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fueledbysano · 3 years

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DOCTOR-PATIENT PRIVILEGE. horny therapist fucks patient! Manjiro Sano ft. Y/N

mikey x therapist reader

✧ summary; today's shoot— just another session with your favorite patient.

✧ includes; sex work, therapist-patient trope, detailed smut, voyeurism, porn with plot, unprotected sex, creampie, I can't help it I just had to add a sprinkle of fluff at the end. THIS SHIT RATED PORN!

tape #8 in collaboration with @getoswhore 's 2K Hub Collab. congrats babes, well deserved. hope I understood the assignment.

“Mikey, [Name]! As you walked into the office, the boss greeted you, while Mikey trailed close after.

You weren't new in this industry, and so was Mikey. Having worked together in it in quite some time already, you two grew closer even off camera. You had your individual reputations but having the two of you together is always a hit, and your boss liked that.

You had just came from a lunch out with Mikey before receiving a call from both your managers, asking you to come in set today.

“Have something for us?” You asked, crossing your legs and leaning back in your seat, ignoring the creak of your chair.

“Yes,” Your boss fumbled through files in a drawer behind his desk for a few moments before bringing out a ring-binded script. When he held it out to you, you grabbed it from him and opened the booklet in your lap.

As you two flipped through the script, the room fell silent, letting you meticulously take in everything. Your eyes swept over every page, taking in the dialogue and many directions. You'd occasionally come across something that made you raise your brows or bite your lower lip. Finally, you closed the script and slid it back onto your desk, meeting your boss' questioning gaze— waiting for your reaction.

Not long after, Mikey finished after you and closes his own copy of the script, making a thudding noise.

“Alright, let's do it.” He nods.

Today, you and Mikey will be playing a Patient-Therapist. You were the doctor, and he was the patient. You nod in agreement in second to Mikey,

“Alright. You heard them. Get 'em ready.” and with your director's orders, the set was busy in no time to prepare your scene. You and Mikey had different rooms, but either ends up on the other's room anyways to do some throw lines or talk about what you can incorporate to the script.

It's safe to say that your chemistry behind the cameras were also the reason behind your fame— you're naturally comfortable with each other. Not to mention, really hot together.

Two foldable seats labeled "Mikey" and "[Name]" at the back was prepared for the two of you once you arrived the set, all ready and prepped up.

“Actors to set!” The director called, pointing at the makeshift clinic for you and Mikey to film on.

“The space is kinda small, do you think we can do it there?” Mikey asks, taking notice of the cramped couch. “I'm thinking the same thing, but we'll make it work.” You gently nudge his arm before getting into place— sitting on opposite sides of the couch.

“Actors into position!” The director called, giving you just a moment to pose to accentuate your body and take your prop clipboard.

“and, action!”

“Hello, doctor... it's nice to see you again after so long...” Mikey was quick to speak in character, palm sliding over the material of the couch slowly.

“Welcome back, Mikey. Are you ready for another session?” You spun a pen, crossing your legs before setting the clipboard above your thigh.

“Alright, wanna talk about it?” A slight rasp was evident in your voice.

Your maroon low-cut blouse started driving Mikey crazy, a million dirty thoughts circling his mind at the sight of your breast just urged him to undress you right there and then.

“Y-yes, Doc.” He wasn't supposed to gulp, but you loved the improv he applied.

“So, why don't you tell me what you feel, hm?”

“I've been up all night, thinking of... things.” He began. “About everything. My problems, us...”

You lean forward, “What about us?” Mikey hesitates for a moment, one hand tapping against the glass side table as you sat just now a few inches from him.

“Where to go from here, doc. What do I do?” You nodded, a few strands of hair getting in the way.

“I'm healed doc, I don't think I need therapy anymore...”

“But I don't want to stop seeing you, I want to know you, doctor. What do we do from here?”

You smile, practically beaming at his words. Mikey makes a move closer, showing off a mischievous grin at how close you are.

“Oh, Mikey...” You started with a heavy breath, “You have no idea how happy that makes me...” You reach a hand up to cup his cheek, gently brushing a loose strand of hair, allowing yourself to take in every gorgeous feature of your partner.

“Are you sure this is what you want? I don't want to cause you problems, doctor,” He asks.

“Mikey...” You spoke over him, hands resting to clasp the back of his neck. “I know what this means, and I know what I want...”

“I want you.” Your voice went above a mere whisper, lips now ghosting over his.

“Do you want this?” You simple words sent shockwaves through his body, making him shiver with anticipation with every skim of your fingers crossing his skin.

“I always do...” Mikey's stare flickered from your eyes down to your lips instinctively.

Your fingers toyed with his long hair unconsciously, accidently tugging on it, eliciting a quick gasp from him. You smirked slightly, faces only a few inches apart, and hearts racing.

“Doctor...” Mikey exhaled deeply, nose to nose with you, and lips barely brushing.

"Yes..." You returned the smile before being gently guided to look up and meet Mikey's eyes by a calloused finger hook beneath your chin.

But this time, when you caught his gaze, his eyes darkened a shade lower, till they were hooded.

You knew that look— specifically when he went particularly rough on you on your other films, he'd give you that look you could distinguish from feet away

He cupped your cheek with his palm and stroked your jawline with his thumb. His gaze stayed fixed on your lips, begging to be touched. Mikey's lips collided with your after you gave a small nod as though to provide permission.

His lips danced across yours in a rhythmic dance, recalling all the steps. As if it were even possible, his hands traveled around your waist, grabbing and dragging his head closer to yours. Tongues danced as they tasted each other's familiar flavors, lips moving ahead of your heads.

Breaths picking up, as did your heart rates when Mikey's hold on your waist grew tighter, wanting more.

Mikey's hands gripped your upper thighs and effortlessly hoisted you onto the desk beside you before you knew it. Before he sat you down, he knocked off a few things to make place for you.

Mikey smirked against your lips as his hands returned to your thighs and sat you at the desk when you let out an unintentional yelp.

He stood between your legs, your short skirt preventing him from getting as near to you as he desired. With a faint sound, his lips parted from yours, and his hand returned to cup your cheek. Your noses brushed against each other, swollen lips hanging over each other, ragged breaths escaping between them. Your gaze was drawn to his darkening gaze, which revealed an emotion that was nearly dripping with lust.

You knew that look, one that turned you on just as much as Mikey seemed to be right now.

But before you could say anything, his lips were back on yours. He couldn't get enough of you, his breath mixing with yours as you kissed more urgently this time with open mouths.

Mikey's hands slid higher and higher on your thighs, however, and you let out a shudder of delight. Before your breath hitched, his fingertips hovered over your sensitive skin, slowly making their way to your inner thigh.

"Mikey.." You didn't want to end the kiss, so you murmured against his lips. “We'll get caught, the door isn't locked!”

As he parted your lips, he sighed, “Look me in the eyes, doctor..." His voice was low and daring, his eyes dark. "And tell me you don't want this..." He moved his finger to hook underneath your chin, guiding you to look up at him, your lips hovering over each other and barely touching once again. "And I'll stop..."

Now, this wasn't in the script but you loved the sexiness into it.

With a dark daring glance, he looked down at yours, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. When you felt Mikey's lips on her neck, immediately heading to her sweet spot, you opened your mouth to speak, but your words deserted you.

Shivers ran down your spine as his breath brushed against your skin, prompting you to tilt your neck to expose more of your neck for him to kiss.

Of course, he was aware of its location. He was well aware of what made you twitch, arch, and squirm. He had a thorough understanding of your anatomy.

"Fuck it."

You took a hold of his white shirt and pressed your lips against his in a fierce kiss. As your lips fought for control once more, he smiled against your lips, willingly granting your request. Mikey was standing between your legs, his torso touching the desk's end.

So, with another unexpected shriek from you, he hauled you up, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist as he walked you back to the temporary office's couch against the wall. He sat down and seated you on his lap with a tiny bounce.

As they reunited their lips in another frantic kiss, you both laughed and smiled madly at each other. Your skirt was cinched further, allowing Mikey access to your thighs while your hands ran through his long hair, which you adored.

It was moments like these where you forget ehat you're doing— you're literally recording a porno with s couple people in the room watching but it felt like it was just you and him when he touched you expertly like this. and you loved every moment of it.

You'd tug on his locks now and then, the kiss increasing, lips roaming to kiss, and you'd leave love marks on each other's necks.

Mikey straddled your waist and pushed you flush against his body, his hands roving your back as he held you closer to him. As you continued to make out, your hips moved on their own, slightly rubbing your clad core into his jeans. Mikey let out a series of heavy and low grunts, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter with each grind of your hips.

"Fuck Doctor..." He groaned in a bare whisper against your lips while his hold tightened on her.

"Mikey..." You responded with your own moan of his name and a slight whimper.

“Yes?”

“Is this turning you on? Making out with your therapist in a busy day when her schedule is fully booked?”

“Really fucking hot, Doc.” He replied. “Do you know calling me that turns me on too?”

“Always."

“Want you so bad, Ma— Mikey” You almost broke off character for a moment.

“Fuck, I want you too.” He pulled your top off, leaning forward to press wet kisses over your chest while you loosened his buttons and continuing to create friction in between you.

Mikey let his pants slip off, keeping his underwear for you to discard as you pulled them down painfully slow. Your heart lept as his erection sprung free. As told, you wet the palm of your hands with your tongue before taking his cock into your fist, slowly jerking and teasing the tip with your thumb.

“Shit.” He whined, hooking an arm over your waist while the other slippied your underwear off, keeping your short skirt on Mikey watched intently as you shift over his hips, his glistening cock now in sight as you decided to tease a little.

Your fingers teased over his tip, dragging softly teasingly slow. Mikey gasped at the feeling, letting his head fall back onto the couch. “I can feel how wet you are on my thigh, just sit on my cock, please.” He pleads.

You oblige with a smile, shifting onto your feet before aligning your heat onto his length. You shift down, slowly sliding down his cock and letting your wet walls hug him perfectly.

“You feel so good, doctor. Fuck.”

You prop yourself up from his shoulders, starting to move your hips slowly in slow, circular motions.

“Does that feel good?” You questioned.

“Mmm, don't be shy, doc, go harder.” He replied. You gladly obliged, getting onto your feet to bounce yourself up faster and harder, your breasts bouncing over his face with every fall of your hips on his length.

“Shit, alright, doc, let's see how fast you can last with me.” You nod and let Mikey take control, resting your arms over his shoulders to brace yourself as you fell back into the cushions of the couch.

Mikey's tongue pushed into your mouth for a long kiss as your hips rolled together, meeting esch other's thrusts. “Not very long?” He could feel how close you are, whispering against his lips before pressing both hands over your shoulders and starting to thrust in a fast pace.

“Shit, Mikey! Ah, Fuck!” You cry, eliciting strings of soft moans from Mikey from all the pleasure. “I'm gonna cum!” You whined harder at the feeling of his dick hitting all the different, right spots.

“Fuck, so good, baby.” You cry, tucking his head in between your boobs. “Ugh— Ah, I'm gonna fucking cum in your pretty cunt.” The lewd words from Mikey urged you to gasp, shuddering in pleasure as the knot in your stomach came undone, legs shaking and still taking Mikey's hard thrusts.

“I love you so fucking much, Mikey.” Sometimes, it's great to go off-script. You didn't care if your director don't want it— because you didn't mind retaking either.

“I love you too, princess.” Mikey spoke, finishing off inside you within a few sloppy thrusts. You felt his length slip out of your abused cunt, Mikey intently watching an amount of his cum ooze out of your wet hole drip onto the couch with a mischievous smile.

“Alright, cut! Good job.” The director announced before a staff crew walks over to hand you and Mikey bathrobes to provide some decency. “Damn.” You breathe out, getting up from your previous position. to put on the robe.

“You okay?” Mikey questioned, now tying his robe shut. “Yeah, you?” “So good.” He truthfully answered. “That was hot.” You admit, hiding your flustered expression as you attempted to tie your own robe shut. But you seem to struggle, and Mikey took notice of this, doing the task for you. “Gorgeous.” He remarked, teasing a finger up your jawline before tackling you back onto the couch, totally forgetting you're still on set and everyone around you was busy.

“I guess now's a good time for that take out?” You suggest, letting Mikey lay his head onto your chest. “Ah, yes!”

“Hey, can someone get us those take out dorayakis?! Thank you!!!”

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littlepupthoughts · 3 years

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Warming Up to You- Chapter 4

Minors DNI.

CW: blood, loki x reader, I can't think of any more. This is just story building.

AN: now that I've got the smut out of my system and my first few fics under my belt, here's a chapter of actual plot. This is completely written on my phone so idk how long it is and it's probably riddled with errors. Let me know what you think!

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The next morning greeted you with soft sunlight through the curtains of Loki's bedroom window. The stripes of light painted the room in a peachy glow that stretched over the bed. With a deep breath and even deeper stretch you notice the note on the otherwise empty pillow beside you. Unfolding it revealed the familiar long swooping handwriting that you had come to love, almost as much as the author himself.

"Good morning dearest,

I hope you can forgive my absence. Thor and I have been called on an impromptu mission. You seemed much too peaceful to wake and I'm sure you are worn out from last night. Make sure you have a good breakfast and remember to dress warmly. If this mission was anything like the last you'll be spending a lot of time if the lab when we get back. It will be a damn miracle if Robinhood doesn't get shot this time."

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you read his reference to the most recent movie night. You had started working through a long list of films with Loki to help him better adjust to midguardian culture. Starting with Rudolph of all things since he was determined to understand all of Tony's nicknames.

You nodded to yourself deciding to start the day on a positive note despite your slight headache. Thankfully you had a stash of clothing in Loki's room for mornings just like this. Though what had started as a small emergency stash was quickly growing in to a drawer, not that either of you minded. Since announcing your relationship to the others just about everything was easier. No more stolen kisses around corners, just out of view. And sneaky late night meetings with your paramore had been traded for sunny picnics on the lawn.

You pulled on your sweater while making your way to your workroom, almost forgetting to grab food in your rush.

"Uhh...let's see..Breakfast...uhmm"

Rummaging through the pantry you quickly grabbed a granola bar and an apple. You promised yourself that lunch will be a bit more hearty, glancing at the clock as you sped off towards the lab.

The room was a mess. Bits of fabric strewn across tables, piles of leather sitting on top of paper patterns, and a half finished jacket hanging off of the mannequin in the corner. Keeping clothes on the backs of the avengers was a messy job. Constantly repairing tears and bullet holes kept you busy, but you preferred figuring out improvements over patches.

Your most recent endeavor was a new jacket for Natasha. She had requested a thinner more flexible design that she could move in while still consealing her weapons. While the last jacket she had gave her freedom of movement, some hydra grunt noticed the silhouette of her gun tucked against her side. While she ended up ok the mission could have suffered, and that was the last thing anyone wanted to happen.

Yesterday you had been stress testing different fabrics when you got news of the party. Taking a big bite of apple you looked around, regretting having abandoned your workspace in such a rush. Thinking back to the events of last night you smiled, it was definately worth it.

You hadn't expected another mission so soon and wished you didn't have to put the jacket on hold to put out mending supplies.

"But if this is anything like last time I'll have a lot of work on my plate."

You couldn't help but smile thinking back to loki's letter. He wasn't wrong, Clint always came back with bullet holes that needed repairing. So much so that there was a bet going around for how many missions in a row he would get shot on before coming back from one unscathed.

"Speak of the devil.."

Just a you finish setting up your mending and touch up supplies you hear the quinjet land. Suddenly the blue overhead light in the hallway starts flashing and your heart falls in to the pit of your stomach. The medbay alarm.

Sprinting out the door with to go kit in hand you round the corner almost colliding in to Bucky.

"Just the person I was looking for, they need you in medbay. We all got our asses handed to us and they could use an extra pair of hands."

"Shit. How bad?" You kept your voice as steady as possible but knew that your words gave away how worried you were.

"There was a remote detonator that got us by surprize, Wanda and Thor both took the majority of damage." Bucky spoke curtly, his years of being a soldier showing but he didn't sound quite himself.

Looking down you noticed this hands were balled in to fists and he had a sizeable gash in his thigh just as you rounded the last corner leading to medbay.

"It seems like you're forgetting about someone," you accused glaring up at him.

Before he got a chance to respond the double doors slid open revealing a crowd gathered around a very singed Wanda and Thor. Your heart jumped in to your throat as you searched the room for Loki. Finding him standing over his brother, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped out between his fingers. Even Natasha was bleeding while she assisted patching up Clint. This was worse than you expected from such a short trip.

#warming up to you #mcu fanfiction #loki x you #loki x reader #mcu fic

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beyondstupidityblog · 3 years

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On March 13th 2021, two friends and I did what never could have imagined possible, I watched Freddy Got Fingered for the ninth time, and it will by no means be the last. I’m explaining this to you, dear reader, so you and I have an important understanding between us. You will be reading the ramblings of one whose brain has curdled like milk left out in the hot afternoon sun. Now that introductions are out of the way, let us begin.

Freddy Got Fingered is a 2001 Comedy starring and directed by Tom Green as the Non-Titular Gordon Brody; an aspiring animator who goes to California to realize his dream, only to be constantly crushed under the weight of his father’s expectations. Sounds tame at first, but what lies beneath the veneer of mediocrity is truly impressive. Completely bombed, audiences hated it, and critics loathed it. Roger Ebert got angry, saying “it isn’t even below the bottom of the barrel” and “Green should be flipping burgers somewhere.”. “Tasteless”, “appalling”, “offensive”, “gross”, and “poo poo,” are just some of the things people have had to say about this film. Animal genitalia can be seen on screen for much longer than anyone could have expected, Tom Green swinging a baby akin to a morning-star with its umbilical cord, said umbilical cord being stolen and taped onto his stomach, gratuitous caning of a nymphomaniac paraplegic, and the dissection of a deer carcass. It is an abrasive experience that leaves a terrible taste in the mouths of those who mention it. Nonetheless, I love this movie.

