He Xuan must act for his 执念, and killing injustice----the malevolent people who bullied and oppressed the common people for their benefit----is a reasonable action.

Second, in the Puji Shrine, when Hua Cheng looked through the scrolls that Shi Wudu had put for Reverend Empty Words, he pointed out the people he killed, and Xie Lian found they were all lawless malevolently evil tyrants, and he pointed out the people that He Xuan killed (chap 51). Implying by the type of people that Hua Cheng killed and the fact that Hua Cheng knew the people that He Xuan killed, it was highly possible that He Xuan also killed these types of people, just like what he did in the eve of Hanlu when he was alive.

(belike: Hua Cheng (threw a scroll): Have a look. He Xuan (quietly looked through the scroll, pointing to some names): I’ll take those. Hua Cheng (took the scroll back, casually glancing at the names left for him): Good. Half half this time. (they were splitting the kill list)

And why he decided to use “killing” as an approach to punish the unjust? Because the system in the society at that time didn’t allow him to get his just and punish the unjust fairly. For instance, when he tried to seek justice for his fiancée and sister, he got into jail. If the system is not functional, then he would be the one who executes the final judgment.

Second, his love for his family. While his love for his family is obvious, why this is a reason that he went to Mount Tonglu? He wished to bring the truth and just to his love, the innocent family. This is similar to the reason that Hua Cheng became the Supreme for Xie Lian: to be powerful enough to support and protect the ones we love. If He Xuan couldn’t be Supreme, he wouldn’t have any chance to investigate the truth of fate exchange and kill Shi Wudu in the end.

Then, how did his 执念 change as he realized the truth of fate exchange?

But before going into this, I want to talk about a “problem” in a plot that MXTX created.

The fate exchange could be speculated at the very beginning when He Xuan went to the Upper Court.

Let's see what information He Xuan needed to speculate fate exchange: the birth details of Shi Qingxuan; the fact that he has met the Reverend Empty Words; the time that Reverend Empty Words stopped disturbing Shi Qingxuan was close to the time that He Xuan met Reverend Empty Words; they died at the same time, but one became the god, one the ghost. Are those pieces of information hard to collect? No. Because Shi Qingxuan “is not one to hide anything” (chap 65, pp.241), and there’s no point for him to hide these from He Xuan and He Xuan even purposely being close to Shi Qingxuan to collect information about his brother. And is the speculation hard to make? No. See how Xie Lian quickly found the truth of fate exchange? He even didn’t have any information about He Xuan. And He Xuan is smart, there’s no reason for him not to have this reasonable speculation. 

Then, what is the reason let him take the revenge hundreds of years later?

The first thing I thought of was evidence.

We learned that Hua Cheng had speculated Jun Wu purposely controlled the time He Xuan took his revenge: when Jun Wu felt Shi Wudu was a threat to him (and when Xie Lian ascended, like another test for him: will he help Shi Qingxuan hide the truth of fate exchange because Shi Qingxuan is his friend?), he would “leak the fate-switching affair” to He Xuan (chap 119). Based on the analysis above, the truth was speculated a long time ago, so here must have the direct evidence. And we know He Xuan acted quickly when the evidence was found. Otherwise, there’s no way for Jun Wu to control the time of revenge.

However, if it is evidence, then it means He Xuan wasn’t a hundred percent sure that Shi Wudu did fate exchange. Then, his years of hatred for Shi Wudu didn’t hold up. Though it did make sense just based on the plots, it seems to make the story lack tension. From what Xie Lian had thought after the blackwater arc, we could see there’s a parallel he wanted to make as a contrast between He Xuan and Hua Cheng: If Hua Cheng’s love for Xie Lian didn’t change for eight hundred years, then He Xuan’s hate for Shi Wudu should be same. However, this is not the case according to the analysis above.

So, how to resolve this issue?

