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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years ago

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Vampr Erik Origin

Okay so let me make a disclaimer:

I had to do a lot of research to try and create his back story in summary form. I basically learned a lot of shit that I didn’t know so with that being said, you guys can feel free to fact check me because I feel like this needs to be factual as far as the history of it goes. Also, Erik was born/reborn in an era that is very touchy. I mean, we go through crap as black people everyday but I used some very degrading words to represent how it was back in this time. If this is offensive, please feel free to let me know I will change it. I don’t want to offend or make anyone feel bad. So, here it is! This is the origin I came up with.

Erik Stevens is his alias but he was born Ricardo Dupoux. Erik was born in 1856 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Just 29 years before he became a vampire.

Erik’s mother was born in 1836. Her name was Fabiola Adonis and she is from Louisiana but her parents and family (Erik’s grandparents) are from Sainte-Dominigue which is now known as Haiti.

Erik’s father was named Jacques Dupoux. He was born in 1827 in Cuba and he migrated to Louisiana with his family when he was just four years old.

Both sides of Erik’s family originated in Sainte-Dominigue and began to migrate out during the black Haitian Revolution as free people of color. The Haitian Revolution was a successful insurrection by self-liberated slaves against French colonial rule in Saint-Domingue, now the sovereign state of Haiti. The revolt began on 22 August 1791, and ended in 1804 with the former colony's independence. It involved blacks, mulattoes, French, Spanish, and British participants—with the ex-slave Toussaint Louverture emerging as Haiti's most charismatic hero. The revolution was the only slave uprising that led to the founding of a state which was both free from slavery, and ruled by non-whites and former captives. It is now widely seen as a defining moment in the history of the Atlantic World.

Haitian Vodou, is an Afro-American religion that developed in Afro-Haitian communities amid the Atlantic slave trade between the 16th and 19th centuries. It arose through a process of syncretism between the traditional religions of West Africa and the Roman Catholic form of Christianity. Vodou is an oral tradition practiced by extended families that inherit familial spirits, along with the necessary devotional practices, from their elders. In the cities, local hierarchies of priestesses or priests (manbo and oungan), “children of the spirits” (ounsi), and ritual drummers (ountògi) comprise more formal “societies” or “congregations” (sosyete). In these congregations, knowledge is passed on through a ritual of initiation (kanzo) in which the body becomes the site of spiritual transformation. Many Vodou practitioners were involved in the Haitian Revolution which overthrew the French colonial government, abolished slavery, and formed modern Haiti. The Roman Catholic Church left for several decades following the Revolution, allowing Vodou to become Haiti's dominant religion. They referred to themselves as “serving the spirits” more so than using Voudou to refer to Haitian religion.

Jacques Doupoux and Fabiola Adonis were well respected within the Vodou community. Erik’s father was a hounsi bosale and Artisan. Hounsi is essentially a dedicated member of Vodou, an apprentice of priests. His mother, Fabiola, an Ounsi, oversaw the liturgical singing and shaking the chacha rattle which is used to control the rhythm during ceremonies. She had a voice that used to lull Erik to sleep. Jacques wanted Erik to follow in his footsteps and later become an oungan; a Vodou priest. He was born as a “child of the house” or a pititt-caye. Being an oungan provides an individual with both social status and material profit. Erik was present for his father's initiation when he was just a baby with his mother in a shared Ounfò; Vodou temple. There were four levels of initiation that Jacques Doupoux went through. That sealed Erik’s future.

The Ounfò was a basic shack in Bayou St. John. The main ceremonial space within the Ounfò is known as the peristil. brightly painted posts hold up the roof, which is often made of corrugated iron but sometimes thatched. The central one of these posts is the poto mitan or poteau mitan, which is used as a pivot during ritual dances and serves as the "passage of the spirits" by which the Loa; the spirits, enter the room during ceremonies. It is around this central post that offerings, including both vèvè and animal sacrifices, are made.

Free people of color owned the most property in Louisiana but of course, that didn’t go down in history because the whites didn’t like it. As for Erik’s family, his mother and father were free people of color that became sugar planters, for slave owners, and they also shared Haitian refining techniques to successfully granulate sugar. Erik favors his father more so than his mother, sometimes confused as his father’s younger brother.

The Colfax massacre and the Coushatta massacre happened in 1873. This sparked fear for Erik’s family and they held a certain Fete for Lwa which is a public ceremony. The drums beat, the congregation started to sing and dance for the Lwa. The Lwa came to the ceremony via possession. The Lwa prophesied, healed people, cleansed people, and blessed them and assisted them in resolving issues. Erik was 17 years old and he didn’t share this with his parents but he was running for his life from a group of white Southerners one day when he was walking the bayou of New Orleans. Erik ended up sleeping in Baton Rouge until the morning.

Erik often stays within the Ounfò, well into adult age. He became a hounsi bosale like his father, often participating as a ritual drummer or an ountògi. He would sing specific songs in Haitian Creole with some words of African languages incorporated in it. He was a Food Artisan like his mother. He admired her craftsmanship in the kitchen. Cheeses, breads, fruit preserves, cured meats, beverages, oils, and vinegars were some of her handmade specialties. This is one thing that attracted women to Erik besides his handsome features. He was Strong, tall, studly, rough around the edges and not afraid to challenge someone to a fight or a gun battle. Erik was charming, protective, heroic, funny, cocky which earned him the nickname “Big Ego Ricardo”. Erik was hard-working, religious, smart, sculpted, dependable, and an amazing lover in bed.

Long dreadlocks, whiskey-colored eyes, full, soft lips, and a smile with dimples so deep it charmed anyone. He wore fundamental ivory cotton band collar work shirts unbuttoned to show off his defined pectorals because he was proud of his body, sometimes paired the shirts with a vest, cotton brown or black knickers, riding boots, and a series of Vodou jewelry around his neck and on his fingers, some with symbols representing Papa Legba, La Sirene, Ogoun King, and Baron Samedi. During Vodou rituals, Erik would wear a cotton cloth around his head like a bandana, bare torso because of the amount of sweating he does during drumming to keep up with the dancers, Vodou symbols painted on his face to represent whichever Loa they were serving, white linen pants and bare feet.

