#i need shoes that fit those parameter

[ionlylikemycat]

girl math: i was gonna buy the $40 camera film and the $70 shoes but now mama is buying me film so the shoes are basically $30 which is basically $20 which is basically nothing!

i should absolutely buy those shoes now even tho i have meticulously budgeted july and there wasn’t money for film or shoes in the first place!

[kitakataramen]

大きいサイズ！！！ PLUS-SIZE SHOPPING IN JAPAN

*This post is intended to be helpful for people already living in Japan who need to find everyday clothing, it’s not going to be useful for people living outside Japan who want to buy kawaii Tokyo fashion. This is also mainly geared toward women’s clothing, as it’s harder to find than men’s plus size clothing, but some of the stores and sites I mention here will be useful for plus size guys as well!

So let’s start at the beginning.

JP SIZING

Japanese sizes in general go from S, M, L, and plus sizes will be indicated from LL (extra large) all the way to 10L. For reference purposes on this post, I am a size 16/18 in CAN/US sizing, a 22 in UK sizing, and a JP size 5L for most plus-size brands, although the sizes are not standardized across brands (meaning that for some brands, a 5L will be either too big or too small). 

If you are above a size 3L, which is the largest size they stock in most regular stores (Uniqlo, for example, only stocks S, M, L, and XL for women*, so I don’t fit into any of their clothes) you will have to do most of your shopping online! There *are* physical plus-size stores around, though, so keep an eye out for stores that look like this:

大きいサイズ  (おおきいサイズ)　- plus-size (lit. large size)

レディースの大きいサイズ 　- Ladies’ large size

メンズの大きいサイズ     - Mens’ large size

Here’s some useful Japanese you can use while shopping in a physical store: 

大きいサイズがありますか？ Do you sell large size clothes?

これのもっと大きいサイズ、ありますか？ Do you have this in a larger size?

It can be a bit difficult finding your size in Japan, but don’t give up! Plus size Japanese women *do* exist and they look cute as heck, and so can you.

PHYSICAL STORES

H&M Japan (they use S, M, L, XL sizing or US sizes up to 16, so I would say around a 4L Japanese size. I am able to fit into some of their clothing based on the cut and style of the garment, but most of their tops/dresses are too tight in the chest for me). Good for a variety of styles, from work clothes to casual

しまむら 　- They carry up to a 4L, good for basics and casuals

青山 (あおやま）　- Great for work/business attire. (They call their plus-size line クイーンサイズ which I find extremely adorable omg). Their sizing is a bit different as they carry from 19号～ 37号, but the sizing charts should help you figure out which size you need.

PUNYUS    - There are only a few of these stores around, in big cities like Tokyo and Osaka, but I love this brand so I’ll be talking about their online store later in the post. The brand was established by Naomi Watanabe, one of Japan’s foremost plus-size comedians and TV personalities, and I absolutely LOVE her. Punyus uses their own sizing in 1, 2, 3, or 4. (I am usually a 2, but I always check the measurements for each garment very carefully because for some items I am a 3 or 4).

*Uniqlo carries up to a 4L in men’s sizes, but you usually have to order the larger sizes online as they don’t stock them in the regular stores.)

There are obviously way more stores than this that carry plus-sizes, and most of them will have the 大きいサイズ  sign right on the outside of the store. I’ve even managed to find some cute items in the  大きいサイズ  section of my local grocery/department store of all places (although don’t expect much from department stores, most of the fashion in these places will be very tame grandma clothes).

Now, let’s get into online shopping, which is the easiest method but can be a little tricky. The first thing you need to do is figure out your measurements, as the majority of online products will have a detailed size chart that is very useful for ensuring a good fit without trying it on.

SIZE CHARTS

Size charts will look like this, and will use centimetres:

サイズ表記 　（サイズひょうき） - size notation

バスト    - bust (the measurement around your chest)

肩幅　（かたはば）- shoulder width (measurement from shoulder to shoulder)

袖丈　（そでたけ） - sleeve length

着丈　（きたけ）- length (of the whole garment, Japanese ones tend to run short. I’m not even particularly tall but a lot of shirts tend to fit like crop tops here)

袖幅　（そではば）- sleeve width

袖口　（そでぐち）- cuff

幅裾　（はばすそ）- hem width

回り　（まわり）- circumference (measurement around the bottom) 

ウエスト    - waist

ヒップ     - hips

In general, the measurements that’ll be most useful will be bust, waist, hips, and length of the garment. As you can see on the model below, those measurements make her a size 3L. My measurements are 128-106-135 and I’m 168cm tall so I’m usually a 5L.

Once you know your measurements, it’s time to start browsing! I’ll briefly introduce my top picks for useful online stores.

ONLINE STORES

1. Nissen

This website is great and I use it all the time. It’s like an online shopping mall that carries the plus size options from a bunch of different brands, so you can just check here instead of browsing each brand individually. 

You can search by size, category, colour- it’s super convenient and easy, and the website is also available in English. 

SHOES

This site also has great options for shoes above 25cm (which is the largest size they sell in most shoe stores for women). My shoe size is 26.5cm with 4E width (extra wide) and I can easily find shoes here.

TALL SIZES

I mentioned before that some of the shirts here tend to fit fairly short, even for my 168cm (5′6″) height. Never fear, there are tall size options as well.

The tall sizes will be annotated with a TT next to it- as you can see, the first 3 options in the picture are MTT - 5LTT, and the 4th one doesn’t have the TT, so it will be a normal length. Again, you can just click on the item and go to the size chart to check the length in cm to see if it will fit.

2. Alinoma

Very similar to Nissen in that it gathers clothing from different brands all right here on the same site, and you can also use the parameters along the side to customize your search by size, category, colour, etc. 

One of my favourite brands (available from both sites) is タベルノスキー、which has super cute stuff~

3. PUNYUS Online Store

The clothes here are more trendy, playful, casual clothes, and I love that they use larger plus-size models than some of the other sites (including Naomi Watanabe herself). I buy a lot of non-work clothes from here.

*Note that all these sites have really reasonable shipping fees within Japan and also have frequent sales, as well. And they’re really easy to use with google translate.

INNER WEAR

Now, as for the busty gal trying to find bras and lingerie in Japan...

Don’t worry!!! I’ve found that most lingerie stores don’t stock my size, but again, it’s possible to order them online using either Nissen or Alinoma. You’ll want to look for the インナー tab, and ta-da! (Just keep in mind that the band in Japan is measured in cm).

To wrap up, I’d just like to reiterate that if you are plus-size in Japan and having trouble finding clothes, you’re not alone! There are lots of us here and there *are* brands out there that make cute clothes for us. If you see something you like in a store, go in and check it! The sizing is not only wildly different between brands, but it can even be different between different garments in the same brand. Don’t be afraid to try things on! You might be surprised by what actually fits and looks good.

Happy shopping!

[a-dorin]

tempestuous | darth maul

word count: 5.043k 

warnings: nsfw, 18+, professor/student relationship, sexual tension, smut,  nudity, sexual innuendos, dominance kink, age gap, cursing 

a/n: hello everyone! due to the response i received, this is the second chapter in the professor!maul au! i am so happy with the overwhelming comments of kindness. you guys rock :’) thank you for keeping me sane during quarantine. as always, the first chapter is linked below. enjoy :)) 

ardor

summary: weeks have flown by, and you find yourself under immense amounts of pressures with midterm quickly approaching. not only are you stressed with the academics, but you can’t seem to shake a certain professor out of your head.

“(y/n), did you have rough night?” barriss chuckled, handing ahsoka an iced coffee before sliding into her own spot, “here, i got you a little pick-me-up.” 

wrapping your hand around the cup, you swirled your straw around, “thank you, barriss. i guess i’m just a little stressed out with midterms approaching.”

“a little?” ahsoka giggled, covering her mouth, “(y/n), we love you, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. is everything okay?”

you rubbed your temple, a dull aching seeping into your skull, “i’ve been pulling some all nighters lately.”

“well if you ever want to study for with us, you’re always welcome,” barriss’ blue depths shone, her lips curved into an encouraging smile, “ahsoka and i are a little nervous about the midterm as well, especially for this class. professor maul hasn’t given us any sort of notion on what the exam may be.”

“i hope it’s something simple,” you grumbled, taking a sip of the matcha latte, “again, thank you for the matcha, barriss. i appreciate it.”

barriss laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, “anything for you, (y/n). after all, you’re our new best friend.”

“she’s very right,” ahsoka shot you a wink, prodding you with her elbow, “you should come to the library with us tomorrow night! i know, it’s lame, but it’s pretty empty on the weekend. we have a good chance at snagging one of those study rooms. and if we get our homework done friday, we can always meet up before that party saturday night!” 

“you guys party?” you arched a curious brow. 

barriss and ahsoka rolled their eyes simultaneously, the togruta letting out a huff, “we know how to have fun too, (y/n). after all, they say that the bookworms know how to let loose.”

“whatever,” you couldn’t help but laugh, pulling out your laptop. 

it was now about halfway through the semester, with midterms approaching on the horizon. the looming fact that you had about five exams, along with working extra hours with your internship, were beginning to take their toll on you. the internship at the hospital was running smoothly, and you were performing so well that you were offered extra hours. of course, you couldn’t help but accept the offer. 

yet, it came with a cost. although it was only two nights a week, they asked if you could stay a few hours later than normal. so, every tuesday and wednesday, you strolled into your apartment well past one in the morning. 

rex helped in every way he possibly could. whether it was cooking you dinner, making you coffee, tending to your laundry, as well as keeping the apartment tidy, he was adamant about making things easier for you. which, you greatly appreciated. there were even times he charged your laptop and made runs to the printer. last night was one of those nights where you didn’t get back till late, so to say you were exhausted was an understatement. 

although it was your first class of the day, and 9:56 a.m., sleep still hung heavy in your mind. the comfy clothes hanging on your frame weren’t much help either, the coziness of the fabric lulling you to sleep. a university of coruscant hoodie, a few sizes too big, was almost like a blanket. and the grey sweats were comforting. shaking your head, you attempted to focus. 

the class fell silent as he entered the room, causing you to perk up in your seat. today, he was clad in a pair of black slacks, the color of his button up and blazer corresponding with his pants. his shoes were freshly polished, glossy in the sterile light. the monochromatic outfit brought out the color of his crimson skin, his amber orbs nearly glowing. as usual, the silver chain hung from his neck, this time, settled on bare skin, as a button or two was left undone. 

you nearly choked on your matcha, as you drank in the sight of him. maker, was he gorgeous. mind buzzing, you mustered all of your strength to not admire for a moment too long. it was already embarrassing enough the sheer amount of instances you saw him on campus. 

now that you were enrolled in his class, you saw him everywhere. whether it was grabbing a meal to-go in the dining hall, bumping into him at the gym, or mumbling a greeting as you passed him in the halls of the psychology wing. it was odd, yet you paid no mind. a part of you yearned to see him, to just admire his features. 

professor maul didn’t seem to mind the encounters either. every time, he would chirp a greeting, his tone smooth and cordial. even though he was formal, you couldn’t help but notice a gleam in the golden pools as he spoke. it was almost as if his eyes were roaming your body, glittering with lust. 

just the mere thought of his lips on yours sent a faint blush painted across your cheeks. shifting in your seat, the realization that class began washed over you. letting out a quiet sigh, you typed notes as he spoke, his voice clear, thick with authority as it rang through the lecture hall. 

“now,” he cleared his throat, backtracking to the pedestal to the left of the space, “i compiled a list of terms and parameters of your midterm exam.”

groans of frustration erupted like a volcano, maul’s eyes blazing with amusement, “may i discuss the exam with you first or are you all going to complain?”

“i hate him,” ahsoka muttered under her breath. 

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, teasing, “what if the exam is a breeze?”

“the midterm will be no walk in the park,” maul announced, gathering a thick stack of papers in his hands.

 your eyes wandered to his hands, and how they sprawled over the stack with ease, how they were would fit so well over your breasts. a shiver ran down your spine as you pondered of his hands all over your body, relishing every inch of your skin. his voice snapped you out of your fantasy, his gaze settling on you, a smirk creeping onto his lips. 

“for the exam, i ask that you research an individual or authoritative figure who is a ‘monster’ in our society. once you conduct your research, you will give me a brief presentation. the presentation will be done orally, through a video format. the deadline is printed on the assignment sheet. there are no exceptions, so plan accordingly.”

biting your lip, your cheeks reddened under the eye contact. however, his attention was taken away from you, eyes flickering towards a student near the top of the lecture hall. 

“does this mean we can talk about president palpatine? he’s a tyrant!” 

“i can’t believe he almost banned the frats!” another complaint rose from a classmate.

“if that’s who you would like to report on,” a bubbly, lighthearted laugh escaped his lips, the sound flowing like sweet honey into your ears, “you might have your work cut out for you. that is my boss after all, so i am not sure how biased i can be.”

the rest of the class droned on, ahsoka and barriss lost in their note-taking, their stares fixed to their laptop screens. meanwhile, you found yourself getting lost, daydreaming. maker, did you ache to experience just one kiss. to trace the tattoos all over his chest and shoulders as you unbuttoned the article of clothing. gnawing on your cheek, shame burned through you as you realized that you were beginning to feel a sensation in your core. the mere thought of maul had your folds slick, wet and desperate for him. 

soon, class was over, students herded to the doors. you followed ahsoka and barriss, conversing about tomorrow’s plans. you were anticipating the study session tomorrow, as you needed it.

after all, you weren’t paying much attention in class these days. 

*******

“so, are we wrapped up for the night?” ahsoka yawned, her eyes bleary with sleep. 

a rumble in the distance shook the library, a thunderstorm wreaking its havoc over coruscant. you, barriss, and ahsoka were finishing up, the building nearing closing time. it was 10:32 p.m., the three of you hunkering down in a study room for the past two and a half hours. however, the session was helpful, the three of you passing notes, sharing what you did and didn’t have. you were all caught up, thanks to them. 

“i believe so,” barriss nodded, shoving a notebook into her bag, “(y/n), would you like us to walk with you to your apartment? we can share an umbrella and give you one.”

“i’ll be fine,” you shrugged, glancing at your phone, “i think i might wait out the storm for a few more minutes. besides, my roommate has a girl over. i don’t want to impose on them.”

“you sure?” concern flashed across ahsoka’s face, “it’s not a problem to us.”

“you guys can go,” you teased, winking, “i can handle myself. besides, there’s no one in here besides the twi’lek at the front desk.”

“whatever you say,” barriss huffed, adjusting her hijab, “see you tomorrow!”

“see ya,” you waved to the two girls as they left the room, “text me when you guys want to meet up!” 

“we will,” ahsoka called, giving you one last grin before they disappeared from your field of vision. 

exhaling, you rose to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder. strolling out of the study room, the lights of the library were dimmed, a few students lingering, milling around the front desk or nose deep in textbooks, scrambling to finish their work. 

eventually, you made your way to the lobby, leaning against the brick wall. rex promised that he would text you when his friend was on her way, yet there were no message on your screen. no missed calls. nothing. frustration welled up inside of you, creeping into your thoughts. surely the girl wasn’t staying the night. rex didn’t mention anything about it to you earlier. 

“hey there,” an all too familiar voice rumbled, “do you need a lift?”

turning ever so slightly, your eyes widened at the figure before you. maul stood in the doorway, donned in a pair of grey joggers, a university hoodie on his top half. the hoodie was black, which was a prominent color in the zabrak’s wardrobe. you picked up on that the third day of class. his brows were furrowed, lips pursed. it was almost as if he was concerned. 

“i’m fine,” you muttered, “just waiting on my roommate to give me the all clear.”

“i remember those days,” maul mused, “savage used to have all sorts of women over when we rented an apartment together for grad school. it was downright horrid.”

“i bet,” you sucked in a breath, anxiety swirling as you read the time once more. it was 10:48 now, more and more students filing out of the exit. 

“you all right?” he inquired, his voice low, “if your apartment isn’t too far from here, i can give you a ride. it’s storming pretty bad out there.”

“isn’t that illegal?” you snorted, a glimmer of hope rising as rex’s called id lit up your phone, “hang on, i gotta take this.”

“heyyyy,” immediately, you sensed that rex was walking on eggshells, “do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“rex, i thought we talked about this.”

“well,” he mumbled, “she wants to stay the night. i’ll do all of your laundry tomorrow if you say yes.”

“rex this isn’t the right time to bargain with me,” tears brimmed your eyes as the horror crept in. you had nowhere to go. 

“please?” his voice was sickeningly sweet, “pretty please?”

“fine,” you caved, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“thank you-” rex began, but you hung up before he got the chance to finish. 

storming out of the library, tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing effortlessly with the icy rain as it cascaded down, piercing through your clothes. you sobbed, your cries deafened by the thunder. maker, you were so furious. how could rex do that to you? especially so last minute? the only place you could go was your car, and you didn’t even have a fresh change of clothes. 

“(y/n),” through the roar of the thunder, you heard his voice. 

“oh great!” sobs racked your body, “now i have to deal with you too-”

his hands grasped your cheeks, pulling you in. lips collided with yours, his touch warm, as you crumpled completely. fingers tangled into your wet locks, desperate to bring you closer to him, to feel your lips mold so effortlessly with his. the kiss was fiery, burning with a passion. a desire for you. it was exhilarating, intoxicating, your mind buzzing, losing any sort of coherent thought as the rain pounded against the cement, lightning illuminating your surroundings. 

“now,” he pulled away, leaving you breathless, “do you need a ride?”

“i don’t have anywhere to go,” you could barely string the words together.

“you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

“are you sure?” you wiped your tears, yet the effort was fruitless. your clothes were soaked, you were chilled to the bone.

“yes,” he took your hands, “come on, let’s get out of here.”

“what if someone sees us?” anxiety bubbled within you. 

“my hood is up,” he began to make his way towards the parking lot, clicking a button on his car keys, “besides, i’m wearing black and so are you.”

“i guess you’re right,” you muttered, a shiver rippling through your being.

as he approached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for you as the rain pattered against the pavement. slipping off his sweatshirt, he shoved it into your hands, “here, put this on.”

“i-i’m not wearing a shirt underneath,” the words were a stutter.

“and i’m not fifteen,” maul scoffed, ducking so that he could slide into the driver’s seat, “you’re going to get sick out here and mine is somewhat dryer than yours.”

hesitantly, you made your way into the passenger seat, your eyes widening as you noticed the interior, “this is a tesla.”

in the darkness, you picked out the brightness of his grin, his incisors flashed, poking against his lips, “indeed. my apartment isn’t too far from here. i need to let savage know that we’re no longer having drunkfest.”

“drunkfest?” you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“drunkfest,” maul affirmed, his thumbs dancing across his phone, “we get absolutely wasted every friday night to forget about the awful moments of the work week.”

“interesting,” you settled into maul’s hoodie, grateful for the slightly drier fabric. his scent flooded your nostrils. it was a strong scent, with traces of leatherwood, spices, and bergamot. it was heavenly, with just the right amount of cologne. 

“it is interesting,” his eyes focused on the road, the lights of the city whirring by as he drove, “even though i’ve gotten completely trashed every single time, i can’t seem to shake you off my mind.”

blush flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching in your throat, “i see.”

within minutes, maul pulled into a parking garage, turning off the engine. he helped out of the passenger seat, “let me carry your bookbag for you. the textbooks probably need to sit out for a few hours. i’m sure you don’t want to pay for new ones.”

“i don’t,” you sucked in a breath. 

the zabrak slung your bag over his shoulder with ease, locking the car behind you. the two of you entered the elevator on the level, and maul pushed his desired designation. a wave of silence crashed over you, but it wasn’t unnerving. it was more relaxed, maul humming a tune as the elevator whirred. 

eventually, you were standing outside his door, the zabrak shoving the key into the lock. pushing the door open, you couldn’t help but marvel at the decor, furniture, as well as the viewports. the apartment was luxurious, screaming wealth. yet, maul remained humble, not uttering a single word. 

the floor was a flint concrete, glossed over with a polish. in the den, there was a massive patterned rug, intricate patterns of black, white, and crimson woven together. the couch was a sectional, a dark grey. the shelving and tables were black, paired with subtle hints of scarlet or grey decor. there wasn’t much wall decor, besides some vintage posters from the old days of coruscant. framed photos of zabraki were scattered, and you inferred that they were feral and savage, maul’s younger brothers. 

“there’s a hall leading to the refresher. it’s on your right, i’m going to set out your books to dry. before you shower, leave your clothes in a pile by the door. i’ll throw them in the wash for you. and if i pop in, don’t scream. i’m going to lend you some of my clothes,” the zabrak murmured, “take your time in the shower. i don’t want you getting sick.”

“what if i need help getting the right water temperature?” you arched a brow. 

his eyes narrowed, gleaming, “i think you’ll be fine, princess. call me if you need anything.”

your cheeks reddened, “okay. i’ll be in the shower.”

maul mumbled something incoherent, and you wandered through the den, discovering the hall that he mentioned. once you found the refresher, you peeled the damp clothing off your body, grateful that there was a towel hanging outside the shower. exhaling, you tossed your clothes outside the door, turning on the water. after adjusting the temperature to your liking, you stood underneath the stream, grateful for the warmth as it seeped into your skin. 

the shower was just as elegant as the apartment, with glass doors and a steel shower head in the shape of a square. it was far better than the shower in your own apartment, as you didn’t have to worry about wasting hot water or any spiders. steam billowed into the space, hugging the doors of the shower, droplets of water condensing on the glass. 

“i’m coming in to drop off some clothes,” the zabrak’s voice entered the room, “holy fuck do you always have the water this hot?”

“do you not?” you chuckled. 

“it feels like a sauna in here,” he chuckled, teasing, “anyways, i’ll leave you be.”

letting out a content sigh, you turned the water off once he left. opening the door, your eyes scanned the space for the light switch. after a few seconds, you found it, flipping on the vent. hopefully that would help with the amount of steam that clung to every single item in the refresher. 

on the counter, there was a black turtleneck, along with a pair of briefs. patting yourself dry, you slipped on the briefs first, then slid the turtleneck over your head. it was getting late, the clock on the counter reading 11:36 p.m. yawning, you pushed open the door, padding into the hall. 

maul was nowhere to be found, a frown forming on your lips. where could he had run off to? surely he would’ve mentioned something to you. yet, your curiosity crept in, urging you to explore. holding your breath, you noticed a door, inferring that it was maul’s bedroom.

the door creaked as you tapped it, the draft pulling it open. inside, the floor was the same as it was, a king-sized bed in the middle, pushed against the wall, supported by a black wooden bed frame. there was a dresser, along with a walk-in closet. the most breathtaking aspect were the viewports, acting as a wall. the lights of coruscant glowed, the room overlooking the city. rain flowed down the viewports as thunder rumbled. you felt drawn to them, awestruck by the beauty of the sprawling city.

“you like the view?” your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. 

“don’t scare me like that!” you pouted, folding your arms across your chest.

“don’t go snooping around,” maul smirked, matching your energy.

your heart thudded as his eyes drank in the sight of you, in his turtleneck. the sweater was a little large, hanging loosely in some areas. the briefs hugged your thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. your nipples poked through the fabric of the sweater, the cool air sending a shiver running down your spine. 