My first theory is He Xuan actually had the evidence a long time ago, but there’s another reason that stopped him from taking action quickly, some Jun Wu-like reason, you know he had to make sure He Xuan took revenge at the time he wanted.

My second theory is He Xuan’s hatred is more abstract, and Shi Wudu is just no more than another person who fits his framework of injustice, like the tyrants in Fu Gu. So, it doesn’t really matter whether he had the evidence of fate exchange.

So, did his 执念 change as he realized the truth of fate exchange? Not really. Also, it fits “the hundreds of years of hate contrast”.

(I now don’t have other ideas about the reasons that make He Xuan take revenge hundreds of years later now (there may be some beefleaf versions, but you know it is not the case). So, welcome to share your thoughts:)

Hate and love are just like the two sides of a coin, why we hate injustice and unfairness because we care about the people living in this world. Shi Wudu and He’ family is an instance/ representative of this framework. Why he didn’t disappear after killing Shi Wudu? One of the reasons is the unfairness and injustice would never disappear, is his positive attitude toward life. The resistance is an eternal subject, while the love for life is a great song.

People usually forget He Xuan was raised with love, and this family love is powerful. He Xuan himself is a person who fights for a living, and never gives up. He could once get lost, be affected, and suffered by his pain and hate, but in the deep side of his heart, I believe he still finds himself and his direction.

[cantsayidont]

Recentish movies of note, or not:

BOTTOMS: Ridiculous "teen" comedy about two gay high school losers, PJ (Rachel Sennott, who also co-wrote with director Emma Seligman) and Josie (Ayo Edebiri), who seize on a rumor about their having been in juvenile detention to start an after-school "self-defense club," in the hope that introducing the school's hottest cheerleaders to the cathartic thrill of girls beating the shit out of each other will finally give these hopeless (and ho-less) virgins a chance to score. So silly that complaining about the stupidity of the plot seems a tad churlish, but the story misses some obvious comedic opportunities, and despite the premise, the film eventually becomes far more interested in cartoonish violence than sex. If you dig the overall vibe, you might not care, but as a gay teen sex comedy, it's ultimately less successful (and less outrageous) than BOOKSMART, even though only one of the latter film's teen loser heroines is gay.

DO REVENGE: Black comedy homage to the teen comedies of the '90s and early '00s, inspired in part by the 1951 movie version of STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, about a disgraced prep school popular girl, Drea (Camila Mendes), who joins forces with gay weirdo Eleanor (Maya Hawke) to avenge herself on her former friends and find out who leaked her sex tape — a plan that involves giving Eleanor a makeover so she can infiltrate the popular kids. Hawke is a delight, Mendes is very good, and the homoerotic tension of their odd relationship makes the movie fun for a while, especially if you appreciate the many self-conscious homages to prior teen movies. However, a major reveal late in the second act makes hash of the already sloppy plot, and the finale is both nonsensical and as antisemitic as STRANGERS ON A TRAIN author Patricia Highsmith, which leaves a sour aftertaste.

IT'S A WONDERFUL KNIFE: Bizarre slasher movie pastiche of IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, about a teenage girl named Winnie Carruthers (Jane Widdop of YELLOWJACKETS), who kills the masked serial killer who's been terrorizing the small town of Angel Falls and murdered her best friend (Hana Huggins) at Christmastime. A year later, everyone in town seems to have gotten over it except Winnie, who's miserable. On Christmas Eve, she's magically transported into an alternate timeline where she was never born and the masked slasher has continued murdering people, including Winnie's brother (Aiden Howard). To set things right, Winnie has to stop the villain all over again with the help of Bernie Simon (Jess McLeod), the town outcast and the only one who believes her story. Not scary, gruesome, or suspenseful enough to be much of a horror movie, but there are enough grisly murders to make the comedic holiday fantasy aspects seem a trifle sociopathic, and a late reveal that the killer has supernatural powers beyond just stabbing or slashing people feels like one ingredient too many in an already convoluted plot. The main redeeming feature is that it's ultimately a gay love story, which I wasn't expecting, but appreciated nonetheless.