He was obsessed with guns. He would often go down to the bayou to practice with stolen pocket pistols, shooting empty glass bottles and bean cans. He’s a protector, he did this just in case his family were in danger. The symbol of Vodou love on one of his ring fingers is what attracted his late wife, Justine LeBlanc to him when he was 27 years old. He was selling artisan bread one afternoon from an open shop window on Bourbon Street. Justine was six years younger than Erik. She was a Creole of color from Louisiana, like Erik, except her family were sent to Louisiana on slave ships from sub-Saharan Africa instead of Haiti like Erik’s family. She spoke a bit of English, and French with words from African languages. Erik spoke English and Haitian Creole with a little bit of Portuguese and Spanish.

Justine LeBlanc worked closely with Marie Laveau, who was rumored to be the granddaughter of a powerful priestess in Sainte-Dominigue, who began to dominate New Orleans Vodou that later became Louisiana Voodoo. These spiritual leaders served a racially diverse, mostly female, congregation. Weekly worship services took place in the homes of Voodoo leaders. Their sanctuaries were characterized by spectacular altars, laden with statues and pictures of the saints, candles, flowers, fruit, and other offerings. Voodoo ceremonies consisted of Roman Catholic prayers, chanting, drumming, and dancing. Vodou was brought of Haitian origin, however, the type practiced in Louisiana later in years is almost always known as Voodoo.

Erik was known to be a ladies man. He spent time flirting and fucking woman within his community. Pussy was practically thrown at him. Justine, however, changed all of that. They spent so much time together within one summer that Erik decided that he wanted to jump the broom with her which was symbolic of sweeping out of the old and sweeping in to the new to welcome a new household to the community. Justine lost her virginity to him the evening after their marriage and that’s when they started having children. Erik has two young twin girls; Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. After that, Justine couldn’t conceive anymore which she was often depressed about. Erik wanted to be fruitful because his mother came down very ill when he was five and she couldn’t conceive either. It was either her life or her ovaries so she had them removed.

Despite everything going on in America with slavery and racism, Erik; Ricardo, lived a happy life. He was feared and respected, a following of close male friends were like his comrades. They had his back, Erik had theirs. That all didn’t last very long. In June of 1884, when Erik was just 28 years old, things began to make a turn for the worst. Erik’s father, Jacques Dupoux, was lynched. With the 1880s dawning, a new era of violence ensued. White supremacy represented a central tenant of their platform and led to even greater levels of violence as they tried to reverse the advances made for African Americans during Reconstruction. They capitalized on rumors that black crime had expanded after the abolition of slavery. As a result, the number of lynchings soared across the South and hundreds of lives were being taken. Lynch mobs often justified their actions as attempts to defend white Southern womanhood from “libidinous” black males.

This angered Erik, causing him to gather a following of men who also lost family. Erik led the revolt to fight back white supremacy. They attached about 15 homes and killed between 55 to 60 whites throughout Louisiana. They also arrived on a local sugar and cotton plantation that often sought help from Erik’s own family for harvesting sugar cane. The revolt and about 20 slaves burned the plantation to the ground but that wasn’t before they hacked the entire family to death. Erik was made public enemy number one. His face was on wanted posters throughout the South but he was depicted wearing a scarf around his mouth and nose. Of course with Erik’s actions, some of his family and friends suffered. Vodou rituals were invaded and the members slaughtered. Marie Leveau and her following were protected but not Erik’s lineage.

Ricardo Dupoux AKA Erik Stevens returned home after successfully burning down another plantation and killing the entire family, including the children, execution style in 1886. Marie Laveau warned Justine that Erik was dangerous and he would endanger her and the children if she stayed with them. Marie instructed Justine to bring her something that belonged to Erik, something sentimental. Justine brought her Erik’s father’s ring that he wore around his neck. Marie performed a ritual that later informed Justine that Erik was in grave danger and this life as Ricardo Dupoux would soon come to a bloody, gory, gruesome ending. Marie told Justine that she couldn’t interfere because that could possibly go badly. Justine had to keep that big secret to herself to protect her children no matter how much she loved and adored Erik.

Erik wasn’t himself anymore. He became this angry, rude, vengeful man that killed without a backwards glance. He also turned to what is said to be evil magic in Vodou. Instead of becoming an Oungan, Erik became a Bokor and an occultist. A Bokor is a Vodou witch for hire who is said to serve the loa “with both hands”, practicing for both good and evil. Their black magic includes the creation of zombies and the creation of ‘ouangas’ talismans that house spirits. Bloods are usually chosen from birth but Erik was instead initiated in. He found the spirits, the orisha’s the Eruziles, not a priest in the flesh. The whites kept crossing the line in a spiritual and physical sense, it became Erik’s right to protect himself and his family with curses and hexes.

Erik caused moderate to severe suffering to those he seeked revenge on by hexing them and also using dark charms such as curses, the most heinous act on an individual; the worst kind of dark magic. He performed blood maledictions, a specific type of curse that may not kill the target but can remain within the victim's body, and be passed down as a genetic defect that can resurface generations later. Erik would inflict intense, excruciating pain on his victims, poison them, and cause flames called Move Dife which means “bad fire”, an enormous flame infused with dark magic to seek out living targets. Fabiola and Justine were afraid and they didn’t support Erik’s new choices. The light she saw in her son was indeed gone. He was of greatest fear within his community and within the Southern white community.

How did Erik meet his demise?

It happened in June of 1888, five months before Erik’s 33rd birthday. The White league and the Ku Klux Klan had been deactivated since the 1870s but some members worked closely together to hunt down and kill Ricardo Dupoux, soon to be known as Erik Stevens. He decided to use Erik Stevens as an alias since his name was so well known in Louisiana where he lived. No one besides the people close to him knew how his face looked since he wore it covered but his name however was remembered. If things didn’t go as planned for him and he needed to flee with his Mother, Wife, and children, he could have his name changed to Erik Stevens. A trusted friend named Augusto Richard’s wife named Beatrice Richard and her five children were held at gunpoint in their home. They found out where Augusto lives and used that as they way of finding Ricardo.