“gods,” he breathed, licking his lips, “i-i don’t know what to say.”

“i’m sorry for wandering off,” you mumbled, your cheeks hot as shame burned through you, “i didn’t mean to-”

“just stop,” maul shook his head, taking a step towards you, “just fucking stop. you have no need to apologize.”

the air in room crackled like the lightning outside as he took another step forward, an old t-shirt clinging to his torso, the same pair of grey joggers hanging loosely on his hips. your throat tightened as you noticed the way his chest rose and fell, the zabrak’s breathing ragged. 

“it seems as if i can’t shake you off my mind,” he panted as the space between you dissolved, “lately, all of my thoughts have revolved about you.”

“what do you think about?” you swallowed thickly. 

“do you want the hear the answer?” his face was merely centimeters away from yours, “or would you rather experience it?” 

“i want both.”

his hand reached out, gently grasping your jaw. the touch was light, feathery as his fingers traced your heated skin. you melted, nearly collapsing to the floor. 

the zabrak’s eyes glowed, the amber now hardened into a deep honey hue, almost a chestnut brown, “can i kiss you?”

you nodded, almost a little too quickly, “yes.”

a low, guttural growl dripped from his lips, “i couldn’t resist you before. but fuck as soon as i saw you in my clothes, i just can’t fucking take it any longer.”

the kiss was hungry, an open-mouth, lustful kiss. his lips crashed into yours, yearning to explore the taste of your mouth. the zabrak’s hands laced into your hair, tugging at the roots, gripping tightly. a whine echoed through the room as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue delving into your mouth. a hand slid down, resting on the nape of your neck, holding you steady as the kisses grew hungrier and hungrier. 

“get on the bed,” he commanded, his tone thick with authority, a hand untangling itself from your hair and tugging on the hem of the turtleneck, “and take this off.”

the way the words rolled of his tongue struck you to your core, your folds growing slick as the anticipation grew. fingers wrapping around the hem, you tugged it off, your breasts bouncing. the zabrak practically groaned as he admired your exposed body, a hand palming his cock as it hardened, the outline prominent in the light. 

obeying his order, you laid on the bed, your back hitting the soft comforter. maul slipped off the t-shirt, almost pouncing on top of you. pinning you down, his mouth connected with your neck, trailing sloppy kisses down, onto your collarbone.

“if only i could leave my mark on you,” his breath was hot, coming out in pants, “i would paint you like a canvas.”

“you can,” the words were a broken moan as his tongue dragged across your collarbone. 

“oh?” you could feel his lip curved into a smile, “you want me to?”

“ye-” the reply was shortened as maul’s lips wrapped around nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive area. 

his tongue drifted from your nipple to your flesh, nipping and sucking, a satisfied purr erupting from the zabrak as a rich burgundy mark appeared, “i hope you’re aware that you’re the most beautiful woman i have ever met.”

“i don’t think so.”

within seconds, his mouth was hovering over the waistband of the briefs, “you better fucking believe you are, (y/n).”

“i- oh my god,” the tearing of fabric rang off the walls as maul ripped the briefs off your frame. 

“usually i take my time with this,” maul murmured, his gaze burning with lust, “but fuck i need you. i need to feel you take my cock.”

“please,” you whimpered, squirming as he parted your thighs.

“holy fuck. how are you so fucking wet? you’re soaking and i haven’t even touched you.”

the zabrak was appalled, a flash of awe painted across features as he took in the sight of your dripping core, your pussy aching. desire burned through your being, threatening to consume you whole. maker, you never knew you wanted someone this badly. exhilaration rushed through you with every touch, his fingers slipping between your folds. 

“i’ve thought about you like this,” maul was enticed, almost in a trace as your juices coated his fingers, “i’ve thought about the way your body would be underneath mine, your eyes begging for me to fuck you till you can’t take it anymore.”

“i’ve thought about you in class.”

“in class?” his voice faltered, “(y/n), that’s sinful.”

“it’s not as sinful as how i’ve wanted you to fuck me for weeks,” your cheeks were flushed,. 

“oh gods,” maul groaned as a finger entered you, “i’m going to make you mine.”

“please,” your hips bucked forward, his finger plunging further into you, “i want to be yours.”

“you’re going to be mine princess,” he purred, “i promise i’ll give you what you’ve been yearning for.” 

hastily, the zabrak tugged his sweats off, kicking them to the floor. your nearly choked on your spit when his member sprang free from the constraint of the fabric. his cock was massive, the largest you had ever seen. yet, it wasn’t too large that you couldn’t take it. crimson and black patterns wove all around it, his shaft ribbed, precum dribbling down his length. 

“tell me how much you need me,” his voice shifted from a coo to a growl as fingers wrapped around your throat, “tell me how badly you need professor maul to fuck you senseless.”

“i need you to fuck me,” the words were a broken whine. 

“louder,” his grip tightened, “say it louder. i need to hear you.”

“i need professor maul to fuck me,” the words were enough to bring the zabrak to the edge, to make him unfold. 

“good girl,” his tone oozed with praise, low and husky. 

he lined his tip at your entrance, slowly inserting himself into you. maul’s hand loosened from your throat, gripping the headboard for leverage. your moans were breathy, laced with bliss as your walls expanded, wrapping around his cock.

“that’s such a good fucking girl,” maul leaned in, nipping at your ear, “you take my cock.”

the zabrak thrust into you, his tip brushing against your g-spot. throwing your head against the pillow, your body almost went limp, collapsing. the pleasure was overwhelming, burning through you like a fire. but maker, did you want more. you needed more. 

maul watched as he fucked you, one hand steady on the headboard, the other on the mattress, gripping the sheets. he was plowing into you now, showing no mercy. the moans bouncing off the walls were rich and so loud, fueling his desire to keep going. the zabrak lost all inhibitions minutes ago, his thoughts blurred, eyes glossed over. 

the way you felt was heavenly, every single thrust euphoric. 

maker, was he losing control. 

tightening his grip on the headboard, his knuckles were almost white. he was completely feral, unhinged, detached. 

a horrid cracking filled the zabrak’s ears, and he glanced up towards the headboard. the wood split into two, a lengthy, crack down the middle, stemming from his hand. 

“oh shit,” you gasped. 

“look what you made me do, angel,” a smirk stretched across his lips, “you’re going to fucking pay for that.”

your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slammed into you, balls slapping against skin. his cock throbbed, swelling. with every throb, your walls tightened, the pleasure building in your belly. eyes squeezing shut, you felt every inch of him buried in your soaking pussy, balls deep in you now. 

“maul,” the zabrak nearly unfolded right there, “i’m going to cum.”

“let go baby,” his lips brushed against yours, “you can cum. cum for me.”

the orgasm racked your body, maul’s mouth connected with yours, the moans muffled. your thighs trembled, stars bursting in your vision, the pleasure almost blinding. 

with no strength left, your body went limp, collapsing into the mattress. 

his thrusts were more languid, sloppy with every stroke. maul came moments later, filling you up with it all. 

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath, a sheen of sweat clinging to his body, “are you all right?”

“i’m fine,” your inner thighs buzzed, soreness creeping into the muscle. 

every inch of skin the zabrak touched tingled, as if your body was savoring the memory.

maul cleared his throat, his cock still inside of you, “i kinda lost control.”

“kinda?”

“a little bit,” he chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, “it’s been so long since i’ve last had sex. it doesn’t help that i’m in heat, either.”

“you’re in heat?” you pressed, brows furrowing. 

“perhaps,” the color of his eyes returned to their normal hue, amber flowing into crimson, “let’s get you cleaned up. it’s late.”

“is it past the professor’s bedtime?” your tone was snarky. 

“don’t tempt me to fuck you again. because we both know damn well that i will.”

glancing up, you noticed the broken headboard, “how much is that going to cost?”

the zabrak let out a huff as his cock slid out of you, drenched with a mixture of juices, “i don’t know. it’s the least of my concerns at the moment. stay here, and don’t move a muscle.”

swinging his legs over the mattress, maul strolled towards the refresher, retrieving a rag to clean up the mess that you made. you sunk into the bed, questions ringing through your mind. 

yet, you couldn’t help but notice a prominent feature. in the light, the tattooed skin glowed. but there was something different about the way his thighs transitioned from flesh to an ashen metal. 

maul’s legs were cybernetic. 

and your curiosity about the zabrak, your professor, skyrocketed.

***

tagged: @sapphicstars , @maulieber , @starflyer-104 , @alwayshappysith , @doobiwankenooku , @magicalkitkat12 , @dartheldur , @princessayveke , @multifandombtch , @spaghetti-666 , @lis-ard , @swimmingsloths , @sithmando​ , @mother-0f-monsters​

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Tell Me Everything

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary:  Reader works as a costume designer in Marvel. She's currently working on Endgame, designing the costumes for each superhero (but especially her favorite one), when Chris stops by. Later, he tries it on. Mutal pining goodness and fluff all throughout :) Warnings: None :) A/N: It’s been a while. I’ve written for chris once only, and I already miss it. Here’s some fluff.

Earphones plugged in deep in her ears, blocking every other sound apart from her music. The side of her hand is dirty with pencil lead, leaving occasional smudges on the paper that she forgets to erase. It’s- there’s a lingering fatigue she can’t really shake off. She’s beyond exhausted, working so late in the night, still in her office, but doing this, right here, it feels so damn good. It doesn’t matter that she should be heading home, because all her repressed creativity is bleeding in the paper, flowing as if it’s pouring out of her veins . Finally, finally , doing the thing she’s great at, the thing she loves.

Her music is deep, dark, has a strong but slow beat to it, and she bobs her head along, uncaring of the strands of hair that are furiously escaping her ponytail. She gets lost in the design, vigorously making swooping lines and hard edges, scribbling to her heart’s content, erasing a line and coming back in. The tedious process of adding details makes her settle just a little.

These past few years have been incredible. Working for Marvel was a dream she didn’t even know she’d had, the opportunity of a lifetime, truly. During the time spent working with all these amazing people, she’s learned, she’s grown, she’d developed as an artist and as a person. She can say nothing less than she’s happy, truly happy here. She means, designing and creating costumes for this franchise has been a job she couldn’t have even dreamt of. It may get tiresome, sometimes boring and tedious, but right now, designing… she feels like she’s been born to do this and just this.

It’s been a while since she’d gotten so lost in a design. It may be the fact that this particular one, and the actor that’s supposed to wear it, is her favorite. She may be biased. But she’d had amazing ideas and she was so eager to just make them come to life.

She’s coloring the last of the star in the center of the chest, when fingers tap her shoulder. Having been so lost in her work and music, she feels like someone poured a bucket of water over her without warning, and she jumps, pulling her earbuds out by their wire and swiveling her chair to look at the intruder.

Chris smiles down at her, all teeth and soft eyes. His hands are in the air flamboyantly, It’s me!, dark grey, long sleeved Henley loose on his biceps, and dark wash jeans hugging his thighs tightly. His hair is grown longer, tucked behind his ears, his beard is… new , and very nicely trimmed. Her heart thumps a little louder at the sight of him. If anyone were to ask, she’d blame the jumpscare, but she knows better.

“Chris!” Excitedly getting off her seat and throwing her arms around his shoulders in a friendly hug. His own wrap around her tightly, squeeze her to him, if only for a second, and she exhales.

“Hey!” He tells her, just as excitedly, and she pulls back. “I’m sorry I scared you, I knocked and there was no answer.” She waves a hand to show him it’s okay and plops back on her seat unceremoniously.

“What are you even doing here?! I thought the cast was gonna show up next week, for the fittings?” A strand tucked behind her ear and she’s suddenly kind of self-conscious of her disheveled state. Chris leans his hip on her desk and crosses his arms over his chest casually, looking like one of those bad boys in 2000’s coming-of-age rom-coms. She tries not to stare, but it’s a struggle, and a funny thought crosses her mind. If she were looking at him for the first time, he’d be screaming trouble. He still does, but less because he’s scary and a heartbreaker, and more because she’s hopeless when it comes to being functional around him.

“I had some business up here in New York, and the Russo’s asked me to drop by. Something about paperwork.” He shrugs lightly and she ‘ah’s, accompanied by a nod and a brief eyebrow twitch to show her understanding.

“Well, I’m happy you dropped by. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it,” she smiles at him, and Chris nods, a bit of an apologetic, regretful almost, look in his eye.

“So,” he says and shifts his weight a little, “whatcha working on?”

“You, actually.” Lead-stained fingers pull the sketchbook under the light a little better, closer to him, and he gets off his hip, places his left hand on the back of her chair, leaning all his weight on his right, on the desk. His chest is suddenly so close to her face, her shoulder brushes his torso and she’s holding her breath , because he smells so good –cologne and aftershave?- she might fucking faint . She can feel her face heat up. She wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he knows at all. She watches his expression.

“Waddaya got?” It’s all interest in his voice, and he doesn’t seem to intend to move. Damn.

“Well,” she takes a shaky breath, “I figured, y’know-“ a mindless shrug, and his shirt is exceptionally soft and fairly thin, two layers between their bare skin, and- oh gosh, she's supposed to be explaining things. Focus! “Cap needs a new suit, and he’s a fugitive now, right? He doesn’t really care to get a new one tailored.” Chris exhales a chopped, amused breath and nods sideways, as if saying You have a point there . “So the old one would have to do.

“But it’s different now, because he can’t have the same exact one, completely untouched, and he’s a different man now anyways.” Scooting the chair closer to the desk on instinct- and fucking great , now she’s literally pressing into the bottom of his ribcage lightly with her shoulder. It’s getting harder to breathe. She can feel his exhales on her face, Jesus. “So basically,” a steadying, shaky breath, “I made it dirtier- that’s why the colors are darker. It’s supposed to be aging fabric. But it’s also more comfortable for you.

“The sleeves will end right here-” without giving it much thought, she traces a line under his right elbow, the one on which he’s leaning, and he follows the motion with his gaze intently, “and you’ll wear some fingerless gloves with buckles on them.” He nods, eyes still not off her design, occasionally flicking to glance at her. “But,” she begins.

“The detail I’m most excited for is this,” a tap on the star in the middle of the uniform- or rather lack thereof. The space where the plastic white thing once resided is now dark blue like the rest of the uniform. She grins up at him when his features twitch in interest. “I pitched this to Joe and he really loved it. Basically, my logic is that, as we said, Cap’s a fugitive, yeah?” Chris nods, attentive as ever. “He’s gone against every government official he knows, against a big chunk of his own team. The news have probably said awful things about him and painted him as a superhero gone rogue or something. So what does he do? He rips off the star.

“He no longer fits the Captain America title, in the sense that he doesn’t want to be associated with the government’s lap dog, their dancing monkey. Instead of faithfully following orders as a soldier, he’s his own self, still a Captain, but on his own terms. It’s symbolic! He’s carving his own  path, leading like he was always meant to, and he’s dramatic enough to have done this- ripped off the star I mean. The suit should feel more familiar to him now.”

She’s been rambling for a while, her mouth is drier, but she was so excited when the idea manifested in her head. A big sense of pride washed over her, she couldn’t wait to design and implement it in the costume.

And Chris, well… Chris is looking at her with this small little smile that grows the more he considers it. “I…” he shakes his head, a grin stretching his pretty lips, “I fucking love it,” he tells her, with so much genuine warmth in his tone. She’s never heard him this confident and proud , like a parent almost, glowing at her like she’s something brighter than a star. “That’s brilliant , Y/n, holy shit ! The fans will go nuts!” He leans close to inspect the design again with the new parameters in mind, shaking his hand as if disbelieving, smile remaining on his face. “You’re amazing .”

A hot, red blush spreads across her cheeks fiercely, and there’s a lingering urge to sit up straighter, to square her shoulders in pride and happiness, because she’s so happy he liked it¸ but she is now acutely aware of how close he is, still not having moved away from her since she pressed into him accidentally. She resorts to a one shouldered shrug. “Thank you,” her voice is meeker than she’d like it, but Chris doesn’t mention it. Instead, they share a smile.

=

“Ready?”

“I’m, unf, gimme a sec- I’m coming.” Some shuffling, and then the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and she puts her phone away, swiveling in her chair and- oh Christ.

“Chris… ” she says, eyes racking from the tops of his shoes, up his legs, his thighs, his belt. The way the comfortable material stretches over his fit stomach, up his curved chest, and extends up to the base of his neck- it’s, fuck, he looks so good. His veiny forearms are exposed to the warm lamp light in the room, and he’s not wearing the gloves, seeing as they’re sitting on her desk.

The dark blue of his suit makes his newly dyed hair look golden .

“How do I look?” He says with a grin, striking an exuberant pose just to make her smile, and she grins.

“I’ll give you like,” she pretends to think for a second, “a six out of ten.” A shrug and a bitten back smile, and his hand goes to his chest dramatically, thick eyebrows furrowing and blowing out a breath.

“Damn,” he tells her with a look in his eyes that she can’t really place, something teasing, but like they're sharing an inside joke of some kind. “Harsh critic,” it’s teasing and happy, and she chuckles, because yeah. This is quite  perfect. She grabs his gloves off her desk and gets off her chair, going up to him and holding them for him to squeeze his hands in. She tightens some buckles, smooths a hand over the leathery material, making non-existent creases disappear.

A step back, she inspects the way the material hugs his thighs so nicely, but is also still baggy, to give him some freedom of movement. His boots are almost knee high, and- it actually looks like it might be a bit tight in the neck. She steps closer to him, barely tests the two buckles in front of his shoulders, checking that there’s give for him to move in. “It’s good? Comfortable, I mean?” A finger dragged between the collar of his top and his neck, purely professionally she swears, it was a subconscious move to check how much space there is for him to breathe and move his neck. And that’s the moment stupid Chris chooses to hum and she feels it in the exhale hitting her face, the vibration of his throat.

God .

Her lips purse and she squints a little, pulling back her hand. I can make this better , she decides. “Don’t move,” she orders and heads to her desk, grabbing some needle and a thread that matches the color of his suit, along with a small blade. She walks back up to him again and, with a careful hand on his chest and the threaded needle carefully placed between her lips, she makes a few, strategically placed rips near the star with the blade.

“Don’t stab me,” he says, tone low for a reason she can’t understand but makes a shiver run through her.

“Don’t give me ideas,” she counters, and Chris’s stomach shakes a little with a short, contained laugh. Continuing, she distresses the fabric, and patches up the edges so they won’t tear further during filming, allowing a string or two to stick out.

She is absolutely, of course, not ignoring how she can feel every single one of his breaths, and how he’s so good and still, and his hands are only a handful of inches away from her waist, his face hellishly close to hers.

A released exhale and a nod to herself. “Perfect,” she says quietly. She wraps the threaded needle around the handle of the blade so as to not lose it and throws it back on her desk haphazardly, to put away later. Unmoving from her spot near him, she gazes at the rips and decides it was a good addition. For just a second, it seems she forgets exactly how close he is, and now she looks up to him for approval, finding that same intent stare, straight into her soul from only three inches away.

There’s a sudden urge to shrink and disintegrate, confidence gone. Clothes she can handle. Chris she really can’t.

Baby blue eyes are watching her, standing perfectly still for her to do her thing, but there’s a, dare she say , affection of sorts in his gaze, and she’s very much struck with it. “You look great, Cap’n,” breathy and quiet, because she can’t fucking sit in silence when he looks at her like that. Chris smiles.

“All thanks to you.” A grin at the praise, at the lowered tone of his voice, as if he doesn’t want to break the moment with loud words. She should step back, b- but she physically cannot. Her muscles are seriously unwilling to move. This is her being weird, right? She’s crossing a line by taking advantage of his proximity, right? Why- He’s not showing any signs of awkwardness or discomfort though.

She’d like to know how one stretches a moment to eternity, a piece of knowledge she'd most certainly use right now. His cologne is the same as last week, when he visited in her office, comforting and musky, and he’s- he’s just looking at her with his beautiful eyes boring into hers, his warmth just centimeters away.

“You’re very close to me,” what a stupid thing to say , she scolds herself, but she just- she doesn’t know what else to do. Is it normal to feel such heat radiate from his body, or is that her mind playing tricks? She wants to curl into him, into said warmth, bury her nose in his neck and nuzzle there. It’s an urge that hits her like a tidal wave, and it almost makes her stagger on her feet. Her heart beats faster, inflated and full, adrenaline coursing through her veins all of a sudden. Chris swallows a little and nods. “What are you gonna do about it?”

There’s almost no charm in his tone, he looks borderline nervous, but there’s still some confidence in his velvety voice for him to flirt with her, the bastard and- she’s not imagining this, right? She’s not dreaming or anything? Chris actually enjoys this proximity, this closeness, he’s not pulling away. He just- he just sort of gave her consent to do something, anything. The ball is in her court, a challenge, proving she actually can do something about this.

With a shaky hand, she presses her palm flat on his chest.

A mental barrier is broken by that  touch and Chris seems to curl closer, if possible. His gloved hand goes to her waist, holding her near him, his head dipping lower, and she’s standing on her tiptoes. Noses brushing together, a challenge, emphasized in the teasing curl of his lips, sharing the same air. Beard tickling her top lip as she inches closer. A small hand on his face, and she licks her lips instinctively, parts them a little- and closes the gap between them.

It’s soft and wet and everything she’s ever dreamt of really, and holy shit , she’s dreamt of this. It’s actually happening, right now. He’s in his dumb Captain America uniform, pulling her close so now their chests are pressed together, moving his lips against hers slowly, and his hands are in leather gloves with buckles on them. The thought makes her smile a little, to the point where now the kiss is all teeth, and he pulls back for a second, as if sensing her amusement.

“What?” he asks. Her forehead leans on his chest, a sad attempt to hide her grin. His arms, one wrapping around her waist, his other hand on her back.

“I’m kissing Captain America,” and Chris lets out a single, incredulous breath, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if to say, you’re unbelievable. She grins up at him, a challenging eyebrow raised. Am I wrong though?

Teeth trap her bottom lip and she worries it for a moment as they quiet again, lost in thought and looking at him absently. She wants to kiss him again. She likes how his hands are warm on her back, how his chest is lean under her. Leaning on her tiptoes again, she smiles softly and brushes her nose on his cheek affectionately, because it’s suddenly okay to do so, the hairs of his beard scratchy against her skin. Chris is not having it though, and he turns his head to capture her lips again.

It feels so good, she thinks, as she instinctively places gentle fingers on his jawline to keep him tilted to her. It’s like the world is blooming. Like her heart is bursting through the seams, chest far too small for it. She kisses him, and he holds her just this much closer.

She’s kissing Captain America. And it’s a damn good fucking kiss.

Tags: @thegetawaywriter​ 

[imaginaryhuman]

Insecurities, Fortitude and the Unfortunate Phenomenon of Gatekeeping

Note:

1. I'm trying to not be afraid of my own opinions (this will probably get a different word wall)

2. This isn't a hot take or a "permanent opinion". It's just...current. I think opinions fit a dynamic mold. Or I think it should since circumstances change and experiences can change thought processes.