THE KILL ROOM: Uma Thurman, Samuel L. Jackson, Joe Manganiello, and Maya Hawke go slumming in this dumb black comedy about a handsome hitman named Reggie (Manganiello) who becomes the sensation of the art world after his mob intermediary (Jackson) concocts a scheme to launder Reggie's payments by selling his abstract paintings (under the nom de plume "the Bagman") through a burned-out, Adderall-snorting art dealer (Thurman). Intended satire of the cutthroat vacuity of the art world lacks bite and no part of the plot makes any sense, but sheer star power gets the movie through about half its 80-minute running time before the banality becomes terminal.

POLITE SOCIETY: Silly British action-comedy by Nida Manzoor (creator of WE ARE LADY PARTS) about Ria Khan (Priya Kansara, delightful), a Pakistani teenager who aspires to be a stuntwoman, and her quest to save her flaky art student older sister Lena (Ritu Arya, radiant) from marrying a handsome doctor (Ashay Khanna) who seems a little too good to be true. It looks great, and the characters are very charming, but the story waits much too long to clarify the stakes of the plot: Until the finale, we don't know if Lena is actually in any danger or if Ria is just letting her imagination run away with her, and that uncertainty becomes an unwelcome distraction in the later action sequences. As a result, it feels more like an update of the John Hughes perennial SIXTEEN CANDLES than the over-the-top action movie it obviously aspires to be.

SHIVA BABY: Low-key but vivid comedy of manners, written and directed by Emma Seligman, starring Rachel Sennott as Danielle, a bisexual 20something Jewish girl who secretly pays her bills as a sugar baby. When she goes with her parents (Fred Melamed and Polly Draper) to a shiva, she finds herself trapped with not only her most annoying relatives, but also her disgruntled ex-girlfriend (Molly Gordon), her current sugar daddy (Danny Deferrari), his gorgeous blond wife (Dianna Agron), and their new baby. Seligman milks every awkward nuance of this uncomfortable social situation for maximum dramatic effect, and the tension of the final scene (which is nothing more complicated than the characters trying to squeeze into the back of Danielle's father's minivan) will drive you right up the wall.

VOLEUSES (WINGWOMEN): Is it really possible for a 40-year-old Frenchwoman living in the 21st century to not know that lesbians exist? One wouldn't think so, but watching this jokey buddy-action movie suggests that director/co-writer/star Mélanie Laurent desperately needs some kind of educational intervention in that regard. This is for all intents and purposes a lesbian romance: Master thieves Carole (Laurent) and Alex (Adèle Exarchopoulos) live together, routinely sleep in the same bed, and plan to retire together; they constantly express their love and affection for one another, and when Carole discovers that she's pregnant (the hows of which are never explained), Alex immediately assumes that they'll be moms together. Nonetheless, the story not only attempts to no-homo this cozy domestic scenario, but also presumes that there's no way Carole and Alex's relationship could ever be the de facto marriage it obviously already is — indeed, a crucial story moment involves Carole tearfully wishing she were a man so she could love Alex the way she deserves! If the movie had been made 50+ years ago, this might be poignant, but in 2023, it's just weird, and the resulting cognitive dissonance largely overshadows the thin plot, which concerns Carole and Alex trying to persuade their bitchy, cheerfully murderous employer Marraine (Isabelle Adjani, barely recognizable beneath her big hair and oversized sunglasses) to let them retire, while training a younger woman named Sam (Manon Bresch) to become their driver and the ambiguously defined third in their domestic ménage à trois.