From what they tell him, Augusto’s family will be freed if he agrees to help the Southern white men capture and kill Ricardo Dupoux. At first, Augusto declined and said that Ricardo is a trusted friend of his. They punished him by beating his wife and threatened to hang her from a structure similar to a gallow. Augusto finally gives in, joining forces with the evil white men in exchange for his family's protection. Ricardo and Augusto have been friends since they were children. Augusto was sort of a co-planner with Ricardo to attack white supremacy and racists homes along with plantations. Augusto fabricated a new place to attack, suggesting that him and Ricardo go alone this time. Ricardo agreed without hesitation because he trusted Augusto. They arrived by horse outside of New Orleans near Maurepas Swamp……..

_______________

“Augusto...poukisa nou is it la?” Ricardo asked Augusto in Haitian Creole why they were there. He didn’t like speaking English just in case he was overheard. Ricardo’s eyes squinted suspiciously around him before he cut his eyes that looked black in the dark at Augusto.

“Mwen regrèt, frè,” Augusto spoke with a shaky voice, tears flooding his eyes. He told Ricardo that he was sorry.

Ricardo pulls out his pistol, aiming it at the shadows of the trees. He couldn’t believe he was being set up by someone that is supposed to be his friend. Ricardo told his wife and mother that he would be home safely and for them not to worry. He couldn’t trust anyone now. If he got out of this alive, he was going to cut ties with his followers.

“Well, well, well...look what we got here, a nigger with a gun!!”

Ricardo follows the source of that thick southern accent echoing in the night and finds a white man standing behind him with a gun pointed at his temple.

“Drop it, boy, or I will splatter this here swamp with ya monkey brains,” He threatened while making his gun click. Ricardo could see out of his peripheral more white men stepping out of the shadows. The moon light made the weapons in their hands shine.

“Listen to him nigger!!!” One yelled.

“AIN'T SO TOUGH NOW!!!” Another yelled while a series of laughter came soon after.

“Listen, I know ya can speak English, boy. Ya friend here told us everything. How ya niggers get a hold of books I wouldn’t understand,” He laughs before spitting in his face, “I’m gonna enjoy killing ya, just like ya enjoyed killing my friends ya fucking animal. This is how we’re gonna celebrate the ending of slavery...we’re gonna gut ya, and then we’re gonna throw ya filthy dead fucking body in the swamp so the gators can finish ya.”

The foul breath of this white man would have made Ricardo puke if it wasn’t for the gun pointed at him.

“Hey, Jenson, pass me my knife!” He yells, “I wanna Kill this one slowly.”

Like a swarm of stinky flies, the white men crowded Ricardo, some kicking him in his ribs, others in his face, bloodying him up. Ricardo didn’t drop to his knees willingly, he took each and every blow like a champion, even when his vision blurred from the blood trickling from a gash in his head from being pistol whipped. Augusto stood watching the entire thing. He was Disgusted with himself for allowing it to happen.

“Should we kill his wife? His mama? His little girls?!!!!” One of them punched him in the face while two men on each side kept him still since he’s so damn strong. It was almost inhumanly strong.

“AUGUSTO OU FUKIN TRÈT!!!” Ricardo yelled, before spitting out blood on the dirt covered ground. He called Augusto a fucking traitor, “Mwen gen yon fanmi! ti bebe mwen yo! ti bebe mwen yo! ou trèt!” Ricardo growled angrily with his deep fearful voice. He could only think about his family right now. What if some of these men were watching his house right now? They definitely were plotting something besides beating the living shit out of him in the swap.

“Kick this nigger down!!! It’s six of you and one of him!!!!”

A blow struck Ricardo’s spine so hard he felt it snap. He was on his stomach, his cheek hitting the dirt painfully. One foot was placed to the back of his head while angry tears fell from his eyes.

“Any last words? And say it in English before I slice your goddamn tongue off,” The man with the boot to his head spoke harshly.

Ricardo clenched his jaw while breathing in the dirt. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, however, the asshole in him wanted to toy with them.

“...Which one of ya is da father of Helen Landry?” He asks.

It was silent for a second until the boot on the back of his head was gone, being replaced with a hand yanking him by his dreads, lifting his head from the ground. Ricardo smiles smugly, his bloody smile almost as sinister as the blood from the gash in his head flooding his eyes.

“Let me ax ya something...are ya the reason my little Helen is dying? Doctor says she only has three days left...ya poison my little girl with ya voodoo magic?”

“I CURSED ya little girl with my Vodou magic…” Ricardo spits his blood in his face, “And if I were ya, I would go check on her, Doctors don’t always tell da truth.”

Augusto flinched when he witnessed Ricardo being kicked in the face. His jaw had to be broken now. He was being lifted off of the ground again, a sharp whimper of pain escaping his mouth. His feet gave out beneath him and now he was being dragged. His chest and abs were covered in dirt just like his handsome, swollen, and bloody face. His busted lip drooped and leaked blood while his groggy voice tried to form sentences. The men laughed at him but all Ricardo did was look at Augusto with unblinking eyes, one of which displayed broken vessels.

“Anything else ya got to say, nigger?”

The source of the voice didn’t matter to Ricardo. All he kept thinking about was his family and how he failed them. His father was probably ashamed. Ricardo looked towards the sky. If only he could call on Baron Samedi or Maman Brigette. He wasn’t in the safety of his Ounfò either. He could only hope that at this moment his mother, Fabiola, was summoning the spirits.

“Guess not, hold him down.”

With a dull, jagged knife, Ricardo was stabbed in his stomach. He felt like he was punched. The impact pushed him back a little and he wheezed. A tearing sensation and a noise followed. The pain took a while to kick but he could feel the blood trickling. When it was finally withdrawn, he felt something hot and cold at the same time, pulling the skin with it as it's removed. Ricardo’s cry was a brilliant sound to them, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. His fists clenched and shook each time his skin was being torn to shreds. The knife rotated and the sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, the white man jerked it all the way into his stomach, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside him and the black handle was pushing against his broken skin.