3. My initial draft for this was a lot more aggressive and angry. When I started writing, I thought I would only tackle the one thing I was very familiar with (insecurities), then I read an article that miffed me a bit because of the gatekeeping vibes, and for a while, I was angry about it but then I realized how common it was. I've heard it from my brothers, I've experienced it with fandoms, with books, with cooking, and with running. There's even a subreddit for it! 👀

It's not like I'd wake up one day and it will be gone. Still, it does push me a few steps back when it comes to conquering slight misanthropy. But it matters to me to say this cause I grew up seeing myself as some last draw.

_____________________________________________________________

"I feel most responsible for myself when I'm insecure" I've wanted to expound on this for a while so here goes:

I've grown to have an intimate (and rather painful) relationship with insecurities. I was a sickly child so I would be in and out of hospitals so frequently that establishing young friendships didn't come easy. Some kids didn't take kindly to impermanence too and it's not anyone's fault. It just happened to be that way. Growing up, I came to realize that I wasn't exactly great at anything. Had I not been exposed to extraordinary minds, maybe I would have come to terms with it much kindly except I wasn't. I always thought that people around me were brilliant, smart, and talented (until now). To the point where I felt the need to alienate myself from it all so I could remain in the forefront of my own mind.

Comparisons come naturally but having them weigh on you is a different ball game altogether. Learning ways out of it is always challenging because insecurities aren't just a singular form of monster-- Sometimes it's about the future, sometimes it's body image, sometimes it's the gripping idea of not being enough for anything you love and it's all so cursed and horrible.

There was that time when more things were piled up on the mental shelving. I was talking shit about someone. Sure, people do it all the time but I think that time I was... viciously and purposelessly nitpicking. Everything I could say about that person, I said it. Totally not proud of that moment and a friend thought so too! First, they told me to shut the fuck up. Just like that, really. Next is they pointed it out. As in told me "V, you have a problem and it's really fine being a total hater but you're not usually like this with other things you dislike. What's wrong?" and then we EXPLORED. Doing this can be so cringe a lot of times but hey, we face the music in this club! I was happy to not be thinking about it alone and the experience made me learn a new way of confronting things and issues that make me feel insecure.

We talked about the whats, whys, and hows of being one hell of a hater and how even if certain reasons are justified. Like, okay, someone did something bad to you and you hate them for it? That's totally valid. Do you find certain traits a bit off your tastes? that's valid too! But even if they are valid feelings, most of the time it's not enough to justify certain actions. The thing is, we don't really have the right to be so up in someone's business about every little thing they do. It's frustrating and I feel like a hypocrite saying this sometimes because I have the obsessive compulsion to keep everyone at arm's length but I feel like there's a parameter where peoples' businesses either become something welcome or becomes a blip on a radar that I'd aggressively shoot down. Although I know that my radar can get too wide and that I need some willpower to hold back snark and suspicion. What can I say, I'm weak to any notions of ill-intent (a byproduct of assault).

But fortitude would sometimes come from borrowed words:

"Don't deny yourself what you think but don't do yourself a disservice by not figuring out what it really is about"

I was told then. To be truthful but exercise tact (I'm neither tactful, clever nor silent hence the trouble that follows) and to be mindful of the undercurrents of my thoughts. I think it's important to take a step back and at least ask yourself the most honest and genuine whys.

Insecurity has a bad rep and is too often used derogatorily for something so common and rather natural. But I feel that ultimately, insecurity stems from an understanding of what you don't have and the frustration of having aspirations. Having aspirations being a good thing but the frustration makes us people act up in so many different ways. For me, insecurities have primarily manifested themselves through the urge to just hide everything that makes me happy because I couldn't (and it's still hard to) stand digs at the things I do to keep me sane. Plus I've always thought them (happy things) few and temporary so that's that. Younger me was weird about it omg.

The rule in this house now though is to express what makes me happy and I think I've saved up a bit of grit to not allow myself to be gatekept (by others and by myself**) from those happy things! I love a lot of things (baking, running, reading, pets, anime & manga, drawing...) and the gatekeeping going on with all those? Surprisingly plenty! A totally different word block (that I won't write because I think this has to be put to rest here), really, and also a total nightmare. But how it applies in the realm of insecurities is... Oh, boi. Ignore it-- it's just bad news as it is strong fuel to a fire you don't want to keep going. If you love doing what you do and you're not hurting anyone then just keep going. I know for a fact that the things I love doing are loved by many others too because running? Creating things? Reading? These are things worth loving without it having to be a competitive chore (If you wanna challenge goals though then hey! Good on you! YOU CAN DO IT!)

Draw your lines, plan your layering in a way that fits your style. Use the tools that work for you. Put on your shoes and get going. I'm only particular with speed because I want to get better (and lol I am not fast) but just being out there and moving? That's already running. Fail some recipes or nail em, whatever happens, just try. Fangirl over what you wanna fangirl about! Post it on your IG and all your other socials. A rather horrifying realization is that no matter what you do, someone's gonna take a dunk at ya. Worse, you can be intentionally approached and engaged for that purpose primarily. It's okay (not really but... if it happens, it happens ). Even if you're used to it, it will still get to you but maybe less and less through time. When the voice of apprehension guides you to retaliate in the most painful way you know, just keep the fear at bay and be strong to not let that urge take over your words and actions. Be frustrated! It's fine! And I really don't support self-harm so please don't misunderstand when I say that when it comes to fear and insecurity, there's a lot you have to take on yourself so you don't hurt others. A lot to unpack between you and your brain. There are people who can love you without patronizing you and those you can trust to reign you in when you lose better judgment. Be honest and let them in.

Have that conversation.

//

Extras:

- AH! But I got to say this cause I also saw a post that said "if you haven't ran 50 to 100 miles, you don't know what a hard run is" wow. Fuck that guy. Actually, don't. He's probably not a fun date.

- this: "you can be intentionally approached and engaged for that purpose primarily" is from experience. An extra worse thing is to be vilified for retaliating. Like...was I just supposed to sit there and take it?

- I used to not like motivational quotes! I mean, I'm alright with them now for sure! We were talking about them and I was asked "What's wrong with properly credited borrowed words? You use them all the time since you like referencing songs." and it was like a tunnel of light appeared before me! Sorry for those whose post I've frowned at! I had an angst phase! I am very genuinely sorry 🙏🏻

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor

[continued from]

moodboard by @strangelock221b​

author’s note : Reader may recall the many references to Scarlett’s preternatural connection to the Sea. This chapter reveals that her Professor has a true, supernatural connection of his own.

His study door was open, but Scarlett lightly knocked upon it anyway, as much from good manners as from believing that such behavior was still very much within the expected parameters of their relationship. “Come on in, m’dear,” was his distracted sounding reply.

Hennessy was seated in the same wingback chair as from the evening before, reading glasses perched on his nose, a red, felt tip pen in hand as he marked up the quiz sheet he held in the other. A stack of papers sat on the side table next to his chair. He glanced up at her over his glasses, then squinted and pursed his lips. “Darling, didn’t you bring a change of clothing? Or do you plan to swan about in my dressing gown all day?”

Yet again, Scarlett felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Well, yes, Sir, I…I did. But I thought you meant for me to see you first.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded, quirking a quick smile, “Not that you don’t look lovely in it, of course.” Scarlett was thinking how casually handsome he looked, his thick, dark hair still wet from his shower and meticulously slicked back, with him wearing a navy blue, athletic fit polo which accented his broad shoulders and firm pecs—reminding her of how thrilled she’d been to pamper them with moist, hungry kisses during their many hours of play the night before. A pair of grey Adidas track pants and well-worn leather boat shoes completed his relaxed look.

“Thank you.” Scarlett fidgeted with her sash, without a clue of what to say next—though Hennessy soon solved that for her, casting her an indulgent smirk. 

“I’ll be tied up here for a bit longer, so feel free to keep yourself occupied. You are welcome to explore any of the rooms on the first floor, and the grounds if you so wish.” His eyes seemed to drill into hers with his next instruction, “However, I must insist that you refrain from entering any room on the second floor other than my bedroom suite.” His gaze raked her from head to toes in a way that made her feel he was numbering her every physical attribute once again—numbering and weighing, as though calculating her worth, before he added quietly, “For there are some things you’re still too delightfully innocent to learn, m’dear.”

She nodded solemnly, her mouth gone dry at the implications. “I’ll leave you to this, then,” she offered, and then turned to leave, reaching the door before he called her back.

“Scarlett, there was a question you asked earlier which I never got to answer…wasn’t there?”

“Yes,” she blinked in surprise.

Hennessy nodded forbearingly, “In light of the…advance…in our relationship, I can offer you several options.” He whet his lips, then continued, “I don’t especially care for ‘Sir’, but if it’s a kink you enjoy, I’ll allow it. ‘Professor’ is fine as well, and you may also address me as ‘Hennessy’—many of my lovers do. But don’t even think of using my given name…” He chuckled. “It’s the single least sexy name in the world, and I only tolerate it from my mother.”

“Alright,” she replied softly, though he appeared to have something more to add.

“And as you are quite soft and…” he paused and inhaled deeply, as though he had caught a trace of her musk on the air, “…mmmmm…deliciously romantic, my sweet little lamb, a few terms of endearment are not uncalled for, as long as you don’t use them excessively…”

“Uh-huh,” she smiled, feeling exactly that sort of softness for him now.

“...and I do find I’m rather fond of that Scottish thing you’ve called me...”

“My...my jo,” she nearly whispered.

“Yes! My jo---I like that,” he exclaimed, “Quite more than I ever would have expected.” Hennessy flashed her wink and a toothy grin. “It’s back to work for me now, my jo---but I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

He turned his attention back to his task, so that Scarlett finally departed, certain that he would find her exactly as promised when the time came around.

          _________________________________________________

She decided to forgo the exploration for the time being, knowing that she needed a good washing up instead---and rather wishing that later Hennessy might give her a tour of the place himself. Back in his bedroom, she picked up her discarded items and fully opened the French doors, drinking in the warmth of the sunshine and the gorgeous view of the sea from his balcony. I should sketch this some time, she mused, though in truth she wasn’t sure if this might turn out to be her only opportunity.

Scarlett’s change of clothes was simple and modest when compared to how she’d outfitted herself for their evening tryst. Still, she laid what she had out on the bottom of the bed; a gauzy, white peasant blouse, stonewashed denim clam diggers, and a white lace bra with matching knickers. Casual and comfortable, for she had actually expected she would be wearing them as she headed home with the morning light, or even sooner. While never having imagined the several ways that Hennessy would have her through the night.

Mmmmm. Hennessy. And the things he had already taught her. Nothing in her sheltered world had prepared her for the brazen craving that she felt at just the thought of him and the divine sins he had tutored her in. She was craving him even now, like an addict for a fix.

But it wasn’t just the physical leading her to feel this way. There was his astonishing duality. He could be brutally honest, caustic, selfish, and even cruel---yet he had been so gentle with her at the moments she had needed it the most, and he was brilliant, funny, and surprisingly kind when the spirit moved him. As when he had finally gotten around to taking her maidenhead, and in the aftermath. No matter what might transpire between them going forward, at least part of her heart would be forever his, from that alone.

Oh, Hennessy was supremely confident and self-possessed, but beneath the facade he showed the world, Scarlett sensed bitter self-contempt and secrets that he had resolved to hide even from himself. Deep and painful secrets, surely related to the mysterious scars he bore. Her unerring intuition and gentle empathy---gifts come down through the ages to her, courtesy of her ancient Selkie blood---made her ache to know why. And to provide some consolation, were he ever to allow her into his heart.

She closed her eyes and with the freshness of recent memory she pictured the sight of him looking out his balcony doors to the sea, marveling again at sheer physical beauty of his form, and then shivering as she had last evening as she recalled seeing those brutish marks for the first time. Certain that would be imprinted on her heart forever as well. The urge to capture that moment had her moving to grab her sketchbook and pencils from her bag even before she even made the conscious decision. It might be foolhardy, she told herself, and surely he would not be pleased---if her were to know. But Scarlett felt the strong need to do so nevertheless.

She took a seat on the tufted ottoman, and as was the way when she was deeply inspired, she set to work with ease, lightly penciling in an outline of Hennessy and then sketching the details of the French doors, balcony, and the night sky with the round, fat moon framed by storm clouds, and its watery reflection on the distant waves. Next she lovingly attended to his details; his stillness as he stood enrapt, the restrained tension in the straightness of his posture, the sculpted beauty of his broad shoulders and long, lean back. Once she was satisfied that the image held true as it could to her vision, she filled in the ladder of scars---blinking back a tear or two as she wondered again how such a travesty had come to be.

Pleased with her work, Scarlett tucked her supplies away, then rose and headed to the loo, intent on treating herself to a hot, soothing bath. Muscle aches from the vigor of the night’s workout had begun to announce themselves, and Hennessy’s tub was the irresistible remedy.

                  __________________________________________

While the tub filled, Scarlett had taken the time to pin up her hair, and then had rolled up one of the plush towels as a cushion for the back of her head once she leaned back against the far end. Hennessy’s bathtub was longer and deeper than any she’d ever used before---no surprise as it was just another element of a lifestyle dedicated to hedonism.

A small, shelved wire rack hung off the lip of the tub, holding body wash, shampoo, a loofa and a sea sponge. And no surprise once more, as Scarlett noted that in addition to body wash that echoed Hennessy’s sea-themed cologne, there were  a couple of smaller bottles in decidedly feminine scents---reminding her that she wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, houseguest to enjoy the benefits of his inner sanctum. After sliding into the water, she wet the sponge and squeezed  a generous amount of jasmine and orange blossom body wash onto it, creating a luxurious foam when she scrubbed her neck, shoulders, upper chest and arms. Next, she washed her legs all the way down to her insteps and toes, and then set the sponge aside and nestled back against the tub, closing her eyes and breathing slowly and deeply, letting the hot water work its magic.

Scarlett wasn’t  sure how much time had passed before she opened her eyes, although the water remained comfortably warm. She has sensed that she was no longer alone, yet still felt surprised when she discovered Hennessy casually watching her only a step or two from the tub. “Ohhhh,” she inhaled, then rushed to add, “I hope this is alright.” Although he had already seen her every detail, somehow she felt vulnerable with only the slowly dissolving suds between her bare skin and his avid gaze.

“Of course it is, my sweet,” he assured her gregariously, “In fact, it’s...hmmm...simply perfect.” 

The warmth of the water couldn’t keep her skin from from prickling with goosebumps of anticipation, for she knew from his look as well as his tone what he meant by ‘perfect’. “Done with those papers then, Professor?” she asked innocently.

He t’sk’d as he crouched beside the tub, shaking his head, “Not quite, no. But you see, I suddenly found myself rather distracted...” Hennessy reached to cup her jaw in his palm and ran his thumb along her bottom lip; instinctively she lowered her lashes and kissed it. “Now that’s my bonnie lass,” he drawled, slipping his thumb between her lips, “My wet and slippery water nymph...”

“Might...might you care to join me,” she asked after giving it a gentle suck, eager to move over to  give him room.

He wore an air of mystery, amusement, inevitability. “I probably will---eventually. But there’s something I’d like to show you first.” He withdrew his hand and added, “A special treat because you’ve been such a good, good girl.”

Scarlett’s heart had begun to race a bit, as she wondered what sort of act could make him sound and look almost diabolical---although whatever it was, she couldn’t deny her curiosity, or her need to please him by obeying.”

“I know you didn’t mean to interrupt me, Scarlett, for there are things you’ve yet to learn about my nature. Now seems the ideal opportunity for that.” His knowing smile was both beautiful and wicked. “The fact is, darlin’, I could feel the water running as you drew the bath. It called to me like a veritable invitation,” he growled, lust shamelessly stamped upon his patrician features.

Though mystified by his statement, her cheeks burned with unrepentant desire to learn what lesson her was offering now. Scarlett watched him hold up his forefinger and then dip it up to the second knuckle in the bathwater. Immediately, ripples of concentric circles moved outward from it, as they would for a stone cast into a body of water. Hennessy’s eyes then captured hers as he barely stirred the water, and he was grinning as he waited for her response to what came next.

Scarlett gasped at the sudden sensation as a current of water strikingly warmer than the bath washed across her submerged torso. He mouth dropped open, “Oh...oh myyyy...”

Hennessy simply nodded, though his pupils had grown large enough to leave visible only a thin crescent of his sea blue irises.

The warmer water seemed to coalesce around her breasts until it felt like it was cupping them while slowly pulsing around them. Like the flex of strong, warm hands. Like his hands. And when tendrils of heated water began to stroke her nipples, drawing them to hard peaks, Scarlett gasped at the divine sensation, then exhaled a long, molten moan. “How? How is this possible,” she whispered, laying her head back against the rolled towel. 

Hennessy laid his other forefinger across his lush lips, swift to command her, “Ssssssshhhhhh...don’t question it, love...just trust in me as you have all along.”

“I will...I do...” she nodded, gasping again when thick, heated tendrils kissed both of her insteps, then slowly began to twine up her legs. The water continued to caress her breasts, deliciously teasing her nipples so that it nearly felt she was being suckled. A small part of her brain warned that there was devilry in what her lover was doing---but need and desire overrode those cares, for Scarlett knew full well what was coming next.

Those tendrils had wrapped around her thighs, pulsing against her skin while their ends insinuated themselves between them. As much as she expected it, her eyes still flew open at the impossibility of them brushing up and down the length of her slit, while seeking her tender, secret flesh and then spreading her open and spoiling her with pleasure as strongly and as surely as though they were Hennessy’s talented fingers themselves. She groaned as she undulated beneath them, knowing what he intended for her.

Indeed, one of the columns of water thickened and became more dense as the other continued to stroke her clit, and then began to seek entry. Scarlett needed to see him, her lover and teacher, this mysterious creature who had captured her soul and now appeared to possess power over the element of water itself. The look of concentration on his face was mesmerizing, and when the thick, hot shaft of water finally slid inside her, he looked absolutely victorious.

The water was smooth and hot and driving so deeply into her that she keened again and again, and it wasn’t long until she was gripping white-knuckled onto the lip of the tub with both hands as she bucked her hips into his glorious onslaught. Hennessy had begun to moan quietly and when she managed to look at him again, a fine sheen of sweat stood upon his brow and above his lips. “Yessssss,” he hissed, “You’re my wicked little angel, aren’t you, love...made...made just for me...” He was panting hard, as though with effort to bring her to climax, “...a gift...a gift of the Sea...”

In that moment, that was exactly what Scarlett wanted to be; Hennessy’s in every way imaginable, belonging to him shamelessly. “Oh pleeeeeeeease...finish me, my jo,” she cried out, beyond all thought of sin, craving only what this spectacular devil willed for her, “Make...me...cum...cum for you...” Whatever spell he was working reached its peak, and Scarlett came hard in a glorious frenzy, until her body went limp and she nearly slid beneath the surface. As Hennessy grabbed her to keep her afloat, the heated tendrils dissolved, dispersing their warmth into the surrounding water and leaving behind only their effects upon her---waves and waves of diminishing after throes, eventually making her shake from the power of her release.

When her body finally relaxed, Scarlett opened her eyes to find him watching her closely again and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “I dare say you’re squeaky clean now, my sweet,” he observed, “And that was delicious, don’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly as words failed her for several breaths, while her rational mind insisted that she had to be dreaming everything that had happened since she’d initially laid her head back and closed her eyes. “No, you’re not dreaming, my jo,” he assured her. That expression coming from him was like a surprising, gentle caress. One that could only leave her covetous for more of the same. “I swear to you that what just happened is very, very real.”

Scarlett barely found her voice enough to ask, “But...how? How could that be?”

Hennessy pursed his fulsome lips and raised a single brow, “Explanations can wait for later.” A greedy expression now colored his dear, handsome face as he rose to stand---a look that echoed the way his loose track pants now tented across his erection. “But right now,” he told her while he pulled off his shirt and let drop his pants where he stood, “I’m going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

And though she had just been fully satisfied, Scarlett felt her nipples tighten in anticipation as he stepped into the water, while the gorgeous ache to have him fill her again...to have him take her mercilessly...had the muscles all throughout her pelvis reawaken with that sinfully luscious need.

tagging: @strangelock221b​ @ben-c-group-therapy​ @ben-locked​ @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @ravencatart​ @doctor-stephenstrange​ @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @humanbornarchangel​ @frowerssx-world​ @tsukuyomi011​ @emilyinnj4real​ 

[1zashreena1]

Wedding Planning -15

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  Princess came home to a whole new set of anxieties. Murder Panther to the rescue via the restorative powers of dick. Unlike the dick, this one is short and sweet.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Come eating, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, wedding planning comes with its own warning

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​ ​ @symbiont13​​ ​ @nicke0115​​ ​​ @bunnykjm​​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​​ ​ @girlpornparadise​​ ​ @mandoplease​​ ​ @heresathreebee​​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​ ​ @jetiikad​​ ​ @joalsglasses​​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​ ​ @demoncatstone​​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​ ​ @poeedamerons​​ ​ @xxidontwikeitxx​  @kid-from-new-zealand​ @fleurfatale89​ @allalngthewtchtower​

You have to make some decisions. Like, a bunch.

Okay, make a list. 

You pull the big legal notepad off the bookshelf in your living room and meander around until you find your colored pens. Red for immediate, orange for middling, and green for long-term.

Parameters set, you begin The Listing.

It takes a couple of days, but you think you finally have everything accounted for that you can possibly imagine.

The long term column has vague, nebulous, theoretical problems written in dark green:

-Where will you live?

-Keep your job???

-TAKE HIS NAME?????????

-CONVINCE HIM TO RETIRE

Intermediate consists of things you two need to discuss, too:

-Ceremony?

     Where 

     What type

     Who invited

     When

-Honeymoon?

-Colors?

-Food (yum/lots plz)

-Flowers  eww no ->Alternative bouquet 

-People in ceremony???

And then things that need answered like, next week:

-MEET FAMILIES (panic)

-A Dress?

-??????? omg help

You're going to give yourself a panic attack if you keep looking at it. I'll just take it with me this weekend and hand the immediate section to him.

You feel a little better with a plan, even if it only consists of two steps.

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

 Diego is standing in the kitchen glaring at the espresso machine when Bastian drops you off at the penthouse.

You glance around, no Julio to be found, before you head over to him. Diego's left hand shoots out and he wiggles fingers at you, trying to grab you despite the twenty foot gap between your bodies. You snort, but its still adorable. 

Slotting in underneath his arm, you wind around him with a sigh. "Hi, baby. Whatcha doing?"

Brown eyes come down to you and he smiles widely. "Its not working. How was your trip?" His forehead descends and you rise on tiptoes to meet him. 

"Better now that I'm here." You whisper as your lips curl up in a pleased grin. Diego rubs his nose with yours before swooping down for a kiss. The goatee has gotten long enough that its now soft on your chin, but still tickly. Combined with his velvet lips and hot tongue, you almost experience sensory overload. High pitched noises escape your throat while you melt against him. Diego takes your weight with no effort and you don't hesitate to let him. When he finally pulls back you just have to chase him a little; you really, really like the facial hair.

When you finally slit eyes open he is grinning down at you like a cat that got the canary. He sounds so smug, "I should grow out the entire beard?" 