You ever see a contemporary art exhibit that has a piece that just looks like garbage somebody left out but in actuality is a tongue-and-cheek allusion to the pitiful state of modern art? That garbage is Freddy Got Fingered, and that exhibit is Hollywood. At face value it just seems like a poorly done film by a comedian trying to use his name to get a few butts in the seats before his irrelevancy arrives, but when scrutinized as a commentary of comedy films do the pieces start to fall into place. Tropes like the Protagonist being an unremarkable honkey, gross-out designed to get some cheap quick chuckles, side-characters who occupy the space solely for comedic relief, a shoe-horned romantic side-plot, and an equally as shoehorned in happy ending are all present in a mocking fashion. So many of these Hollywood schlockfests that this movie is paying homage to abuse tropes in some vain attempt to trick the audience into thinking they’re having a good time, when in reality it just reminds viewers of films that they’ve already watched before and could be enjoying instead. All of the awkward and uncomfortable scenes of gross-out and romance are purposeful, because nothing is quite as awkward and uncomfortable than a film disengaging the audience with its own mediocrity. “This is what it’s like to endure this trash!” Drunkenly screams Freddy Got Fingered atop the tallest piece of furniture in the room, while also exposing its genitals to keep you from getting too comfortable around it. Unlike the films it is parodying, its obsession with making a fool out of audiences rips them away from the comfort of the cinema, making them genuinely ask if it is worth wasting their time watching a film called Freddy Got Fingered. Even the title is an intentional slight, as it seems to be completely untethered to the actual plotline and is instead a reference to a seemingly inconsequential scene. But then again, that is the point of it all. Tom Green is an artist, and on his canvas is a portrait of Hollywood with all of the ugly little imperfections that cause a movie like this to be created. But this is just the meta-narrative of Freddy Got Fingered, something that you could find all over the internet. Why do I resonate with it so much, and what about it makes it so exceptional that led to this unhealthy fascination?

Every instance that I’ve rewatched Freddy Got Fingered has always brought about a new side to it, and in the process leaves me craving for more. Gord is an interesting take on the average leading man. He is on the surface bland and inoffensive, made so in order to allow the majority of the audience to immediately identify with him, said group being 20-something skater guys with unrealistic expectations of themselves. Made especially ironic when after the introduction of Gord as an adept skateboarding rebel escaping from authority, he starts to show that in reality he is an unlikeable, bratty, entitled, and all around unpleasant person. Barely a scene passes before we see him masturbate a horse while exclaiming he is a farmer to his father who is not present, seemingly a crude gag but is in reality an insight into his low self worth caused by his imposter syndrome stemming from distant paternal relationship. I would like to remind you, dear reader, that I am still writing of Freddy Got Fingered, in case you were beginning to think I have lost my mind (The answer is yes by the way). All throughout the film Gordon Brody puts on masks for different situations, never allowing himself to be who he is. When infiltrating the Animation studio where he wishes to pitch his cartoons, he pretends to be a mailman to get past reception and then impersonates a police officer when the former stops being effective. Donning the visage of a British Bobby, he dashes into the restaurant where the man he is searching for, Mr. Wallace, is eating. Showing him his cartoons, Wallace is impressed with the potential they have, but says that they are incoherent and lack real substance. Upon rejection, Gord puts a pistol in his mouth before Wallace stops him and advises what he should do to improve. Gord was genuinely ready to blow his brains out the back of his skull if he wasn’t able to get his show greenlit, and it hit me in that moment that he isn’t just some random jackass, but a victim of detrimentally low self-esteem.

The origins of his complex are made apparent when he goes back home to Oregon and are reintroduced to his Family. We see that his father Jim, played by Rip Torn, is disappointed in his return and begins to sneer at him for his failure. This father and son dynamic always has tension in every scene from this point onwards. Gord, who just wants to be accepted for who he is and not judged by what the world expects him to be, is always at the receiving end of Jim’s wrath, who values his idea of a successful life over the happiness of his sons. From here it becomes little wonder why Gord is the way he is, all his life he was told that who he was is not good enough, he has to be what his father wants if he is to be considered worthy of not only love, but being treated with a modicum of dignity. Whenever Gord acts eccentric or divulges his interests to his father, they are met with either resentment supplemented by verbal assault, or physical violence. After a late-night skateboard outing to escape from his father’s wrath goes awry, he visits his convalescing friend in the hospital, whereupon he meets one of the more interesting characters in relation to Gord, the love interest Betty.

A horny wheelchair bound temptress may not seem like it upon first glance, but Betty is actually the most interesting character out of the entire cast. She feels genuine, introduced as a bored receptionist flipping a coffee creamer idly. Gord immediately strikes up a conversation, whereupon he and the audience find out she has an interest in physics, and apparently an interest in him as well. Betty is strangely well written for what most considered at the time to be a crass sexual joke, so much so that she would actually be a better protagonist than him. She is everything Gord is not, she’s smart, funny, ambitious, and kind to a fault. Even her side plot to create a rocket powered wheelchair makes for a much more unique plot than the one given. Even Gord reciprocates this sentiment in their meeting, lying that he is a stockbroker in an attempt to impress her. In fact, sectioning her off as just the dull protagonist's love interest is a jab at how women in these movies are only there to serve in the development for the male protagonist, just nothing more than their muse. Nonetheless, without this relationship the movie would lose a lot of its soul. Romantic chemistry in comedy films is always hit or miss, but Gord and Betty do seem to have it surprisingly. They’re both silly and impulsive, creatively driven to a fault, but just different enough to eek out the best and worst in them. Gord thinks that what he wants to do with his life is wasteful, but Betty doesn’t. Now I don’t mean that she directly affirms that he is worthwhile like most poorly written love interests would, stroking their lover’s(and by extension the director’s) ego, rather she confronts him with her optimism. He asks if she would feel stupid and like a loser if her experiment failed. Taken aback at first, she questions why she would, relaying that her failures are just as important as her successes. Gord’s self-worth is directly tied to his ability to succeed, whereas Betty doesn’t need this affirmation. Their dialogue further cements how detrimental his father’s overbearingness was to his outlook, and how he is slowly beginning to realize how destructive that mindset is.

At their dinner date, Jim sees Gord and Betty across the restaurant, then reveals that Gord was lying to both him and her about his office job while poking fun at her disability, leading to a father-son scuffle that throws the entire floor into utter chaos. Cops show up, Gord and Jim are detained, and Betty bails Gord out. Most mediocre comedies at this point would have the love interest be upset that her significant other lied to her, leading to him having to make things right to repair their relationship before the happy ending. Breaking the mold, Betty does not get angry with Gord even a smidgen, choosing to be understanding of his situation now that she caught a glimpse into his home-life. She just plain likes Gord, willing to put up with him more than she really should, but still chooses to look past his lies and self-destructive nature for who he truly is, someone who just wants to be accepted by the world around him. Someone just like her.

Right after that enaction of social terrorism performed by the Brody father and son duo, they decide it would be best to go to family therapy and assail the audience with what I fondly refer to it as, “The Scene.” “The Scene” is Freddy Got Fingered’s statement to the world, it is what instills a man with the impetus to rewatch a glorified stoner daydream for the ninth time and leave him wanting more! Gord accuses his father, in a final act of defiance, of molesting his younger brother Freddy. During the ensuing confusion Gord picks up a bust of Sigmund Freud and throws it into the glass window pane, allowing him to escape into the evening sun. The authorities take Freddy away and send him to The Home for Molested Children, and the family slowly unravels from then on. Besides the heavy handed metaphor of Freud’s theories being used as a way for Gord to escape his predicament while simultaneously discrediting them, “The Scene” also recontextualizes Freddy, innocuous of a character as he is, as Gord’s foil. He is in the movie very little but when he is it is to serve one of two purposes: To be compared to Gord, or to be treated as an object. During breakfast much earlier in the film after a fight between Gord and Jim, Freddy tries to explain to his brother that he should grow up. Gord, surprisingly, talks down to him and halts the conversation.

Gord: “He's driving me insane.”

Freddy: “No. No, you're driving him insane. You're older than me and you still live at home. I have a job, you know. I pay my own way.”

Gord: “You work in a bank. Should I be dazzled?”

Freddy: “Well, at least I don't live at home!”

Gord: “No, you live in a tiny shithole and you come here to eat for free.”

With these lines it is plain to see that despite Freddy’s idea of success directly lining up with his father’s, he is even more pitiful than Gord. What little we know of him is to show that his acquiescence to his father’s expectations has left him bereft of not only genuine personal success, but of dignity itself. When child protective services come to take him away, he is half naked, mouth agape, watching open heart surgery on television, a palpable indication of emptiness. He isn’t treated as an adult either, as his protests to the police fall on deaf ears as both them and the psychologist infantilize him. Why would Tom Green name this movie after a character like Freddy, whose lack of presence and characterization make him little more than an afterthought when looking back on the story? Or did I just answer my own question? Freddy is not a character because he is not allowed to be one, he is just too passive and accepting of his circumstances for him to stand out. All he can be is a doll that Jim uses to dress up as the perfect son, and this passiveness leads to Gord, the “failure,” to both pity and resent what he let himself become. That’s why Gord accuses their father of molesting him, after all he does narratively violate Freddy’s autonomy by consistently making decisions for him. Evidently enough, as soon as Gord dons a suit for a quick bit Jim is elated because he believes that his son finally gave in to his demands for him to get a job, because he is acting more like his obedient brother. In this sense Freddy is the most tragic member of the Brody clan, a literal manchild whose growth was stunted by overbearing guardians. When I think of him, a bonsai tree comes to mind. Sure, it looks healthy, but when you realize that it could have grown into a much bigger plant if it were not for its small pot, that realization of wasted potential comes with a tinge of melancholy.

I want to end this essay with a moral that I took away from Freddy Got Fingered, as strange enough as that sounds, and what it has to say about art as a whole. Put simply, this is a story about revenge. Despite and because of his Father’s harsh ways, Gord managed to take from the trauma he sustained throughout his life and sublimated it into his animation. Creation not only lets him heal, but also acts as retaliation against Jim once he becomes successful. So long as you have the drive to prove everyone’s doubts and admonishments wrong by persevering out of wicked spite, you will have the last laugh. Freddy Got Fingered is a story about revenge through artistic expression, and I think that is quite beautiful.

#freddy got fingered #tom green #movies #essay paper #comedy

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blackjack-15 · 4 years

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(Pachin)Koping Mechanisms, KuroSAWa, and Putting The Ring On It — Thoughts on: Shadow at the Water’s Edge (SAW)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. For this meta and the next (CAP), I’ll have a section entitled “The Faerietale” where I break down the issue of genre within the game and how it adds to the experience.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: SHA, SAW, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SPY, GTH, Rashomon.

The Intro:

Full Disclosure: draft titles of this meta include “Yurei-sing the Tension” and “Using Your Girlfriend’s Mom’s Horrific Death For Fun and Profit”. They ultimately don’t fit the tone of the game (or the meta), but I thought they were fun…so you’re being subjected to them anyway.

Freshly out of the games of growing pains, Shadow at the Water’s Edge is the first of our two Faerietale Games, where we delve fully into Theme and Allegory and other such literary devices — which happen to support some pretty fine mysteries as well. As such, in case you didn’t see it above, both SAW and CAP will have a section diving into the Faerietale-ness of it all (partially because it’s That Interesting and partially to keep the intro section from being like 2k on its own).

SAW is interesting for a number of reasons (which I’ll go into throughout the meta) but one of the things that stuck out to me on a replay was how much it leans on Rashomon for its story about the past. For those unfamiliar, Rashomon is a Japanese film by Kurosawa Akira from the 50s that deals with the rape of a woman and the killing of her husband, a samurai, as told through four different points of view.

Nowadays called “a Rashomon episode” or “false flashback”, the idea of different, opposite points of view being shot and filmed to present to the audience is almost a cliché, but Kurosawa was the first to really bring it to film and to popular consciousness internationally.

Like in Rashomon, we’re presented with different views of the situation at the ryokan (including but not limited to Kasumi’s death) from our characters’ perspectives — and, like in Rashomon, no point of view nor opinion on what happened is ever confirmed to be the Honest Truth.

Was Kasumi’s death accidental, and on whose part was it accidental? Does the world stay the same inside the ryokan, or is it just as prone to change as the rest of the world? Is the ryokan a resort or a prison? Should you respect what your loved one wants for themselves, or is it your job to want something better for them? Takae, Rentaro, Miwako, Yumi, and even Kasumi all have different opinions on these questions, and we’re never told who’s correct, nor to what extent.

Finally, like Rashomon, the game is content with leaving a few answers undiscovered. While shooting the movie, Kurosawa was approached many times by the actors, who wanted to know what “really” happened in the movie — and each time he refused to say, wanting the story to be truly Alive in a way that it wouldn’t be if he answered their questions.

Nancy’s job is to expose the malevolent force in the game for what it is, not to heal the family, nor to make decisions for them.

And speaking of their decisions, let’s talk about what motivates our characters in this game. I know, this intro is already kind of long, and I normally keep this kind of talk for the Characters section, but given how much they intersect in this game, we’re gonna go into it here. All of our suspects here in the game are driven and informed by one thing: their coping mechanisms.

C’mon, no surprise here. It’s in the title of the meta for more than just the pun.

Because our suspects are living in the “Once Upon a Time” section of the faerietale — aka the past — it’s their coping mechanisms that drive them. Takae is driven by guilt over her daughter’s death and fear of a changing world; Miwako is driven by anger towards her family and personally-assumed responsibility over Everything That Happens; Rentaro is driven by selfish pride and concern over his loved one; Yumi is driven by avoidance and individualistic willpower.

These are all common when dealing with loss, and each of these tell us exactly how our characters are going to act throughout the tale. In a very real way, SAW is a game about how we, as humans, deal with the stories that we tell ourselves (another thing that it has in common with CAP), and how that changes the way that we perceive the world.

It’s the breakdown of Rentaro’s coping mechanism — his pride in always being correct — that causes him to Do Evil while claiming that it’s The Right Thing. Everyone else’s mechanisms are what allows for him to be as influential as he is; Kasumi is already haunting Takae, and Miwako is already feeling the world crash down around her. Even though the yurei is just wires and metal and Upsettingly Damp-Looking Hair, its presence in the ryokan isn’t physical – it’s psychological.

Remember, “a ghost doesn’t need to be real to haunt you”.

The Title:

Let’s be real here, we’re getting into the segment of Nancy Drew games where the (most of) titles just kick butt and aren’t afraid to do so. Like, Shadow at the Water’s Edge? Gives you creepy vibes right off the bat even without the yurei on the front giving you The Ring flashbacks. Properly atmospheric without being too specific, and “shadow” gives us the idea that we’re dealing with a monster that’s more ghostly, rather than flesh and blood.

I don’t even have anything negative to say about this title, that’s how good it is — plus, I mean, the acronym is literally “saw”. Awesome.

Let’s move on then to the faerietale behind the title.

The Faerietale

SAW and CAP both function, genre-wise, as a faerietale — a story with few characters, big pasts, legends and magic, and a moral at the end to tie things off. In both cases, interestingly enough, it’s our villain who gives us our “moral” — the Truth that ties the plot, history, and characters together, able to be said in a single sentence. In SAW, it’s this (rather chilling) statement from Rentaro that does it:

“A ghost doesn’t need to be real to haunt you.”

But let’s start at the beginning.

Like in a lot of faerietales, we have two sisters who are as different as can be, an inheritance (a ryokan rather than a crown or a prince), absent/dead parental figures, a wizened mentor related to our main characters (Takae), and a Monstrous Force opposing them and their ‘kingdom’. In this story, Nancy is the Dashing Outsider (not unlike the Prince from The Twelve Dancing Princesses) who vows to learn the secrets, defeat the monster, and save the kingdom, restoring balance to the ‘royal’ family and allowing them to prosper.

(And no, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in this game Nancy’s the Knight in Shining Armor when CAP and Renate’s talk about them is right around the corner, but we’ll save that for next time.)

Having established that the game is a faerietale, let’s talk about why that actually matters (beyond the fact that it’s kinda cool in itself) when we’re looking at the game.

It basically matters for a handful of reasons: it allows us to figure out the suspect Fairly easily, it allows the writers to Allude to subject matters that are a little Dark for the E/E10 rating that Nancy Drew games normally get, and provides a bridge between the (overall) concrete games of the past and the more thematic, character-development-focused games that we’re coming up on. So let’s break that down.

Assigning our characters faerietale roles lets us see immediately that Rentaro is Missing an easy assignation. He doesn’t fit the prince, doesn’t fit a sibling — he doesn’t fit anywhere, in short, which is our first clue that he’s the villain.

Even ignoring the fact that the yurei is obviously mechanical, that Rentaro has free access to the entire ryokan in a way that no other character does, and that he’s responsible for upkeeping the ryokan (which is why it’s suspicious that he’s not the one Dedicated to figuring out the mystery) — which are all excellent things that point towards Rentaro, his absence in the faerietale points to a hidden role.

Since the only role worth hiding is either an 11th hour ally or a villain, and Rentaro is present from the beginning of the game, it’s pretty clear which one he is.

Situating the game as a faerietale also lets HER play with a few more themes than they normally can, given their target audience. Starting with a rather blatant implication of suicide, the game spins on to abusive relationships, overpowering guilt, and Nancy being, well, downright mean with her questions about a family member’s death.

While Nancy’s always been a bit insensitive, the mystery surrounding Kasumi’s death sends her into the realm of bullheadedly rude (to the point where you can get a game over for it). We see why this writing choice was made in SPY (which we’ll cover in that meta), but it’s one of my favorite things about this game; it takes a slight character trait of Nancy’s and gives it a character-driven purpose.