“Die Coon!!!” They yelled in unison before celebrating with loud hoots.

“Look at him choking! This ugly motherfucker is bleeding out! Let’s take him to the water!”

Ricardo could feel his body falling to the ground. His hand clutched his wound but blood seeped between his fingers. He felt weak, his eyes opening and closing. Augusto stood there spewing apology after apology while crying hysterically.

“As for ya,” the white man that stabbed Ricardo multiple times drops his knife in the dirt, reaches in his back pocket with his bloody, cut up hand and pulled out a gun, “what? Did ya really think we were gonna let ya go free? Ya just another disgusting nigger too, and ya nigger bitch, ya nigger kids? Dem dead too.”

Ricardo watched with low eyes while Augusto took his last breath before being shot in the head, point blank range.

“Wastin’ all dese good bullets,” the white man pocketed his gun again, “Hall em’ up! Let’s take em’ swimming!”

_____________

Crowded tabletops with tiny flickering lamps; stones sitting in oil baths; a crucifix; murky bottles of roots and herbs steeped in alcohol; shiny new bottles of rum, scotch, gin, perfume, and almond-sugar syrup. On one side was an altar arranged in three steps and covered in gold and black contact paper. On the top step an open pack of filterless Pall Malls lay next to a cracked and dusty candle in the shape of a skull. A walking stick with its head carved to depict a huge erect penis leaned against the wall beside it. On the opposite side of the room was a small cabinet, its top littered with vials of powders and herbs. On the ceiling and walls of the room were baskets, bunches of leaves hung to dry, and smoke-darkened lithographs.

This is where Ricardo Dupoux rested upon a makeshift bed surrounded by oil burning candles. A sulfurous rotten-egg smell that is often associated with marshes and mudflats occupies the room. His entire body ached and the sharp pain prickled his scalp. Licking his dry lips with his equally dry tongue, Ricardo tried looking around with his sore eyes but the discomfort caused him to close them. It felt damp and gloomy around him, clearly nothing is quite what it seems to be. Ricardo could feel a powerful energy surrounding him, if only he could move his body. A few rickety floorboards creaked like someone was sneaking up on him and it made Ricardo jumpy. He wasn’t physically able to help himself.

“Ricardo Dupoux, ki sa yon sipriz bèl eh?”

A seductive voice of a woman spoke to him in Haitian Creole. This wasn’t a pleasant surprise exactly.

“Kiyes ou ye?” His voice was so hoarse and his throat felt raw.

“Who muh? Well...I’m yuh rescuer of course, handsome.”

“Kisa...ki kote sa a?” Ricardo coughs painfully. He could taste blood in the back of his throat.

“Well, don’t Yuh sound sexy speaking deh Creole to Mama Dalma. Yuh in muh shack, Ricardo.”

“Mama Dalma? Prètès Vodou a?” He spoke with astonishment.

“So, muh assumin’ yuh heard stories about muh from way back when...what else do yuh know bout’ me?”

“...Nothing.” He finally speaks English.

“Yuh know so much about muh voodoo mystic powers in the Caribbean 175 years ago…I’m honored.”

Finally, standing above his shell of a body was Tia Dalma herself. Tia Dalma was a practitioner of voodoo, a hoodoo priestess with fathomless powers that was perceived as a legend. Supposedly, she has uncanny powers to foretell the future, to summon up demons, and to look deep into men’s souls. She’s mysterious and beautiful with delicate patterns accentuating her hypnotic eyes, long but slender dreadlocks like him, deep melanin skin so smooth and unblemished, and lips painted black. She wore a sheer black dress that showed off her nudity beneath it, so many curves that looked delicious, and a mystical necklace dangling between her small breasts. Ricardo could feel her seductive energy enticing him into a tangled net. She playfully giggles while stroking Ricardo’s bare, sweaty chest with her long black nail flirtatiously.

“Poor baby, him carve yuh up?” She spoke with her Jamaican Patois. Mama Dalma looks Ricardo up and down like she wanted to mount him. She was so happy she couldn’t hide her beautiful smile.

“Did ya heal me, Mama Dalma? I thought I was gon’ die by a white man’s hand.”

“I’ve seen yuh fight big brawla, I’ve seen yuh cap a shot, I’m impressed wit’ yuh...haven’t seen a man deh brave in a while...queng dem white boys.”

“...ya been watching me?” He squints his whiskey colored eyes,“who ya for ya to be watching me?”

“Mhm, I been watching yuh, handsome...It’s because I want to save yuh...give yuh a better life than this.”

Ricardo was shivering, his skin pale and cool, difficulty breathing, mentally confused, and his blood pressure kept dropping. His chest was rapidly moving from breathing too fast, heart rate beating so fast it was almost painful, and he felt like he was running a fever.

“Easy nuh, yuh going into septic shock.” She takes her hand to pet his dreaded hair like a baby with the back of her hand.

“W-what?” His lips trembled. He was numb.

“Awoah. Muh herbes are keeping yuh stable but if I take deh herbes away...yuh die.”

Ricardo closes his eyes.

“Unless...yuh have two options, handsome.”

“One’s that I should trust? How do I know ya not poisoning me? Hm?”

“I’m gonna ignore deh...here are yuh options. Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality.”

“Imòtalite? Baron Samedi?” He almost choked on his own spit from trying to speak.

“Better than the power of a Loa...yuh be immortal until meeting deh true death. Yuh have superhuman physical abilities, senses, flight, and healing.”

“What power is dat?” Ricardo’s eyes are glossy. He didn’t have much time. Mama Dalma was cunning, she could have healed him with her voodoo but what’s better? Healing him with the possibility of him dying again or turning him into what she became 175 years ago back in her little shack in a tree in Cuba, hanging onto her last breath. Ricardo was perfect in every way and she wanted to walk the earth with someone close to her...someone attractive and strong.

“Yuh ain’t got much time...make a decision, Ricardo Dupoux,” Tia strokes his face, “It could all be yours…”

Ricardo’s eyelids fluttered before he nodded his head. Anything to stay alive. Anything to get revenge. If he was going to come back stronger and immortal, he could wipe out every single one of them. He needed to get off of that table. Mama Dalma was convincing. Maybe it was her magic that persuaded him but none of that mattered.