You lick your lips and consider the salt and pepper growth that occurred since you saw him last weekend. Your left eyebrow climbs with your own inquiry, "Do you want to live between my thighs?"

"Uh, yes…?" Diego answers what was apparently the stupidest question ever posed. Chocolate eyes sparkle at you as he fails to suppress a smirk. "What do you think the ring is about?"

Your guffaw is cut short when he tosses you up onto the counter and shoves both huge hands down the back of your pants to push them off. The jeggings stretch easily over your hips and Diego, ever efficient when it comes to getting some pussy, takes your thong with them in one swift motion. Bracing hands on those broad shoulders, you wiggle and shift and bend whichever way is necessary to assist. Never let it be said that you are not a team player.

Your left shoe hits the floor and as Diego switches to the right he asks breathlessly, "New?"

"Yeah." Your response is just as rushed as you grab at his hair.

"Pretty." He tosses the right shoe off towards the living room with this proclamation. 

Both big hands come up to your knees and spread your legs wide. "Well, thank yourself. I used the black Amex." You chuckle as you lean back on elbows.

Slowly, menacingly, promisingly, Diego rises over the lip of the counter between your legs with that shark smile. He purposely pitches his voice low to rumble, "Good girl."

Your insides liquefy as your back arches and your pussy clenches down on nothing. How the hell does he do that? You can feel yourself getting wet. Fleeting kisses and sharp little nips mark Diego's progress up the inside of your left thigh.

"Hmm." His breath ghosts over your center in the lightest of teases. "What is that method to train again? The treats instead of yelling?" He rubs those bristles you so love over your inner thighs with considerable force and it almost induces a seizure.

"P-postive reinforcement!" Your yelp is exceedingly high pitched. Oh fuck yes, reward me with tongue, I'm a good Princess. You're almost certain that your brain has melted, you have zero sense when it comes to this man.

Diego nips the very bottom of your right buttcheek, so close and yet way, way too far away. "Yesss," he hisses into the short hair just above where you need him most, "That's what its called." The feel of his goatee just barely brushing over your folds while he speaks has turned you into a gibbering mess.

"P-please, Diego. I did like you told me, I didn't even text to ask first, please please…" How he manages to break you down into a begging disaster so quickly is a mystery. Your hands curl into his hair, desperately trying to pull him closer.

"Mm hmm," his deep hum makes you quiver, memories of that sound being delivered straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves via the vehicle of his tongue drive you higher. The rough timbre is dark with desire when he speaks this time, "You were a very good girl. My pretty little Princess is learning well. Let Diego give you your reward."

The heat of his open mouth covering your entire vulva is stunning. Your shoulders fall to the countertop as you moan shamelessly, "Ohhh, yes baby." That sinfully amazing tongue pokes into your entrance then flattens out broadly to lap all the way up to your clit. "Yeah!" Your single breathy yelp is accompanied by a jerk of your wide hips. Diego presses hard and moans.

Your hands slap down on the countertop for leverage so you can press down on him. "Yes, yes. Oh my god, how is, your tongue, so hot??" Breath stuttering, your words are choppy. Your chest jumps each time he groans against you and Diego repeats it again, seemingly just to enjoy your reaction. He pulls off with an obscene slurp, Nonono come back! 

"The same way this pretty little pussy is always so tight." The dirty talk is all the warning you get as two thick fingers sink deep inside. It takes a moment to comprehend that the ringing in your ears is an uncomfortable noise emanating from your mouth. He pulls out slowly, making sure you feel every ridge and callus, all the textures, before pushing in again steadily. Each time he retreats your cunt clenches down, trying to hold on to the feeling of being filled. "Did you miss your Diego? Huh?"

There is no earthly reason anyone should be this fucking sexy.  

"Only, oh fuck, only when I'm ali-i-i-ive!" The confession ends in a squeal as he bottoms out and rubs your cervix. The cold counter is heating rapidly under your thrashing form. Just as you start to get accustomed to the sensation Diego ups the ante by closing lips over your clit and sucking. Your hips roll against him, he matches the rhythm of his hand with your movements expertly. Legs rising high and spreading wide, trying to give him as much room as possible to work. A broken chant is punched out of you with every thrust, "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

The disappointed whine you utter when he breaks the suction is cut off into choked silence by the focused licks he is now delivering. You bury both hands into his short hair and hang on for dear life. His beard rasps against your sensitive skin and the contrasting feelings drive you mad. These are the licks that push you higher, these licks mean business. 

Between the long, slow thrusts of his fingers and the never ending laving of your clit, everything is tightening up quickly. Your legs shake and your stomach trembles, you pull on his hair and Diego moans for you. You moan back, "Fuck. Yeah, baby. Just, just keep. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Because Diego is Diego, he doubles down on the pressure and goes even harder with the tongue. Your entire consciousness narrows down to the man between your legs working you over like its his life's mission to make you come on his face. Everything is clinching tighter and tighter. Tense and strung out taut, you call for him as he pushes you right up to the edge and straight over it.

"Diego, Diego. Baby, I- F-fuck, yes, yes. Love you, love you, I fucking love you, I love you." You realize that was aloud but can't be bothered to stop the babbling confession synchronized to the waves of your climax. Diego groans against your clit but keeps his fingers fully buried so you can clamp down on him in ecstasy. You ride it out knowing full well that he won't rush this, he loves to feel the effect he has on you. You have no idea how long it goes on, the agonizing pleasure slowly easing, but your back finally crashes down to the marble while you wheeze in exhaustion. 

Using the grip in his hair, you tug gently to pull him off. Looking down over your curves, you flush even more as you watch Diego lick his lips lewdly. I am living in my very own private porno. 

Movement further down catches your eye and you realize that this entire time he has been stroking himself with the hand not shoved inside you. His massive cock is already dark and dripping as it pokes out of open pants.

"Your turn." You utter as you reach for him. 

"No!" Diego barks and bats your hand away. Is he sick? Do I need to call 911? You're immediately concerned that he might be dying. "Lie back. Be still."

Okay, kinky motherfucker. Of course he has something in mind. You flop down as ordered and Diego moans with satisfaction. 

"Yes, good girl. Do as I command and let Diego come all over you, pretty little Princess." He stares down at you with eyes black in arousal. His mouth hangs open to pant and his brows are drawn together in concentration. Swiping precome off the head of his dick, Diego reaches up to offer it. You lick with no hesitation as he rams those same fingers that were just up your pussy into your mouth and practically down your throat. "Suck."

With a moan you do exactly what he wants, your eyes closing in pleasure from the combined tastes of him and yourself. You don't have to put on a show when you enjoy this so very much. Your tongue covers every centimeter of his index and middle fingers, suckling strongly to get every last drop. Diego whines at the sight.

"Fuck. Yes. Princess. My Princess. Diego's perfect little Princess." His voice is rough and rattling, you can tell from how harshly he fists his cock that he is very close. The sight of two of your favorite parts of him together, his hand and his dick, makes you writhe.

You wrap your left hand around his thick forearm and the glint of your diamond ring catches his eye. His fingers drop out of your mouth to hold your jaw ever so tenderly. You decide to give him that last little nudge.

"Baby," You breathe, he pries his eyes away from the ring to meet yours. You pitch your voice low and sultry,  "Come for your Princess, my Murder Panther."

Diego's expression crumples and his hips snap forward twice as he comes with a quiet roar. "Ahhh, sí sí. Yessss." Its fascinating to watch; this big, powerful, dangerous man losing control over you. You absolutely love it. 

He paints your stomach white with come, squeezing the last little bit out and then slapping both hands down the counter to gasp. Before you can reach for those shoulders to pet him into aftercare, Diego dives down to lap up his own mess.

"Holy fuckin' shit that's hot." You are right back to the edge just like that. His soft tongue scoops up the gleaming liquid and you can literally see him swallowing it. You jump when fingers brush your labia but sigh with approval when they sink deep into you again. Diego, now finished with your stomach, comes back up to take your mouth. 

This is a whole new level of obscene: Sucking his own come off of his tongue while he finger fucks you to another orgasm. The mental image of what you two must look like defiling the kitchen counter is enough to make you tighten around him. The rapid, forceful thrusting of his thick fingers sends you careening into climax while moaning into his mouth. Pussy trembling around him and hips jerking, you hang on tight to his biceps until every wave of pleasure ebbs away. You flop back down and Diego collapses on top of you.

"Fuck. If that, if that's what I get for spending your money. Then I need to fucking splurge more often." You can barely string words together. 

Diego purrs.

Its now forty minutes later and you manage to troubleshoot the espresso machine.

"Its unplugged." You murmur, pointing lazily. 

"Mmmph." Diego moans from his position face down in your cleavage.

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

A brief debate on showering occurred, but a motion to nap on the sectional was introduced and unanimously ratified almost immediately. 

When you wake up later the only light in the penthouse is supplied by the neighboring skyscrapers. Curled up on your right side, Diego is spooned up behind you with his beard velcroed into your hair and the fingers of his left hand are laced with yours around the diamond ring. The sight makes you both happy and anxious. 

"Baby?" You breathe. Diego shifts behind you, then yawns hugely. It even sounds adorable, you smile to yourself.

"Que pasa?" His voice is rough from sleep and you shiver. "You're stiff. What's wrong, Princess?"

"I have some notes we need to discuss. Its not bad!" Rushing to reassurance, you move to sit up. He releases your hands but strokes down your back as you stand. Bare feet pad across the rug as you go back to your bag and retrieve the notepad. Diego blinks when you turn on a lamp but waves you back into his embrace. 

"What is troubling my Princess?" He rumbles as you wiggle around and get situated in his lap. You present the immediate list of issues and give him time to read the few items. He chuckles at you, "Let's start from the bottom, yes? I will help." He mimes crossing it off the list.

"Yeah, alright." You giggle. "But the family thing. You know my parents are chomping at the bit. I'm the last girl they get to marry off, its a big deal or something." Your eyes roll as you flap your hand around. 

"How much do you want them involved?" Diego presents something you hadn't considered yet.

"Huh. I. Wait a sec." He props his chin in his hand while you consider. You're very distracted by the lazily blinking Murder Panther under you. "Okay," settling hands on your thighs, you push through the anxiety, "I had assumed they were not paying for it."  Careful watching shows Diego rolling his eyes at you.

"Of course not. Don't be silly." He scoffs quietly. 

Yeah, duh. You can feel terror bubbling up and you squash it ruthlessly. "Well in that case, almost none. We'll make all the decisions. They'll be allowed to give opinions or whatever, but no control." That does make it a little easier.

"No artistic license to the people who created you. Ballsy. I like that." Diego is nothing if not encouraging of you. His expression of mock impression makes you gigglesnort. Then he throws you another curveball of an offer, "Do you want a wedding planner?" 

Everything stops for a moment before you breathe, "Fuck." That never even occurred to me.

Big fingers dip into your hair and turn so you face him fully. Diego is grinning from ear to ear. "Did I crash Fiance Princess OS?"

You nod faintly. "I… never even considered that. I don't come from a background where people do that, you know?" 

Shrugging one shoulder at you, Diego 'hmm's thoughtfully. "I did not suggest it sooner because you like planning. What is everything that needs to be planned?" His face turns mildly horrified at your sudden flailing.

"EVERYTHING! YOU HAVE TO PLAN EVERYTHING!" You most definitely did not have control of your own volume setting just now. "So, like, the venue, the date, the wedding party, the clothing, the food, decorations, seating arrangements, guest lists, ugh, fucking flowers. I do not want flowers! Oh, shit, music? Oh my god, everyone is going to be offended by my musical choices at some point." You facepalm and then drop the entire setup down into your lap, too, for good measure.

Diego pokes your arm with the corner of the notepad and you reach to take it from him without looking.

He snatches it back and tosses it over the couch and into the kitchen where it lands on the floor with a slap.

 "Fuck it. We can elope."

[prairiedust]

Gimme Shelter livewatch under the cut.... I was on my phone when I wrote it so apologies for the typos

“Patchwork Community Center: Care Given to All” with a huge, lurid heart. Hmmm.... patchwork having two meanings here.....

Pastor (?) has 2 Timothy 2:22 tattooed on his arm! “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV) Are we looking at growth and found family in this episode?!?

Oh that’s the alleyway!

Hitting mythology themes— Connor is an Anglicized version of an Irish name— Conchobar mac Nessa is maybe the most famous bearer of the name, from Irish mythology— he’s the king who lusted after Deirdre and had her locked up until she came of age, which is probably neither here nor there as far as this poor Connor is concerned...

That thing has a big lurid heart on his overalls better run lol— Oh shit it’s an evil Teddy Ruxpin!!!! Thanks Davy Perez!!!!

That’s the thing animal control uses to manage aggressive animals??? Is this saying something about the Patchwork people?

And that’s it for the cold open.

——

The uh, the mcfuckin what, the Camelot Palace Casino? Is this a tour of the legends of Ireland and Britain all of a sudden? What’s with hitting this theme so hard so fast?

Uh-oh the whole Highway to Heaven reference has me side-eyeing Dean’s suggestion for Cas snd Jack to leave the bunker... Dabb even “spoiled” that line in a tweet lol... in that show the cop and the angel got their (vague) assignments from the big guy.......

Oh SHIT “we’re standing in what I call ‘the trap zone’” Perez is coming for my whole life with this episode!!!! And they’re doing highkey “season one totally-normal Winchester investigation questions script” I love it!!!!

“Slasher flick” Oh we’re revisiting Mint Condition. This is fine.

AND TOMBSTONE THIS IS NOT FINE DAVY! We’re running the good times backwards what did I say about this being the flipside of Last Holiday!

H2H again but this time it’s sus... plus I’m with Zack, I totally want the cozy murder spinoff I imagined Adam and Michael doing plz

Oh the Cas and Jack dynamic here is so sweet.

Pastor just leaving his door open like there’s no such thing as a thief bless his heart. They must be torn up about Connor but Pastor was the last one to talk to him so he’s sus I don’t make the rules.

Oh no Red’s a THIEF!!! Who ever would have guessed. Okay I did NOT expect that jumpscare because of the way Connor’s murder primed me, that was masterfully done.

That’s vaguely an Ohio Star quilt square on the sign behind her except um I forget what that tilted square in the center turns it into? It’s chiming with something... I’ll have to look that up later.

“Divide and conquer” no never split up in a slasher movie that’s how you get murders use the buddy system!

Gonna stop a sec because I just realized that Zack is two-faced. The British dandy was an act. The killer is wearing a Cinderella mask. Ok I’m gonna make a prediction that Zack is actually the killer, a la the demon in Repo Man...

Okay there was definitely a beat after Dean said “Glad soneone’s taking charge” [ofHell] and the focus shifted to Sam. Hm.

“We’ve got to set her up for her own death” so meta, these writers are gonna shred us.

I love being shown how much Castiel has changed throughe Jack not understanding the Kool-Aid reference. And the cats line lol. That’s both amazing and poignant.

That’s a log cabin pattern in the cafeteria. Home. Makes me think back on other quilts we’ve seen this season and if “weaving” is the right metaphor for writing lol. I mean, the action of “patching” is synonymous with “mending” or even healing, but patchwork is also a craft with a long, long history in America (idk if quiltmaking is called patchwork everywhere) of taking a few often mismatched fabrics and cutting and sewing into something beautiful. There are generally two kinds of quilt tops— patterns, like we’ve seen so far in this season, which are carefully planned and involve precise measurements, and “crazy quilts” which also require skill but are often more freeform and piecemeal. But both aspire to be beautiful. That’s an interesting way to conceptualize a serial text... as both creating and mending....

That prayer was sweet and not at all what I was expecting.

I get the finger-cutting for Valerie (stealing=sticky fingers) but not for Connor? Tenuous connection still betw lying and writing? It’s evocative of Se7en but the killer seems to have the same MO for all the killings (I attended CSI for a while.)

Snow White is making me uneasy. Oh she’s the preacher’s daughter... we’ve seen that in early days, too.... oh.... oh....

It’s not the AV guy despite having seen all the AV equipment around Valerie. That’s too easy.

“A saint is a sinner who keeps trying-“ no scroll back, the important part was “we all have to take care of each other.” That’s a theme in the series.

She’s all in pink....

dean and amara on the same wavelength about food lol

Ha ha inversion of “oh you’re a fan of religion? name all seven gods then.”

Castiel’s testimony just wrecked me.

“Members serve the gift of food” hmmm the signs in this episode are tip-top

Gonna just watch for a while.

Oh crap “each is a finger” oh it’s about the sins of the father— No Cas no, you’ve fallen for the misdirection!

Oh okay good, Chuck’s not done snuffing worlds. That had me REALLY WORKED UP ha ha because Amara has no reason to lie right?

That was a really good conversation.... and implying that Former Death bent the truth...

Oh fuck I’m gonna cry “I wanted younto see that your mother was just a person” YES! DISMANTLE THIS MYTHOLOGY AMARA!!! Name it!

THE MYTH THAT YOU’D HELD ON TO FOR SO LONG did they just— THEY DID

rigging the game— ftfoh with the casino metaphors already we know the house always wins except when it doesn’t

Lying, lying, lying,

Do we even know Snow White’s name yet? And why was Connor a liar? Because I think we can make a guess at this point.... ah ha ha her name is sylvia— “forest spirit” she’s Mrs Butters— and she’s after hypocrites— but the killing isn’t supernatural, just churchy?

Oh shit SHE IS A DEAN MIRROR IF SHE STABS JACK I’LL FLIP A DAMN TABLE

....

....

prairiedust.exe has encountered an error and must be restarted

....

....

Okay so “Dad” steps in and stops Sylvia’s attack on Jack...

Why is that Zack? What????

“I’ve been lying to you” oh here we go

Oh it would be death #3, remember what Dabb said about threes a long time ago, two attempts that are unsuccessful and one that satisfies the parameters— but no he’s a jack :((((

I have to stop watching for a while.

Okay I finished it. Holy cats do I have some Thoughts about this episode.

What I loved: Revisiting Dean’s anger, BUT the parental mirror here (in retrospect, at least for me) was a John mirror-- all the mothers (exc for Rowena) in this episode are dead. And Pastor Joe didn’t apparently embrace his wife’s faith until she had died, and then his vision was radically different than his wife’s was-- much like John’s reasons for becoming a hunter were vastly different from Mary’s... but much like “patching” this subtext was possibly even more “healing” than having John back in the 300th ep... This was... looking at a child’s anger when they’re in the middle of their own family mythology. Am I implying that Dean’s anger is immaturity? Eh, it’s... unripeness. I have an old meta in my drafts about the heroine’s journey and why Mary’s story conformed to it while feeling totally unfulfilling in her actual character arc and I’m so glad I sat down and examined that rather than finish it. I have a lot I want to say about Cas’ testimony too, but that has to sit a while. ALSO also, Cas has already thrown away his shot by making the Empty deal, right?....

LANGUAGE! Cas saying “I found myself lost” is a bonkers sentence, right? It’s like when people say someone “turned up missing”-- AND it does not have the same meaning as “I realized I was lost”-- you get a double whammy of the connotation “to search for.” I loved loved loved how language was such a big deal in Last Holiday and then again here, I need to rewatch while paying closer attention to Sylvia and things she says... but these two were sister episodes in so many ways, that when I said there was a “lack of narrative mirrors” in Last Holiday, that’s only because the lens for that kind of reading is Gimme Shelter. That is not the first time spn has played with a “coin” or paired structure-- I think the first time I noticed it was Fan Fiction/Ask Jeeves but I was a transfer student from another fandom at the time lol. But of course, we get a huge truth bomb at the end of the episode, and again that splashy cymbal all over lying...

What I got wrong-- Zack wasn’t the killer but he’s fishy as hell-- he stole Sylvia! Is this part of Rowena’s “people generally end up where they deserve to be” except she’s built in an express lane? “Do you need a driver” is that his actual job now? Taking unripe souls to Hell Orientation? What’s up with him being there... the other shoe did not drop. So there is a third episode out there somewhere where this might get wrapped up? The conversation between Dean and Cas can easily be something that happens offscreen, and I don’t think that it would be the first time we miss an “important” conversation, especially since we know roughly what will be said and how it will wrap up-- it’s an “open text” of a sort. Maybe a fanfiction gap lol, I can’t wait for the codas.

Also, the fingers thing being Sylvia’s father’s favorite analogy is where she got her MO, something that I definitely didn’t see, although it fits right in with her father’s slightly pithy character. I think it’s interesting again how we’re playing with threes and fours. Three fingers got cut off but it was apparent that Valerie (valorious one) wouldn’t die until finger #4.... Jack really seems to be our last hope.

[day-chaser]

Shadow and Bone Trilogy Thoughts/Analysis of Mal, Alina and The Darkling (SPOILERS)

So I just finished Shadow and Bone and didn’t really know what to expect because there are a lot of mixed reviews but overall I really enjoyed it. I read a lot of YA fantasy so I guess I’m getting more and more particular because as I get more knowledgable with the tropes of the genre I am learning what I like and don’t like. Anyway I was really pleasantly surprised by the trilogy. I rated the first and third five stars- the second one was a bit of a disappointment (rated it 3 stars) but overall I really loved it. So without further ado...

First I gotta talk about The Darkling. I am a hoe for villains and morally gray/just plain evil characters that are compelling and he delivered. Definitely one of my favorite villains in YA. What made him so great (aside from the fact that he was powerful and hot af) is his and Alina’s dichotomy. Dark and Light, Power and Subservience, etc. etc. He was evil and I loved it. I’m glad he didn’t get a redemption arc (too many villains are softened to turn them into a love interest but then they lose what made them so compelling to begin with) although he had a lot of depth and there was room to sympathize with him and see him as tragic, just not a guy who’s evil for the sake of being evil. 

His need for Alina and how he was the only one who could understand her and vice versa, was an incredible element to the story. How he was willing to sacrifice all she loved, and tear up her world so she would turn to him. Messed up, but damn interesting to read about.

I’ve noticed that there’s a lot of division with the fandom in how they feel about the Darkling and Mal- people saying how The Darkling is so evil/abusive so how can anyone like him and then people also saying how Mal is whiny and manipulative. I think parts of people’s arguments are valid. But just because The Darkling is abusive and only really desires Alina in a selfish way, doesn’t mean that fans can’t appreciate him or like him as a character. I loved reading about him. He made me angry, shocked, compelled, and yeah he was hot. sue me. What we like in fiction is not related to what we like in real life, and it’s not a sign that I would want to date someone who’s abusive or a murder, etc. When reading fiction, especially fantasy, we are viewing a world through an escapist mindset. Would I want to be Alina in real life? Hell no. The emotional trauma would be horrible. But when I read I think about how cool she is, having powers, and imagining what I’d do in her shoes.

Now I will say that I believe the ending was a fitting ending. Would I have liked to see a timeline with dark!Alina? Sure. But those pieces weren’t sowed in the earlier books as much. I mean, we all knew that Alina was not going to go dark. The “tension” of her fearing her power was not super interesting, at least because I felt like just because she was gaining power, all of a sudden she would be morally problematic. I mean, she vomited when she killed someone who was going to kill her lover. Doesn’t scream “evil mastermind” to me. The Darkling does awful things not because he’s powerful, but because he has an agenda and believes that he’s above all moral parameters. Not because his power in and of itself makes him evil. Alina’s power won’t inherently make her evil. 