The last function of SAW (and CAP) as a faerietale is to provide a bridge between the older and the newer games. The older games tended to be self-involved entities: they began with Nancy’s room and ended with the letter to Carson/Hannah/Ned. As the game technology improved and the player base got older, however, that started to not be good enough; Nancy and her mysteries needed to become A World rather than simply a string of cases held together with a handful of familiar names and archetypes.

The first step towards this was the inclusion of the Hardy Boys back in our Expanded games, but it’s really SAW and CAP that show an Active Transition. Faerietales are often thought of, literarily speaking, as the bridge between children’s fiction and adult fiction; they involve simplistic plots and archetypes that children can easily grasp, but teach hard lessons about the world that adults will understand and resonate with.

The earlier Nancy Drew games, on the whole (there are of course a few exceptions), are largely concrete, like the children’s fiction they’re based on. The good and bad guys are simply and easily divided, Nancy and co. are always the heroes and always do right, and the bad guys always go to jail.

The past few games leading up to SAW start to shift slightly; while generally our heroes and villains are still sharply divided, nothing is quite as simple as it seems (look at TOT, where at least a few bad guys get away and actually profit from their bad actions).

It’s here in SAW, however, where we see that take a sharp shift. Those who should be good guys (Rentaro is a Love Interest, he enjoys puzzles, he’s a ‘fixer’ by trade) aren’t good at all; those who should be the bad guys (Takae and Miwako behave a lot like early Nancy Drew villains with their cageyness, dislike of Nancy, and ability to get Nancy to Second Chance) really aren’t.

In case this point is a bit obtuse, Logan is the perfect example of what I mean.

In SHA, Charleena Purcell has a receptionist (well-voiced by JVS) that at first prevents you from talking to her, but isn’t much of an obstacle. It’s a cut and dried ‘solve this one puzzle’ and then Nancy can talk to the author as much as she chooses — it’s barely an impediment, honestly.

In SAW, we’re dealing with another famous author, who also has a receptionist — Logan Mitchell. Unlike the receptionist in SHA, who’s just Doing His Job and exists long enough for a puzzle, Logan is a rather spiteful character who enjoys hanging up on people, and does it to Nancy with Great Joy.

As a character, Logan matters; he has his own viewpoints, loyalties (that are explored in SPY as well), and his own idiosyncrasies that make dealing with him — repeatedly — a bit like dealing with people in real life. The receptionist in SHA isn’t a character, no matter how much I personally like JVS’ voice work with him. Logan is. And that’s a huge difference in the approach of the games and the shift from the concrete, insert-puzzle-and-go nature of the older games and the more abstract, thematic nature of the newer games.

Whether or not that’s a good thing is up to you, the player, and your personal preferences. But it can’t be denied that there is a shift, and it’s the genius of SAW (and CAP)’s genre-shift to a faerietale that does it.

The Mystery:

Our mystery picks up where TOT left off, with Krolmeister sending Nancy to one of his favorite ryokans in Japan as a thank you for her help in the previous case.

This is how we find out that Krolmeister is apparently Spooky AF, as the ryokan is haunted.

Nancy decides to pick up a job while she’s there (the ‘how’ of her obtaining employment and an E-2 visa so promptly is ignored) as an English teacher to some of the cutest (and one of the most disturbing) children in Japan, which is how she spends her days — and how the game gets away with it taking place Solely at night.

The more time Nancy spends at the ryokan, however — and the more people connected to it that she meets — the more that she suspects that the ryokan might actually be harboring a malevolent entity bent on wreaking havoc and shutting down the place once and for all…

As a mystery, the game is solid; you spent most of your time “on-site” at the ryokan, soaking in the very well-done atmosphere, with only a few moments in-game spent at other locations (such as the pachinko parlor, Yumi’s apartment, etc.), and the amount of work that went into every detail of the ryokan is staggering (especially the garden).

Normally, I wouldn’t hang so much on the atmosphere when talking about the plot, but it’s actually relevant here, since the atmosphere is part of the plot — i.e., is it the ‘atmosphere’ of the ryokan that makes the hauntings happen, and did the ryokan kill Kasumi.

Speaking of Kasumi, she’s one of the biggest open-ended mysteries in this game. Did Shimizu Kasumi kill herself, or was her death an accident, or was it caused by a Paranormal Entity, leading to her becoming a ghost herself?

The game tells us how Kasumi died — cleaning a bath that she had never cleaned before, leading to her drowning — but the circumstances outside of her death like her will and her premonitions about her death speak less to an accident alone and more towards Something causing her death.

In my own point of view, Kasumi — remember, this is the Nancy Drew Universe, where ghosts are actually real — had a bit of Prescient Awareness to her, and knew that her death was coming, though not by what. While there’s evidence towards her knowing about her death that could, if looked at in that light, lead one to suspect Kasumi of suicide, it’s unexpectedly hard to kill yourself via drowning in a shallow body of water. Add to that her future plans, and I think it’s pretty safe to assume that Kasumi knew she would die, but she didn’t plan and execute a suicide.

Of course, there’s good arguments to be made on the other side. Whichever way you look at it, I’m just happy with the presence of loose ends, as that’s not the mystery that Nancy’s there to solve — and, indeed, without the presence of an actual suicide note from that period, is a mystery that simply cannot be solved.

The Suspects:

We’ll start with (and yes, the names will all be in Japanese rather than Western order) Shimizu Miwako, the Younger Daughter in our faerietale and the current force behind the ryokan.

As the one (via a faerietale’s rules) destined to succeed, Miwako sure does get the short end of the stick when it comes to her relationships. Her causing/contributing/worsening the rift between herself and Yumi aside, her boyfriend is actively sabotaging her and her grandmother doesn’t think she should be the one running the ryokan, no matter how good a job she does.

As a culprit, however, Miwako would have been a bit confused, given how much she likes the ryokan and the good job she does with it. For a Miwako ending to make sense, she would have had to been influenced by an actual ghost, sabotaging the ryokan without wanting to and having your usual blackouts that come with Psychic Interference. It would have been interesting, but out of the faerietale genre (and out of the Nancy Drew game genre as a whole) and thus not a very good story.

Next up is the Elder Daughter, Shimizu Yumi, who left the ryokan as soon as she could and instead sells bento boxes in Kyoto. Framed as a sort of free spirit, Yumi doesn’t see any need for her to run the ryokan and instead does something that she likes and is obviously very successful at.

As a culprit, Yumi would have, to be frank, been a major disappointment. Already taking fire from her little sister and her grandmother for the Abject Sin of not taking on the family business, Yumi would have been way to easy, both character-wise and tonally for the game as a whole. The Elder Daughter in a faerietale is usually the one who fails (the Youngest Daughter almost always succeeds), and so it’s refreshing to have everyone but herself consider Yumi a failure.

Their grandmother and quasi-mentor, Nagai Takae, is the other person who helps run the ryokan — much to her displeasure, as tradition dictates that Yumi, not Miwako, help run the family business.

Because someone who resents being there will definitely be a much better worker in the hospitality market than someone who loves the ryokan.

Takae has absolutely no head for anything but her own ideas and clings onto tradition not for its sake, but because change is scary, hard, and (in the case of her daughter’s death) heartbreaking.

As a culprit, Takae would have been interesting, but absolutely impossible — unless she was working with someone else. And as interesting as a Takae/Rentaro team-up would have been, Takae simply has no motive for scaring everyone else out. She needs the ryokan to survive, to do well, if she’s going to be able to cling on to the things that she wants.

Rounding out our main faerietale cast is our Malevolent Force, Aihara Rentaro, the ryokan’s handyman and tech expert, who secretly builds robots resembling his girlfriend’s dead mother and uses them to scare people out of the ryokan.

He’s a peach.

Not only is Rentaro our only option for a faerietale ending, but he’s also just the best option for the culprit in general. Handy enough to build a “ghost”, expected in any place in the ryokan without suspicion, and with a strong (if dickish) motive). Like all Evil Wizards/Malevolent Forces in faerietales, he wants to ruin the kingdom and steal away the Daughter — though, unlike a lot of faerietales, he’s convinced himself it’s For Her Own Good.

Which yeah is super gross, but hey, he’s our Villain. Villains should be a bit gross.

Lastly, we’re going to look at two characters who are inseparable from one another for the purposes of discussion: Savannah Woodham and her assistant Logan Mitchell.

Savannah (as we meet her in SAW) is a former ghost hunter who now writes about technology (hence her presence in Kyoto) who mentioned the ryokan in a book about the paranormal. Not being fond of interruptions, she pays Logan to be her assistant so that he can deal with the calls that she gets.

She also brings in a nice little easter egg talking about CAP, where Castle Finster is implied to be the castle she mentions in SAW.

As a character in the Nancy Drew world (as it becomes a world), Savannah is an odd presence, in that she’s a sage without being an academic. Most of the ‘authorities’ that Nancy calls for information are professors, researchers, etc., but Savannah doesn’t quite fall into that designation.

Sure, she’s written a book, but ghost hunting isn’t exactly a…respected profession or topic — and yet, Savannah is clearly the smartest person in the game (and one of the smartest people that Nancy encounters as phone friends). This is great — Nancy herself is no academic, and I do get tired of the prioritizing of Academia over actual knowledge.

Savannah also gets the best lines, and her VA absolutely smashes it out of the park. I’ll talk more about her as the Nancy Games (beginning in ASH), as a lot of her dialogue is foreshadowing for our next games, but suffice it to say that, other than the Hardy Boys and the Drews, Savannah probably fights only Alexei for the most significant NPC in the ND universe.

Her assistant is no slouch in the Significance department, though.

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR SPY AHEAD, IF YOU DON’T WANT THEM SKIP UNTIL THE NEXT ALL-CAPS PARAGRAPH.

Logan (according to him) started working for Savannah to make some money during spring break and found the job too weird to quit once break was done (according to him). He loves hanging up on people, resulting in Savannah referring to him as her “lil’ Georgia bulldog”, and would like to go out on a date with Bess (according to him).

Yeah, pretty much everything about Logan should be taken with a grain of salt, as he’s the one who tells it to us, and…well, Logan is a spy. A spy who’s assigned to Nancy at least as far back as SAW, who gets close to her friend(s) and reports back to Cathedral that Nancy’s obsessed with her mother’s death and thus will probably be used by those who want to know Kate Drew’s secrets.

He ‘fires’ Savannah from being his boss prior to GTH because his work is done; he’s completed the mission he’s been assigned and is now working on other things. Logan isn’t a ghost hunter, nor a receptionist, nor a guy who wants to take Bess out on a date — until he needs to be. Like any good spy, Logan is all things to all people, and it’s his tiny bit of backstory in SPY (easily missed if you’re not paying attention — remember, in Nik games especially there’s no such thing as “optional reading” — that makes him so significant in SAW.

SPOILERS END HERE, YOU’RE ALL GOOD TO CONTINUE.

The Favorite:

There’s a lot to love about SAW, so let’s dive right in.

The first thing I’ll mention, because I just mentioned it, is Logan, who is one of my favorite parts of the Nancy Drew universe, let alone this specific game. His VA is great, his dialogue is great, his character is great — he ticks all the boxes, and I love it.

Savannah is, of course, also a favorite; any game with Savannah in it automatically moves it up a few clicks in my estimation. Savannah (and sage-type characters like her) is where Nik’s writing really shines, and her dialogue is always a joy to read and hear.

My favorite moment is actually a tiny moment, despite it being the titular incident: the shadow at the water’s edge. It’s easy to miss, but when Nancy looks in the bath and sees Kasumi’s shadow for that split second…it’s the haunting that games like HAU and CUR really wanted to have — subtle, upsetting, and fully within the bounds of the Laws of Haunting that the ND universe has set up.

My favorite puzzle is hands-down the bento boxes. Longtime readers of this meta series (which will be two years old this summer!) will know that there’s nothing that I like better than a good logic puzzle, and the bento boxes are a great logic puzzle. It’s fun, cute, and I love that you can do it as much as you want.

I do love, lastly, that this game is a faerietale. Having read and analyzed faerietales for a good portion of my life, it’s nice to see that niche interest represented within another niche interest.

The Un-Favorite:

There are a few things in SAW that I really don’t like, as much as I think this game is great.

The most important is my least favorite puzzle: the frame puzzle. This puzzle is one of the few puzzles that actually make me white-out in Rage and refuse to play further, which is a problem given that SAW is actually a great game and I enjoy playing it. It honestly stops me from replaying the game as often as I really should, given its significance to the ND universe, and for how just good it is. I usually make my sister or my best friend play it for me, but I do actually have to leave the room while they do it because it infuriates me that much.

My least favorite moment in the game is a little different, given how good the game actually is; it’s the very end where, depending on the choice that Nancy makes, Rentaro’s apology is accepted by Miwako. Sure, Nancy says it’s unlikely that they’ll date again, but this is a case where the choice to tell on him or have him tell himself should result in the same result: him having to leave. Handymen aren’t thin on the ground, and the ryokan needs help, rather than the same toxic influence that helped bring it down in the first place.

While I appreciate the choice for Nancy impacting the end — I really do — it should say more about Nancy as a character than it should about Miwako and Rentaro. That it doesn’t is a failure in storytelling at the 11th hour, which is a shame in a game this good.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Shadow at the Water’s Edge?

First things first, I would obviously change the frame puzzle a bit. I don’t think it needs removed per se, but I would definitely shift it. Give an option to skip it, perhaps, or make it easier the more time you spend on that screen, or make it easier if you go in and out of it a few times. Heck, even having it reset when you back out (or having a reset button) would be better, since getting stuck in the puzzle results in Hours of Frustration.

Other than that, I would only change the ending choice. Like I said above, the choice is great, but it should be changed to show us exactly who Nancy is (not unlike the choice in GTH). Is Nancy the kind of person who would not trust Rentaro to tell himself and thus does it, or is Nancy the kind to give him just enough rope to hang himself?

Either way, we’re given a view of Nancy that we’ll see more and more — that she is not always kind, nor infallible, nor impartial. She lets her feelings interfere with her cases, and while sometimes that’s good (again, GTH is a prime example), sometimes the only impact her choices need to have on her is to show us her character.

All in all, Shadow at the Water’s Edge is a good, mature look at the Nancy Drew universe, and continues the thread of connecting case-to-case. While it’s ultimately imperfect, I believe it’s not only one of the most fun games to play through, but also to consider in the larger realm of Nancy Drew games and in adaptation of genre altogether.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #shadow at the water's edge #nancy drew meta #SAW #my meta #video games #long post #i didn't really go into the whole Japanese Culture influences in this meta b/c frankly it's not what the meta is about #but shoot off a message to @tinkchick555 if you wanna hear about it; she's the Expert

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drawlfoy · 5 years

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Soft Spot

masterlist request guidelines requests are open!

pairing: draco x hufflepuff!reader

request: yes! there are two of you who requested something very similar, so i’m knocking this one out first to take care of both of you!

summary: you’ve had a crush on draco malfoy for as long as you can remember,...but the funny thing is, you’ve never even spoken to him. he’s mean, he’s spoiled rotten, he’s everything that a hufflepuff could ever want...but you will keep it a secret, right? won’t you? because it’s not like he even knows you exist...

warnings: language and cringiness

a/n: this is gonna kinda be my farewell fic for the summer, something that breaks my heart. i’ll be slowly drafting other requests and i WILL start posting that dramione one once it gets to late fall for the ~aesthetic~. thank you to everyone reading this! you’ve inspired me to keep writing and growing my skills. i love each and every one of you, and i hope you enjoy this last little tidbit of my writing for the summer! but also... i might have a little cringe surprise of a fic i already wrote like 6 years ago saved for later on. this isn’t goodbye, it’s just a see you later!

also... i don’t really know if seekers shake hands at the beginning of the match. i think it’s just the captains but like....let me live and let the plot thrive in a slight harry potter AU where seekers shake hands before games okay

music recs: 1980s horror film II - the wallows

word count: 3,383

tags tags tags! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique

also i literally cannot believe myself i was supposed to write this over a period of a week not 3 hours wtf

“The more concise the flick, the more concentrated your magic will be. No, no, Longbottom, I said concise, not unhinged...try again.”

Y/N watched sympathetically as the Gryffindor struggled to turn the vinegar into wine, Professor Flitwick peering over his shoulder and cringing as the boy flailed about.

“Poor Neville,” Hannah murmured to her right, her vinegar already having been turned into a deep crimson. “You’d think they’d let up on him by now and just let him do his thing with Herbology.”

“Yeah, but then again, he is abnormally talented at that,” Y/N said, watching the boy carefully. “He probably has the skills. He just needs to tap into them.”

Hannah smiled at her, leaning back into her chair. “Oh, Y/N, always seeing the best in everyone.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m just optimistic.”

“Are you, now?” Hannah leaned forward, wiggling her eyebrows. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it takes more than just simple optimism to have a crush on--”

“Hannah! Quiet!” Y/N’s cheeks flamed at the suggestion. “You’re talking too loud.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She rolled her eyes, still wearing a mischievous grin. “It’s just so funny to me. Have you ever even talked to Mal--”

“Do not say his name!” Y/N hissed. “And...yes, for your information, I have. Last year he bumped into me. I said ‘sorry’.”

“And?”

Y/N looked puzzled. “What?”

“And what did he say back?”

She blushed even harder, slinking down in her seat. “Okay, okay, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and kept walking.”

Hannah grunted, looking entirely unimpressed.

“At least he didn’t say anything mean! That’s an improvement!”

“Y/N, I love you,” Hannah began, “And I think you need to have slightly higher standards.”

“You antagonize me,” Y/N moaned, dramatically throwing herself over her chair. “Let me have a little fun. I know nothing’s going to come out of it. So do you.”

Hannah giggled. “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. And if something did come out of it....” --Y/N laughed at that-- “...I would still love and support you no matter what. Besides, I think Nott is kind of a catch. Think you could set us up once you have your own Slytherin?”

Y/N smacked her arm good-naturedly. “Anything for my Han--”

“Ladies,” Professor Flitwich greeted. “I’m not seeing much magic occurring over here.”