“I’m glad Yuh agreed.”

Sharp, fangs extended from her teeth while she looked at him excitedly with hungry eyes. She came down on Ricardo with superhuman speed like a blur, causing his eyes to grow wide with surprise. It was almost painless, more like a pinprick considering how his body felt at the moment. The sharp points sank into his flesh like a knife to soft butter. His body twitched as his blood pooled around the back of his head, dripping to the floor of the shack and seeping between the wood. He started feeling even more woozy and lightheaded. She was really applying pressure with her fangs. He could feel his body going cold and then it felt as if his soul had left his body. Ricardo didn’t know how long this went on but it felt like forever.

Mama Dalma retracts her fangs, lifting her face from the crook of his neck slowly before staring down at Ricardo with her enchanting eyes. Her fangs pop out again and now she bites her own wrist before placing it over Ricardo’s mouth. He hesitated at first but Mama Dalma opened his mouth for him. Ricardo tasted his own blood before from his busted lip or if his gums were bleeding. He even tasted blood during a sacrifice at a Vodou ritual. It was vile with a salty metallic taste. However, Mama Dalma’s blood was surprisingly sweet, and scrumptious. Just that small amount dripping on his tongue gave him the effects of alcohol consumption.

“Deh is enough, Ricardo,” She tells him, “Ricardo...deh is enough.” She says with a more stern voice.

Ricardo wraps his hand around her wrist, applying pressure to keep it there. He could feel his body changing for the better already. Her blood...he couldn’t stop. He grunted, growled, and moaned from the taste. His tongue swiped her wrist and his own teeth tried to bite her for more but he was still so weak.

“Ricardo, deh is ENOUGH, no more!!!!!”

Mama Dalma yanked her wrist away speedily, her eyes staring down at her wound healing before her. She gave Ricardo a cold look, one that has him wishing he would have listened.

“When I tell yuh to stop, yuh listen,” She spoke with a spiteful tongue.

“It was so good,” Ricardo spoke with a weakened voice, “I want m-more.”

“Soon, muh child…” Mama Dalma kisses his lips, “Now we go to rest,” Mama Dalma wraps her arms around Ricardo and then with her superhuman speed they were out of her shack and laying in a dug up ditch. The soil was cold against Ricardo’s back. Mama Dalma places him in a wooden coffin, the moonlight creating a halo around her. His eyes drooped shut and he could feel his body shutting down like his organs were no longer working. Mama Dalma crawled into the coffin with him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping a single leg around his waist.

“When yuh wake, muh child, yuh will be Erik Stevens now...Ricardo Douboux died tonight.”

Mama Dalma kissed his cold cheek before she shut the coffin so they could finally rest until tomorrow night when Erik Stevens will finally be immortal.

#killmonger #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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severalspoons · 4 years ago

Text

“Wolfwood Mood” quotes

To be updated as I find more.

God may judge you, but His sins outnumber your own. -- @afabbaeddel

“Cynic, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

“That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse.” ― Bill Watterson

“An encouraged person will eventually get his drive from encouragement; he becomes more dependent. A person that never really receives encouragement learns to move out of spite; he becomes more independent.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

They're going to have to glue you back together, IN HELL! -- Demoman in Team Fortress 2

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” ― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. --Fallout New Vegas NPC

“We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.” ― Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Man can get used to anything, the scoundrel. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“The soul is healed by being with children.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man

“Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano key.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

“One man doesn't believe in god at all, while the other believes in him so thoroughly that he prays as he murders men!” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” ― George Carlin

“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“You only live twice: Once when you are born And once when you look death in the face” ― Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice

“There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees.” ― Jean Paul Sartre

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“There is no reality except in action.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.” ― Joseph Brodsky

“mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow.” ― Joseph Heller

“Do you know what it means to be a survivor? It means that not only do you have to live through things, you have to live with them as well. The second part is much harder and sometimes it takes the rest of your life to learn how to do it. But at least you have the rest of your life…” ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

“Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.” ― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

“Loving someone always requires you to not love others.” ― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it.” ― Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.” ― Laura Sebastian, Ash Princess

“People are petty, spiteful creatures. What they can't use, hurt, steal, or control, they'll usually destroy.” ― Lorna Reid, Darkwalkers

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“If someone puts their hands on you make sure they never put their hands on anybody else again.” ― Malcom X

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.” ― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival.” ― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

--Maya Angelou

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

--Maya Angelou

“Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.” ― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock

“Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on.” ― Mike Royko

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

“Survival," I said softly. "It's selfish, and it's dark, and we've always been a species willing to do anything to satisfy our needs. ― Rachel Caine, Total Eclipse

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To have endured horrors, to have seen the worst of humanity and have your life made unrecognizable by it, to come out of all that honorable and brave— that was magical.” ― Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

“We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.” ― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

I will fight you in Hell upon a mound of bones. -- @shitmygaywifesays

“As long as there’s two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead.” -- Sniper, Team Fortress 2

"If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created me!” -- Soldier, Team Fortress 2

babies cry because they are alive and that is the saddest thing to be. — spencer madsen (@spencermadsen) December 15, 2011

Do you think God stays in heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He’s created? --Spykids 2nd movie

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” -- Stephen King, The Stand

“The only thing that matters in the end is your own survival. It's what humans and cockroaches are best at.” ― Susan Ee, World After

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life. --Terry Pratchett, Guards, Guards!