[septemberlikeastorm]

I MADE THE PLAYLIST

I don't want to share my Spotify in here though, so i just wrote down every song and why i picked it

(unfortunately, Hozier doesn't write that much about true healthy love so a lot of them i picked off of vibes and melody, and most of them are my own interpretation of the song) (sorry)

Oshamir but it's just Hozier (playlist)

NFWMB, Hozier (Qimir to Osha and vice versa, possessiveness in a gentle way, letting your lover do whatever they want because you know they're yours at the end of the day)

It Will Come Back (Qimir to Osha, not being able to have a casual relationship without coming back, comparing the to a beast that has been fed)

Would That I, Hozier (pure vibes)

Wasteland, Baby!, Hozier ( both of them, wanting to watch the world burn with your lover)

Be - Acoustic, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, wanting your lover to be themselves, making you happy in return)

Like Real People Do, Hozier (Both of them, knowing your lover has a complicated past but opting to ignore it in favor of loving them)

Work Song, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, loving someone so much it makes you sick, being able to come back to them even in death)

Francesca, Hozier (both of them, going through hell to see your lover, and still being willing to do it again if there's a chance of seeing them again)

Shrike, Hozier (vibes)

Moment's Silence (Common Tongue), Hozier (Both of them, your worries going away when kissing-or sleeping with- your lover)

Arsonist's Lullabye, Hozier (Qimir and Osha, having destructive tendencies, a beast you have to tame but never kill)

De Selby (Part 1), Hozier (vibes)

De Selby (Part 2), Hozier (vibes)

No Plan, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, living your life carelessly and freely once you let your emotions go and love fully)

Nobody, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, having lived a long life and traveled everywhere but still discovering love and new things with your lover)

Jackie And Wilson, Hozier (vibes but also Qimir daydreaming about the two of them since day 1)

First Light, Hozier (vibes, but also feeling like you've just seen light for the first time when you meet your lover)

Abstract (Psychopomp), Hozier (vibes)

Unknown/Nth,Hozier (vibes but also Qimir to Osha, being unknown and lonely-after your lover died but shhh)

Movement, Hozier (Qimir just being whipped)

Sedated, Hozier (vibes)

Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, comparing a woman to a drug, and an angel of "small death" -euphemism for orgasm.)

Talk, Hozier (Qimir to Osha. That's it that's the tweet)

From Eden, Hozier (Qimir to Osha, seeing your past self in your lover, lucifer falling in love with eve)

In A Week, Hozier, Karen Cowley (dying together, i just thought it fit them)

Foreigner's God, Hozier (pure vibes)

That You Are, Hozier, Bedouine (vibes)

screammmm bestie this is??? so thoughtful????? the vibes are impeccable???? i could not peck them if i tried??????? i'm tryna peck em bro but i can't you've outdone yourself you simone biles-d it you stuck the damn landing

[somekindofsentience]

Foreshadowing in Omori and its manga: a critique

I'm back again, although it's been a while since I've written anything. I'm waiting on more Dreamscape chapters to formulate an analysis on Mari.

Omori Spoilers and Omori Manga Spoilers under the cut

Omori has poor foreshadowing, in the manga and the game, but for different reasons. And I can tell from one chapter.

Firstly, a rundown on the narrative device itself - foreshadowing provides an advance hint toward the events of the story. It's a very common device, but it's actually relatively difficult to do well. There's a very fine line between too obvious and too subtle, especially with the expectation of twists.

Foreshadowing in these types of psychological horror games tends to be very subtle, take Doki Doki as an example, and further foreshadowing in games like Yume Nikki is so subtle that the reality of the world isn't even evident at all. While this can be frustrating for the players, it's actually incredibly important, allowing you to theorise and discuss.

In the original Omori game, foreshadowing was often too abstract and subtle to be properly understood by a player - and this was fundamentally because there foreshadowing was so widespread, it overwhelms the player as they attempt to discover the truth.