“We’re done, Professor,” Hannah responded, motioning to the two charmed goblets of wine. Y/N simply nodded along, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the eyes of all of the students in the room. It had grown silent, and it seemed as though the Slytherins over in the corner were smugly awaiting a deduction of points from the Hufflepuffs. Draco Malfoy looked entirely uninterested, choosing to absentmindedly levitate a quill instead.

“Very well.” Flitwick nodded briskly. “But I would prefer if you two took your conversation out of my classroom. It seems as though you both have a grasp on this lesson and no longer need to be here...if you so wish.” There was a twinkle in his eye that reminded Y/N why Flitwick was one of her favorite professors.

“Thank you, Professor,” the two said in unison as they began to pack up their things. Flitwick waved his wand, effortlessly changing the wine back into its original form.

The Slytherins began chattering again, filling the room with its usual ambiance.

“Malfoy was looking at you,” Hannah hummed into Y/N’s ear.

“No, he wasn’t,” she responded. “I saw him. He was levitating a quill or whatever.”

“Not the whole time. And, oh, the way he was looking at you...total fuck-me eyes.”

“You’re gross, Hannah,” Y/N managed in between laughs. “Was that before or after he stood up on the desk and confessed his unconditional love for Hagrid?”

“During. He always did strike me as a polyamorous guy.”

“Stop!” Y/N burst into a laughing fit, drawing some attention to them as they walked out the door. “You’re bad!”

Hannah chuckled a bit herself, skipping down the corridor. The fall afternoon sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on everything inside. Y/N jogged up to meet her, struggling to shove the last of her supplies into the right pockets of her satchel.

“Slow down, will you?” Y/N called, stopping to catch her breath.

“Damn, Y/L/N, you really expect to be able to seek this weekend? With that lung capacity?” Hannah joked, skipping back to her.

“Says the person who has never played a single match of Quidditch in her life,” Y/N countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, you got me there.” Hannah raised her arm in a surrender. “I watch you enough, though.Speaking of watching you...”

She sidled up close to Y/N, shoving her playfully. “How does it feel playing your very first game against...Slytherin? With Malfoy as the opposing seeker?”

“Oh, stop it,” Y/N groaned. “It’s nervewracking enough. I saw how he treated Harry in the last game. He plays rough.”

Hannah’s eyes widened.

Uh, oh. She only ever did that when she was plotting.

“That’s it,” she sang, skipping circles around a confused Y/N. “That’s how you’re gonna find out if he has a soft spot for you!”

“Huh?”

“You just said he plays dirty with Harry,” she explained. “And I’ve seen him mess with Cho too. If he’s nicer to you and doesn’t shove you off your broom...then you know that he likes you!”

“Hannah, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Y/N admitted, beginning to walk forward again. “First of all, even if he did like me, why would he be willing to be nice to me in front of the entire school? To a half-blood Hufflepuff? He couldn’t, it would ruin his reputation. And second of all, there’s no way he does like me. You said it yourself...he’s never said a word to me.”

Hannah sighed, cracking her knuckles as she looked at the stained glass on the ceiling. “That’s true. But you liked him even before you talked to him. Why do you assume he couldn’t feel the same way?”

“Because he’s a Malfoy, and I’m not his caliber,” Y/N said, her voice flat.

“And how come you get to decide what his caliber is?”

Hannah’s suggestion rattled around in Y/N’s head. It frustrated her--it really did. She was supposed to be training for her very first match, not daydreaming about how Draco’s hair would look under the setting sun of the pitch. But she couldn’t stop.

She started paying even more attention to him, if that was possible. She stole looks at him from across the dining hall, watching as he rolled his eyes and laughed at something Pansy Parkinson said. Now that she thought of it, she rarely saw Draco without Pansy...but she couldn’t decipher if that was a mutual decision or if Pansy clung to Draco like Hannah told her she did.

On Friday night, instead of discussing strategy with the captain, Zacharias Smith, she was watching a particularly interesting scene at the Slytherin table. Pansy was pushed up next to Draco, whispering whatever she was whispering into his ear. He didn’t look thrilled, but he certainly wasn’t pushing her away. Anger boiled in her chest, so much so that she almost didn’t notice the tap on her shoulder.

“Y/L/N.”

The firm male voice finally caught her attention as she spun around to see Blaise Zabini looking down at her.

“What?” Her tone was sharp, clipped from what she had just seen over at his table.

“Malfoy wants to talk to you,” he said blankly. “You are the seeker, right?”

“Er...yeah.”

“Come with me then, we don’t have all day.” Blaise grabbed her arm, hauling her up rougher than she would’ve liked. Hannah shot her a shit eating grin which Y/N did not return.

She was too nervous. Why would Draco want to talk to her?

Blaise dragged her across the Great Hall as the rest of her house curiously watched. The Slytherin table, hostile as ever, quieted down to a hushed murmur as she neared the group that always surrounded Draco.

“Here,” Blaise spat, pushing Y/N forward to him. She stared daggers at him in response. No, she was most certainly not in a cheery mood today.

“I said bring her over, not drag her by her hair,” Draco said, slowly dragging his eyes over her. She flinched in response, not quite knowing what to say.

“What for?” Her voice was strong, something that surprised her greatly.

He raised an eyebrow as Pansy scowled in the background. “It’s concerning our match tomorrow. I want to propose a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes.” Draco sighed, looking rather irritated that she hadn’t caught on yet. “You agree to not catch the snitch, and I’ll give you something that you want. Galleons, perhaps?” He smirked.

“No, that’s quite alright,” Y/N responded breezily, instead focusing on quelling the raging blush on her cheeks. The way that Draco looked at her made her feel like he could see into her soul, and she couldn’t tell if she liked it yet. “I’m perfectly content with just playing a fair game.”

“A fair game?” Draco snorted, and the rest of his friends followed suit with canned laughter. “I think you’ve forgotten exactly who you’re playing against, love.”

“If you’re so good, then you shouldn’t have to bribe me,” Y/N shot back before she could hold her tongue.

Wait...what did he just call me?

Draco shrugged, seemingly unbothered, but Pansy sprung to his defense. “Draco, I think you ought to teach this little Hufflepuff to mind her manners around you.”

Y/N, stunned by her realization, simply stared at him, waiting for a response.

“No need, Pansy,” he said, holding eye contact with Y/N. “There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow. You can...er...go now.”

Blaise seized her arm again, but before she could move to yank her arm out of his grip, Draco’s voice broke the silence again. “Zabini, I hardly think that she needs an escort.”

Dazed, she pulled her arm away from him and dashed off. Hannah was waiting back at the Hufflepuff table, her plate long forgotten.

“What was that??” she squealed, nearly bouncing in her seat. Y/N just stared at her.

“He called me love.”

Thankfully, she had long cast aside her thoughts of a particular white-blonde by the next morning. Y/N was so nervous that Hannah nearly had to force down her toast.

“C’mon, you need the energy!” Hannah pleaded. “At least drink some water. I can’t have you passing out on the pitch! Hufflepuff needs you!”

Zacharias, or Arias, as he asked her to call him, was sitting next to her, calmly going over the strategies for the game.

“You really do need to eat,” he informed her. “I know you feel like you’re gonna vomit, but you’ve just gotta force it down. You’ll thank me later.”

Under his watchful gaze, Y/N began nibbling on her toast, forcing it down.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Anyways, your biggest worry right now isn’t the Beaters...it’s the other seeker. Normally it wouldn’t be like that against, say, Gryffindor, but you’ve seen how Malfoy plays. He isn’t afraid of a few fouls.”

Y/N nodded, the nausea returning.

“But you’re smart, and I chose you for a reason,” Arias said, patting her shoulder. “You’re going to do great. I know it. And our Chasers are great, so even if you can’t catch the Snitch, we’ll be okay.”

She nodded again, leaning into him and blinking hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of ice grey eyes trained on her.

“...and I want a clean, fair game today,” Madame Hooch finished. Y/N was ashamed, but she’d spaced out on the entire speech, instead focusing on how nervous she was.

She was obviously shaking, and she felt even more pathetic standing across from the Slytherin team. They were all buff and tall and scary looking, and she was short and shaking.

Arias placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Don’t worry, Y/N/N. It’ll all be over before you know it.”

She nodded, swallowing to try and combat her dry mouth. It didn’t work, especially when she saw that Draco was watching her with an amused look on his face. When she caught his eye, he raised an eyebrow quizzically at her and smirked.

Arse.

“Seekers, shake hands.” Hooch’s voice cut into her thoughts. Arias prodded her forward, and Y/N complied, stepping closer to Draco.

He clasped her hand firmly, leaning forward just a fraction.

“Don’t be so scared,” he stage-whispered. “We’re playing a fair game, remember?”

At this, his Slytherin teammates chortled in the background as Arias frowned.

“Leave her be, Malfoy,” he hissed, pulling Y/N back to the Hufflepuffs. “I swear, if you lay a hand on her, I’ll...”

“Relax, Smith, I’m not gonna touch your girlfriend,” he drawled.

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Mhm.”

At Hooch’s command, the two captains stepped forward and shook hands, Arias glowering at Malfoy and Malfoy smirked down at him.

The game started before Y/N knew it, and suddenly, her worry slipped away. She was no longer a lowly Hufflepuff--she was a seeker, and a damned good one at that.

She had watched enough Slytherin matches to know Malfoy’s dirty strategies. He generally relied on faking out the other seeker, which she found a rather cheap tactic.

Y/N decided to just take a few wide sweeps around the arena, dipping up and down through the air. Draco clearly hadn’t seen anything--he was flying in lazy circles much higher than her, clearly trying to get a higher vantage point of the arena to search for the gold glint in the air.

Speaking of which...when she flew past the Ravenclaw section, she caught a glimpse of a slight shimmer in the air.

No way. This early in the game?

Y/N squinted, pausing in the air for a second. The gold shimmer moved again, just a few hundred feet away from her.

She’d spotted it!

Glancing up, she saw that Draco was watching her intently. As casually as she could, she began making her way towards the Snitch, still flickering around a little next to one of the columns of the pitch.

When he turned away for a second, Y/N gunned it, speeding towards it. It began to move away from her rapidly, but at the same, time, she was gaining momentum.

“And it appears that Y/N Y/L/N has spotted the snitch!”

The Hufflepuff section roared as she closed in on the distance. She began stretching her hand out and was just inches away from it when something lightly bumped her shoulder.

Draco.

He moved so his shoulder was pressed to hers, keeping up with her exactly and leaning forward, mimicking her movements.

“You’re not half bad, you know,” he mused as nonchalantly as the whistling air would allow.

“I do. Same with you.”

Y/N’s broom was going as fast as it could without being uncontrollable, and it seemed that that was the case for Draco as well. His arms were longer than hers, though, and he was just inches from grabbing the snitch.

She could’ve just shoulder checked him to throw him off balance like she had seen him do so many times, but at the same time, he could’ve as well--but he wasn’t.

In a sudden stroke of creativity, Y/N dived down , throwing Draco’s attention off just enough to lag behind for the briefest of seconds. Darting forward, her fingers managed to close around something cold and vibrating with energy.

“HUFFLEPUFF HAS CAUGHT THE--”

Her head was heavy in the middle and light at the sides. Had it always been like that, or was she just hyperaware of the fact?

Her surroundings were dimly lit with a single candle, but even that hurt her eyes as they fluttered open. She vaguely recognized that it had to be nightime--wherever she was. Y/N tried to sit up, whimpering as the small of her back ached.

“Whoa, slow down,” a familiar voice cautioned. It was posh and male, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Mmmhmm.” Her acknowledgement of the person speaking to her was unrefined and embarrassing, but she didn’t care. Whoever it was clearly cared enough to watch over her.

The memories came flooding back...the sensation of the snitch humming in her hands, Draco flying next to her, awe written all over his pretty face..but then the white hot sensation in her back, the sudden halt of her broomstick, the rushing motion as she plummeted to the ground...the boneshattering impact, the sounds of Draco wailing for help...

But then it cut off there.

With newfound energy, Y/N hoisted herself up, taking in more of her surroundings. It was most certainly at some hour in the night in the Hospital Wing. A figure sat at the chair next to her bed, and a candle illuminated the currtain surrounding her.

She squinted at the figure. “Who are you? I can’t see.”

“Oh.”

Dark arms rustled about, pulling out a wand and whispering Lumos. A ball of light revealed a very disheveled looking Draco Malfoy. Y/N gasped.

“Sh, you’ll wake Pomfrey up,” he whispered. “It wasn’t me who hexed you. It was Harper.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “I know.”

“You do?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, his mouth agape.

“Of course I do, I heard you yelling for help. I wouldn’t do that to someone who just hexed me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Bet you wish you took that bribe now, huh?”

Y/N snorted. “No. I won.”

Draco just shrugged again. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

“I figured.” He shifted in his seat a bit. “Listen, I...er...”

“What?”

He scooted forward just a few feet. “I’m sorry for trying to bribe you. I’ll be honest, I was just kind of looking for a reason to talk to you. Winning this match would’ve just been the cherry on top.”

“You...what?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Stop it right now. What did Pomfrey give me? She must have me on some hard stuff...wow...”

He laughed, leaning forward even more. Y/N could smell a clean whiff of pine and black tea. “No, no, you’re not on pain potions. That I know of, at least.”

“So you’re telling me the truth?”

“Why would I wait her for...I don’t even know how many hours for you to wake up only to lie to you?”

“You were here for the entire time?”

“I mean, I had to shower and eat, but yeah, basically.” He cleared his throat, carding his hand through his hair. “I find you kind of interesting. Always have. Is it a crime to want to get to know you more?”

“I must be dreaming,” Y/N muttered, turning her eyes up to the ceiling. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“My parents aren’t as strict on half-bloods,” he hastily said. “And your academic and athletic record kind of...outshine the fact that you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Charming,” Y/N responded dryly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that...” He wrung his hands together, gazing down at them instead of meeting her eyes. “I’m saying that I have...I don’t know, a soft spot for you? And if you feel the same way, I think it’d be, er, interesting to maybe see where this goes.”

“You’re saying that you have a crush on me?”

The abruptness of her comment caused her to shyly look away at the ground.

“No, look at me,” he murmured. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N let out a lengthy exhale.

“What is it?”

“Could you tell? That I’ve had a massive crush on you since, well, forever?”

He shakily laughed. “Oh, thank god.”

“Well, could you?”

“Hm.” Draco thought for a few moments, placing an elbow on her bed so he could rest his chin in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. I couldn’t tell if I was overanalyzing everything, though.”

“You weren’t,” she assured him, turning to face him again.

He stared at her for a few seconds, his soft grey eyes wide with wonder. Inching his free hand closer to her, he paused. “May I?”

She smiled then, ignoring how her face hurt. “I mean, you waited hours for it.”

“No,” he corrected. “Years.”

With that, he gently slipped her hand into his, rubbing slow circles onto it as she drifted off to sleep.

final a/n: me: so i’m not posting any more imagines until i’m literally into college and an adult! also me: here’s a fic i wrote in two hours because i couldn’t focus on my sat prep! also so so so sorry for any spelling mistakes/plot holes/grammatical errors in here. i just slammed this one out

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #harry potter

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Rumor Has It {7}**

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Mentions/talk about miscarriage, HEAVY Angst, Moderate SMUT, Grief, Slight NSFW

Word Count: 7.1K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Very Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️

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

How do you sleep when you’ve single-handedly destroyed your marriage? You don’t. You wander aimlessly around the house thinking of should-haves and could haves. You think of every little thing that you did that was not right. You worry that because your hair is brown, and your man likes redheads that you were doomed to fail. You worry that you are the root of your problems and you worry that you’ll wake up to hear that your husband had driven into a light pole and died because of you.

So, what did you do? You called him every thirty minutes but every time you called the response was the same, radio silence. He didn’t reject your calls; he simply just didn’t answer them. To you that was worse, it meant he saw your calls coming in but chose to ignore you. You found his secret stash of weed and decided you’d use it to mellow you out. You only meant to smoke one joint, but by the time nine rolled around you were on your second one and watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

“Why can’t I have a marriage like the Huxtables?” Your cell phone rang, and you jumped from the couch and frantically looked around for where you could have put it. You looked in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, and still no phone. By the time you found it in the bathroom on the sink, you’d missed two calls. It rang again, and you quickly answered it.

“Hello? The sound of your agent’s voice came through over the phone, and you groaned.

“No, Shane, it’s fine. No, I--fine. I’m in Boston, so send it to this fax. Okay.” You hung up the phone and groaned. You’d been on go for months, and right now you just wanted to shut everything and everyone down. The last thing you wanted to do was look over yet another prospective script that would sign you to a movie that would take you away from your marriage, or what was left of it. You could hear the fax machine going off and dropped back onto the couch and back to your depressive thoughts and your tears.

Without knowing you dozed off and woke up to your phone ringing. As quickly as you could, you eased onto your elbows and answered your phone without checking the ID.

“Hello?”

No voice came through. It was dead silent, so silent it made you think it was either spam or a bad connection. “Hello?”

Then you heard a sigh. “It’s me.” You sprang up to a seated position and pressed the phone to your ear as if that would improve things. Relief flooded through you. Relief that he was okay, relief he didn’t sound infuriated like last night. You didn’t dare speak. You didn’t know what to say, and you were afraid that if you said anything else, it would set him off. You knew you were on thin ice. “Can you meet me somewhere?” His voice was low, raw and gruff. He sounded like he did when he either hadn’t slept or had just woken, the deep voice that always made you shiver. He sighed again. “Uriah.”

“Yes, yes, anywhere.” Chris took a deep breath then released it and recited an address that you jotted down. One that was no familiar to you. “Where is this?”

“Pack a bag.” That was the last thing he said before he ended the call. You sat there staring at the address you’d written that you knew was at least thirty minutes away. You were confused, and for a split second, an irrational fear filled you. Pushing it to the side you went upstairs to pack a bag which consisted of a few changes of clothes, your toiletries, and everything you needed your hair, face, and body. By the time you’d packed, taken a quick shower and dressed thirty minutes had passed then you were off.