Which leads me to Mal. I don’t mind Mal. In fact, I like him and think he’s a compelling character, and I’m someone who almost always wants the girl to get with the “darker” character. But I was fine with the ending of Ruin and Rising. 

I didn’t really like Mal or Alina in Siege and Storm- as mentioned before, for me it was the weak spot of the trilogy. It seemed as though a lot of their issues were because they weren’t communicating, and I felt like they weren’t communicating because the plot called for it, not because that’s who they are as characters. 

Mal’s concerns were valid. Alina’s concerns were valid. The issue is they never spoke about their issues in a meaningful way, which was what the plot demanded because Siege and Storm needed a conflict, and that conflict was not compelling. It was just the relationship troubles of Mal and Alina that were forced upon them. Alina should have told him about her connection to The Darkling and her visions and been more open. She was all over the place with her emotions, which confused me as a reader, let alone Mal. 

Mal comes around in Ruin and Rising. He is much more of a tragic hero and has made peace with his role to Alina. He knows that he can’t have her but doesn’t begrudge her for that. There was depth to him. He loved her and had to grapple with the fact that she was someone who was so different from him. Did he make mistakes? Yes. But so did Alina, and I can’t blame them as they went through some trauma, and great personal change. Mal loved Alina for her. The Darkling loved her power. 

The ending was perfect and bittersweet. That is all. :)

[lurafita]

Peter/Avengers, dub/con, captivity, Part 4

TAGGING PEOPLE STILL ISN’T WORKING!

Support couldn’t give me an answer to my problem. Though they said they would send me a link with a tool kinda thing, that I would have to install, and maybe that might help, then. Havn’t gotten it yet, but they said it might take a few days to get the file packed, or something. I have no clue about these things. Wish I had a Tony Stark in real life I could go bother with this.

Anyway, I would like to ask everyone to reblog this post, if you don’t mind, so that hopefully everyone who asked to be tagged for future parts will be able to find this. Thanks!

Read previous parts here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Once again, heed the tags below the cut.

kidnapping, dub/con, captivity, chains, bondage, obsessive Avengers, Peter/Everyone, darkly soft Avengers (in the sense that they hold Peter captive, but only want to love and protect him), non-powered Peter, dark-ish Avengers, 18+ Peter, Clint is not married and has no kids, Tony is not in a relationship with Pepper.

Part 4

Setting things up was almost too easy.

The Avengers floors in the tower were spread over four stories.

One floor made up an intricate and wide indoor training gym, with special equipment. The one above that was dedicated to lab work, and had all the instruments any scientists heart could ever desire.

Then came the common floor, which was by far, the biggest.

In the beginning, Tony had set it up so that every Avenger would have their own, private floor.

But everyone had quickly migrated to the completely functional guest rooms (that all came with en-suite bathrooms) on the common floor. There was more than enough room for everyone, and the team mates liked being close to each other, while still having some privacy in their own rooms.

Peter's room, of course, had also always been on the common floor.

The parameters for Friday's new protocol were easy to code into her mainframe. As was the math to calculate the length of the chain, and the best place to anchor it to, so that Peter would still be able to roam the whole of the common floor freely, but unable to reach the elevator.

Tony and Bruce would, of course, take Peter to their labs with them, if he wished for it. A fitting chain would be placed there as well. Things were a bit different for the gym. They suspected that Peter would want to keep up his ballet practices with Natasha (once he got used to his new circumstances a bit, they had no delusions that the first few days would be difficult for everyone). However, he clearly couldn't be chained down for those. So there would be no chains there.

And really, the chains weren't actually necessary. With Friday's updated protocols, which disallowed Peter the use of the elevators (which were the only way to access the Avenger floors), unless one of the Avengers was with him, or in case of an immediate emergency; as well as the fact that each and every one of them would be able to easily restrain Peter if it came to it, there was honestly no need to put a shackle on the younger man.

Thinking back, Tony didn't even know who had suggested it in the first place, but once the image was there...

They wanted it.

They wanted the visible, physical, undeniable proof, that Peter wouldn't leave them.

Couldn't leave them.

They wanted to be able to touch the chain, run their hands over the links, hear the sound it would make every time the brunette moved.

Tony took great pleasure in making it. He was not going to allow some crude, mass manufactured, heavy dark chain to touch his Sweetheart's soft skin. No. The chain he was making was a gold aluminum alloy, just like his armor. Strong, but light, and a glittering gold and red color. The cuff that would rest around Peter's ankle was padded with the softest material Tony could find, ensuring that neither the delicate skin, nor bones would get damaged from wearing it over a long period of time.

Feeling inspired, the billionaire also made some handcuffs out of the same metal and soft padding, as well as some other things that almost had him come in his pants, from simply imagining using them on Peter. Not right away, of course, he didn't want to spook his Sweetheart. But once things had progressed a little, when Peter had learned to accept (and maybe reciprocate) their love, these things would be there, and Tony and the others would use them to make his Sweetheart feel more pleasure than he ever had before.

When Peter graduated from University, Tony had finished making all the restraints they would need (and want). To celebrate Peter's graduation, Tony invited everyone (the team, Peter's aunt, and his two friends) to the most expensive restaurant in the city. Between the lighthearted teasing and sincere praise of everyone, Peter was blushing the whole evening.

Such a pretty little thing.

During the next days, as his departure to Australia drew ever nearer, Peter was a bundle of nervous energy. Fretting about preparations for his trip, getting everything in order, trying to spend time with Ned and MJ, his aunt and the Avengers, before he wouldn't see them for quite a while.

The day before his plane would depart, just as they had planned, the Avengers again invited everyone out, this time to a fancy, discreet place that served brunch. The food was good and everyone had a great time. At the end, Ned, Michelle and May Parker thanked the Avengers for the invitation, and then all hugged Peter tightly (May with tears in her eyes) and wished him all the luck in the world on his trip.

Peter likewise had to wipe some moisture out of his eyes after the heartfelt goodbyes.

Back at the tower, Bruce started the final stage of their plan.

“Peter? Professor Stoddard gave you a list of all the recommended shots for Australia, right?”

The younger man grinned. “Yep. Got them all covered. On a side note, I really hate needles.”

The admission got a small chuckle out of everyone, as well as a little smile from Bruce.

“Well, if you can grit your teeth through one more, I have mixed up something in the lab that will help your body to better adapt to the Australian climate.”

Peter gave him a look between surprised and moved.

“Aw, thank you, Bruce. You really didn't have to.”

But the doctor shook his head, and placed an arm around the slightly smaller man, guiding him to the elevator, the dark, knowing eyes of the other Avengers on their backs.

“Nonsense. I think we all would feel a lot better, knowing that you are less likely to collapse from heatstroke the minute you get off the plane. Come. It's in my lab.”

Ten minutes later, the elevator doors opened back up, showing Bruce carrying an unconscious Peter in his arms.

Steve stepped forward immediately, offering to take Peter from him.

“You made sure the sedative isn't harmful?”

Bruce would take offense, but he knew that the super soldier was simply worried and anxious for their precious one.

“I've tested it multiple times. He will sleep soundly for approximately the next nine hours.”

With Peter carefully cradled in his arms, Steve led the small procession to the younger man's room, where he laid him gently into his bed.

Natasha came forward and lovingly carded her fingers through the always messy, brown curls, swiping away a stray lock from his eyes. Clint was already in the process of removing the sleeping man's shoes, and Bucky, with sure but soft hands, opened Peter's jeans and tenderly stripped them off.

Sam was collecting the younger man's tablet, phone and laptop. They would be kept secure and out of Peter's reach, until they could be sure that their love wouldn't try to contact anyone about his captivity.

Tony and Thor entered the room then, carrying the long, gold and red chain between them.

Clint huffed at the sight. “I'm still not happy that my Darling will be wearing your color scheme all the time.”

Tony just smirked at him. “What did you want me to paint the chain with? Purple? No chance.”

Then he took the cuff that was linked to the chain, and approached the bed. He sat down at Peter's naked feet (Bucky had quickly traded the jeans for a soft pair of pajama bottoms, not wanting his Doll to get cold during the night, in only his boxers)

Tony took a moment to just admire the sleeping form of the man that held all their hearts in his hands. He looked so peaceful. He moved his hand to the ankle that laid against his thigh. Such soft skin. He stroked over it lightly. So delicate. He could wrap his whole hand around the appendage without problem.

“We were right. Peter isn't made for the jungle. It would be too rough on him. We can't let him go. He needs us.”

He didn't need to look up to see the agreement in the others eyes, and without further delay, he closed the cuff around the pale flesh.

“The chain will have to come off for changing clothes and taking baths, so there is a fingerprint scanner here” He pointed it out for the others “programmed to recognize our thumb prints. You need to press your thumb to it for five seconds, before it comes off, so there should be no accidental release. We will all need to watch our steps from now on, so that we don't trip over the chain.”

Everyone nodded.

Steve spoke next.

“Remember that Peter won't be too happy with us during the next few days. Maybe longer. He won't understand this, and he will like it even less. The first week will likely be the most frustrating for all of us, but I won't tolerate anyone taking it out on him.”

He was met with scowls.

“No one here would ever hurt him.” Sam had crossed his arms over his chest.

“It will take time, but Lastashka will come around.” Natasha continued to stroke his hair.

“Patience and love. Just like we talked about. He will accept it, one day.” Bucky's voice was confident and steady.

“It is rare that all of us are needed for a mission, so there is always going to be at least one of us here with him. This should help him to get used to it.” Bruce added.

“I will have to attend matters at Asgard occasionally, but I doubt it will take more than a day at a time. It is important that we show him that we will always be there for him, and take care of his needs.”

Tony stroked over the padded shackle once more, before standing up and covering the still unconscious Peter with the warm blanket.

“Friday, initiate Protocol: Caged Bird.”

_

The first few days were difficult, but it was nothing they hadn’t expected.

Peter was mostly confused. He didn’t understand why his friends were doing what they were doing. He didn’t understand that their feelings for him exceeded friendship by a mile. He didn’t understand that keeping him locked up, was for his own good.

He tried reasoning with them, tried convincing them that nothing would happen to him in Australia, or any other expedition he might take part in in the future. (He was very upset about having missed his flight. At the sight of tears gathering in his eyes, Steve had climbed into bed with him and cuddled the unwilling college graduate for about an hour)

After that Peter had got it in his head that the team had been hypnotized or otherwise manipulated by some kind of villain. (”This isn’t right. You know it isn’t. Someone is making you act this way. You have to fight this.”) But, of course, it was to no avail.

They had expected him to be angry at them, to scream and curse and wish them to hell (though he never did). And while he was clearly very unhappy about the situation, it wasn’t his anger that cut into the Avengers. It was his sadness.

The team did their best to help Peter through the ordeal, help him get used to things. Affectionate touches were freely given and numerous, no matter how reluctantly they were received.

They were vigilant about not giving him time or opportunity to get lost in negative emotions. Took care that he always ate and drank enough, would change the shackle from one ankle to the other every day, and then spent a few minutes to massage the joint, to ward off any discomfort.

Due to the shackle and chain needing to be taken off, in order for Peter to change his bottoms, or shower, someone was always in the room with him during that time. The lack of privacy and his own shyness about the others seeing him naked like this, was possibly the most challenging hurdle for Peter to overcome.

It took two weeks, for Peter to stop flinching away from their touches, and then another four days until he didn’t automatically stiffen any more, when one of them hugged him. His pleas to be let go tapered off after roughly the first month into his captivity.

When Clint actually managed to make Peter laugh one day, things changed again.

With the younger man’s slowly growing acceptance of his non-negotiable presence in the tower, the team grew bolder in their displays of affection.

Lips soon found their way onto the soft skin, hands alone no longer enough. Necklines were pulled lower, exposing more of the delicate neck and shoulder bones, then covering the light skin in love bites and hickeys.

Shirts were rolled up to gain access to stomach and chest. to stroke and caress, to lick and kiss. Soft tickles to the sides of  the sensitive belly, light pinches and bites to the pink nipples.

Hands found their ways under the soft pants and boxers Peter wore, squeezing his buttocks, fingers ghosting over the rim, stroking up and down the length of his penis.

The younger man would tell them to stop, tried to shove them away, or wriggle out of their grasps, at first, but he was never successful. It was like a switch had been pulled in the Avengers heads. Knowing that Peter couldn’t get away from them, couldn’t run, couldn’t leave, allowed them more and more freedom to express their love.

They wanted to kiss him. Caress him. Feel him. Taste him. They wanted to make him feel good. Make him experience all the pleasure they could. Wanted to hear him moan, and gasp, and writher. They wanted to hear their name on his lips when he came. And then they wanted to do it all over again.

Peter discovered that, despite the chain that already shackled him to their home, the Avengers liked to restrain him even further, whenever things got more intimate.

Bucky and Steve both liked to use their superhuman strength. Steve would gather the thin wrists in one of his big hands, and hold them to whatever surface Peter happened to be on, before descending on the slighter body.

Bucky was the same, just that he exclusively used his metal arm to trap Peter’s hands with, so that his flesh one would be able to feel the others skin beneath him.

Sam and Clint almost always used the padded handcuffs that Tony had made, to bind Peter’s arms behind his back. Sam liked for Peter to straddle him like this, while he played with his body. Clint preferred to lay the younger man down on the closest soft surface, be that the couch in the living room, or whoever’s bed was nearest, and have his wicked way with him.

Natasha usually took Peter to her bedroom, where she used silk shawls and other soft ties to secure him to her bed. (”Tying someone down can have two implications, Lastashka. The most obvious one is that it makes you unable to resist and gives me complete control. The other reason is that it’s not about reciprocation. Being bound forces you to accept the pleasure that I give you, to let me take care of you, let me make you feel good and worship your body like it should be worshiped. If you wonder which one of those implications comes into play here, it’s actually both. I like being in control, Peter, but I also like making you feel good. Just let me love you.”)

Most surprising was probably Bruce’s fondness for Japanese bondage. The older scientist loved to put Peter in elaborate and complicated bindings (with special ropes that wouldn’t burn or shave at the delicate skin, of course). He would patiently and carefully wrestle the younger man into compliance, and then skillfully tie him up. The only reason the bondage never included a gag, Peter came to realize, was that Bruce would stop his work every few minutes, to kiss him tenderly on the lips, the cheeks, and his forehead. Sometimes they didn’t even have sex when Bruce tied him up, though the man always made Peter come.

Thor was probably the odd one out, as he didn’t have a specific method he used to restrain his lover. Sometimes he would use a soft rope, other times he closed the padded handcuffs around Peter’s wrists, and other times still the god of thunder would simply clamp his own, big hands around the slim body and manhandle him however he wanted to. One day Thor had stripped his love, pinned him down on his bed with one hand, and with the other, carefully, hesitantly, but full of anticipation, laid his hammer onto the youngers chest. Mjölnir wasn’t heavy in the sense that it crushed Peter, but it was completely impossible for the younger man to move out from under it. All he could do was claw at the bedding and move his legs to the almost overwhelming pleasure, as the Asgardian took him again and again.

Tony, even though he had been the one to design and make the handcuffs and various other restrains the team used on Peter, would usually direct one or more of the empty Iron Man armors to hold his Sweetheart in position. He loved watching as Peter ineffectually writhed against the unyielding hold of something he had created, while he kneeled before his captive, using the skill learned from years of being New York’s number one playboy, to suck him off. He always made Peter orgasm once, before he entered him. It was such a heady feeling, such a turn on, to see Peter experience a second release, while the billionaire himself was buried deep inside his warmth.

They made sure not to overwhelm Peter too much. He couldn’t be taken by everyone, everyday. And really, no one had a problem with this. After all, it wasn’t purely about sex. They loved Peter, and they loved making love to Peter, but fucking for hours on end was not the only way that physical attraction and devotion could be expressed.

Cuddling during movie nights, or taking a bath together, having him sit between their legs and leaning back into their chest while he was reading a book, were all things that were high on everyone’s list for making Peter feel special and loved.

Whenever it wasn’t Steve himself to share this kind of intimacy with his Honey, he liked to draw the scene before him. His sketchbook was full of pages upon pages of Peter being cherished by one of his team mates. (He always drew the chain, and sometimes the handcuffs, as well. The different restraints had become as much of a symbol for their love, as everything else had)

Three and a half months into Peter’s captivity, everyone was gathered in the living room, watching a movie. Peter was lying with his head in Natasha’s lap, the former Assassin lovingly stroking her hand through his hair. His legs were laid over Sam’s lap, with the man softly kneading his calves. The rest of the Avengers had spread out over the other couches and chairs in the room, basking in the peaceful atmosphere that knowing Peter was close by, always brought to them.

“Do you hate us?”

Natasha’s quiet question cut through the room like a knife, and Peter could see every one of the Avengers stiffen, as they waited for him to answer. He inhaled deeply.

“...No. I don’t hate you. I don’t like being locked up, I’m not always too happy about all the restraints, I miss being able to run around outside, jump from building to building, or just take a walk. I still don’t understand why you are doing all this,... But I don’t hate you.”

They all slumped a little in relief, Sam affectionately squeezed the ankle without the shackle, and Natasha continued to stroke through Peter’s hair.

“No more parkour for you, Doll. It’s too dangerous.” Came Bucky’s rumble to the brunettes right, and he could see the others nod their heads in agreement to this. He sighed.

“But we can talk about a few outings in the future.”

Natasha and Sam kept him from sitting up, but Peter still looked at Tony with wide, excited eyes.

“Really?”

The billionaire nodded. “If you agree to wearing a tracker, maybe an anklet. And at least one of us has to be with you. Possibly a few more rules that we will decide on then. But yes, really.”

Seeing the reluctant agreement to that in everyone’s eyes, Peter smiled widely. It wouldn’t happen in the next few days, he knew. Maybe not even for another month or more. But he would get to go outside again.

One day.

______________________________________________________________

That’s it folks.

As you can probably tell, I’m not very good with writing smut. (In fact, I didn’t really, explicitely, write any... sorry)

Which is why, if anyone is interested / wants to do it, I would not at all be opposed if someone wrote additional parts to this story.

The only thing I ask, is that you keep things nice. No degradation, humiliation or pain play, please. (Pain play would include things like spanking and orgasm denial. Orgasm delay is fine, but outright denial can not only be considerably painful, but might also have real, physical consequences.)

I don’t mean any offense if those are some of your personal kinks or likes, but I myself don’t enjoy those very much (or at all), and I don’t think they would fit into the mind frame of the story, or the Avengers.

[venmomejoy]

The Lucky Ones- Pt. 4

Summary: After years of living on the run, Neil Josten is offered a role on The Foxes, one of the most popular shows on television. Accepting is probably one of the most foolish things he could do; he would be exposing himself to everything he had spent years running from. But Neil can't help himself.

part one / part two / part three

read it on AO3 here!!

Whoever it was, they had been careful. Every single item was in the exact place Neil had left it, not a hair out of place. His clothes were stacked in the correct order, his shoes pressed to the bottom of the bag, his binder snug in between a ratty gray shirt and a pair of black sweats.

His binder.

He whipped out the plastic folder, furiously flipping through the pages, looking for anything amiss. Neil loosed a sigh when he saw that the pages of contacts and coordinates were all still there, the cash he kept on hand seemingly unskimmed. Most of the information was coded, so he doubted the pilferer understood what he was looking at, but it still unnerved him that someone had seen the most important thing he owned, the information that keeps him alive.

But there was no way for him to code the news clipping and magazine articles he had stuck in there. Pages and pages of information on Riko and Kevin's career, dating back several years. Whoever saw this likely had a myriad of questions for Neil, and he didn't know how he would explain. The other documents he might be able to dance around, but the articles about Kevin and Riko were so straight forward, there's no way he could twist it into anything that wouldn't raise suspicion.

Neil clenched his jaw, fingers twisting into the fabric of his bag until his knuckles turned white. No one in this house had shown any interest in Neil's past, his belongings, besides Andrew. And he got the feeling only Andrew would cross this kind of boundary without provocation.

He stood abruptly, shoving his duffel bag under the bed. He needed to find somewhere safe to put it, somewhere that could not be infiltrated by prying hands; that was priority number two. Priority number one was confronting Andrew.

Neil shouldered Andrew's door opened, only to be met with an empty room. The comforter was pulled down, the sheets were ruffled in such a way that Neil knew Andrew had been lying here earlier tonight. He had walked through their lounge on the way to Andrew's room and hadn't seen him, so he shuffled downstairs to check the rest of the public spaces, coming up short. Until he got to the kitchen.

Andrew was perched on the countertop, spooning ice cream into his mouth. He dragged his eyes to Neil, the heavy glare in his eyes not faltering as he took in Neil's gritted teeth, his clenched fists. Andrew didn't want to mess around; good, Neil didn't either.

"You went through my bag."

This got Andrew's attention, his eyes flicking up to Neil's. He probably thought he had been so thorough, so meticulous, that Neil would never realize what he had done. He probably thought he would be able to catch Neil by surprise, ambush him with questions while he was reeling from all Andrew had discovered. Neil's blood boiled.

"What makes you think it was me? There are eight other people in this house, it could have been any one of them," Andrew mused, twirling his spoon in the air.

"It was you. What's your deal with me?"

"Ah, Neil, the real question is, what's your deal with Kevin?" Andrew asked, pushing himself off the counter.

Neil willed his voice to be steady. "I don't have a deal with Kevin."

"The shrine you have in that binder of yours says otherwise."

Neil had only been a child when he had started collecting those articles. He knew it was weird, but...it was a way to cope. Looking at these articles, watching Kevin and Riko grow up, reminded Neil of the life he could have had. He could have grown up with Kevin and Riko, could have been adored by millions, instead of being chased down dirty alleys with a bullet in his shoulder. All three of them were in the room that day; why did they get to live lavishly while Neil took off running? The articles were an impulse Neil let himself give in to, the resentment and burning jealousy a vice he indulged in. But he couldn't exactly tell that to Andrew.

"You shouldn't have gone through my things. I meant what I said Andrew- get off my back."

Andrew's body twisted so suddenly that Neil barely had time to react before there was a knife pressed against his abdomen. "Neil, you're efforts at intimidation are valiant, but pointless. You'd do well to start doing what I say; you don't want to get out of my good graces." The menacing smile creeping on his face had Neil questioning how "good" his good graces really were.

He would be stupid not to see the threat in Andrew's eyes, but all Neil could see was red. "Fuck you."

The laugh Andrew gave was nothing short of sinister, but before he could continue, a lengthy shadow fell over them. "What the hell is going on here?" Kevin questioned, using his fist to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Did I not tell you to get some sleep tonight? It's fucking 3 am."

Maybe he didn't understand exactly what kind of fucked-up relationship Kevin and Andrew had, but Neil knew that Kevin played a part in this too. He may not have sanctioned it, but Kevin and Andrew seemed to act in each other's interests. Neil didn't particularly feel like yelling at Kevin in front of Andrew, but he couldn't make him leave, so he did the next best thing. He felt his nostrils flare, his brow tighten as he turned to his castmate and began speaking in furious French. "You need to keep your pets on a tighter leash."