Let me cite an example. Daddy Long-Legs belongs to a group I'll call the "Truth creatures" - characters like Stranger, the various Somethings, Hellmari, Phobias etc. He exists in a portion of Pyrefly Forest which foreshadows the truth of Headspace. But he's purposeless as a character otherwise, he only appears in a corner of Black Space 2 that is practically inaccessible to those on the Truth route. Why would you introduce a new character, one who becomes irrelevant, to foreshadow a part of the game that would be far better foreshadowed by Stranger? Someone who is actually relevant? This convoluted choice feels unnecessary, adding characters for the sake of subtlety.

In a similar way, the Somethings, Phobia bosses and Hellmari are loosely linked, and it's not quite explicit where each comes from and the relevance of each to the truth. Where's the distinction between the Mari Something and the others? Where does the game show me an explicit difference between the formation of Something and the formation of the Phobias? Why aren't Hellmari and Something more related, considering the events that formed them? A better foreshadower would be able to accurately make these distinctions, leading to overall better contrast between the recital day and the formation of the Phobias.

This is also incredibly obvious in Black Space, where the foreshadowing and symbolism ramps up. I will say it here, there is no way anyone will ever understand the purpose and analysis of every single area, object and NPC in Black Space. As a result, while it feels magnificent, there's so much that feels pointless, as well. This worked in Yume Nikki because it is very focused on this premise of "no real truth", but since Omori has a real truth and a real reason for Black Space's existence, it makes so many objects and areas feel pointless to analyse and overthink. Again, it's this insistence on adding things upon things to make foreshadowing far too abstract and impossible to understand.

Music and its importance to the truth was also very poorly foreshadowed. While I can understand, from a repression perspective, why Mari playing the piano or Sunny playing the violin was only very very subtly foreshadowed in the music itself, there is a point where you do need to make it obvious to the players, otherwise it feels like this idea of Sunny playing the violin is just thrown onto the players with no real interrelation. Similarly, Mari's character was far too hidden, where it isn't evident at all that Mari is a human with emotions - she's portrayed as a God the entire game. Again, too much subtlety has led to story beats feeling out-of-place and underrepresented.

However, in the manga, foreshadowing makes events very obvious to the reader, making me question the goals of this manga at all - are you really going to introduce Omori to new audiences in such a rushed and evident way? Making everything obvious and clear, when foreshadowing was such a key element to the original game? The whole point of the twist was it was completely unexpected!!

Immediately as we get into the manga, it's already obvious that Mari and violins are relevant to the truth. I wouldn't be surprised if the dialogue that Mari speaks during the Hellmari sequence is related to the argument between Mari and Sunny on the recital day, and I would be so disappointed if they chose to immediately out key dialogue that was not present in the original game.

Furthermore, why on Earth would you immediately reveal the hidden part of Mari's character in the first chapter? Mari is supposed to be perfect, at least in Sunny's mind. The game absolutely goes too far with this - it was a fundamental failure to have no dialogue in the Truth segment, as it led to so many misinterpretations of Mari as a character - but you choose to reveal her anger and humanity now???? NOT LATER??? NOT LIKE A BIT LATER?? SO WE CAN PERCIEVE HER AS PERFECT??

I'm not even going to get into the mischaracterisation of Aubrey, portraying her as evil and horrible without the very necessary exploration of how her relationship with Kel influences her actions.

I want to have faith in the manga. I want to enjoy it, but, just, the pacing and foreshadowing is already off. I'm worried. At least the horror art is gorgeous.

a summary of this analysis. HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MESS UP FORESHADOWING IN BOTH DIRECTIONS??

song i listened to while writing

i've been obsessed with the beef recently, it's so funny.

[anantplayingdnd]

Oh Hellos' songs and what Curse of Strahd Characters I associate with them!

Oh boy they are my favorite band of all time and boy do I have things to say.

Also this does contain spoilers, so if you're a player, maybe get your DM's permission before reading through this.