After fifteen minutes of driving, you realized you were leaving the hustle and bustle of the city and its closest neighboring towns and your interest piqued further. Once you got on the freeway you were confused as to where in the world the GPS was leading you. Traffic wasn’t bad, and you were grateful for it, you hated being stuck in traffic which is why most of the time you had a driver driving you. As you looked around at the other drivers each lost in their own thoughts and current situations you missed the simple life. The life you led before you got discovered and signed to Elite. You used to be able to walk around the city no hat, no sunglasses and just walk through the crowds with no one stopping you or snapping your picture. You used to take the subway and the passengers pressed into the overcrowded train like sardines in a tin would be none the wiser because you were just a regular girl. Now all that was different and with your rising star came a slew of other challenges.

When you’d met Chris, you were in your third year with Elite and had just premiered your breakout role in your first big-budget film. You were in Paris for the Victoria’s Secret show where you killed the runway the night before. You saw him across the restaurant gleamed in candlelight and his beard and hair looked auburn. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes uniquely shone. When his eyes met yours, you almost choked on the white wine you were sipping. Everything and everyone around you faded away, and you lived a lifetime in the seconds your eyes were transfixed on each other.

Your attention was drawn from him, and for the remainder of the dinner with your respective parties you both occasionally glanced at each other and smiled whenever your eyes met again. You were the first to leave. The following day you saw each other in the market. You were deliberating between a bouquet of lavender or bunches of pink tulips, and you saw him across the flower cart inspecting some sunflowers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you took the opportunity to get a good look of him in daylight. You immediately thought he was gorgeous. You saw him smiling and wondered if he knew you were gawking at him, so you busied yourself with making your decision. His proximity was hard to get over. By the time you looked up he was gone. The flower cart owner handed you a perfect, pink Peony then nodded off to the side where he was standing. You took the flower, smelled it and nodded your head then walked off, away from him.

A week of chance encounters ensued, and every time you were sent a perfect pink peony. You began to wonder if he just walked around with one in case he saw you. Every time you got a flower you always walked off. By the end of the week, he finally approached you in the open field that overlooked the Eiffel tower carrying a full bouquet of peonies and a core melting smile. By the time the sun rose the next day the two of you still had yet to go back to your hotels or tire of each other. Instead, you sat on the steps of one of the many bridges in Paris and shared a box of macaroons. Two days later, the two of you were in bed together, and two days after that you were off exploring every island and almost every country in Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean.

He’d asked you to marry him in Paris at the same restaurant you’d first laid eyes on each other and the next day married on the Eiffel tower with the perfect view of the sunset, precisely four months to the day you first saw each other. It was perfect. Love, at first sight, was possible, you lived it. A loud honk broke you out of your memories. You saw a long stretch of road before you; you were holding up traffic. Quickly you continued on your route and tried not to worry that you wouldn’t share any more days of happiness with him.

Another twenty minutes passed, and you were surrounded by trees that were lush with leaves that were changing between green, orange, and red. The way the sun caught the foliage made your breath hitch. You loved the countryside. When you turned onto a stretch of land that was surrounded by nothing but trees and wood you began to worry. Had he brought you all the way out here so your screaming wouldn’t draw prying eyes? Did he bring you all the way here to serve you with divorce papers? Could he have had them drafted up that quickly?

“You have arrived,” the monotonous sound of your GPS announced. Before you was a jaw-dropping house dropped in the middle of the most beautiful piece of land you’d seen in a long time. You slowly approached the house gaping at its beauty, from the way it was built it looked like a farmhouse. About twenty feet away was a huge barn and miles of land. As you rolled to a stop in front of the house you stared out the window to the left out to the property, it looked well maintained and so peaceful. After killing the engine, you stepped out as the breeze picked up. You took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of country air. You slowly walked along the dirt and gravel path and remembered a conversation from long ago.

Chris’ voice started the memory; “Dream house, and go, don’t leave any detail out.”

“Okay, no detail left out. No one around for miles, I want to scream your name as loud as I want without neighbors wondering what is going on.”

“Or wondering how I’m ruining your cervix.” The two of you giggled like school children who were doing something naughty in secret.

“Okay, no one around for miles. What else?”

“Um, trees, lots of trees, lots of green as far as the eye can see.”

“Uh-huh, so seclusion. Next?”

“A dirt and gravel driveway. I don’t know why just something about it screams traditional.”

You were standing there staring at the dirt and gravel driveway completely lost to what was happening around you. You spun around to gaze out to the open view and all the trees you could ever want, and there was no one within eye view. Pressing your fingers to your lips you heard the trunk shut. Chris stood there in a pair of worn dark jeans that had patches of paint, a worn blue t-shirt that hugged his biceps like a second skin and boots that looked to have been put to the test to see if Timberlands were the most durable as they claimed.

From the corner of your eye, the flower bushes caught your eye.

“Huge flower bushes in every color imaginable, pinks, blues, purples, reds, flowers everywhere.”

Your eyes scanned the exterior of the house, going over every detail. As you did your voice from your memory rang out as it listed every detail that you wanted. Every single one of those details your eye fell to and you became weaker and weaker by each one. You pressed the palm of your hand to your stomach and tried to calm the butterflies.

“Wh—Wha—What is, what is this? Wh-where are we?”

He didn’t answer; instead he nudged his head as if to say come on then walked ahead to the smooth terra cotta stone walkway that led to the double French doors. You almost fell to your knees and bawled. Chris opened the door and walked inside, but you stopped at the threshold complete frozen with the sight before you.

“What else?”

“Dark wood floors, floor to ceiling windows everywhere, twenty-foot-high ceilings. An amazing stone fireplace, wood beams.”

You slowly walked inside and looked around at everything you wanted. When you got to the living room, you were floored staring at the stone fireplace. The stones went from the beautiful dark wood all the way to the high ceiling where you saw wood beams that matched the floor. On the ledge of the fireplace were two blown-up pictures, one a photo of you and Chris from your wedding in Paris and another from your wedding in Boston. Fresh tears sprang to your eyes as you stared at the documentation of the happiest days of your life.

When you turned, you were alone. You walked out the room and marveled at everything you saw, pictures and paintings lined the walls to give the home the lived-in cozy feeling despite its grandiose size. You stopped unfolding the kitchen before you and what a kitchen it was.

“I want windows everywhere to look out to the view of the beautiful land that isn’t populated. I want to feel the peace from the outside in.”

You gasped sliding the door and stepping out to nature itself. Fall was quickly approaching, and this view and this house fully embraced it and gave you every advantage to really enjoy it. You glanced around at everything from the eight-burner stove, to the butcher's block island and the booth like seating in the corner. It was perfect, everything you’d wanted.

Over the next twenty or so minutes you took in every room of the house slowly marveling at everything you saw. Every detail was as you’d described to him years ago down to the paint color on the wall and even the balcony in the master bedroom and the tub in the master bath. As you scanned the upstairs, you noticed a piece of paper on four of the doors. The first was labeled with “little princess #1”, then the second read “little princess #2”, the next said “little prince #1”, and the fourth said “little prince #2”. You both had said you wanted at least four children and you’d call them little princesses and princes.

“You’re my queen Dragonfly, of course they’ll be princes and princess.”

You hugged your midsection again and realized why you’d done it so often over the last months. You were missing a piece of yourself. Leaning against one of the walls, you allowed yourself to cry as quietly as you could. You’d pushed it aside for months refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let the grief consume you. You’d been successful and had been able to work through it, but now you saw you hadn’t worked through anything. After drying your eyes, you continued walking and saw another door with a sign on it that said, “Oops prince/princess #1”, and a door across from it that read “Oops prince/princess #2”. You laughed through the tears.

“I can assume there will be at least one surprise baby, I mean it’s us,” Chris joked.

By the time you made it back downstairs, and to the backyard, you were sure you were going to pass out. You stood there staring out to the greenhouse that was perfectly set up. He knew you had a knack for gardening when you had the time, and you’d said you wanted a space for it that the cold Boston winter wouldn’t ruin. You closed your eyes and took several relaxing breaths. By the time you’d found some semblance of calm you felt him behind you and every nerve in your body fired off.

“I promise Dragonfly. I will give you everything you want and more.”

You found some courage and turned; he was leaning against the stone of the house and looking out to the distance with his arms crossed before his chest.

“What is this?” You knew, but you kind of didn’t know why.

“It was supposed to be a gift.”

“My birthday is not for weeks--.”

“I know it wasn’t meant to be for your birthday. It was supposed to be for the day we found out we were going to be parents. It was going to be a gift for that.” You felt even more horrible. It was your fault he didn’t have the baby he could see in one of those rooms. You looked down and tried to avoid his eyes.

“Chris, I’m sorry, it’s my fault--.”

He quickly closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You sighed out and instantly felt as if every piece of stress and worry melted from your being. You were reluctant to touch him afraid that as soon as you tried, he’d move. You inhaled his masculine scent that reminded you of all the best parts about fall, apples, leaves, pumpkins, and spices. He also smelled of the cologne you had made especially for him last Christmas. You nuzzled your cheek to his chest and wanted to stay there forever, no need to food, water or anything else.

Chris pulled away, then sighed out. “Let’s talk.” He walked further out onto the back patio, and he sat down and waited for you. It was time to face the music, time to bear your heart and soul to your husband. Taking a deep breath, you sat in one of the rocking chairs, rocking chairs you’d specifically said you’d wanted on the back patio to look out to the beauty that mother nature gifted. You didn’t know how to start, didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if he wanted you to say anything.

“You could have told me, Uriah. You didn’t have to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” The gentleness of his words brought the tears, and there was nothing you could do to stop them, so they fell freely. It was hard. The first week was the hardest. Your doctor had told you there would be blood, but you weren’t prepared for how much blood there was. Then when the clots began passing you lost it and cried for days without getting out of bed. The memories flooded you, and you did your best not to bawl out loud. You cleared your throat and blew out the breath you held.

“I should have told you; I know. I’m sorry. It broke my heart, and I only wanted it for a few hours. You’ve wanted this for years. I thought if it broke me, then it would do far worse to you.”

“What’s the rest of it?” You scoffed; he knew you well.

Taking a deep breath, you looked to him and saw he was already watching you with a solemn expression. You knew he was holding back his grief trying to be there for you. You fell in love with him because of his compassion for others, how he always put others before him. You wanted to be open with him, wanted to trust in the possibility that he’d married you for more than the prospect of children, and that if you couldn’t give them he wouldn’t leave you. As you opened your mouth to confess it all the thought flashed into your head that he might very well blame you for the miscarriage. He might grow to resent you for it. You knew you already blamed yourself.

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” It was a half-truth.

“Different? How?” His full attention was on you now with his body turned as well.

“I don’t know Chris, just different. I don’t know what I was thinking then.” Chris sat quietly studying you. You felt as if any second he would see through you and call your bullshit and the end of your marriage. You knew how much he valued truth, and honesty and you’d fucked that up several times. You knew he was at his wit’s end with you.

Sighing you took it there; “I didn’t want you to blame me and hate me for it.” Chris quickly crossed to you and sank to the floor before you, clasping both your hands in his oversized ones.

“Blame you? God Riah how could I ever blame you for this? You didn’t do anything for this to happen. Look at me, Riah.” You lifted your head and glanced into his eyes that were filled with so much emotion. Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chris quickly wiped them away. “I don’t blame you. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. We’re in this marriage together, we both said vows before God, we made promises to each other, and I meant them with everything in me. I love you dragonfly.” Your nickname made more tears flow, and a sob escaped your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the words spilled out of you amidst your sobs. Chris pulled you into his strong arms. You finally released all the pain you’d held in over the last month and a half. He didn’t speak or move; he just let you cry, and it was what you needed.

Twenty minutes later, Chris’ shirt was soaked with your tears and snot, but he didn’t seem to care. You pulled away from him, your body finally free of the violent spasms from your sobs. You wiped your face then sunk your hands into your hair and held it down then stood and stepped away from him. “I’m gonna clean myself up.” Without another word you walked inside to find one of the bathrooms. Once inside the half bath in the hall your reflection scared you. Your eyes were red and puffy as was the majority of your face and your nose had trace smears of snot. After you washed your face with cold water you used one of the hand rags and did your best to make yourself presentable again. Instead of walking out after you’d finished, you just stared at yourself. There were close to a million things running through your head, so many feelings and thoughts you had no idea how to tune them out. You looked around the bathroom for the first time and smiled remembering what you’d told him.

“I want one of the bathrooms just to be pure ridiculousness, it has to be a guest bath. It would be the funniest thing; they would think we were the most ridiculous couple.”

Yours and Chris’ laughter echoed in your head, and you began to laugh as well. The intricate gold branch and leaf wallpaper was beautiful, but it was bold and way more luxurious than either yours or Chris’ taste. As you spun around the room you fell more in love with it. He did amazing, you thought. You walked out and to the kitchen where you heard clattering. Chris was there in his white undershirt cooking.

“When did you buy this place?”

“Two years ago. It was an old rundown farmhouse ready to be torn down, but the land was perfect. So, over the last few years, we’ve been rebuilding.”

“We?”

“Me, Scott, my dad, some friends, and some work crews.” Your jaw dropped.

“Don’t look so surprised, you know I’m good with my hands.” He smirked your way, and you blushed. He continued doing what he was doing, and you looked around the kitchen once again. It was your dream kitchen; everything was how you wanted down to the color of the backsplash.

“Who knew you listened to me and remembered that far back.”

“I listen to everything you say, and I remember everything.” A few moments passed with the two of you staring into each other’s eyes before Chris looked away and back to the vegetables he was chopping.

“Do you like it?”

You scoffed because he had to be kidding. This place was amazing, and your dream come to life. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

“I love it; every single inch and square foot is incredible. You guys did amazing.” He smiled and nodded.

“You can keep exploring around there is still plenty to see, or you can come be my sous.”

You smiled. In the early days, months, and years of your marriage, you always cooked together. It became tradition to prepare dinner together if you were together and it always proved to be a good time for you to talk, laugh and just be silly together. It had been almost a month since you’d done it. You took off your long cardigan and walked to the sink to wash your hands. When you turned to him ready for instruction he smiled. “Where do you want me?” Chris stepped to you.

“Forever and always by my side dragonfly.” Your heart raced, then he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he turned away and went back to work. He gave a few instructions, but you didn’t hear them, all you heard was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Cooking together was just as great as you’d remembered it to be. After him showing you around the kitchen and where things were, you moved together with ease. While he worked on the vegetables, you began on dessert, surprised to see the fridge was stocked. He told you about the process of building, how much he enjoyed getting dirty with it and doing all the construction stuff. You saw small inspired smiles on his face and enjoyed listening to every detail of how he’d orchestrated the build and keeping it from you. As you talked, some normalcy felt to have returned, but you could feel the talk that still had to be had weighing on things, and you knew he felt it too. Neither of you pushed the other to speak before they were ready, and you were grateful he was being so gentle and understanding about things. It was a drastic one-eighty from last night and the days you’d been at odds.

By the time the two of you sat to dinner in the booth seats you, the sun had set behind the trees bathing the entire sky outside the house in a beautiful magenta. You knew why he’d chosen this land. You ate quietly just watching the beautiful colors of the sunset and the backdrop that nature provided. It had been months since you’d felt anything close to calm and this was the first time.

“Thank you. This is—more than I can could have ever dreamed up. I love it here.”

He gave you a small smile and nodded as he finished his beer. “Me too.”

You sloshed around your wine in the glass and watched the candlelight reflect through the pale gold liquid before you gulped the remainder down. When you put the glass back to the table, Chris raised the bottle and refiled your glass. As he poured you watched him. “Do you want a divorce now?” Chris’ actions stilled.

He held the bottle in midair and watched the liquid empty from the bottle before he slowly put it to the side. He took up his napkin and wiped his mouth, then put it down onto the table. All his movements were slow, methodical as if they were actions, but he was using the time to properly formulate speech. Each second that ticked away that he didn’t respond your mind crafted some horrible future where you were a divorcee, and then Bravo or VH1 would approach you with some offer to be on the next season of Ex-wives of Hollywood. You’d no doubt be the ex-wife who was secretly bitter and depressed and lonely because she didn’t want the divorce, but she had no one else to blame but herself. So, during the day she’d play the badass boss bitch, and at night she’d cry in bed in her negligee and fur heels and six to nine bottles of wine. It was almost certainly your future; you could see it.

The sound of Chris clearing his throat was what snapped you out of your Ebenezer scrooge ghost of futures to come vision. His fingers were steepled underneath his chin, and he was just staring at you with a very unreadable expression on his face. “Do you want a divorce?”

You felt like you were going to throw up the dinner you’d just had then pass out in the vomit. Part of you said to play it cool and not show how scared you were, but the other part said throw everything out on the table. The pounding in your head made it impossible to think or focus and you decided to listen to your heart and just speak. “Of course, I don’t want a divorce. That is the last thing in the world I want. I love you so goddamn much, but—but if you want a one then I will respect your wishes and give it to you.” The words made you sick. It would kill you, but you’d do it.

“When I asked you to marry me, do you remember what I said?” You took a shaky breath and held it before you nodded.

“Tell me.” Tapping into that strength your parents said they saw when you were a child you forged ahead.

“My life—your life has become exponentially better since meeting me; you’d never been happier and never met anyone like me and had never felt that way about anyone in all your life. You don’t know how you made it through life without me and now that you have me—you can’t imagine ever spending one more day without me in your life. You want to grow with me, build with me, fall even more in love with me and grow old with me surrounded by our four planned and two accidental children. Will you make me the happiest, proudest, most grateful man in the world and spend the rest of—our lives with me?” you dabbed the back of your hand at the tears that spilled out. He nodded.