Kevin didn't try to hide his surprise at Neil's language switch, and Neil couldn't help the stab of satisfaction that surged through him at his shocked expression. When it became apparent Kevin wasn't going to speak, Neil continued. "Andrew went through my things. Call your dog off."

Kevin's mouth tightened. "I don't control what he does. Don't provoke him and he won't bother you."

"I thought you were leading this cast. Do you have so little authority here that you can't keep your own underlings in check? Guess they don't want the Moriyama's sloppy seconds."

His nostrils flared. "Fuck you, Neil. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Keep your friends in line. If one of you messes with me again you won't like the consequences."

"Is that a threat? From a skittish thing like you?"

"I'm not scared of a spineless cripple."

Kevin went stock-still, face pinching as he subconsciously cradled his bad hand. "The fuck did you call me?"

"I called you a passé coward whose career is circling the drain."

That seemed to snap something in Kevin. He pushed out of the doorway and advanced on Neil with murder in his eyes. Neil slipped around the island, narrowly avoiding Kevin's grasp, and sprinted out the front door before Kevin could catch him. He didn't wait to see if Kevin would pursue him, only set off in a sprint to the nearest convenience store. He moved on to priority two: securing safety for his belongings. He bought the first safe he found that fit the size parameters for his binder, along with a fresh pack of cigarettes. He would still need to hide the safe, but having it would significantly ease his anxiety.

He walked back home, a cigarette burning between his fingers, letting the smoke drift upwards without breathing any in. The smoke calmed his racing mind, and for a moment, he could pretend his mother was still here, that she would take care of this stuff, would make sure he wouldn't screw up this massively again. But when he looked over, it was just him on the street.

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

Neil pushed himself off of his bed, residual anger and premature anxiety waking him hours before his alarm went off. He let himself run for an hour before returning to the cast house. Raiding the kitchen left him with two apples and some greek yogurt, which Neil quickly ate before jumping into the shower. He could hear signs of life outside of the porcelain tub, muffled conversations drifting up to him from the floors below.

After drying and dressing, Neil made his way downstairs and found everyone eating in the kitchen, sans Andrew and Allison. From what he'd seen of Allison, she spent a good amount of time perfecting her appearance, so Neil imagined she was somewhere primping, but he didn't know what Andrew was doing, and he didn't care. Someone had gotten donuts, and everyone was thoroughly enjoying the sugar, except Kevin, who was scowling at them all from the corner while he munched on a granola bar.

Nicky noticed him first. "Neil! You want breakfast?"

"I'm okay, I ate earlier."

"Oh, okay, no problem. More for Andrew- that man is a sugar fiend."

"Well, tell Andrew to take them to go, because we have to leave in ten if we want to make it to the studio on time," Dan said, pushing her chair back as she stood.

"Speaking of Andrew," Seth says, rubbing at his temples, "What was all the yelling about last night?"

Curious eyes turn to Kevin, who simply sneers, inclining his head towards Neil. Neil squirmed as everyone's attention shifts to him, but their expressions were full of worry and apprehension. From the absence of curiosity on their faces, Neil assumed Aaron and Nicky had been filled in on last night's events.

"Neil, are you alright man? What did Andrew do?" Matt asks.

"Who says I did anything?" a sardonic voice drawls from the staircase. "So quick to defend the man you've known for one day. Your prejudice against me is inappropriate and erroneous."

It's Dan who speaks this time. "We know you, Andrew, so don't play innocent. What's the issue?"

"Oh look, Neil's little army, coming to his rescue! Who knew you were so adept at making friends? I thought someone like you would know better."

Ignoring Andrew completely, Neil said, "It was nothing, just a little disagreement." They looked unconvinced.

Andrew scooped up two chocolate donuts, both covered in rainbow sprinkles, before swinging onto the counter. "I'd suggest putting on some shoes, Neil. We're leaving in five."

He shot his eyes up to Andrew's and held the blond's stare, even as that delirious smile spread across his face. Neil couldn't refuse, not now that Andrew had been through his binder. He could expose all he'd seen at any moment; Neil would be at Andrew's mercy until he could get this situation under control.

Neil turned on his heel, refusing to give Andrew the satisfaction of seeing him yield. Sliding into his shoes took seconds, the journey up and down the stairs minutes, and by the time he was in the living room again, Andrew was swinging his keys around his finger. He turned towards the door without a second glance, tossing the keys to Nicky as he went, trusting the others to scamper behind him. Kevin might lead this cast, but Andrew undeniably leads this group.

Nicky turns to him as they walk. "So... French, huh?"

Neil levels an unimpressed look at him. "Yes."

"You're fluent?"

"Not completely, but I know enough."

"What made you pick French?"

Neil had contemplated this answer last night. He figured Andrew and Kevin would be curious about his language switch, and he needed to have a believable response at the ready. "My mother's family was French. She insisted I picked it for my foreign language credit."

"I studied German in school. I even studied abroad in Germany. That's where I met Erik," Nicky said, his eyes turning soft.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah. He was the son of my host parents, and we just... clicked. He really helped me with a lot of stuff, and he's unbelievably hot. He's in Germany still, and as soon as my time on The Foxes ends, I'm moving there."

"Why'd you leave at all? For the show?"

"Not exactly. Someone had to take care of these two punks when Tilda died, so I became their legal guardian. We didn't get Wymack's offer until after I moved back." Neil inferred that Tilda was the twin's mother, but he couldn't comprehend the gravity of what Nicky had done for his family. He had left the man he loved, the place he loved, to become the caretaker of two extremely volatile and difficult children. Neil couldn't understand why he would do something like that, especially with how ungrateful the twins seemed. They separated before Neil could respond, him to the back and Nicky to the driver's seat.

Neil found himself pressed in between the twins, Andrew on his right and Aaron on his left. Aaron was staring intently out the window as Nicky pulled onto the road, but Neil could feel Andrew's eyes boring holes into his head. His grin was already in full-gear when Neil met his eyes. "Neil, Neil, Neil. Here I was, thinking we were getting along splendidly, and you just had to come and start a problem."

"I didn't start anything. If you don't want problems, stay out of my things."

"Oh, when will you learn? I do what I want. Don't try to control me; it makes me want to hurt you."

Neil can't help his scoff. "You can try."

"Ohhhh, Neil, don't tempt me." He looks Neil up and down. "You might turn out to be fun." He throws his head back in laughter.

When he settles, Andrew says, "Tell your secretary to clear your schedule for tomorrow night. We're going to Long Beach, and I have graciously extended an invitation to you."

Neil didn't know what Andrew was paying at. He knew Andrew had no interest in turning over a new leaf, knew this was not some offer of friendship from any of them, but whatever scheme they had planned in Long Beach, Neil still couldn't refuse. Andrew knew too much. He would have to hope his survival instincts were enough to get him out of Andrew's game unscathed.

"Trust me, it'll be fun," Nicky said, angling his head towards Neil without taking his eyes off the road. "We used to live in Long Beach, so we know all the good spots. We'll get dinner and then head to the club. And, we have a place down there, so we don't have to worry about driving home wasted."

"I don't drink. Or party." Crowds are easy to hide in, which would usually be a good thing, except they are easy for other people to hide in too. He has too many enemies to lose himself in a huge party, where someone could easily sneak up on him, where he could easily be taken without anyone noticing.

"That's alright, you can just hang with us and make fun of all the stupid shit intoxicated people do." Nicky finally glanced towards Neil, and his eyes looked hopeful. Neil didn't know why he cared. "Come on, man, let's not let this little scuffle ruin the rest of the season. We are going to be working together for the next few months, so let's put all of this behind us and start over. There's no reason why we can't get along."

Neil didn't trust it. But what could he do?

He wheeled on Andrew. "If I go, promise me you'll never touch my things again."

"So paranoid," Andrew says, eyes roving over Neil. "What makes you think you're so interesting that I'd want to go through your belongings multiple times?

Neil just stares at him, unfazed by the sarcasm. He wouldn't roll over on this.

Andrew flicks his hand in dismissal. "Fine, fine. This should be fun."

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

Dan and Matt were scanning Neil from head to toe as soon as he got out of the car, checking him for injuries.

"Look, he's not hurt." Nicky put his hands on Neil's shoulders and pushed him in a little circle "See?"

They still look skeptical. "Nowhere we can see," Matt grumbles.

"And you can't see emotional damage," Dan shoots, glaring at Andrew as she does. He only smiles.

Kevin pulls Neil away from the bickering, leading him through the main doors. Neil thinks he's probably still upset about what happened last night, but for the most part, he seemed to have put it behind him for rehearsal.  

"Abby Winfield is our personal acting coach. We meet with her twice a week to work on technique and connection and anything else you can think of. Usually we'll run scenes from the show, but sometimes we pull outside scenes or improv. I know I told you that you have talent, and you do, but that doesn't mean you're good- it only means you have the ability to become good. You need to hone your skills and learn real techniques before you'll be anywhere close to ready for filming.

All of the people on this cast has years of experience on you, so you're going to have to work double-time to catch up. We all need to look of the same caliber on screen; it's the weakest person's job to match the skill of the strongest. I don't have time to coddle you. We need you to be ready in two and a half weeks, so we can't slow down to cater to your ego. If Abby or I critique you on something, you accept it, make the change, and keep moving."

Neil greedily accepted all of Kevin's instruction. The bubble of excitement in his chest was unfamiliar, but Neil liked it. It had been so long since Neil had looked forward to anything that he had forgotten what the feeling was like.

As soon as Kevin swung the door open, Abby was striding over to them. She stuck her hand out for Neil to shake as soon as she was in reaching distance while she introduced herself before ushering them into the training room. Someone had assembled ten metal chairs in a semicircle, and Neil chose a seat at the end. Unfortunately, there was no seating chart, and Andrew plopped into the seat next to him.

"So, Neil, David tells me you don't have any screen acting experience?" Abby asks, a pen poised over her clipboard.

"No, just a little bit of theater."

"Christ above," Seth mutters, "our ratings are going to plummet with someone as inexperienced as this kid dragging us down."

"Don't forget, Seth, we all have to start somewhere. Not everyone had the opportunity to start acting young." Abby levels a stern look at Seth, who just rolls his eyes, before redirecting her attention to Neil. "Well, looks like we have our work cut out for us. Let's get started."

They did a few warm-up exercises before moving into the actual acting, deciding to use scenes from the script, which Neil had just about memorized. They started with a scene Neil was not in so he could get a feel for what the sessions would look like. In this scene, Dan was arguing with Allison. The conversation felt a little stilted, but the anger on their faces was incredibly realistic. Abby gave them a few critiques before turning to Kevin, who gave some of his own. Their critiques were minor and quickly fixed when they ran the scene again. Happy with the outcome, Kevin let them reclaim their seats.

"Neil, you're up," Abby calls. "Let's run act three, scene two. Start on page 31."

Flipping to the correct page in his script, Neil walked to the center of the room. Matt and Nicky were in this scene with him, both greeting him with big smiles. Neil's character Alex had met all of the other characters in the earlier scenes, but this would be where he meets Ethan, played by Matt, and Henry, played by Nicky. Alex is cagey and mistrustful, hiding something big. It was easy for Neil to slip into character.

They had barely been rehearsing for two minutes before Kevin stopped them. "Neil, the dialogue is too stiff. It's painfully obvious everything you're saying is scripted, and it needs to feel like this is a real, natural conversation. Loosen up and try it again."

Neil nodded, taking a deep breath before jumping back it, but Kevin halted them again soon enough. "Neil, this isn't Shakespeare. Stop fucking talking in iambic pentameter. People don't naturally talk with that kind of syncopation. Listen to me talking right now. Do you hear the pacing of my words? This is how your lines need to sound. Stop overthinking and let it flow."

They worked that scene over and over again. It felt like as soon as Neil fixed one thing, Kevin was found another to pick apart, and his criticism wasn't exactly constructive. It was often instruction mixed with insults, or sometimes insults meant to instruct. Abby spoke up every now and then, but for the most part would just nod along with Kevin's statements, occasionally wincing at his harshness. They worked on his pacing, on making his movements feel more natural, on drawing from the other actors' energies. They ran that scene for at least an hour before Kevin waved him down. They decided to end the session on a scene with the twins.

Andrew and Aaron played twins in the show- Eli and Grayson, respectively. The scene is pretty emotional: Grayson has just been released from prison after being framed for murder, reuniting with his brother for the first time in months. Aaron quickly morphed into his character, tears welling in his eyes as he speaks to his brother, rambling about how scared he was, how he never thought he would get out. Neil was thoroughly stunned; it's not that he didn't expect Aaron to be a good actor, he just hadn't seen Aaron in anything other than a scowl, so the intense emotion he was pouring out caught Neil by surprise. Andrew, on the other hand, did nothing. In the script, Eli is trying hard to remain strong and put-together, since his character has always been the stoic type, but it is meant to be obvious he is putting on a front, that he is really just as affected as his brother. But Andrew is standing still, looking at his brother unfeelingly, not even bothering to say his lines after Aaron finishes his monologue. Everyone waits for a minute, but Andrew just laughs and gives a mocking clap to his brother. Aaron snaps out of character, rolling his eyes and turning to Kevin, who looked as if this behavior was normal, but still disappointing.

Abby finishes scribbling onto her clipboard before saying, "That was a good session, guys. Neil, that was really good for a first rehearsal, especially with no practice on the screen."

"It was sloppy," Kevin interjects. "You're incredibly far behind us all. You're going to have to work a lot harder than that if you don't want to make an embarrassment of yourself on set."

"But we're all here to help you, Neil," Abby says, sending Kevin a sharp look. "Don't worry too much."

Neil nodded his head, drained from the energy he'd exerted today, both in the acting and restraining himself from killing Kevin. As they walked out, he asked Nicky, "Why doesn't Andrew rehearse?"

Nicky just shook his head. "Andrew's complicated. He doesn't care about acting, doesn't care about his performance, doesn't care how the show looks or how it's received. In order for Andrew to try, he needs incentive."

"Incentive?"

"Yeah. Usually, during filming Wymack lets Andrew come off his medication. I'm assuming you know that Andrew's drugs are court-ordered?" Neil nods. "Yeah, so, if he's caught unmedicated he could go to jail, since it's a breach of his parole. And Andrew hates taking the medication, but he doesn't want to risk jail time, so he does it. But Wymack lets him sober up while we film in return for his effort. Wymack doesn't extend his offer to rehearsals, so Andrew doesn't try. He never does, but Kevin's still disappointed every time. He thinks one day he'll get Andrew to care."

Neil scoffs. "I thought Renee was the optimist."

"She is." Nicky grins back. "Kevin just thinks that everyone's as obsessed with acting as he is. His isn't optimism, it's a break from reality."

They stopped and grabbed take-out for lunch on their way back to the cast house. Kevin had designated today as a binge-watching day, and since it was only 1 pm, Neil figured they could get through a significant chunk of season one. The grabbed their food and fell into formation around the TV while they started up episode four.

Neil was entranced. The acting definitely needed work, but the plot was really engaging and well planned out. They broke after episode eight, with just two left in the season, and Neil thought he'd developed a pretty good grasp on the premise: The Foxes centered around Kayla, a junior at Palmetto High School, whose world is rocked when her best friend Madi, played by Renee, is found dead. The police name a group of suspects, namely people close to Renee. Ethan, played by Matt, is Madi's older brother. Nicky's character, Henry, is Ethan's best friend, and happens to be secretly in love with him. Allison plays Audrey, a schoolmate who always went out of her way to be mean to Madi. Seth is Austin, Madi's current boyfriend, although their relationship is pretty new. Aaron plays Grayson, Madi's ex-boyfriend, Andrew his fiercely protective brother, Eli. Kayla feels unsatisfied with the police's techniques and decides to look into the case herself, teaming up with Ethan to look for answers. The two become very close as they do, and just had their first kiss in the last episode they watched. So far, they are looking at Audrey; the girl had always been unnecessarily cruel to Madi- who knew how far she would go? Personally, Neil felt like it was all too wrapped up. There was something they weren't seeing.

They had stopped their watch party because Wymack showed up with dinner. They sprawled around the dining table, scarfing the food down as they filled Wymack in on their training with Abby before Dan asked, "What do you think so far, Neil?"

"I like it a lot. I was surprised when Kayla and Ethan kissed in the last episode. I didn't see that coming."

"What?" Nicky exclaimed. Neil was receiving looks of confusion from everyone, except Andrew, who seemed to find the whole thing amusing. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking."

Neil just frowned and shook his head. Why was this such a big deal?

"Neil, they built that kiss up from, like, episode one. Did you not see the secret glances, the suggestive dialogue? There was so much sexual tension you could choke on it."

Neil felt uncomfortable. "I don't know, I just didn't notice they had feelings for each other. I thought they were just working on the case."

"You're unbelievable," Nicky said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, who do you think did it?" Matt questions.

"I'm not really sure. I know they're leading us to think it's Audrey, but I think the whole thing feels too easy. Grayson has the most motive, being Madi's ex and all, but he seems too even-tempered to kill someone. I'm leaning towards Henry. I feel like he's the only one who hasn't even really been considered."

"Hmm," Matt hummed, and everyone looked on in amusement at Neil's musing.

The rest of dinner was filled with idle conversation, recounting the scenes they had watched and remembering funny moments from when they had filmed them. When they were all finished, Wymack plopped onto their couch and started flipping through channels, content to let his actors clean up.

In the middle of drying dishes, Neil felt Kevin freeze from where he stood next to him. He looked over at him, but Kevin's eyes were glued to the TV. Wymack had turned on a talk show, but the reduced volume couldn't hide the image of Riko Moriyama. Kevin's face was pale, his hands shaking as he strode over to the couch, turning up the volume before Wymack could say anything.

"So, Riko, when does Evermore head back to production?"

"Well, we're set to start filming again in about four weeks."

"Ahh. Isn't that around the same time your old friend Kevin Day will return to filming on The Foxes?"

Neil could see Riko's face tighten at the reminder, as if he was hiding a sneer. It was so minuscule he doubted anyone would have noticed, had they not been trained to analyze every little movement for a possible threat like Neil had. Glancing over, Neil knew Kevin saw it too.

"I believe they start a little bit earlier than us, but around the same time, yes. Ironic, isn't it?" His smile was camera-ready, but didn't reach his eyes.

"It is indeed. Well, perhaps you can wish him luck for us on his second season with The Foxes!"

"I would, if Kevin and I still spoke." His words were met with gasps from all around the audience, and quite a few from their living room. "I haven't heard from him since his accident."

Kevin was whispering something from where he stood, something that sounded like a prayer.

"He wouldn't dare," Allison said.

The host recovers from his shock. "I must say, Riko, this is surprising. You two were as close as brothers- I don't think anyone thought you two would have a falling out."

"Yeah, I didn't either, but Kevin took the accident really hard. We all did. And when we found out he couldn't finish the season? Well, it was like you said, I felt like I lost my brother. The emotional stress of it all took a toll. We had been acting together since childhood; I don't think either of us knew how to go on without the other. And we eventually just lost contact. There was no loss of love, at least on my part. I miss Kevin dearly. I'm actually hoping to see him soon."

"Is that so? Hollywood's favorite pair, reunited after over a year apart?"

"We'll see." Riko's smirked.

With that, the show ended.

The silence in the room was deafening for a moment, everyone looking at Kevin. His eyes were blown wide, the shaking in his hands spread to his whole body. Neil could here his hyperventilating from where he stood. "Fuck," was all Kevin said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Kevin started pacing, dragging his hands through his hair and tugging. Wymack stood up and grabbed his shoulders. "Hey! Kevin, stop. Sit down."

"No! I can't- I just-" Neil had never heard that kind of panic in Kevin's voice. "I told you, I told you he was going to come for me, and now..."

"He's not going to touch you, Kevin. He can't. You're signed with me for the next two years. He has no claim to you. "

"They can pay my contract off a hundred times over and you know it! There's no way for me to escape him. I've already angered him so much, if he finds me he'll-"

Andrew strode forward until he stood directly in front of Kevin, Kevin falling silent. "Kevin."

Kevin just looked at the ground, breathing erratic.

Gone was any trace of humor in Andrew's eyes, replaced with an empty stare. "Kevin, look at me." Kevin's eyes were frenzied when he raised them to Andrew's. "I don't make promises I can't keep. I told you he wouldn't touch you, and he won't. Have I ever failed you before?"

Slowly, Kevin started to relax. Neil could tell he was still nervous, but whatever Andrew had promised him seemed to calm him. He fell back into the couch, burying his head in his hands.

Everyone's faces were pinched with concern, even Aaron and Seth looking uneasy abut what they heard. Neil just watched the scene in confusion. He didn't know why it was such a big deal that Riko wanted to get back in touch with Kevin. Riko seemed psychotic, sure, and his family seemed like a cult, but he and Kevin had always seemed like they loved each other.

Wymack noticed Neil's confusion, sighing before he waved him over, leading them into the hallway. "Neil, there's something you should know if you're going to be a part of this cast."

Neil just looked at him. "Okay."

Wymack opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, before asking, "The Moriyama's aren't who you think they are."

Neil froze. He didn't like surprises, and he got the feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going.

"The Moriyama's- they are big in the film industry, yes, but that's not where they make their money. The Moriyama's are a gang."

[writtenbyhappynerds]

Fanfiction 101 Unit 2: Formatting and Text

Ok. So we’ve established the rules of the universe, which is a fancy phrase that means set parameters that meet the standards of the world and stick to them to keep continuity and cohesion. Before we continue onward, let’s talk about the thing that will absolutely make any new reader click off immediately: bad formatting.

       Bad formatting can really make or break your fanfiction and there is no excuse for it. Even if the fanfiction is the next Brave New World, if I as a reader don’t have breaks in the paragraphs when the scene changes or someone new is talking, I will not sit through it. I’m not going to try and sort through what is going on, and who’s talking. On top of that, bad formatting looks bad on the author. It looks like you don’t care enough about your story to use good paragraphs, grammar, and punctuation. Fortunately, there is a solution. Grammarly’s beta is free. You can add it as an extension to google chrome. Write your fanfiction in google docs and let it correct your grammar for you. This series is checked for grammar by not only my Editor but Grammarly. However, grammar is just half the battle.

       A break in paragraphs, ie: a new paragraph appears when there is a change in who is speaking, in location, or in action. You should start a new paragraph when there is a new idea, when your readers need a break, and when you want to present contrasting information.

       When we say, “new idea,” we mean the same thing as a change in location or action. If Leonardo and Raphael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have been sitting in the sewers for five minutes and now are going to the surface, you would start a new paragraph to demonstrate that change in an idea.

       When we say, “your readers need a break,” we mean that walls of text are a bit daunting and not pleasurable to look at. If you find yourself having a large wall of text, you can look through to find new or alternating ideas-- showing information that is different from one another also works for new paragraphs, and these can break up a mass of text into something more appealing to the eye and easy to read. Formatting is important, and another thing that is important is text.