Ireena: "Trees" "Notos" "Dear Wormwood" "Exeunt" "Boreas" "Lay Me Down" "On the Mountain Tall"

Oh boy, it's quite a few, if I'm being honest. "Trees" is about her relationship with Izmark, obviously. "Notos" is largely vibes based, but it's a lot of freedom and being willing to fight against the circumstances you find yourself in, which is a major theme for her. "Dear Wormwood" like... come on. Do I even need to say anything about this? Strahd has been controlling so much of her life, and now she's realized who he is and how bad he is. The whole song is about rebellion against an abuser and making your own way, without their influence. Similarly, "Exeunt" is about... leaving. Running away. Saying you've had enough of the treatment you've endured and getting the hell out of there. "Lay me Down" picks up right where that leaves off, bold and determined to get away, if not in life than in death. It's her hope of one day not being trapped in the soul snowglobe of Barovia. "Boreas" and "On the Mountain Tall" are both a little more abstract, but I think Boreas relates to the periods of depression she's been through as a result of.. you know. Strahd. And as for "On the Mountain Tall" like.. tell me you can hear the line, "I know you want me to be afraid, I know you want me to love you," without thinking of her and Strahd.

Izmark: "Trees" and "Soap"

"Trees" is there for symmetry with Ireena, being a song about their childhood and how, for a little while, they were happy. "Soap" is one I just like, can't explain properly. Frankly it came to me in a vision, and sometimes I know a song fits a character long before I figure out why. I think what initially drew me to associating it with Izmark is the lyrics about having a softer side, but needing to become tougher to survive in the world, and trying to figure out how to make who you want to be compatible with who the world says you have to be.

Rahadin: "Pale White Horse"

I feel like there's little to say that isn't obvious. The Pale White Horse is the coming of death, something twisted and horrible that makes even the bravest cower in fear, and if that isn't Rahadin, I don't know what is.

Doru: "The Valley"

Doru hates being trapped in Barovia (I mean, they all do, but Doru really hates it). And because of how much he hated everything about the place he was raised, it made him very eager to follow someone who said they would lead him into something better. Unfortunately, that individual bit off a little more than they could chew in this brilliant attack on Castle Ravenloft, and that's how Doru ended up undead.

Strahd: "Like the Dawn"

One of my favorite things to do with Strahd is take things that are super cute and wholesome, like Adam seeing Eve for the first time and realizing how wonderful it is to have someone who understands him, and making it about how horrible and fucked up Strahd is. This song is normally really romantic, but I dare you, just go imagine Strahd singing this about Tatyana and come back to tell me how icked out you are.

Sykane (OC): "Eat You Alive"

I'll talk more about her one day, but you know that weird Dark Power who can let you reanimate the dead if they've only been dead for a few days? Yeah, she's the Warlock/Necromancer's patron :)

Ezmerelda: "Thus Always To Tyrants"

A song about bringing life back to a dry valley by overthrowing the corrupt tyrants that have destroyed it? Yes, obviously it's the most badass Vampire Hunter out there. (I also think that some of it, especially toward the end, that's in reference to Van Richten).

Ludmilla: "Rose"

My Ludmilla has been hiding who she is from everyone, including Strahd. She was once good friends with the party Druid, but under a different name. Also, the lyrics about appeasing your leviathan groom? Love will get you slaughtered? Ugh. I love her.

Kasimir: "Rounds" and "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb"

"Rounds" is a song I personally use a lot to help myself get out of depressive slumps, due to it's slow building and references to taking in deep breaths, learning how to speak again. In his playlist, this song comes just after everything Rahadin does to the Dusk Elves, and is him slowly trying to pick his life back up after unbelievable pain. "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" is honestly a bit of wishful thinking on my part, since our Kasimir hasn't quite realized that he has the ability to change and grow from the many, many mistakes he's made. But one day, maybe he'll realize that he can be set free.

BONUS ROUND WITH NO EXPLANATIONS

Escher: "Danse Macabre"

Abbot: "Smoke Rising Like Lifted Hands"

Lady Wachter: "Hieroglyphs"

Volenta: "Torches"

Sergei: "Grow"