“I meant those words and nowhere in them did I say spend four years of our lives with me. I said the rest of our lives. Four isn’t nearly enough, dragonfly. So no, I don’t want a divorce. Hell, even if you wanted one, I would fight with everything in me for you—for us.” You covered your mouth as relief washed over you. “Divorce is not the answer for me—it’s never going to be the answer Riah. Do you understand? When I said till death do we part, I meant it, and nothing is going to change it.” Sniffling, you nodded and wiped your tears away and tried to get a hold of your emotions. Silence filled the room, and neither of you moved, or even continued to eat the scraps on your plate.

After a few minutes, he stood and took your plates and busied himself with the after dinner clean up. After a few minutes of watching his movements, you got up and walked around the property taking everything in. Although it was now night and darkness took over the entire property was bathed in the light of hanging lanterns and draped pepper lights and it gave the most romantic glow. You saw a lake and smiled.

“I want a lake; my very own lake and I want a pretty deck that has enough chairs for our umpteen-‘leven kids, and we’ll all sit out back on summer nights, and you’ll teach them to fish.”

The deck as you wanted was right there, and you saw plenty of seats just waiting to be sat in. Turning to the right you saw a beautiful cherry tree and a hanging swing. You smiled and walked to it, the final piece falling into place.

“There better be a swing that overlooks this lake so we can watch the sunsets when we’re seventy thinking about how perfect our life together had been.”

You sat down and felt as if you’d finally come home. You watched the water dance and got lost in your feelings and thoughts. Your father did say he was a good man; you knew that or else you wouldn’t have married him. Your mind flitted to the conversation you still had yet to have. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, held it and smiled sensing him.

“I see you found the piece de resistance,” Chris said as he sat beside you.

“Oh yeah and what a piece de resistance it is.”

“Is it as you imagined?” You looked at him and bit your bottom lip.

“No. It’s so much better.” Chris looked to you and smiled that smile that always made your stomach do loopy loops.

“What’s the answer?” He nodded fully understanding your question, then looked back out to the lake. He didn’t speak, and neither did you for a long while.

When the air grew colder, and the breeze picked up the two of you made your way back to the house. Chris locked up, and then the two of you slowly walked upstairs. Once outside the master bedroom, he opened the door for you so you could walk inside. You walked to the balcony that overlooked the lake and sighed at how beautiful and peaceful it was.

“I’ll um—I’ll give you the bedroom, I can take one of the other rooms.” Your stomach sank. In all your years together, you never slept apart when in the same city. Last night was the first time, and you didn’t want to do it again. You were disappointed and hurt that he wanted to. You looked down and nodded then turned your back.

“Goodnight,” you responded. Soon after he repeated the same and you heard the door close. Trying your best to stifle your cries you hopped in the shower and took a quick one. Once you climbed into bed and laid down the moonlight bathed the bed and you laid there mesmerized by its beauty. You couldn’t help but feel incomplete. You looked beside you to where Chris should have been and missed him. You walked to the French glass doors that separated outside from in and put your forehead to it. The cool glass helped to slow your racing thoughts. You felt like some innocent teenager who was scared to say what she wanted and go after it. That wasn’t you; it had never been.

“Riah.” You spun around at the sound of Chris’ voice. There he was in a pair of sweats, and a white undershirt and even that made your heart race and your belly flutter. “Sorry, I didn’t knock.”

“Why do you need to knock it’s your room too.” He nodded and looked down.

“Earlier, did you not want me to sleep in another room?” You bit your bottom lip again then found the courage.

“We don’t sleep apart. Remember?” Chris nodded then rubbed his head, sending all his luscious locks in disarray.

“I remember, I just thought you’d want your space after everything. I didn’t want to crowd you. I want to—give you what you need—be how you need me to be right now.”

He meant well, you knew it. You didn’t know what to say to him about anything and didn’t know what to do. You knew one thing, you needed him.

“Come to bed?” He studied you trying to grasp your meaning. After a few moments, you walked to him, held out your hand and waited for his decision. Without a thought he took your hand, and you led him to the bed.

Once there, you lifted up the hem of his shirt, and he allowed you to pull it off. After the first time you’d seen him shirtless in person you always thought he should just remain shirtless. He was beautiful to look at. You traced your hand down his chest to the waistband of his sweats. As you hooked your finger in you took notice he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Glancing back up to him you noticed his eyes hadn’t left your face. He just stood there letting you take the lead. You pulled his sweats from their precarious location on his hips and kneeled on the bed taking his hand to lure him to follow. He didn’t object and took his place before you. His hand cupped your cheek and softly caressed your cheek.

“I love you, Uriah.”

“I love you too.”

You loosened the ties of your robe and let it fall from your naked body. The two of you kneeled on the bed before each other with the moonlight casting a milky glow over your bodies. Neither of you moved or spoke; there was no need for words. Slowly you traced your hand over his chest taking in every ab indentation and each definition of his pec muscles. Once you made it to his face you reveled the feel of the softness of his hair, then the smoothness of his bottom lip and the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Chris took your hand and kissed your palm before he placed your hand back on his cheek.

You brought his face to yours and softly kissed his lips. The kiss was not one of passion or yearning. It was a kiss of gentleness, one that said how much you missed him, and it was a sentiment he returned. You could feel his pain in the kiss. A pain you shared. Chris deepened the kiss and pulled you flush against his body and wrapped his hands around your waist. You tasted salty tears and sunk your fingers into his hair and gripped his strands. For the first time, you realized that the pain you’d tried to push down these last weeks was a pain he was feeling now. He was grieving right along with you.

You lied down on onto your back and looked up at him. Chris slowly looked over your body. You opened your legs, and he settled between them as he hovered over your body. You reached up and wiped a rolling tear. He turned his head and kissed your palm again before he dipped down and claimed your lips again. This kiss was an urgent one tinged with something else. You pulled him close, and he buried his face in your neck and cried. Holding him to you, you allowed your tears freedom and cried with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dragonfly. Forgive me.” Chris kissed your neck, then your collar. His lips moved to your chest, and down to your breast, his tongue lazily circled your nipple and awoke a gentle heat within you. He pulled his head back quickly and searched your eyes. You knew what he was asking. Nodding your head, he kissed you again and returned his lips to your breast. He brought his mouth lower to your belly, and he stared at it. His hand possessively circled it before he kissed around it. Your tears streamed form your eyes, and a strangled cry escaped your throat.

Chris moved lower and kissed your sex before he began slowly pleasing you. Your back arched and your fingers dug into his hair holding on to him praying to God that you would be able to come back from this. The pleasure he brought you felt different than all the times before. Before it was an unquenchable fire that consumed you and never relented, now it was a slow burn that comforted while it maddened. You gasped loudly and pulled at his hair feeling your orgasm rage through you. Again, Chris nestled between your legs and slowly connected your bodies. Both of you sighed feeling your connection strengthen. He didn’t move; instead he stared deeply into your eyes and rocked you to your core with how much you saw hidden behind his blue orbs.

When he began rocking into you, your skin peppered with goosebumps and the tightening in your belly was another sign you were close to claiming your pleasure. Chris pressed his body to yours, and you took the initiative to roll onto him. Once you adjusted you rotated your hips to the motion of the letter “c” and then rocked back and forth. Chris’ hands flew to your hips and squeezed then rocked you to the pace he wanted. Throwing your head back you tried to focus on the sensations he was giving you. You tried to equally allow all you were feeling to come through. When you looked back to Chris you could tell his complex emotions were warring as well. You lowered your body to his and buried your face in his flesh and inhaled his scent--a scent you loved. Without knowing a sob escaped you and Chris’ arms wrapped around you.

“It’s not your fault Uriah.” Those words felt like permission to let it all go, approval and reassurance all at once. Your crying became louder until Chris rolled you back onto the bed and wiped your tears as he stroked the fire within your veins to a blazing inferno. You dug your nails into his skin and held on to him as his movements became less controlled and more desperate. Chris’ grunts and moans were soft. You bit your bottom lip and let out a high pitched wine when he sunk into you to the hilt and broke the dam of your orgasm. The two of you clung to each other as your bodies shook from the power of your release and what you’d just shared together.

After several long moments, Chris rolled off of you onto his back and the two of you laid there staring at the ceiling in silence each trying to catch your breath and lost in your thoughts. Chris pulled you close to his side, and you nestled your cheek onto his chest as you’d done thousands of times. You could head the rapid thumping of his heart and closed your eyes as you focused on it. Chris’ fingers languidly drew patterns on your cooling skin breaking you out in goosebumps everywhere he touched. The intimacy of the moment made you feel closer to him. A closeness you hadn’t felt since the night in Australia where you finally decided to start trying for a baby. You were so lost in the quiet of the moment and your thoughts that you didn’t hear Chris say your name.

“Uriah?” You opened your eyes and sighed. “Hmm?”

“Let’s go to therapy.” Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you listened with your heart to everything his eyes said. You nodded.

“Yeah.” He released a relieved sigh then kissed your forehead, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as sleep finally washed over you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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#rumor has it fic #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #angst fanfic

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destinyc1020 · 4 years

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I don’t care what anyone says, Sam using a black character to air out his beef with a white critic who gave him a bad movie review years ago when he is in fact ALSO white ain’t it. He deserves all the criticism he’s getting and I have no sympathy for him. He’s always given me bad vibes and the way he used a black man in this movie as a self-insert just made it worse.

Yea that made me uneasy as well. 😖When ppl were talking about it, I was like hmmm interesting... I figured he was going to mention the woman maybe once or twice in causal conversation. But no..... Sam wrote like a 15 min tirade about this woman.... and Malcom kept on bringing her up during the night. I was like, okay, this sounds PERSONAL. I almost want to go back and read what the white lady from LA Times said! Like,was it THAT serious dude? 😳 Anyway,yea I didn't care for Sam using black characters in his film to unleash a tirade against a woman who gave him a "bad review" years ago for one of his films. And whewww.....I hope you have a comfy chair because I'm about to go on a rant lol..... I'm about to GO THERE. Look, I know Z asked Sam to write a movie for her, but I think part of my problem with this movie is that it almost seems like he used this film as an excuse to just rant about film critics, and didn't really write a movie FOR HER, because if he was writing a movie for her, he should have written a film that would have been closer to her context, just simply given her age. I felt that the film was poorly miscast,given the plot. I got the feeling the role of Marie was really meant for a woman in her early 30s,or even late 20s. I personally don't feel like he had Z in mind at all when writing this movie. For example, if he had written a film about a couple that are recent college graduates, and they have just come back to their apartment upset about some slight....then THAT would have been one thing. But having Z play the gf of a filmmaker 😏who's like 12 years her SENIOR, oh and BTW, they've been dating for 5 YEARS (started dating when she was "barely 20" 😵)?? That would make Malcom 32 years old dating a 20-year old.... Like seriously? 👀 Like c'mon Sam, just say that you wanted to vent out your frustrations on the "white lady from the LA Times", and stop pretending like you wrote this movie for Z, cuz you did NOT. 😒 A movie written for Z would have had an actor opposite her closer to her age range, and the plot MAY have even been slightly different. It would have been a totally different vibe,and I feel it would have been a little more believable. During some of their beginning argument scenes, I felt like Z sounded like a kid next to JDW (who's like a GROWN man) lol. She def improved towards the end (sounded more adult),but still...it was just somewhat noticeable to me throughout the film. I chuckled to myself while watching the film, because I was like, Idk how some ppl thought that Johndaya was dating in real life lol. 😂 While the age gap didn't bother me,it was just VERY noticeable that they are from two different places in life. If he were her professor coming on to her as a college student,then the age gap and the awkward,unbalanced feeling would have made perfect sense! But in this film I just found it hard to believe that they were a couple Tbh,it would have been better to make the movie about a bf and gf couple who are both ACTORS and around the same age, and maybe the bf won an Oscar and forgot to thank his gf or smthg,and so an argument ensues when they get home. But then I'm wondering if Sam may have felt that casting Z in a film where she's the gf of a fellow actor might have hit a little TOO close to home lol... 👀. Either way, I just feel like the casting (and even the plot) could have been a little different. I almost feel like Sam was simply writing characters that reflect his own life,and he was just super-imposing Z into the role. When in reality, he should have just cast an older actress. OR, he should have paired Z up with a younger actor closer to her age range, and given them a different plot story. I firmly believe that this is one of the MAIN reasons why the acting on Z's end wasn't that believable in certain parts. Like, Z did the best she could with this crazy script, but in the end it doesn't really work that well (imo) because Sam was just using the film as therapy, and not really writing a movie that was tailored to Z. It was basically Sam's life onscreen

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keeroo92 · 4 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Chapter 17

Coming Home

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

Word count - 3,124

Warnings for surgical procedure, somewhat graphic. Blood and gore, minor.

_________

~~~~Nico~~~~

Nico took a deep breath and stepped forward, ducking under the yellow tape criss-crossing over the open doors of the subway. The acrid stench of death hung in the air, mixing with the signature piss and sweat of the underground. Not a pretty smell.

But the view horrified her, too. Cracked glass and smeared blood, a few bullet casings and two blue-clad bodies lying on the floor like dolls discarded by a child with a new toy. Her comrades deserved so much better.

Her heart clenched as she saw their frozen faces. It was Franklin and Taylor; she’d chatted with them by the water cooler the other day. Taylor told her that stupid joke about the zero and the eight, and Franklin… he was only just learning the ropes. His whole life ahead of him.

It made her want to scream.

She wasn’t unfamiliar with the unfairness of life. It twisted her up and spat her out more than once over the years. She’d fought tooth and claw to get where she was, struggle didn’t surprise her anymore. Misfortune had a cruel tendency to affect kind folks more than those who deserved it, but she always hoped to change that, even just a little. To leave the world better than when she entered it was all she wanted from life, despite how difficult the battle was. She could deal with the bad shit.

Still sucked to see the bad shit, though.

We gotta catch this fucker.

Balled fists held tight at her sides, she forced her eyes away from the corpses of her brothers in arms to scan the scene for any evidence that might lead to tracking down the psychopath who ended their lives. Anything would do, any thread she could tug to unravel the mystery and get to slap cuffs on the bastard. She’d never wanted to catch a criminal so badly, so deeply it kept her awake at night.

I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re going down, V.

The background check hadn’t given them much - he’d come from a middle class family, nothing remarkable about his childhood other than his fascination with art. By all accounts, while his young friends were off causing mischief, he’d be found visiting a museum or practicing his brushwork.

That is, until the shooting.

Regardless of his crimes, her heart went out to the poor bastard. Surviving a mass shooting by the sacrifice of a friend was enough to traumatize anyone. It was a damned shame (and an embarrassment to the healthcare system) that he didn’t get the help he needed afterward.

Still didn’t excuse killing folks, though.

At least they had one lead to follow - the doctor. After the dark-haired lunatic fled her apartment, it didn’t take long to get a search warrant. Techs were combing through the place, but they already had enough to put her away for at least a decade. Lobotomizing her own father, un-friggin-believable.

Tony was in shock, caught completely off guard by the doctor’s actions. His own hand-picked medical consultant, in league with the killer they hunted. A twist for the history books, he’d said. She’d never seen him so dumbfounded.

Despite being proven right about her suspicions, it turned Nico’s stomach to see the emptiness in Waras’s father’s eyes, the lack of humanity left behind. He was lucky to be alive, supposedly, but Nico had her doubts. Maybe death was a kinder fate than what the poor man endured.

He’ll never be the same. None of us will.

“I got a blood trail!”

Nico’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Franklin must’ve wounded the fucker, his last act one that could lead to the arrest of his killer. Cold comfort to his loved ones, but still. It was something.

~~~~Kotomi~~~~

The familiar click of her heels on cement vanished amidst the cries of the crowd. Enraged faces lined the entrance to Mundus Psychiatric Hospital, signs and shouts overwhelmingly oppressive. At least they weren't throwing fruit today. She’d count her blessings.

The protests first started a few days after the local news announced that V was the lead suspect in the recent killings, and that he’d escaped the historically secure facility. Citizens fearing for their safety flocked to the streets, calling for the hospital to close and the patients to go elsewhere, though nobody seemed to know where. As long as it wasn’t here.

Nobody cares about an actual solution, just that the problem gets dumped on someone else’s lap.

Then one of the orderlies told the tale of the fire, heightening the rage and terror. Malphas still hadn’t figured out who talked, but when he did, heads were going to roll. The director’s professional reputation was irrevocably tainted, along with the entire staff (though his was the only name being slandered in the streets).

It shocked her to see normal people so furious. People who barely registered the hospital’s existence before, now vilifying it at every opportunity. It didn’t matter that the place housed mostly harmless individuals, or that the staff genuinely tried to help them heal. All the goodwill vanished in the wake of V’s rampage.

“Bitch! Don’t you care that folks are dying?!”

Kotomi flinched as a protester caught her gaze and stepped forward from the picket line, foam-flecked lips spewing vitriol. She moved faster; maybe she could get inside before it got any worse.

“How many innocent people have to get slaughtered before you fuckers close this shithole?! Give ’em all the chair, I say!”

She crossed her arms and curled her shoulders inward, her heart hammering as she tried to pass the man by. She only wanted to go to work. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She hadn’t done any harm.

That’s not quite true…

In a way, it was all her fault. If she hadn’t frozen up during the fire, maybe things would have turned out differently. Why did she always freeze when it mattered most?

Her thoughts stopped as the man grabbed her shoulder, his grip tight enough to bruise. His rancid breath fanned over her face as he shouted at her, the words lost in the wake of her terror. Quaking legs barely kept her upright as her body flooded with adrenaline, her pupils dilating and sweat blooming on her palms and forehead. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he’d let her go? Could she just wait it out?

What choice did she have?

And then a familiar voice called her name, a pair of worried brown eyes replacing those of the protester as Rob led her inside. Someone else coming to her rescue yet again, because she lacked the strength to save herself.

“Are you alright, Dr. Ishida?” he asked.