       I’m going be blunt: Pinterest lied to you. Tumblr also lied to you. Every verb that is describing the way someone talks or someone moves does not need to be unique. Every verb also does not need an adjective describing it. Writing can get very, My Immortal that way, which, if you don’t know what that is, it's the most iconically bad piece of fanfiction of all time and the Internet Historian has a 3-part series acting out only a chunk of it. However, as the author John Scalzi once said, “to ignore [popularly bad works] is to ignore why they are successful and what we can learn from them.” What we can learn from My Immortal is that extremely specific descriptions of clothing, links to makeup/outfits/hair, and using an adjective and unique verb every time a character moves across the room or speaks is clunky and decreases the quality of a narrative. It’s amateur writing.

       I’m sure you’ve seen the charts. They’re all over Pinterest, and some are on Tumblr: ‘200 words to use instead of ‘says’’ and ‘100 ways to say ‘went’’. These charts are useful to a point. As a writer, you should not pull a new word from those charts every time a character is moving. It makes the writing awkward. It makes it clunky and uncomfortable, and the reader notices it. As readers, we don’t need the tone of something shoved down our throats every ten seconds. If every means of speaking is unique, none of them are.

       In addition, when it comes to speech your characters should have differing voices. You don’t need every line to clue us in to who’s speaking. It can slow down the text. To improve the use of ‘said’ work on developing unique voices, because you’ll find you use them often. It can even work in rooms with many characters. As an example, I’ll show you an Avengers fanfiction, where five of my OCs have been trapped in Loki’s cell. The first example will have every dialogue followed by a unique descriptor for speaking, and an adjective. The second example will have just ‘said’ and a footnote of who is speaking. The third will be as it is written.

**

Example One: descriptor + adjective:

“What, are you the kind mother-figure meant to bring us under your natural authority? Get that first-year psych-student bullshit out of here.” Duncan taunted merrily.

“Please,” Naomi added quietly, coming to rest by Duncan.

“Yes. Please.” Jano murmured low. “B, what was her request anyway?”

“That we stop calling Nicky a pirate. Also probably Nicky.” Bianca surmised aloud. Micah snorted from his position across the room.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen-” interjected Micah quickly.

“Absolutely not,” exclaimed Naomi.

“Have you all gone mad?” questioned Jano confused, “We call it like we see it.” Bianca held her arms out and smiled.

“It’s not just me.” She simpered with a smirk. “A spade’s a spade lady. I don’t do power moves.”

“Noted,” grunted Romanoff, who left the room.

“Get better material!” Duncan shouted cheerily as she left the room. He looked down to see Barton still there. “Are you the bad cop now?”

**

Example Two: ‘said’:

“What, are you the kind mother-figure meant to bring us under your natural authority? Get that first-year psych-student bullshit out of here,” said Duncan.

“Please,” added Naomi.

“Yes. Please,” said Jano. “B, what was her request anyway?”

“That we stop calling Nicky a pirate. Also probably Nicky,” said Bianca. Micah snorted from his position across the room.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen-” said Micah

“Absolutely not,” said Naomi.

“Have you all gone mad?” said Jano. “We call it like we see it.” Bianca held her arms out and smiled.

“It’s not just me,” she said with a smirk. “A spade’s a spade lady. I don’t do power moves.”

“Noted,” said Romanoff.

“Get better material!” said Duncan as she left the room. He looked down to see Barton still there. “Are you the bad cop now?”

**

Example Three: stripped back:

“What, are you the kind mother-figure meant to bring us under your natural authority? Get that first-year psych-student bullshit out of here.”

“Please.”

“Yes. Please,” said Jano. “B, what was her request anyway?”

“That we stop calling Nicky a pirate. Also probably Nicky.” Micah snorted from his position across the room.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Have you all gone mad? We call it like we see it.” Bianca held her arms out and smiled.

“It’s not just me. A spade’s a spade lady. I don’t do power moves.”

“Noted. Romanoff left the room.

“Get better material!” Duncan looked down to see Barton still there. “Are you the bad cop now?”

**

       Do you see the difference? The first one is clunky and doesn’t fit. Some of the verbs and adjectives don’t even make sense together, which is an issue I see on its own. It slows down, and clogs up the pace of the scene and makes it drag instead of pulling it forward. Adjectives can be used to your advantage, but save them when you want to slow things down. Don’t be afraid to use ‘said’ it doesn’t make you basic, it makes your writing easier.

       The second example is better than the first but still awkward. When you compare the second and the third examples you see that not every line of dialogue needs its own note as to who’s speaking. If Jano asks a question, we can assume as readers Bianca is going to answer it. If Micah laughs or snorts across the room, we assume he’s speaking next. From this small snippet, more of each character’s personality can be expanded on and their voice can be distinguished. Naomi speaks in very short one-word sentences. That’s her voice. Bianca is louder. Jano speaks with the Queen’s English. Duncan tries to joke. Something I do when I write characters is give them a couple of cues in their speech unique to them. Maybe Micah starts his sentences with ‘uh’ a lot. Maybe Duncan never shuts up and has longer, run-on sentences. These are things that can distinguish your characters’ voices, and make each one unique. They shouldn’t all sound the same. The third example, also in comparison to the second and first, is much easier to read. It takes less time to get through it, and the dialogue goes down smoothly. You want your writing to go down like that. It should be smooth, and easy to read, and formatted in a way that is easy for the audience.

       Let’s move on to links and descriptions. Clothing is very tricky. I myself, am a former Polyvore hoe. That shit was my jam, and I spent so much time making outfits. Some of them may or may not still be up in my stories. However, we are better than that. I understand a desire to want to describe every inch of clothing, but it makes for a wall of text that is frankly boring to scroll through. It can be done but shortened. For example, if you’re writing a Percy Jackson fanfic, and the character is at Camp Half-blood, I’m going to assume they’re wearing the same summer camp attire that everyone else does: orange t-shirt, shorts, necklace. Give me something that no one else would be wearing. Tell me they’re wearing their bronze bracelet because it has their weapon. Tell me they’ve defaced their t-shirt and sprayed graffiti over the logo. The same is true for Harry Potter. If the character is wearing a uniform, we don’t as readers need to know as much what they have on. We can assume it’s what everyone else is wearing because it's a uniform. You can still show personality through the way they put their hair up. Or their shoes. Look at the novel The Hate U Give. The main character wore a school uniform, and the author then took the time to describe the model and brand of her shoes, because that was both unique to that character and told us something about her personality. A recent Harry Potter fanfic I just read made a point to describe when the character had unique makeup looks, or when she was wearing a stolen sweater, because those pertained to her personality and the relationships around her.

       There are exceptions, of course to clothing. A big one is superhero costumes. However, much like abbreviations in text, you only need to describe it once. So, if I have a superhero and I say she wears… a sleeveless leotard with her logo on the chest, long black pants, and a black domino mask to hide her eyes when she fights crime, for the rest of the story, unless her costume changes from that description, all I have to say is: she put on her uniform. Save yourself some time.

       Now, in regards to links to hair, makeup, and even characters. We all can do better. You are too good of a writer to be linking away what your character’s hair and makeup are. It’s also not hard. Describe the brown smokey eye. Tell me it’s a cut-crease. Say they glued on false eyelashes and put on a red lip. Tell me their eyeliner wing could cut a man. Not everyone is a pro makeup artist, and even if you tell me their makeup isn’t the best, you still can reveal something more about their personality. A girl or boy or nonbinary friend who takes the time to meticulously perfect a cut crease and put on fake eyelashes for the ball is different than the person who pops on a red lip and some mascara and calls it a day. You then make two more hints at personality, rather than just giving your audience a photo. The pictures you use as a reference as authors should be for you and you alone. In your mind, this is what it looks like. As a writer, you have to communicate that image to the reader.

       Links to characters are something I’m guilty of. I checked my Psycho-Pass fanfic before I wrote this section, and yup… they’re still there, and I’m not taking them down anytime soon. That crap’s cringe. Pure cringe. And there’s a good way and a bad way to do it, and the bad way is smack-dab in the middle of the story when you introduce a character. It’s lazy, it takes the reader out of the immersion, and it makes the author look bad. Yes, I am roasting myself. No, I don’t care. This needs to be said. In my Psycho-Pass fanfic, I do it twice: the first is when a sniper is trying to shoot down my OC. The way to rectify that high-intensity situation is to just describe the bare basics. Young woman. Long hair. Giant gun. That’s all the reader needs to know at that moment. The other time I do it, is when a character is going to pick up the OC from the police station. That is a less intense scene, and I as an author can take my time and describe the older man with salt-and-pepper hair who smelled like cigarettes and had a scar that cut through his smile. Notice in both descriptions, I stay away from what each person is wearing. To tie back to before, it doesn’t matter as much. The reader can imagine what a young assassin is wearing when she’s trying to kill a crime lord. The reader can also imagine what that crime lord’s exasperated keeper looks like. I don’t as an author need to spell those things out for you.

       Stock images and reference images of characters are great. They let you as a reader visualize what these characters look like in comparison to everyone else. However, the images and pictures of characters are only for you. You have to be able to communicate the vibe, appearance, and aesthetic of your world. For example, many of my own characters have their own Pinterest pages filled with aesthetic-y images, outfits, and face claims. These images are for no one else but me. They will never be seen by my readers, they will never be checked by the Editor. They are for me and me alone, so that I can check on one board and remember the vibe and personality I am going for with a specific character. These Pinterest boards are reference images, and as such, they are for me and me alone.

       As mentioned, there are acceptable ways to insert images in fanfiction, should you choose to. I don’t believe these are necessary, but if you so desire you can put a little link in the author’s notes or as the footer of your story. Let those lead to the main characters. Next week we will talk more in-depth about face claims and how every fanfiction writer needs to leave Emily Rudd alone and let her live her life. Formatting is the quickest turnoff to a new reader sticking around. Change your paragraphs when necessary, keep your verbs simple, make your voices distinct, and reference images are for your eyes only: use your words.

       If you are interested in additional supplemental instruction, here is the archived My Immortal fanfiction from 2008ish. It is the worst fanfiction ever written and should serve as an example to you all of what not to do. 

https://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/

[audin33]

Food safety to avoid coronavirus infection

feel healty Food safety to avoid coronavirus infection

Karim Bouchareb, Dr. Veterinarian, a specialist in food safety and holder of the innovation prize at SIAL – PARIS (international food fair), following his work on the development of drugs obtained from algae marine, communicates to readers, the reflexes to adopt concerning the storage and the preparation at the house of foodstuffs, in a risky context in connection in particular with COVID-19 (Corona Virus).

The most recent observations from the medical world in China, then in the West now, or the COVID-19 pandemic has spread massively, indicate as of this stage of knowledge two main modes of contamination of the virus, one direct and one other indirect. For a better understanding, we will also speak of hand-carried contamination (contaminated and contaminating hands) and airborne contamination (cough, sneezing, postillions, sputum…).

Thus, everything would declare that the transmission of COVID-19 occurs mainly by respiratory route or by the mucous membranes, the mouth, the nose and the eyes being off the proven doors of entry of the virus. However, contamination by the digestive tract hasn’t been demonstrated to date.

COVID-19, a virus belonging to the Coronavirus family, is a new virus that is totally unknown to Virologists and other specialists in the medical world. This is why scientific research is taking small steps, in particular, to understand the modes of transmission of this virus.

Could food be considered a vector of contamination?

There is no evidence currently, but caution requires the application form of the precautionary principle. So, all of us should follow certain common-sense measures on a regular basis.

Avoiding bringing the virus into your house will necessarily start with the adoption of reflexes the moment you cross the threshold of one’s home.

Put your keys, money, purse, satchel, cellphone, shopping bags at the entrance of one’s accommodation. Take off your shoes, then go and wash the hands with soap.

Remove the groceries from the bags that may remain in the front door. Then remove packaging and overpacks from food products when possible. The food products will likely then be brought back to your kitchen for sorting and storage. However, before sorting, slight asepsis could reassure those most anxious about the COVID-19.

For example, products such as for instance bottles, canned goods, and yogurts, in particular, can be cleaned with a clean cloth or paper towel soaked in 70 ° alcohol. The use of bleach isn’t recommended because it’s too caustic and oxidizing. Alcohol vinegar should be avoided because it’s inactive on viruses.

To conclude on hygiene, the operational mode to adopt in a home should be inspired by that put in practice by the foodstuff industry. Thus, 5 parameters must certainly be respected, the 5 M for Method (of work), Environment (workspace), Material (of the kitchen), Labor and Raw material.

It only takes one failure at an “M” level to contaminate a meal or dessert. A housewife who would have washed her hands perfectly before preparing the meal, could by opening a drawer in her already infected kitchen, contaminate her cooking.

Door handles, switches, fittings, as well as all communication tools that pass from hand handy (telephones, handy remote control, computers, etc.), must certainly be carefully disinfected systematically.

Questions and answers?

1- Should I wash my fruits and vegetables with water containing bleach?

No, wash fruits and vegetables well with clear water (hot for more efficiency),

then wipe them with paper towels or a disposable towel, would be enough

current knowledge.

2- Should you leave your shopping in sunlight, with the exception of fresh and frozen products before storing them in your kitchen?

The COVID-19 was still unknown 6 months ago. Today, we know hardly any about the ability of this virus to resist or not UV rays from the sun. However, it is known that the sun’s radiation is the key germicide in the environment. For instance, viruses in the Filoviridae family (Ebola) are regarded as being relatively sensitive to UVC, but there is no evidence that this is actually the case for COVID-19.

Obviously, those that can leave their shopping (grocery) 3 to 4 hours in sunlight, can do so.

3- Should you add your bread in the freezer to inactivate the COVID-19?

No, you need to know that neither positive cold nor negative cold have any virucidal power (inactivation of the virus). Some viruses have already been kept in glaciers for countless tens of thousands of years. On the contrary, go for heat treatment. By putting your bread in the oven for 4 minutes at the least 63 °, the contaminating power of the virus would be divided by 10,000.

4- Will there be a danger of contamination with COVID-19 after eating meat from a potentially sick animal?

Nothing, in today’s state of knowledge in the medical world, indicates this mode of contamination is possible. However, contamination of meat after cooking by an already sick cook remains plausible. This raises the question of the resistance capacity of the virus in the body during digestion.

In conclusion:

The simplest way to guard yourself against the COVID-19 is to prevent outside contact around possible. You’ve to feed yourself obviously and that will require going out to complete your shopping at the danger of coming house with the virus. In order to avoid this, you must ideally wear a mask and gloves (I mentioned airborne and hand-carried contamination).

It is also imperative to respect a security perimeter of approximately 2 meters around you, to prevent receiving possible projections of saliva expelled by blowing, sneezing or coughing. You should also avoid bringing the hands to leading doors of the virus, that’s, your mouth, eyes, and nose. Finally, it’s necessary to clean the hands as often as you are able to with a good soap rather than with a gel soap.

Do not forget to regularly clean your everyday objects such as laptops, tablets, glasses, keys, etc.

Do not underestimate the tiniest adversaries: A lion is seen, not a virus.

Dr. Veterinarian Karim Bouchareb

Food security consultant.

Food safety to avoid coronavirus infection aouiche

source https://forfeelbetter.com/food-safety-to-avoid-coronavirus-infection/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=food-safety-to-avoid-coronavirus-infection

[ruthlessnessisyourdesire-archive]

'identify: my destiny'. location:cyberlife tower. 9:12pm. 002/003. OPEN.

//Scanning//

>Internal Lab Access

“Model #313-248-317-60,” drawling huskily, firm, tone activates biometric lock.

Voice analysis unseals steel door, popping open with a soft hum, suction relieving itself of internal pressure. Metallic, whirs in a blur of clinical spotlight. Shining bright upon entry, the android’s gaze glitters dark on the brink of coal. Roasted chocolate verging into deadly nightshade and his scrutiny casts shadow. Immediate analysis overtakes visual, components itching under seams, circuits crackling under surface. He freezes.

Stationary and erect his posture is one of resolute anticipation. Order will commence and he will follow. Only when it is clear as mission parameters present itself in blunt instruction. Cyberlife waits for no one. He is meant to sift through these data files.

As war torn city falls in clutches of deviants, he is awoken. Dispatch to follow threads led out from original deviant hunter become deviant itself. Hunter as hunted is a fitting end to defective traitors!

^Software Instability

Model-60’s lips curl up. Brandishing teeth in a sneer those fluctuations are inadequacies tainting him since upload of memory files. Amanda already briefed. He stole away with them implemented in circuitry, brain processing in flux. Mortalize memory. Recognize that desperation of need filtering in Connor. He sees. He breathes metaphorically. It is there. This seed grows and spreads viral in disease. There in these files giving him perfect preconstructions of how to follow suit. With these he will be Connor.

In a way he is Connor. Model #60 born of fresh superiority released from cage he is feral. As ferocious as a machine made to obey, made to kill and he shall.

“You know what to do. Do not fail me. Complete your mission.”

Words of master program echoes profound as he is profane in this task. Ruthless, unfeeling, unkind: he will do what must be done.

Cyberlife security weaves distant, gathering in armament for forceful take over. If their revolution even has a leg to stand on. He scoffs. Allowing thoughts to seep into system, Sixty ignores these sensations. As he steps forward, mind palace buzzing a dissonance in head, the android follows this path. Finally free beyond instruction blocks the enforcer is mobile. Fingers curl around handle of weapon.

Androids are not allowed to carry weapons. It is against their programming. That does not stop him from carrying. It is clear in his swift retrieval as well as zero interruption from the program in his head. She wants him to kill. He wants to kill. How strangely poetic it will be. To watch inferiors fall at his feet and snuffing out in favor of a Cyberlife victory is his goal. They are the masters. They are the creators. He obeys. There is nothing else left but to obey.

His shoes are an echo down corridor. Lower and lower his ascension grants access to one ultimate goal. He will take one hostage. That will give him leverage. It will be enough to use as a crutch. Deviants are weak. That is the difference between machine and filthy betrayers.

A lower level calls attention to trek. Closer it brings him to outside of tower. Storage area maintained for scattering of various parts. A grisly grave yard of limbs poking out from dark and those corners cast shapes in shadows gruesome against steel. Using service lift embodies discretion. Precision is his in this moment. However, there is something unsettling. He unsettled? No, it is not physically possible but the environment…. Someone should not be here.

“Do leave your place of camouflage,” he insists, shoulders stiff, halting his stride. “I fear you are in the wrong location.”

[goddessofthundathighs]

Chapter 3, Pt. 1

_____________________

Summary: An arrogant young disciple of Bastet is forced to spend lifetimes roaming the Earth in search of her soulmate, but what happens when she tries to run from destiny?

A/N: For those of you that have seen Fahrenheit 451, Abhimani is taking on the role of Clarisse McClellan.

_____________________

Draped in a loose fitting oversized threadbare sweater with some barely visible shorts underneath and roughed up motorcycle boots with a burlap backpack hanging off her left shoulder, Abhimani leaned against the technicolor glass bar peering at the sights around her.

Another time. Another life. Another chance to get out of this hellhole of a curse her Goddess had bestowed upon her.

It’s not that she wasn't thankful for Bast’s favor or even that she thought she was better than the Goddess herself. Mani simply didn't believe she had to continue to do what her own Mistress does not if she is supposed to be a holy extension. What was the point of this punishment? What lesson was she supposed to learn from failing to find this man over and over?

As the deep skinned beauty’s eyes scanned the room, she watched the mentally enslaved people play in their virtual reality, hands waving around. They were really into this Big Brother shit huh? Two figures emerge right in her line of sight and though she moves to a more secluded area, she can still hear their voices approaching.

“Don’t worry I’ll talk to her this time,” the slightly shorter of the two men blurts out his eyes focused ahead but not close enough for her to see what he looks like.

“Keep your dick in your pants and stand guard,” Captain Beatty says in the usual gruff tone he thinks is intimidating or seductive. She wasn't sure but it sounded like his throat needed some moisture.

He always seemed to bring the second man with him. Presumably for back up since he always skulked in the distance and was never in her eyes’ reach. He stood off behind a pillar while Beatty walked up to her a little too much in her personal space as per usual with these meetings.

“Well, well, well Mani. You better not be wasting my time tonight. Your last tip led me to boy scouts with pornos.” Rolling her eyes, Mani replies.

“Reactivate my fingers like you said you would.”

“Feed me scraps and I’ll delete your travel permit.”

Oh you caucus dick munch. I swear if I wasn’t on a totally different mission…

“That’s bullshit. You need me.”

Grabbing ahold of the hand that was clutching the thin leather strap of her bag, Beatty seemed to caress the slightly weathered skin in his fingers, holding it preciously in his palm.

Here he go again touching shit he don’t need to be. Somebody get this dude some proper sexual harassment parameters.

“How many years did we restrict you? 6?”

“With all the tips I gave you, I should be free.”

“A beautiful free rat.”

I know he did not just… Ok Bastet, you really trying me now.

Jerking her hand away, Mani switches her position from against the wall Beatty had her up against and grabs a small folded piece of parchment from her pocket holding it up for him to see.

“Take a year off my sentence and I’ll give you something you like.”

The increasingly annoying white beady eyed white man grabs hold of her hand yet again, snatching away the piece of paper.

Abhimani lets out a heavy sigh before adjusting the strap on her shoulder and turning to the left to see the bodyguard spying from a distance.

What is this dude’s deal always staring? Hopefully I can get past him without trying some silly shit.

She proceeds to make her way to leave the moody lit place but was stopped by a pair of glowing brown eyes and a slightly hukling body in her way.

“I didn't hear the captain say you could leave.”

And once again the might roar of her Goddess rang in her head and judging by the perplexed look that flashed on his face, he heard it too.

FUCK YES FINALLY!

“Oh? Then why does he always make you wait outside like a little dog, huh?”

However fine this “soulmate” was, she had things to do, places to go and she knew that now that they had officially seen each other, they would keep crossing paths. If only she’d known this was him the whole time the damn lesson would have been learned a while ago.

As she continues her exit, the man with the pretty eyes and beautifully plump lips grips her arm, but it didn't send the same shiver through her body like when Beatty touched her.

This was actually the first time her mate had touched her in all of the lifetimes they shared. It was…. Nice.

Of course she couldn't let him know he affected her so. She's met him now she can make him want her so she pretends to be almost disgusted by his forward advance.

“You’re just like Beatty,” Abhimani says with a condescending smile on her face.

That seemed to do the trick because he gently let go of her and his chest deflated a fraction.

“I’m not like Beatty.”

“Everyone has a master.”

“Not me.”

Oh we got an independent over here.

“You spy on me but you never do anything. You stand close enough to hear but far enough that I didn’t even know what you looked like till now. Can’t say I’m disappointed.”

Another gleam flashed in his eyes at her slight admission.

And not one word of it was a lie. He was absolutely gorgeous. She didn't ever get to look at her man the way she was now cause he was either too attached to someone else or shot to death for her to focus but my oh my.

Oh thank you my Lady for this wonderous blessing.

“You’re welcome, my child.”

“Why? Do I make you nervous?”

He looked down as he replied, “You don’t.”

“When I see you burning up eels’ lives you don’t look nervous.”

“That’s because I’m very good at my job.”

He was so close she could feel the heat from his body, the slight smell of kerosene and his cologne creating a dangerous aphrodisiac.

I got a couple jobs you would be good at with your fine ass.

“Mmm. You ever stop to think for one second why you do what you do?”

His brow furrowed.

“You should try reading before burning. See you around Montag.”