“I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.” ― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. --Unknown

if you stay alive for no other reason at all, please do it for spite. -- Unknown

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. -- Unknown Tumblr post

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

...I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL— wint ( @dril ) May 22, 2012

#Yes I will put Shakespeare side by side with Dril #fight me

#quotes #nicholas d. wolfwood #what it means to be badass #free will #making choices #choices #philosophy #terry pratchett #tolstoyevsky #princess bride #trigun #everything is trigun

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eryiss · 5 years ago

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Chapter Five - Returning

Summary: Laxus Dreyar, prince of Fiore, has been trapped in the town of Magnolia for months by order of his grandfather. After a failed attempt at leaving ends up with the prince injured, his grandfather punishes him by adding a new guard to his retainer team. An arrogant, up-tight, overly confident, handsome bastard named Freed Justine. [Fraxus | Fantasy AU]

Hello. As always with this fic, there's a small warning to go along with the chapter. There's canon typical violence, but there's also an extremely NON-GRAPHIC description of murder, which is later discussed. Again, it's not graphic, but you should be warned about it. What a cheery story this is.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. You can find the chapter list here. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

Chapter Five – Returning

The carriage bumped along the grassy pathway, making for a rather uncomfortable ride towards the city of Magnolia. Laxus forced himself to look at the floor of the vehicle, clenching his teeth in an attempt to stop his motion sickness from getting all too bad. He used to have it bad as a kid but, as he'd gotten older, it had lessened. But travelling down a winding road by fairly unstable carriage was bringing back the memories of how bad it could be.

Normally, he would be trying to distract himself by thinking of anything other than his nausea, in a desperate attempt to calm his stomach. The problem with that plan was that the only other thing he could think about made him stomach churn in an entirely different way.

Worse still, that reason was piloting the damn carriage.

Throughout the rest of the royal visit, Freed and Laxus hadn't spoken about what had occurred between them both. Laxus had awoken the next morning an hour before Freed, had dressed himself and returned to his actual room, and both had silently decided that addressing their night together would be pointless. So they hadn't broached the subject, nor had they really spoken to one another throughout the week.

Bickslow and Evergreen showed no sign of knowing. Both Laxus and Freed had been successful in hiding their hickeys, and the other two retainers had been placed in rooms far from Freed's, so they wouldn't have heard them. And it wasn't as if the two men ignoring each other was unusual.

To anyone who was looking, nothing had changed.

But Laxus couldn't feel like that, because something had definitely changed. He couldn't be sure exactly what had happened, but where he previously felt a burning sense of passion and anger towards Freed, now he felt somewhat deflated. It felt as though the desire to be angry at the man had been taken from him, and it honestly felt like a waste of time. Because, as cocky and annoying as Freed had proven himself to be, he wasn't nearly as bad as Laxus had convinced himself. All it had taken was a night of incredibly misguided sex to get the anger out of his system.

Letting his eyes stray from the carriage floor, Laxus looked to Freed's back. He wondered if Freed felt the same sense of deflation that Laxus had. In a way, Laxus hoped he did, because if they both agreed that their animosity was pointless then maybe they could put it behind them.

They needed to get along, Laxus could plainly see that now. For one, Freed was one of his retainer's and that meant a certain level of trust and understanding needed to exists between them both, or Laxus' safety was in danger. But also, Bickslow and Evergreen were friends with the both of them and it wasn't fair to make them deal with – and potential pick sides on – any arguments that might occur between them both.

But Laxus had no idea what Freed was thinking, if he had calmed down in the same way Laxus had, or if their night together had made things worse. And, as the two of them had been avoiding each other, Laxus had no idea how to approach the subject.

It wasn't as if he was known for talking, after all.

He promised himself that he would talk to Freed by the time they got to the castle.

He had also promised himself that he would talk to Freed before they got in the carriage. He had not followed through on that promise.

But this time he would make good on his word, because the longer it took the less likely he was to actually do it. The next time he and Freed were alone – which would probably when they got to the castle – he would talk. He'd say that their arguments and antagonistic relationship weren't doing anything good, and that there was no point in continuing. Maybe they could get over it just like that, or maybe they would need to work on it before that could happen, but it would be something at the very least.

With this in mind, Laxus looked back to the floor of the carriage and tried to settle his stomach. Even so much as looking to the side to see the trees rushing by made him feel sick, so the floor was his only hope of not throwing up.

At times like this, when he was bested by his stomach of all things, Laxus wondered how he would be preserved as king.

This was a topic Laxus thought of often, and it was never good. Perhaps he had some kind of inferiority complex in that regard, and he often tried to stop himself from thinking about it whenever possible. Thankfully, a distraction came, and better yet it was one that settled his stomach. The carriage was slowing down.

"There's people in the forest," Freed spoke quietly, and Laxus looked up to him.

"You think they're a danger?" Ever asked, casually glancing around.

"I've seen disturbances in the shrubbery for a while now. Too long for it to be an animal, so they've been following us," Freed continued, and the cautious tone made Laxus put a hand on his sword. "They're not subtle, so probably a thief's group of some kind rather than any real threat, but best to be careful."

"What d'you want us to do?" Bickslow asked, looking to Freed.

The carriage continued to move slowly as they quickly formed a plan. Evergreen left the carriage and started to stroke the horse, so that when they were attacked she would have free movement rather than having to scrambled out of the carriage. Bickslow had taken over with the reins, charging his magic to support the others when the fight began. Freed had started to walk beside the carriage, purposefully beside Laxus.

It was almost impressive. Having heard the quick discussion, Laxus knew why they had all moved. But he knew that they must have looked like their horses were tiring and this was respite. They looked vulnerable, but they weren't.

"This should be quick," Freed spoke, looking forward but was clearly speaking to Laxus. The first time since their night together. "You can fight with the sword, correct?"

"Yeah," Laxus replied. Freed hadn't asked condescendingly; it was almost weird.

"Good," Freed nodded, still looking forward. "It shouldn't come to it but be ready to use it."

Laxus nodded sharply and focused on looking forward rather than giving away the fact they knew they were going to be attacked. Freed helped this by quietly explaining their fight plan; Laxus had heard it but being able to focus on something else was useful. Evergreen's magic was useful at covering a large area, so she would be keeping them at bay and potentially stopping them. Bickslow would focus on keeping Evergreen healthy and stopping her from running out of magic. Freed would either be engaging in fights with the stronger members, or he would be stopping Laxus from getting injured, depending on how the fight went.

After Freed had explained, there was only silence. They slowly waited to be jumped until eventually, it happened.