She forced her fingers to relax their iron grip on her purse strap. “I- I think so.”

Rob sighed and glanced back at the crowd, their shouting audible through the glass door. “They’re getting bolder. I’ll talk to Aaron again, there’s got to be something we can do.”

But they both knew there was little point. Until V was caught, nothing would quench the fury of the citizens or lessen their drive to close the facility. Maybe her mother was right, she should’ve gone into a different field. It might be time to walk away.

~~~~V~~~~

The artist grimaced as he limped along, his palm pressed against his thigh to staunch the bleeding and ease the pain. Each step he took brought another pang of agony, and he couldn’t find an exit wound- the bullet remained. He’d have to get it out and treat the wound. First, however, he needed to find a safe place to recuperate.

He leaned against a shipping container, cautiously lifting his palm to check the blood flow. It was slowing, at least. Progress. His belt proved an effective tourniquet.

A gust of icy wind reminded him of his precarious position. The warehouse district wasn’t prone to pedestrians, which meant fewer eyes to spot him, but it also meant he stood out like a sore thumb to anyone who wandered by. He couldn’t afford to stay here long.

Keep moving. Can’t stop now.

He hobbled on, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, itchy as it dripped through his hair. Aches ricocheted through his body, his muscles tired and close to quitting on him. He needed rest, a reprieve and a chance to plot his next move. Where could he go?

His friends stayed oddly silent. Did they abandon him? Unlikely, but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Either way, he had only himself to rely on.

Relying on others teaches one not to stand on their own. This is better.

Before long, his mind wandered to the worst three minutes of his life. It was inevitable after the reminders at the subway, the familiar crack of thunder as guns fired. How much pain had Nero endured that day? They said he’d been hit six times.

“Six… Six twelve Oak street…” he muttered. His vision swam and the artist faltered, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Today was the day; he’d been looking forward to it. He’d had his doubts at first, but with each session Nero’s skill improved. The edges of his latest tattoos featured crisp definition, the whorls perfectly curved to follow the natural shape of his biceps.

The artist didn't notice the flush in his face and the dazed film in his eyes as he turned and set off in a new direction, his steps unsteady but determined. A slight smile graced his lips. What design would Nero add to the canvas of his flesh this time?

~~~~Reader~~~~

You sprinted to your ancient car, barely noticing the absence of the undercover cop car as you forced the engine to roar to life. No doubt they’d seen V leave and given chase, which meant you didn’t have the choice of going back to your apartment. The police would search it from top to bottom.

They’re going to find the sketches…

It seemed so long ago that the artist first grasped that tiny nub of charcoal in your office, portraying your face in shades of grey. The roller coaster hadn’t stopped since that day, and it showed no signs of slowing.

But fuck it. No sense dwelling on what could’ve been, the life you could’ve had if you hadn’t requested his case. What was done was done. Time to get on with it.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled onto the main road. An aggressive guitar solo blared out and you winced as you turned the volume down, switching the channel a beat later. Social media probably had better info than the radio, but reading and driving didn’t mix.

“-unarmed but extremely dangerous. Police are advising locals to leave the area immediately. Last sighted exiting the subway station on 119th street, but current whereabouts unknown-”

The subway. Smart.

As if you’d expect anything less.

Within ten minutes, you reached 119th. Flashing lights and sirens greeted you, blue-clad officers milling around as one of them plastered crime scene tape over the railing. Mid-morning sunlight streamed down like a sick spotlight.

If V was here, he was beyond your reach.

Shit.

You turned at the next cross street. The police undoubtedly had your license plate by now, you’d need to do something about that. No sense lingering in a place chock full of them. But where to go? Where would V go?

A soft ding stole your attention; a new message. You crossed your fingers as you pulled over to check your phone.

It wasn’t far, maybe a five-minute drive. Thank the heavens, at least now you knew he hadn’t gotten arrested. Yet.

Still… the message had you worried. It lacked his usual eloquence and wit, and didn’t say whether he was physically okay. Shots fired, the TV said. You pursed your lips and pulled back into traffic, mind whirling with uncountable ways V might be injured. By the time you parked a block away from the quaint, two-story house, you could barely breathe through the anxiety.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother locking the car as you speed walked to the yellow front door. What would you find within? If they hurt the artist, would you be able to help? What if only his corpse awaited you?

You swallowed thickly and tried the doorknob. Unlocked; you took a deep breath and entered. Nothing immediately jumped out at you. Photos of a white-haired teenager lined a nearby wall, a hall table holding mail and a dish to leave one’s keys in beneath them. No blood stained the walls, no sounds of pain echoed from another room. It was quiet.

“V? Are you here?”

No answer. Not good. You set aside your backpack and tried again, making your way through the home. Each second he didn't respond only heightened your fear, stinging your tongue with metal. He had to be seriously hurt or incapacitated somehow, and neither option helped the situation.

“V? Come on, where are you?” Your voice shuddered.

“...curse my stars…”

You spun and raced toward the voice, tearing open a door you’d missed before to find the artist, curled up on a massive bed. Blood stained the sheets, concentrated near his thigh. Sweat coated his brow and his eyes stared at nothing, unseeing in the grip of his pain and madness.

“...love so high…”

“Don’t worry, V. I’ve got you,” you murmured as you cupped his clammy cheek. Dilated eyes, sweat and warm to the touch. Most likely an infection. You shoved aside your feelings; time to get to work. Right now, he needed your medical care more than anything else you offered.

Fabric rustled as you took a seat beside him and searched for the source of the blood. Through the fabric of his jeans it was impossible to tell, so you quickly tugged them off, taking care to reapply his improvised tourniquet once the cloth was out of the way. Heart pounding, you finally found a darker spot in the tensor fasciae, close to his hip. There was no exit wound.

Oh, V… you walked here with a bullet in your leg?

At least it wasn’t too deep. Odd, but you’d take what you could get. A thin trickle of crimson oozed from the wound, but he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out yet. Assuming he hadn’t bled too much during his escape…

“I need to find supplies to treat you. I’ll be right back,” you said, stroking damp hair from his brow. His skin was on fire. He didn’t respond.

You pursed your lips and left him, searching the bathrooms and kitchen until you had what you needed. A moment more spent thoroughly washing your hands, and you returned. The artist hadn’t moved an inch.

Is he having an episode, too? Maybe that’s for the best, it’s possible he won’t notice when I take out the bullet.

The best you had was a longer than average pair of metal tweezers. If they didn’t do the job, you’d have to widen the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t close to any major arteries, so you were confident you had the skills to remove it safely. A few inches to the left, and he would’ve already been dead for an hour.

“Okay, this might hurt,” you told him, pausing for a moment before dousing his thigh with a mixture of bottled water and table salt. After a moment you turned him so the excess fluid spilled out, leaving the wound clean and ready. You gave him one last look as your fingers wrapped around your tool. The head lamp you found in the kitchen flared to life with a touch and you straddled his injured leg, keeping it as still as possible.

“Now for the really fun part…”

The artist twitched feebly as you probed the hole. For once it seemed his episodes were a blessing; if he were even remotely coherent, he surely would have screamed.

Centimeter by centimeter, you searched for the signature resistance of metal surrounded by human tissue. More blood leaked from the wound, drenching your hands and slowing your progress. Muttered verses occasionally interrupted the squelch of your work, but you paid his words no mind. A distraction surgeon never helped.

At last you found it, an unrelenting hardness amongst the fibrous muscle. You tapped around the bullet, getting a feel for its dimensions before making your move. The tweezers barely opened wide enough to take hold, but they did the job and you felt the bullet disturb the surrounding tissue as you slowly drew it out with a satisfying plop.

You sighed and set aside your prize. Another round of improvised saline later, you carefully sutured the wound closed and bandaged the area. The artist still made no indication of awareness, just lying there as you put him back together.

The moment you set down the roll of bandages, you started trembling. V’s blood covered your hands, the sour stench of sweat and chemicals hanging in the air. As pointless as it was, you couldn’t help but wonder why life had to be this difficult. The last twenty-four hours alone had your nerves begging for a break. What a sick world, where you had to remove a bullet from the man you lo-

Holy shit.

Air slipped from your gaping mouth as you fell back against the wall. A manic chuckle followed, then another. Was this what love was like? You’d never come close to it before, to this burning like fire in your soul. The thought of losing V mere hours ago had you in tears, falling apart like an infant without its mother for the first time. When you were with him, despite his murderous and unpredictable nature, you felt safe.

And the things you’d done for him - withholding medical information, lying to your boss and risking your medical license, everything you’d spent years working towards; not to mention what you did to your father.

He’d forced you to face yourself, someone you didn’t even know anymore. Changed your understanding of the world and of art, torn asunder your preconceptions and lit the way to new views. The eloquence of his speech, the grace in his movement, the curve of that smirk and the way his presence changed the atmosphere of any room…

I don’t know if this is love, but I don’t have another word that fits. Not even close.

It was twisted; it was soaked in blood and violence, but you felt more authentic than you ever had. You smiled. Decades ago, you accepted that you might not be capable of love.

How wonderful to be wrong.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#Be My Nightmare #my writing #v x reader #v x oc #dmcv #devil may cry 5 #fanfiction #fanfic #au #slow burn #angst #tw: gunshot wound

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eunheefmd · 4 years

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Hey guys, I’m definitely not a newbie here lol it’s Kim (Guanting’s mun) and this is a revamped version of my old muse, Eunhee. She’s had a lot of revamps and she’s had a lot of FC changes, but I think this version of herself is the best one yet. If you’re interested in any of her plots, you can find them HERE and if you see anything you like, you can click that heart bottom in the bottom righthand corner of this post and I’ll shoot you an IM! And before I forget, you can check out her profile HERE! And if d*scord is easier for you, add me! My ID is chungha's foot stool#9502 (yes I’m trash for Chungha, don’t look at me)

She was born in 1995 and was the only child for the first few years of her life

Then her brother came along

Her parents neglected her in favor of her brother, who did acting as a child (I’ll be sending in a wanted connection for her brother, so if you’re interested he’ll be a ‘97 liner or younger!)

While they neglected her, she learned how to fend for herself and started developing talents of her own

She asked her music teacher to give her private singing lessons after school, and that went on for about four years

They weren’t aware that she could sing until she asked if she could audition for record labels

She was almost immediately offered a spot as a trainee at her first label, and her parents were shocked when she passed the audition, but signed the papers allowing her to become a trainee

She didn’t really speak to them during her time as a trainee, and only called her brother every once in a while when she knew her parents wouldn’t be around

Her trainee period was a very.. interesting time. This is where Eunhee developed the brunt of her cutthroat attitude. She was already a little hard hearted due to lack of attention and love from her parents, but seeing just how intense and difficult training could be only heightened that. If you were a trainee that she liked or didn’t pose a threat to her debut, you were okay in her book. The others? Not so much. She fought tooth and nail to get her spot in Wish, and a few other trainees grew to not like her. She would put on the best possible act for trainers and other BC employees, but not so much to her peers. Did she care? Not really. She was there to become an idol, not make friends.

She trained for nearly six years before she finally debuted as a member of Wish. As a whole, Eunhee enjoyed being an idol and loved performing. There was nothing better to her than receiving so much love and positive energy; not to mention, the attention she received. Being the leader and main vocalist of Wish came with a lot of perks and being apart of the biggest girl group in the country opened so many doors for her in more ways than she ever could have imagined. She got plenty of opportunities to get her name and face out there, to build up a brand of her own away from Wish. Almost subconsciously, she found herself going above and beyond to outshine her group members. She firmly believes that as the main vocalist, she’s the best singer in the group and, as she would put it, ‘the voice of Wish’.

The more successful Wish became, the hungrier for fame Eunhee became. She wanted more, and she never hesitated to ask BC for more. That was how she was introduced to what became her second love; acting. She wasn’t trained in acting, but with Wish’s popularity, she received love calls from different production companies. At first, Wish’s management team were hesitant to allow her to go for the role in the drama ‘Evergreen’. It wasn’t uncommon for most idols who tried to cross over into acting to be met with a lot of criticism and wariness. A lot of people assumed that idols only received acting roles because of their popularity, and that them being cast in dramas and films only led to real actors and actress being denied opportunities.

In the beginning, all of those worries fell on deaf ears for Eunhee. She was determined to do it. Just like she did with her idol training, she put as much effort as she could into preparing for the role and her audition. Whenever she wasn’t busy with Wish, she was working with an acting coach. An acting coach that she hired with her own money, of course. Behind the backs of BC’s team, because she didn’t want them involved and she wasn’t sure if they would even allow her to seek someone out on her own accord.

The acting sessions turned out to be helpful. She was by no means a magnificent actress, but she wasn’t terrible either. She was just good enough to land a supporting role in the drama. Of course once it was announced that she would be making her acting debut, she didn’t receive as much support as she would have thought. She assumed that she would at least have Wishing Wells as her support, but as it turned out, many of them were against her pursuing an acting career. They didn’t want her to focus on anything other than Wish, which was upsetting, to say the least. It did throw her off a little, seeing so many people against her solo endeavors. It didn’t help that she was met with quite a bit of covered hostility her first few days on the set. The other actors and crew people weren’t necessarily mean, but she could feel the distance and slight coldness between them, which took some time to blow over.

By the end of filming for ‘Evergreen’, Eunhee discovered that she liked acting. Not just liked, but loved. Being able to step into the shoes of someone else, even if that person is fictional, appealed to her creativity. She could take a character and interpret it in her own way, which was a plus side to acting. Being an idol didn’t allow nearly as much free will. The reactions to her acting debut were rather lukewarm. Some people praised her for being better than they thought she would be, while most said that her talent fell far below the acting abilities of her cast members.

Those were the comments that got to her the most. Eunhee liked to consider herself to be rather confident in her abilities and uncaring of the opinions of others, but she knew deep down that was not the case. She craved acceptance, approval and attention; three things that she never got from her mother and father.

So she kept working on her acting. Trying to improve her skills more and more. When she received the opportunity to audition for another supporting role in another drama in 2019, she jumped at the chance. It was her time to prove herself as an actress. She didn’t want to be seen as one dimensional. She wanted people to see that with her second drama. Even though the second time around wasn’t much better than the first, she did receive a few more praises than the last time she tried acting, which she took as a good sign to keep pushing forward with that career path.

Unfortunately with her being so wrapped up in her schedules for Wish, she can rarely find the time to pursue other avenues. But will that stop her from pushing for her own solo work? Definitely not.

Despite her shortcomings, Eunhee is a VERY good friend. Loyal as all hell. And she loves her members to pieces, even though she tries to upstage them.

Fun Facts!!

Hates the fact that Wish are attacked for lipsyncing when literally every other group in the industry has lipsynced at some point in time and will at some point in time in the future. Because of that, she’s very aggressive when it comes to Wish’s performances. She’ll make the members sing their songs while performing the choreography over and over again so they’ll learn how to pace their breath and build up stamina to sing live. Has definitely gotten into arguments with some Wish members because of this.

She loves to cook and bake!! Let her fatten your muses up

Out of the closet nerd. She loves anime and comics and all that good shit and she’s not afraid to admit it

A huuuuge supporter of the LGBTQA+ (as well as a member of it). Definitely the one who suggests LGBTQA+ literature and movies on vlive.

Can be lowkey crude, although it’s not really like?? outwardly crude. The type to make dirty jokes that people don’t pick up on as being dirty until a few seconds after the fact.

She cried when she had to get her hair cut for her first drama role lol

#fmdintro #[ mun. ]

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zephyrthejester · 5 years

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Three Years Blog Anniversary!

Well, would you look at that. In the blink of an eye, an entire year has gone by! It has now been a grand total of three years since I started up this liveblog, and ever since, it's been a whirlwind of an adventure that has introduced me to amazing shows, amazing games, and above all, amazing people! As has become tradition, it's time for us to gather 'round by the fire, bundle up in blankets, sip some hot cocoa, and reminisce about the shenanigans we got up to in the year 2019.

You know the drill! Click "Keep Reading" to see the rest! Let's go!

January kicked off with the closing episodes to Steven Universe's fifth season, and what a finale it was! In true SU nature, it managed to be wholesome, funny, terrifying, and sad all at once! Not to mention the finale episode specifically, which was rife with both fan service and a breath-taking final confrontation. It even prompted me to type up three whole Addendum posts just so I could get all my thoughts out there. Intermingling with these episodes were some rather poignant and touching episodes of RWBY's 6th Volume, which saw some great plot advancements for some of my favorite characters. And of course, there was one liveblog session early on dedicated to Fate/Stay Night, a series I began back in 2018. And that would end up being the last I'd liveblog about it. Following the technical difficulties of the Visual Novel crashing at an important moment, I lost much of my motivation to keep going at it, putting Fate/Stay Night on the bench... For now. But more on Fate/Stay Night later.

Then came February! Where I proceeded to do absolutely nothing at all. For 42 days, I fell into a pretty bad funk that I called depression, at the time. Well! I must be in a better mental space right now, because until it came time to make this post, I forgot all about it! Moving past the shame I felt for wordlessly abandoning my blog and discord community for over a month, come March I pressed right into a brand new liveblog: Kill la Kill! A frenetic, frantic, freaky series that serves as the spiritual sequel to what was, once upon a time, my favorite anime ever: Gurren Lagann. I was immediately charmed by it's absurdist humor and over-the-top everything. However, it wasn't long before I succumbed to my greatest flaw. I'm exceptionally picky about what I liveblog, and sadly, Kill la Kill didn't tick the boxes that needed to be ticked for me to stick with it. I eventually dropped the series after only three episodes.

Needless to say, I was getting desperate to reinvigorate my lost momentum. It was then and there, at the tail end of March, that I introduced the most significant change to my brand ever: Liveblogging itself was being benched in favor of a fanciful second attempt at running my video game focused Youtube Channel! While I would certainly continue to liveblog new episodes of shows I had previously caught up with, my efforts would be redoubled and focused upon something I hoped would shake things up for me. I put in the effort of buying a new, fancy, high-tech microphone, and set about to new projects!