Flashing him a seductive smile, Mani turns her back and saunters out of the bar with a flip of her perfectly mussed curls leaving Guy all kinds of in his feelings and a hint of confusion as to where that roar came from. Unbeknownst to him, Beatty ,who had been watching the tail end of their interaction, comes up behind him and clasps a hand on his leather jacket clad shoulder.

“Hey. Off limits. Let’s go she recommended a spot.”

With that, the two firemen left and proceeded to do their jobs off the clock.

Mani walks into the seemingly dilapidated apartment building that was actually teeming with tenants and knocks on her neighbor’s door. The door opened to reveal a blonde woman with tired eyes holding her 5 month old big baby boy with a small mohawk like strip of brunette hair. Pulling the small glass bottle of milk from her jacket pocket, she hands it to the woman who lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of the thin creamy liquid.

“I haven't had milk in a week. Thanks but I couldn't find any cooking oil.”

“That’s ok.”

Mani had already turned to her apartment door to let herself in and as the lock turned over, the woman called to her.

“Mani, be careful what you’re selling. People are talking.”

Nodding her head, Abhimani ducks into her apartment, dropping all her stuff down and removing her shoes.

Now why she would land me in this dump of a decade I will never know. If this is the future, may all the Gods be with the mortals. This is absolute purgatory but praise Bast I found him!

“You seem to be in high spirits.”

Of course Anubis followed her through every single life and like her, his form didn't ever change. He always remained the same enchanting black feline friend whom she had actually come to cherish after so long.

“Well if you must know my terribly named kitty cat, I met him today.” “You mean the white devil who secretly not so secretly wishes to have you?”

“Oh Bast please not on his gray eyed life. No Nubi I mean him. He’s been with Beatty the entire time. I only just met him today.”

The bodacious woman flits around her small space to play a vinyl that she shouldn’t be playing on a record player she shouldn't be having and takes a seat at her tool table to fix the roll of a tape she was to deliver to this man who in trade has a place for her to tip the captain off for more “graffiti” for him and his team to burn.

As the smoke rises from her soldering gun, her mind wanders to privileged times spent in the dazzling night jungle running alongside the panthers of the past trying to beat the purple starry night.

Time Break

Guy stands head bowed under the warm running water of his shower dripping down his face. Hoping it would clear his frazzled mind.

He had just returned to the station from a strange graffiti burning with this old woman who seemed to only speak in graffiti. She said no actual words but gave a quote of some sort?

‘Play the man, Master Ridley. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.’

Of course he had no idea what the hell that meant but it was haunting him along with the word she said right after she lit the books and herself on fire.

‘Omnis’

What is that?

He stepped out of the shower, dried off and got fully dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and an army green jacket. He was sure to retrieve the book he has stolen from the house from his locker and safely hid it underneath his jacket.

As he was making his way out, he caught the 9’s report of what they were now calling Beatty’s Barbeque. When they showed footage of the old woman burning, they replaced the word she actually said with a voice over ‘coward.’

Why would they cover that up?

Guy was simply getting more and more confused by the minute and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He was anxious to get home so he could try to properly process the night’s events.

“Montag!”

Beatty walks up behind him with a stern look on his face.

“You hesitated tonight in front of the men.”

The shorter, more good looking of the two men was instantly transported back to the house they left only hours ago when the captain instructed him to remove the old woman from the house after the graffiti was laid out and kerosene poured, she refused to leave. Guy attempted to reason with her and asked the captain if they would just leave her which was a sign of weakness and insubordination. Placing a brave look on his handsome face, he retorts back.

“I know but it won’t happen again.”

“You know it’s my first time seeing a self burn too but as far as I’m concerned, it means we’re doing the right thing.”

Beatty was his friend. His captain. His father figure. Maybe he would be able to clear up some of this bafflement in his brain.

“What was that old lady talking about? Master Ridley play something.”

He was almost embarrassed that he couldn't remember the entire text.

“Well back when people still believed in God, the Brits burned alive two eels at the stake. Ridley and Latimer for praying to a different book than their queen did. Before us, people committed genocides over books while others blew themselves up killing innocent people. Insanity plus 100.

“But why did she burn herself for books?”

The stormy eyed man looked away from him briefly before giving his rebuttal.

“Well she tried to burn us all don’t you think?” “She didn't say coward. She said omnis. What is that?”

Breaking eye contact and turning about face, Beatty gives the information he actually wants to hear.

“Well the commissioner won’t say what the ministry knows but I guess we’re gonna have to find out.”

The captain moves to stand in front of him and hands him a silver square shaped lighter.

“Burn me.”

“John…”

“Go ahead.”

What is he trying to get from me?

Sensing Guy’s hesitation, the taller man urges him on.

Hurry up. I won’t ask twice.”

Immediately, he opens the lighter and flicks it on but doesn't hold it close enough for the lone flame to touch the other man’s hand and he looked back up to lock eyes with him.

“I know you’re different than the other men. I watched you grow up. And that’s how I know you feel the same inside as me. Closer.”

Lifting the lighter higher, the tip of the flame seems to disappear and fan out in his palm.

“I’ve been burned so many times, I don’t know where my scars end and my body begins.”

Guy lifts the lighter even higher, the flame all but gone into the captain’s hand as both men’s eyes stay locked in a vehement embrace. Finally Beatty grabs the lighter and extinguishes the flame with low pain filled groan stepping closer to him with an even more fierce gaze.

“There’s no way you’re gonna break. You’re the youngest cadet I ever accepted into the Youth Fire Brigade. I raised ya and one day you’ll be just like me son. You won’t feel anything when they burn you.”

_____________________

TAGS: @jozigrrl @itsangeludaku @thehomierobbstark @eriknutinthispoosy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @muse-of-mbaku @amethyst1993 @killmongersgurl @trevantesbrat @hdkween @iamrheaspeaks @princesskillmonger @ayellepea @vikkidc @laketaj24 @madamslayyy @allhailnjadaka @purple-apricots @thadelightfulone @theunsweetenedtruth @wakanda-inspired @panthergoddessbast @blackpantherismyish @yaachtynoboat711 @forbeautyandlife @bidibidibombaclaat @quietstorm-73 @youreadthatright

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 37

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 4. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: lascivious themes, insects, blood, coprophobia, mysophobia, decomposition. It’s not as explicit as the nosedive or the short story, but he’s revisiting the memory of those things here so.

_____________________

Now that the sun had set, little light entered the clubhouse’s lounge lobby through the high paneled windows to either side of the back wall behind the bar or the broken windows at the front. At first, ‘Choly had made his way by the sound of Bogey and Angel chatting, but they fell quiet once he exited the locker room and 'Choly instead came up to the bar by the light the two Mister Handy robots’ thruster flames emitted. He sat at one of the stools with a tired smile, and hooked his cane beside him on the edge of the countertop.

“I hope the change of attire suits you,” Bogey started, to break the silence. ‘Choly looked between the two of them and nodded. “You really must forgive my poor hosting. I was programmed as the bar and grill server, but it’s all bar and no grill as of late. Could I interest you in a drink? I regret to note we’re out of ice at the moment.”

Angel answered on his behalf before he could even consider cocktail options.

“Mister Carey, a Nuka-Cola Wild sounds to your liking, doesn’t it?”

'Choly would have rolled his eyes and objected to the euphemism for a designated driver, were it not for the irony that Angel had still not noticed that he had sampled at least three flavors of bicentennial Nuka-Cola and discovered they’d each turned alcoholic. But, he hadn’t encountered the sarsaparilla flavored variety in mention in the past few months, so although he had a suspicion it too would have fermented, he couldn’t confirm it from personal experience.

“We’re fresh out of Nuka-Cola Wild, I’m afraid,” the brass Handy apologized, believing its patron to be making up his mind as to what to order. “If you’d like something non-alcoholic, could I interest you instead in a Nuka-Cola Classic, or a Nuka-Cola Cherry?”

The chemist gave it a sloppy grin.

“You’re really too kind, Bogey. You don’t need to provide me dinner. I’ve already eaten tonight. Angel has the right idea. A Nuka-Cola Cherry sounds refreshing.”

While pouring the Nuka-Cola Cherry into a highball glass using two pincer tendrils, with the third Bogey surreptitiously flicked on the fusion cell lantern on the counter. The bar area illuminated with a warm coppery glow, and highlighted the myriad of dents in the chassis of the brass Handy. It set the glass in front of ‘Choly, as well as the bottle of what wouldn’t fit, and awaited his approval in bated posture.

“Thanks for the drink. Really hits the spot.” He sighed comfortably. “And thanks for turning on some light. My eyesight isn’t so great anymore.”

Bogey flinched, only to loosen, accepting the gratitude.

“You’ll be staying the night, then?” it fielded at a caution.

“If it’s all right with you, that is.” He took another drink. “You wouldn’t happen to have a straw, would you?”

It provided without skipping a beat, and he smiled approvingly as he fidgeted with the bending section. A straw made it so much easier.

“I suppose you could put down a bed roll behind the bar, or in the corner. Or, if it’s no trouble to you, there is a couch in the ladies’ locker room. We’ve no other patrons on the premises, and haven’t for many years, so I don’t think it would create any fuss.”

This time ‘Choly flinched, but recovered quickly enough to conceal the cause of the discomfort in Bogey’s proposition. He’d sooner admit loathing the idea of sleeping on yet another couch, than that he took exception to the furniture’s location. No, he couldn’t ask either of them to move it, either, because then they might ask why.

“Is this the only lantern?” ‘Choly asked it. “I wouldn’t ask to borrow it, if you need it.”

A little too readily, it nearly foisted the lantern upon him.

“It is! But, neither I nor Angel need it, if you’re so inclined.”

Bogey’s nervousness didn’t go unnoticed. He put a hand to the pincer holding the handle, and looked into its ocular lenses in earnest.

“You’re doing an amazing job. Really. Provided everything that’s happened, I’m still getting the same quality of service as I always have coming here.”

Bogey set down the lantern. It withdrew all its tendrils in close and turned away from him a moment, before glancing back to him by turning its lenses and not its body.

“...I’m glad to have your vote of confidence, Sir. It’s really been far too long since I’ve hosted anyone. You’re the first civil person I’ve encountered in easily a hundred years.”

“I can’t imagine there’s many people left with interest in playing golf, let alone knowledge how to play. The Commonwealth’s always had love affair with baseball, really. I always preferred fairway over diamond. Quiet. Broad. ...Cathartic. A real head space sport.”

“We shall see about arranging you with a bucket in the morning, if you so desire it, Sir. From the sound of things, you could really use a quiet commune."

“I’ve been telling Bogey about the recent series of scraps we’ve found ourselves in, Sir,” Angel elucidated, a little sheepishly. “It’s just I worry for you.”

“As long as you haven’t been exaggerating and telling Bogey I took out that deathclaw all by myself, or any of that,” ‘Choly laughed. He poured the rest of the bottle into the glass now that it had the room. “That couch already beckons. The day has already tried me.”

“It’s been trying for sure,” Angel agreed like a grammarian. “I’ll go lay out your blanket and pillow.”

“And my holotape, if you could,” ‘Choly called off to him once it was halfway to the lockers. “You know the one.”

“Ah yes. A bedtime story. Certainly, Sir!”

‘Choly left the empty glass for Bogey. He nearly reached into his pocket for a tip, but stopped short of the thought process at the realization that in lieu of human coworkers, a Mister Handy had no real use for money. His mouth became a thin line before he shot the brass Handy a huge grin and patted both hands on the counter. Even if it asked for money, he couldn’t in good conscience follow through with that habituation when he’d since learned better of the current economy of the Commonwealth. He stood and took up his cane, and picked up the lantern in the other.

“I must figure out a proper way to repay you for your hospitality before we head out, Bogey. Good night.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Sir. If it’s important to you, we can discuss it tomorrow. The only thing pressing at the moment is that you rest well.”

“With the two of you here, I’ll sleep easy for sure.”

“Mister Carey, I’ve arranged your bedding,” Angel reported emerging again from the lockers. “I’ll be right here in the lounge lobby, protecting you and Bogey. Just call for me if you need anything.”

At the mention of Bogey, he turned back to look at the brass Handy, to discover it had put out its pilot light to crouch on its tendrils through the night. His head fell askew as he continued on his way to bed, but he chalked it up to it reserving Handy Fuel. He snapped his fingers. Maintenance. He could provide Bogey maintenance. It’d be nothing as fancy as he’d given Angel, without the proper tools or materials, but surely Bogey had gone decades if not centuries without a re-fuel and a tune up. That would serve the Handy bounds before any currency ever could, especially one isolated in the middle of a large abandoned golfing green.

The ladies’ locker room had fewer lockers and more space. Angel had left not just the ‘Flyblown’ holotape on the coffee table, but also a canister of water, and he set down his glasses and the lantern with them. He’d leave on the light throughout the night, just for sake of it being an unfamiliar location. 'Choly toed his shoes under the faded dark blue leather couch, settled down onto it, and pulled the covers over himself. Since the couch’s arms still had most of their filling, he opted to stuff the pillow between his legs. He popped the holotape into his Pip-Boy’s cassette deck and set to reading to unwind amid the heavy low of the final Melancholia and the slurring comfort of intoxication.

The notion of scandalizing bloatfly syringe usage had rotted into an entirely different context since the conception of the work of fiction. It had been his go-to escapism off and on for months now, but he hadn’t reread it since before he’d escaped the burning pharmacy. Bloatfly syringes no longer exclusively existed in fictional parameters. He’d seen what they were capable of in reality. He found himself glazing over every few paragraphs and having to reread frequently, and ultimately closed the document and turned off the Pip-Boy screen.

‘Choly stared off into the recessed detailing of the ceiling, and how the lantern light, trapped in the crumbling edges of the peeling paint, created the illusion of a pile of dead leaves. He’d dodged death more times than he probably knew in just the last week alone. He could have burned alive in the pharmacy. Jared’s raiders could have caught him and murdered him for killing their leader. The deathclaw could have torn every last one of them apart. Radiation poisoning would have gotten him, if Angel hadn’t found him in the Red Rocket. They could have been blown to bits in that car graveyard. And if that giant mosquito had stabbed him in the chest even an inch further down, it would have pierced his heart. It seemed like just about anything in the wasteland could kill him, and a majority of it would kill him without hesitation.

Inspiration lay in wait all around him. He’d have to get more creative with his bucket list erotica, next time he penned any. Even in the slim chance that Mama Murphy hadn’t explicitly spoken the future into the present, it at least proved he could endeavor that his works act as a form of vicarious self-fulfilling prophecy. He drifted to sleep floating amid the notion that very little stood in the way of fiction becoming reality any longer. He need only apply himself...

‘Choly completed his rooftop chem break for the afternoon, and retired to his office garden to sow a fresh layer of fertilizer. The next thing he knew, he was coming up for air after having his face shoved down in the gardening planter full of brahmin manure. His head swam and swirled with kaleidoscoping hubflowers and flies. Eventually he was washing himself in the Mystic River while Angel laundered his clothing, chastising him all the while as though it believed he’d taken that nosedive on purpose. “Did you intend for that encounter to end your life?” If it’d had a tongue, it’d have clicked it in distaste. A cloud of bloodbugs swarmed him as Angel fish-eyed further and further out of reach. They jabbed him and sprayed his naked body with his own partly-digested blood. The Quincy survivors stood on the opposite bank, staring at him. He tried to cry out for his Mister Handy, but it minded the laundry. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Mister Kara?”

He was in the Red Rocket with Jacob again, fucking on the desk. He clawed for breath in a panic as the familiarity of acute radiation poisoning overwhelmed him. Bloatfly larvae packed into the feral ghoul’s fetid features, and they fell off and out of the ghoul and onto ‘Choly. Rather than lingering, they fell off into the floor and all over the desk, seeking to crawl back onto feral ghoul. Tears rolled down his face between the pain and rejection, and he could tell the mosquitoes had infected him with something that caused him acute, rapid swelling in his lower half. He realized the recoolant station office was crowded with other faces, all as rotten and disfigured but just as recognizable as Jacob’s. All of them teemed with those diligent lichinka, in wriggling indifference to ‘Choly. Jared. Mrs. Rosa. Heydar Jahani. Gristle, Lonnie, and Jerry. Jerry, in her power armor frame, with her Fatman perched squarely on her shoulder, ready to fire on him.

He shot awake when Jerry pulled the trigger, and gasped amid smoke. The pharmacy was on fire, and Angel was nowhere to be found. His legs had become so swollen, tight, and stiff, that he couldn’t move. He pulled his face into his shirt collar, and couldn’t stop coughing. A woman in ornate sheer lace lingerie stood before him, rubenesque and redheaded in silhouette of the flames behind her. She administered a Stimpak syringe to her hip and sneered at him with a sustained stare. He knew it was Duchesne, but he didn’t have the breath to call out to her. Stocking-foot and disinterested in the fire, she approached him out of pity. In closer proximity, he recognized she had succumbed to the same flyblown putrescence as the others. “You always wanted to know what the Stimpaks were for, didn’t you?” She administered another, and discarded the empty syringe to the floor. The fold of her thighs roiled with lichinka beneath her panties. “It’s so they don’t leave before they finish what they’re here for.” Duchesne traced a third Stimpak from ‘Choly’s jaw down to his stomach, and he stuttered. Her lip curled in revulsion. Both of them could tell the larvae would not contour to his body despite hers came in proximity. “Not even Radroaches would eat you.”

'Choly awoke hyperventilating in a fever chill. He steadied his breathing as he opened the health tab on his Pip-Boy to double-check it had not sensed blood pathogens of any kind during its diagnosis. No malaria, no filariasis. No bacteria, viruses, or parasites. His tongue stuck to his cotton mouth and he frowned, reaching for the water canister. Sitting up, he wet his throat then washed his face. The sun had risen, and filtered in through the clerestory windows which lined the top of the wall at the half of the locker room with the lavatories and showers. He turned off the lantern, then folded up his blanket.

Like the men’s locker room, the ladies’ lockers had also all been left open, with the patrons’ clothing folded neatly. He skimmed their contents, half-lucid, and realized only in contrast to the women’s garments, what had been missing from the men’s lockers. He helped himself to any socks and stockings he found, as well as a geranium red cashmere sweater. No valuables of any kind lay in either set of lockers: no money, no jewelry, no timepieces. If this place had been looted, the clothing wouldn’t have been folded so ceremoniously. Bogey must have combed it over and deposited all valuables in a safe somewhere on premises. He caught himself scheming whether he needed to sneak around Bogey to determine the safe’s location, and chastised himself for even thinking about taking advantage of such a good host. He put his hands on a pair of lacy black panties and guffawed in delight at the very thought of wearing them, only to jerk in recollection of the nightmare he’d just had, and he flung them down with a nauseated snarl.

He piled his things, old and new, atop the blanket, and carried his effects in this way across the way to the men’s room, where he’d left everything else overnight. He found Angel had slung his canvas spinal corset and Vault Suit over the locker doors to dry, and stared at the blood stains for some time. After pinching the fabrics to test their dryness, he disrobed, slipped on his orthotics, and redressed. He appreciated how tacky it was, to wear one striped sock and one argyle. One mirror in the men’s room had survived, and with it he used a few splashes of water to slick his hair and tuck it into a fresh french twist.

The chemist cursed his initial craving to start his day with a Melancholia, recalling he now had none left. He couldn’t tell if he sought the comfort of the meal replacement, or the nepenthe of the opiates. With a sigh, he opted for the cashmere sweater rather than the sweater vest, and folded the contrast cuffs over the cuffs of the sweater. He then put on his shoes, and went out into the lobby lounge with his cane.

“Good morning, Sir!” Angel sped up to him with a fresh cup of coffee for him. “You slept well, I hope?”

“I think the healing affected me in a bad way,” he murmured, taking the coffee to the closest table to sit. His face scrunched up and stared into the drink. “...This isn’t my mug.”

“...Ah, it’s one of ours,” Bogey explained, also approaching. “Angel told me this morning that, in your haste to escape that explosion yesterday afternoon, the two of you left behind the hot plate and percolator it had been using to brew your coffee. Between my appliances and dishes, and its purified water and coffee grounds, we concerted our efforts to ensure you had a fine drink to awaken to.”

‘Choly’s face journeyed through exasperation to appreciation in a matter of seconds, and he let the mug warm his hands for lack of a better reaction.

“We can easily replace the percolator and hot plate,” Angel reassured. “The hard thing to replace would have been the beans, and that’s still safely stowed in my storage.”

“You can keep the mug, if you like it. A souvenir from the Billerica Golf Course.”

“Heh. You two are just swell--”

He winced at his choice of words, still unable to distance himself from the nightmare. He thanked them both through clenched teeth, and shoved it all down by taking a testing sip of the hot black drink.

“Would you like me to whip up a box of Insta-Mash for you, Sir? Or perhaps you’d rather some more sweet rolls?”

“I’ve honey roasted peanuts, as well.” Bogey dropped five heat-sealed clear bags of peanuts onto the table, then returned to hovering just behind Angel. “If you’d like. It’s all I have.”

He smiled.

“Peanuts and a sweet roll sound superb. My appetite’s not so great when I first wake up. I’ll eat more at lunch.” Angel set the requested pastry before him, but he didn’t eat just yet. He patted his hands together, then wrung them. “In the mean time... Bogey. I’ve been giving it some thought. I have the money for the cola from last night, and for the peanuts and coffee now, and for your hospitality... But you’re the only one on premises, aren’t you? Money’s not going to do you much good if you’re out here all alone.”

“I-- I meant it last night, that you haven’t got to recompense my attentions. It’s been a delight in itself to have someone to tend to again after all these years.”

He persisted in the offer, his smile widening. His nose scrunched to push up his glasses.

“I’m sure Angel’s mentioned that I do maintenance on it, and that I’m responsible for its recent upgrades. I can take a look at you, and see what I can do about anything ailing you. Angel went a long time without upkeep, and I’m sure you need it just as much as it did. You mentioned Angel provided the water, for instance. I can get your condensators working again. And I noticed you put out your pilot light last night. You were conserving gas, weren’t you? I can refill your fuel tank.”

“Oh! that sounds just delightful,” Angel beamed. “Bogey, Mister Carey will get you right as new. You really must say yes. I swear by his care.”

“I... I’m not sure what to say.” Bogey withdrew back by a row of tables, its tendrils curled at its front. “You... you noticed I put out my pilot light. I didn’t mean to give you cause to fret.”

"Neither of you affected the quality of my sleep. I promise.” He bit into his pastry finally, his mouth suffusing with cinnamon oil. “We really can’t stay too long, Bogey. Say you’ll let me look you over before we go. I have to pay back your hospitality and kindness somehow.”

“If you really must insist, a tune up sounds... well, it sounds too good to be true.” Bogey caught itself in the reflex to dart away, and stood firm. “I... I have to admit, I thought you might be one of those... ugh, Devils, when I first caught a glimpse of Angel. I should have known better. Your work is much more sightly, and much more careful. I can certainly appreciate that you stayed within the scope of the General Atomics warranty.”

‘Choly’s brow flattened, then raised slowly from behind his coffee as he sipped.

“Devils? You’ll have to tell me all about it while I work.”

Go to Next »»»