They emerged from the woods on both sides of the carriage, yelling and brandishing weapons ranging from swords to axes. There was seven of them, three on one side and four on the other. Laxus glanced to Freed, who didn't seem to be shocked by the number of thieves that had appeared.

It must have only been a fraction of a second, but it felt like an eternity before his retainers started to fight back.

Evergreen slung her fist to the side, magical pellets of energy spawning in the air and flying towards the four thieves on the left. It was a relentless barrage of magical energy, and the ruthlessness of the spell meant that the thieves on that side could only make it half the way across the dirt road. Laxus had never seen Evergreens spell – Fairy Bullets, she had called it – last this long, and only when he looked at Bickslow did he get the answer as to why.

Flowing from the healer's eyes was a miasmic blue fog, streaming into evergreen and giving her a slight aura of the same colour. Laxus had never seen that either but surmised that Bickslow was fuelling Ever's magic while she used it. When had they learned to do that? It must have been with Freed.

At the thought of the man, Laxus looked towards him.

The moment they had been attacked, Freed climbed the carriage and bolted to the other side and was now facing the three thieves on that side. He had his sword out, moving between the three of them with fast brutality and somehow, despite the fact he should be overwhelmed, seemed to be entirely in control of the situation.

Though he knew he should be acting, Laxus found himself somewhat dazed. The only time he had seen Freed fighting was when it was against him, and he hadn't seen the strange mixture of elegance and ferocity in that moment. Right now, it was hard to deny.

But he couldn't focus on it for long, because he was not some bystander who needed saving. Evergreen and Bickslow were managing to keep the four attackers on their side at bay, and Freed could only hold off three men on his own for so long. The prince brandished his sword, jumped off the carriage and approached the fray.

As he fought, Laxus doubted he was as elegant as Freed. He was a trained fighter, yes, but his practical fighting experience was not large, and he felt that he was wrongfooted instantly. Still, even if kicking and shoulder barging while holding a sword wasn't elegant, it didn't make it any less effective. He had managed to keep the weapon wielding men at bay without sustaining an injury himself. Maybe Makarov had been correct that his retainer team needed to think strategically, as this was considerably better than the failed attempt at kidnapping.

He was almost confident.

But as he pushed the man he was fighting with back, he noticed something. He had only been fighting this one man, despite three thieves fighting the two of them. And he was probably the worse fighter when compared to Freed, so it would make sense if he was being ganged up on. Why were they focusing on Freed.

They weren't.

Freed also was only focusing on one man, and Laxus quickly glanced around to see where the third was. When he did, Laxus felt his breath hitch slightly in concern.

The third fighter, who Laxus now identified as the leader, was different to the rest. With long, erratic and blonde hair; a partially exposed chest with a glowing black mark; and a sadistically gleeful grin on his face, Laxus could only focus on one thing. Between his hands was a pulsating ball of yellow and black fire flickering menacingly. He was a magician, and by the looks of him, a fucking insane one too.

Grinning, the blonde shot his hands towards Laxus, and the ball of yellow fire began to fly through the air.

"Shit!"

Laxus' shout was cut off when he was shunted out of the way, the magical projectile hitting who had shoved him rather than Laxus himself. The prince looked to see that it had been Freed who had saved him, and his sleeve was burned clean off and skin a colour skin shouldn't be. His cape had been set alight also, and Freed was working to get it off.

Looking back to the magician, Laxus saw him reading another attack to aim at Freed. The prince lunched forward, dropping his sword and slamming into the man. He punched him in the face, stopping the ball of magic from forming. Laxus then slammed his fist into the man's stomach in an attempt to wind him.

A loud clang od metal rang throughout him.

Looking to its source, Laxus saw the head of an axe less than an inch away from his skull. It was stopped by an unmoving rapier. Freed was holding it, his flaming cape now discarded to the ground where it was slowly burned away. Laxus didn't notice it; he nearly had an axe in his head.

"Step back," Freed shouted firmly, and Laxus did whether Freed was speaking to him or not.

Apparently he was, as the retainer lurched forward towards the magician the moment Laxus wasn't standing in the way. Laxus watched only for a second when Freed began a barrage of attacks with his sword, all being blocked by a flaming fist.

He couldn't admire the fight for any amount of time, as the axe wielding thief was still beside him. Laxus took the chance to slam his fist into the man's stomach, making him bend over. In turn, Laxus slammed his knee into the man's jaw. He grabbed the axe out of the man's hand and threw it to the forest, leaving them both without a weapon. Laxus quickly glanced to see where the third man was; Freed must had knocked him unconscious as he was slumped on the ground, unmoving.

The fist fight that occurred between Laxus and the non-magical thief was harder than Laxus expected. The prince had size and muscle over his opponent, but he was slippery and hard to hit. They were evenly matched, and Laxus found himself panting and trying to keep up.

"You little fucker!" A sudden roar ripped through the forest, and all eyes fell to the magician. He had a large gash in the side of his chest, inevitably from Freed's sword, and was heaving manically. Even from such a small injury, he seemed enraged.

Even Freed had taken a step back when the magicians eyes began to glow.

All around them, the eyes of all thieves began to glow as well, even the unconscious man on the floor. Laxus could only watch as the man who had just been fighting him went rigid in his position, making direct eye contact as the man began to scream. It only lasted for a second before the glowing in his eyes stopped, and revealed blankness. His eyes were just white now, and a moment later he dropped to the floor

This happened to all the thieves but the magician himself. Yellow fog lifted from them all, flowing to the magician who gained an aura similar to Evergreen's, though more intense. Laxus looked towards Bickslow and Evergreen to see if they were okay and saw Bickslow throwing up over the side of the carriage.

Bickslow had always said eyes were the windows to the soul. These people had lost their eyes. They had lost their souls.

Dear god, Laxus had just seen six people die. Right in front of him. For no reason.

"Laxus, get back in the carriage," Freed demanded, but he almost spoke softly. "Right now, Laxus."

The blonde almost didn't move; he had never seen someone die before. Certainly not like this; it was as if the lift had been drained from them completely, and by someone who was on their side no less. Laxus had never expected to have to deal with this, and the only reason he was moving at all was because Evergreen had taken his shoulders and was directing him towards the carriage.