First up was a tense and troublesome self-imposed-challenge: A playthrough of Resident Evil 2 Remake on its hardest difficulty, with the added stipulation that I can never access the item storage box! My knowledge and skills of that game were put to the test as I skirted by the dangerous zombies and mutants while carrying only the bare essentials on my person. That series lasted 7 videos, plus a Highlight Reel, over about a week. My new microphone really brought out my screams of terror. Yes.

Immediately following the conclusion of the REmake 2 challenge run in early April, a new series debuted: A blind let's play of Subnautica! A simply incredible sci-fi survival game set on a planet that's nearly entirely an ocean... But much to my surprise, it was secretly a horror game all along. Spanning 18 episodes + a highlight reel between April 5th and May 23rd, we descended ever deeper into the abyss, deciphered alien riddles, fled from toothy leviathan-class predators, established a lovely home base, and had a great ol' time overall. A truly remarkable game with a surprisingly good story, for its genre, and it left me eagerly looking forward to making a Let's Play of its sequel: Below Zero.

Simultaneously, beginning on April 10th, I embarked upon yet another adventure that was of such a large scope, I made my channel's primary time slot dedicated to it. The Phoenix Wright Trilogy! A collection of the first three Visual Novels in a wonderful, wonderful series about the titular attorney at law. It wasn't long before I fell in love with this series, big time. It had everything! Immensely satisfying mysteries for me to solve, memorable and lovable characters, great pacing, and it knew how to keep things fresh and interesting. Although I started out the Let's Play by saying I wouldn't read everything aloud, that proved to be a lie. As of now, the series is a whopping 78 videos long (I do expect it to reach 100 before all is said and done), and I have given voice to roughly 50 unique characters so far. The series really helped awaken my Let's Play chops by improving my speech, vocal clarity, and focus. Swapping between my first video ever (for Legend of Grimrock II) and the most recent Phoenix Wright video is a real night-and-day difference! Overall, it's very safe to say that the series has stolen my heart. Unmatched hype, dizzying plot twists, and delightful shenanigans burst from the seams, truly. The Let's Play is currently ongoing, though the end is within sight...

As the Let's Plays of Subnautica and Phoenix Wright Trilogy progressed, so too did the production quality of my videos. I got a better grip on editing, improving the design of my video thumbnails and taking more care to edit out needless and dull moments of gameplay. I even introduced a brief and stylish video intro, which was my avatar appearing over a dark background before it faded off into gameplay. That would be the image up above! However, as we move into 2020, I’ve begun to feel that it could do with a slight improvement... Wink wink!

Following the end of Subnautica came a new Let's Play involving yet another sci-fi horror game: Prey! Spanning 25 videos + a highlight reel between June 3rd and November 19th, it immediately gripped me with its stunning attention to detail, marvelously crafted environments, and boundlessly creative gameplay. It was a pleasure to explore the varied regions of the Talos One space station, blasting aliens, uncovering secrets, untangling the connections between the employees there, and making some seriously difficult moral choices. A truly impressive video game that's just begging for a second playthrough on my own time at some point.

July 20th saw the beginning of new activity on my blog. In a spur-of-the-moment decision that I didn't think out too well, I brazenly announced out of nowhere that I would be doing a re-watch of Steven Universe! I proceeded to liveblog the first 11 episodes of Steven Universe over a week, lovingly looking back at the series' origins, calling out moments of foreshadowing, and analyzing everything with the lens of all my knowledge about the show. And then... Nothing! Just as soon as it began, the project was dropped. I had hoped it would rekindle my interest in Liveblogging (outside of new episodes of SU and RWBY), but I had no such luck. You know I'm burnt out when even Steven Universe, my favorite thing ever, can't help...

By September 3rd, the Steven Universe Movie had finally released! Over a hype-as-hell two days, I liveblogged the entire film. It truly was Steven Universe at its absolute best! Touching, sincere, unexpected, and rife with some stellar songs that are STILL stuck in my head. It proved that the Crewniverse hadn't lost its spark since the conclusion of the original series.

November 5th was my 25th birthday! My family celebrated by all going out for an amazing sushi dinner. Good times! Sometimes, it's really hard for me to grasp that I'm actually 25... I'm a kid at heart, really! Or maybe it's that I'm a social recluse who enjoys watching anime a little too much. Regardless, I feel no shame!

November 10th saw the debut of RWBY Volume 7, and so far it has been an exceptionally strong season. I've long maintained the opinion that the show gets better and better every season, and Volume 7 has given me no reason to doubt that. One episode in particular became my second favorite in the series, right behind a certain one from Volume 6! I'm really enjoying how the characters, new and old, are playing off each other this go around, and the fights and art direction have been no slouch either. This season's a looker! I'm really looking forward to seeing how it ends.

Hot on the heels of the ending Let's Play of Prey, I immediately started up a new series on November 20th... Chrono Trigger! A legendary and widely loved JRPG from the SNES era of gaming that I had somehow gone all my life without playing. Better late than never to fix a mistake like that! I eagerly dived in and nearly immediately understood why it's heralded as an all-time great. The series is currently 13 episodes long, and each one is an endless stream of me being hyped and giddy. I’m already excited to record more!

December 8th saw the debut of Steven Universe Future, a very special epilogue series that's sure to tie a nice bow on the franchise as a whole. As of this post, I have liveblogged the first 8 episodes, and it's fair to say that while it's not holding back in giving the audience exactly what it wants, it's also doing something very unexpected and very, very interesting with Steven himself. Only time will tell how it all ends and whether every remaining mystery will be answered, but so far I have been more than satisfied with it.

And that brings us to the present! Wow, it felt like a lot less happened this year than you would think, huh? No, it's been jam packed with new adventures! I think I am very content with how the year has gone, and I hope you are as well. We'll be striding into the year 2020 with more Steven Universe, more RWBY, more Phoenix Wright, and more Chrono Trigger! Plus, it may very well be that we'll see the return of Made in Abyss and Madoka Magica, both of which (I believe) are getting continuation movies in 2020. I may or may not be entirely wrong about this. Forgive me if I am...

In the near future, the Phoenix Wright Trilogy will be followed up by a Let's Play of Fate/Stay Night! Indeed, the canceled Liveblog will be reborn in youtube video form! And following Chrono Trigger, well... It's mostly up in the air, though I do have a few good ideas. In particular, I recently got a Virtual Reality system set up... Wink wink!

So that's really all there is to it! Cheers, lads! Cheers to a good year, and cheers to the next year being even better! To our good health, our unbreakable friendships, and all the stupid bullshit we’ll get into together! 2020 has arrived!

#Zephyr the Jester #Blog Anniversary

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letterboxd · 4 years

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How I Letterboxd #5: Will Slater.

Talking mullets and other manes with the man behind the internet’s definitive ‘exploding helicopters in movies’ catalog.

“Man cannot live on helicopter explosions alone. Even I need some occasional intellectual nourishment.”

A London-based PR man by day, by night Will Slater has a thing (and a podcast, blog and Twitter account) for movies that feature exploding helicopters. According to his Letterboxd bio, it’s “the world’s only podcast and blog dedicated to celebrating the art of exploding helicopters in films… as well as shaming those directors who dishonor the helicopter explosion genre”. As Will tells Jack Moulton, he also loves film noir, Wakaliwood, masala movies and much more. Just don’t get him started on the one action movie cliché that never fails to disappoint.

Sylvester Stallone takes aim in ‘Rambo III’ (1988).

First things first, have you ever had a ride in a helicopter? Will Slater: What, do you think I’m mad? Of course I’ve never flown in a helicopter! If I’ve learned anything from watching hundreds of films where helicopters spectacularly explode, it’s that they are a singularly dangerous form of transport. You never know when Sylvester Stallone is going to pop up with an explosive-tipped arrow and blow you out of the sky.

I’m going to say the words ‘the definitive action hero/heroine’. Who pops into your head first? No runners-up. Go. Snake Plissken, no question, for a number of good reasons. First, there’s the look: that eye-patch, the beaten-to-hell leather jacket and Kurt Russell’s lustrous mane of hair. Second, there’s the attitude: his contempt for authority, the drawled sarcasm and all-round bad-assery. And I also like that he doesn’t have any special abilities. Action heroes generally tend to be either musclebound slabs of beef—Arnold Schwarzenegger, Stallone—or martial arts specialists—Jean-Claude van Damme, Jackie Chan—Plissken is just a pissed-off, angry dude who’s trying to stay alive. He’s very relatable. Plus, I’d argue he pretty much invented the whole anti-hero formula that rules our screens today.

Kurt Russell as Snake Plissken in John Carpenter’s ‘Escape from New York’ (1981).

When did you start your podcast and which film got you into looking deeper into the topic? It was while watching the cheesily bad Cyborg Cop that I first had an epiphany about the weird and wonderful ways in which helicopters seemed to continually explode in movies. But the film that convinced me to start documenting the phenomenon was Stone Cold. If you’re not familiar with the film, it was an attempt to turn former gridiron star and mullet-king Brian Bosworth into the next big action star. It goes without saying that Stone Cold did not transform ‘The Boz’ into the next Arnold Schwarzenegger, but the film wasn’t a total failure as it features a helicopter explosion that is as brilliant as it is gloriously stupid.

And that was the prompt to start the Exploding Helicopter. I launched the website in 2009, and the podcast followed 2015. Since we started, our aim has been a simple one: to celebrate the strange and inventive ways that helicopters explode in films.

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Motorcycle crashes into helicopter in mid-air, ‘Stone Cold’ (1991).

When did you join Letterboxd? What are your favorite features here? I’ve been around since 2013. As for the features, the stats are very cool. When you dig into your viewing history, you can learn some very revealing things about yourself. For example, I generally like to think I have a commendably broad taste in film, and watch only the most important and influential works from every decade, genre and country. But then you look at the data and find you’ve watched Thunderball nine times in the last five years, so maybe you’re not as cool as you thought.

We noticed that your profile faves are low-key and explosion-free, given your theme of choice. Why these four and not Die Hard four times? Man cannot live on helicopter explosions alone. Even I need some occasional intellectual nourishment, between watching whirlybird conflagrations. There’s a little bit of nostalgia tied up in The Ipcress File. I first saw it as a kid, and it made a big impression on me. It’s very stylishly directed, has a great John Barry score and a star-making turn from Michael Caine. I’m a big film noir fan and Sweet Smell Of Success is a beautifully sour tale of cynicism and manipulation. To borrow the words of Burt Lancaster in the film, it’s a “cookie full of arsenic”.

Jean-Pierre Melville is my favorite director and Le Samouraï was the first of his films that I saw. What Melville does so masterfully in this, and his other crime films, is distil the elements of film noir. Basically, he takes the genre’s iconography—the gun, the trenchcoat, the fedora—and familiar plot tropes—the betrayed assassin, the heist gone wrong, the criminal doing one last job—then elevates them above cliché into something almost mythic. And what do I really need to say about Taxi Driver, other than it’s a masterpiece?

Now you say you shame directors who dishonor the art of helicopter explosions? Which directors did you dirty? Well, one of the biggest names in our hall of shame is Tony Scott. For a man who specialized in hyper-stylized, pyrotechnic-filled action movies, he flunked every helicopter explosion he filmed. In our eyes, one of the most egregious offences you can commit is failing to show the helicopter explosion. And in both Spy Game and Domino, old Tony cheats the viewer by having the chopper fly out of sight before it explodes. Now, I can accept such visual chicanery in a low-budget film, where they presumably don’t have the money to stage the scene, but what’s Tony’s excuse? If you look at his filmography, at one time or another he’s wrecked trains, planes and automobiles in spectacular fashion. But for some reason, he repeatedly couldn’t be bothered to give us a satisfying chopper conflagration. At a certain point, it starts to feel like a personal slight. Tony, what did I ever do to you?

In your immortal words, “a film is always improved by a helicopter explosion.” When has this been especially true? When you see lists of worst-ever directors, Uwe Boll is a name that always seems to turn up. And, according to the internet, one of his worst-ever films is the video game adaptation, Far Cry. Now, I’m not going to try [to] convince you that the film is a neglected classic, but it does have a very imaginatively staged exploding helicopter scene. It’s too convoluted to explain here, but take my word that it wouldn’t be out of place in a Fast and Furious movie.

What about the unsung heroes; the stunt artists, the pilots, the pyrotechnicians, the VFX wizards who have worked on numerous iconic action moments, all of whom deserve a shoutout? Personally, I don’t understand why the Academy doesn’t have a stunts category. But if they did, I’d be lobbying hard for Spiro Razatos to get the first award. These days, he works as a stunt coordinator on the Fast and Furious and Marvel films, but I’d like to draw people’s attention to some of his early work. Back in the nineties, he did a lot of work with PM Entertainment films, an independent company that made low-budget action films for the home video market.

They might not have had much money, but they put every cent on the screen with glorious, raucously inventive set pieces that were often more spectacular than big-budget Hollywood offerings. And remember: this was in pre-CGI times, so every death-defying detail was absolutely ‘real’. Go back and watch films like The Sweeper or Rage, and you’ll can see why Super Spiro has now graduated to these more prestigious gigs.

Narrow this list down for us: which is the ultimate most spine-tingly epic “we got company” movie moment? As you may have gathered, I do like an action movie cliché. When you encounter one in a film, it’s like meeting an old friend. And one of my favorites is when someone uses this classic line of dialog to signal that a car chase or a gun battle is about to start. I’ve heard people deliver the line in all sorts of ways–funny, scared, angrily and often just badly. But if you want spine-tingly, then you can’t beat Harrison Ford in Star Wars. He drops the line during the detention-block scene after failing to bluff an imperial officer. As soon as he says it, John Williams’ iconic score kicks in. It gives you the ‘feels’ every time.

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“Boring conversation anyway.” Han Solo and Chewbacca in ‘Star Wars’ (1977).

And which action movie cliché can you simply not stand? Stop it: my hackles are raising just thinking about it. For me, the trope that never fails to disappoint is the ‘reluctant’ hero being convinced to take up arms and join the fight. You know the scene. Invariably, the hero has hung up their spurs and is living a bucolic existence ‘off the grid’, when a gruff buddy shows up asking them to risk almost certain death by taking on ‘one last job’. Now, dialog is rarely an action film’s greatest strength, and these beefcake actors generally are not cast for their dramatic chops. Which means we get subjected to the same perfunctory and uninteresting scene over and over again: “I told you, I’m out the game”, “Goddamnit, we need you”, “OK, I’ll do it”. These scenes just never work and are never less than painful to watch.

Which up-and-coming action director are you most excited about? In terms of up-and-coming action talent, I’d pick the director Stefano Sollima. I first noticed his work on a couple of TV series: the fantastic Italian crime dramas, Romanzo Criminale and Gomorrah. The way he composed shots really stood out, and it was clear he had a very cinematic eye. He rather reminds me of Michael Mann. He’s now on Hollywood’s radar and got to direct Sicario: Day of the Soldado the other year. And he’s lined up to make a Tom Clancy adaptation with Michael B. Jordan. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with.

Have you witnessed the glory that is Wakaliwood—Ugandan DIY action filmmaking—three of which make Letterboxd’s official top ten films by black directors? Which international films do you feel out-match Hollywood? I love the Wakaliwood films I’ve seen. It’s fascinating to watch action films from around the world and see their different styles and flavors. Recently, I’ve been trying to investigate Indian cinema and, in particular, what are known as ‘masala movies’. These mix action, comedy, drama, romance and dance numbers into one big, crazy, entertaining mess. They’re a unique experience. If you want to check one out, I’d suggest Dhoom 2. It’s bananas.

Can you believe there are only two female directors represented in your exploding helicopter list? Do you believe that’s due to systemic or thematic reasons? You have to say it’s systemic. Men have dominated filmmaking for more than a century. Until women have the same opportunities to direct and make films as men, it’s impossible to know what their interest may or may not be in blowing up helicopters. [Will has previously written about the search for “true gender equality in the world of exploding helicopters”.]

To address the elephant in the room, how has Kobe Bryant’s unfortunate death earlier this year changed the way you look at these scenes? Obviously, I appreciate that Kobe Bryant’s death was very shocking and a tragedy for his family and fans. But basketball really is not a thing on these grim shores, so it didn’t register with us unenlightened Brits other than [as] a sad headline about a US sports star.

What was your most anticipated movie event of 2020 before Covid-19 pushed every tentpole back? That’s easy: No Time To Die. I’m a huge Bond fan and as soon as tickets were available, I booked myself in to see it on opening day at an IMAX. But if the Daniel Craig era is synonymous with anything, it’s lengthy delays between films.

Freerunner Sébastien Foucan in the opening scene from ‘Casino Royale’ (2006).

What’s a fond memory you have in theaters related to the Bond franchise? I remember going to see Casino Royale. I was excited, but also nervous to see it. The Brosnan era had ended with the risible Die Another Day: invisible cars, kitesurfing and, worst of all, John Cleese’s awful Q. Since that had come out, we’d had Mission: Impossible, Bourne and the Triple X films, so it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Bond might be finished. Then the first ten minutes of Casino Royale happened. And while that outstanding parkour-inspired chase was terrifically exciting, it also hit me like cinematic Valium. I suddenly realised I could sit back and relax, safe in the knowledge that 007 was going to be just fine.

Are you planning on returning to theaters as soon as you can? When would you feel comfortable? I’m taking a wait-and-see approach. I’d love to see films back on the big screen again, but I want to know more about how cinemas are going to maintain social distancing inside.

Finally, what three Letterboxd accounts should we all be following? Why not give Todd Gaines, Jayson Kennedy or Fred Andersson a follow? If you’re interested in genre films that are a little off the beaten trail, they’ll likely all steer you towards some hidden gems.

#letterboxd #how i letterboxd #letterboxd member #letterboxd community #cine #film lover #exploding helicopter #chopper fireball #action films

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