What followed was almost ethereal. Laxus knew – he knew – that something was happening just out of his peripheral vision. He knew that Freed was engaged in a fight with a madman who had just gained large amounts of magic. He knew that Bickslow – who was attuned to souls in a way Laxus had never understood – was vomiting and disgusted by what he had just seen, but he could only focus on Evergreen and her attempts to comfort him. It was as if the carriage was the only thing happening, despite the fact he knew that was not the case.

He didn't know how long this had happened and was only ripped from this false-calm when he heard a scream. A scream that was not Freed's. Not Evergreen's. Not Bickslow's.

Where Laxus looked towards where the fight had been, he saw that the magician had a large wound in the middle of his stomach. He was slumped against a tree, head lolling and blood flowing from his wound. Freed seemed to have wiped down his sword, and had a small black cloud of fog surrounding him, which dissipated the instant Laxus saw it. He didn't focus on that, though, as all he could look at was the bleeding body of the magician. It was now just a corpse.

He and Freed definitely needed to talk.

-~~~-

"So," Freed spoke calmly. "I expect this wont just be about the events of today."

"No," Laxus replied.

The two men were in Laxus' quarters, sitting either side of a breakfast table. When they had returned to the castle, Freed had first informed the relevant people that there was a group of bandits who had attacked them, and that their bodies needed to be dealt with. The moment that was done, Laxus had approached him, told him that he needed to speak with him and that they should do so in private. Moments later, they were in Laxus' room.

Laxus took a moment to think, so he could get this conversation right. He couldn't help but notice that this was probably the most civil they had been to each other since meeting, and the irony of this happening after a night of ungodly sex and on the same day as Laxus seeing Freed kill someone was not lost.

That was where he should begin. What had happened on their way home.

"But we do need to talk about it," Laxus continued. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"I did," Freed said, and the words came slightly too easy for Laxus' comfort.

"Do you regret it?"

"No," Freed said, and again there was no hesitance. Laxus didn't immediately respond, so Freed kept talking. "The type of magic he used, God Slayer Magic, is illegal. Its seen as an abomination by anyone who uses it, and it's treated with the same severity as necromancy. The fact he used it at all makes him despicable in the eyes of many. Myself included."

Laxus still didn't speak.

"But, even if we ignored that, he killed six people. He made a choice, he weighed the possible wealth he would have gained against the lived of those six people, and decided that the money was more valuable," Freed continued. "So, despite the fact it's not a nice thing to say, he deserved to die in pain, and I won't lose sleep because I caused it to happen."

"Did you," Laxus started, hesitantly. "Did you weigh his life against anything? Like you said he did with the people he killed."

"If I hadn't killed him when I did, he would have likely killed the four of us," Freed spoke, voice patient. "The life of a murderer who justifies using that kind of magic is nothing compared to the lives of three good people."

Three good people? Laxus wondered who had been discounted.

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" Laxus asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

"I haven't," Freed said, and Laxus was somewhat shocked. "There had been instances where I was prepared to. Once, I had tried to and had been stopped. But this has been the first I haven actually taken a life."

"Are you okay?" Laxus asked, though he didn't know why.

"As I said, with the type of man he was, I won't lose sleep."

A silence occurred between them, and Laxus found himself wanting it to be more uncomfortable than it actually was. The fact of the matter was Freed had killed someone and didn't seem remorseful. But Laxus didn't feel uncomfortable, he didn't feel angry or sad or in any sense of danger. Freed had seen this death from purely a pragmatic viewpoint – the magician was a danger and Freed saved people by killing him – and Laxus felt that line of reasoning to be… fine. It was accurate, and while Laxus felt he should feel something about the fact he was sitting opposite a murderer, he didn't.

His relationship with Freed was complicated, to say the least. Which brought the blonde onto the second thing he spoke about.

"So, guess we should talk about how we fucked a few nights ago," Laxus said, and Freed laughed a little.

"I suppose so," Freed nodded, and again he let Laxus speak first.

"We shouldn't have done that. Definitely in the way we did it," Laxus said, firmly. "We were pissed at each other, drunk, and it was a mistake."

"I agree," Freed said, and Laxus felt a small rush of relief occur. "I expect if it was found out, I would be removed from my position and, given my history, I expect finding work would be difficult. I expect you also would have issues with it being found out. So we both agree that this is something that we don't discuss?"

"Yeah," Laxus nodded, relaxing now. "And, while we're talking, I think we should get over this," He gestures to the both of them. "Thing between us. Where we try and piss each other off for no real reason, 'cause it seems fucking stupid now I think about it."

"It does," Freed sighed. "I should apologise, I certainly didn't help the situation when we first met."

"No. Neither of us are innocent though," Laxus groaned, leaning back.

Again, neither man spoke for a little while. It seemed… almost to easy for them to put aside their differences. Although, before they had slept together they seemed to have taken their grievances out in their yelling match, so perhaps that was why they were both so willing to just get over what had happened.

And, now Laxus thought back, their arguments had been pathetic. Childish and petty and stupid. It was an effort to keep up hating someone and, now with this deflated feeling, there was no reason to force animosity when they had no need to.

"Now we're talking," Laxus continued, looking back to Freed. "What's your problem with the royal family? Like, I get why you wouldn't like me, but Gramps is the reason you ain't in a cell."

"Honestly, even when I said that I didn't mean it," Freed sighed. "I used to hate your family; I'll admit. I thought you were pointless and overly pampered and out of touch with reality. I'm sure you can imagine this worsened when I was taken to jail. But meeting his highness and getting somewhat close to him, it changed my judgement. You weren't people who had money and liked to lord it over everyone, you were just people. I brought it up in our fight because, well, I was pissed off and wanted to hurt you."

That was honest. Laxus appreciated that.

And he couldn't exactly deny the claims that his family were overly pampered, certainly when compared to the people of the kingdom. And Freed hadn't had the easiest of lives if the reports about him were correct, so the contrast between their lives was clear. Laxus could forgive someone being bitter about it.

"If I may ask you something," Freed spoke again, and Laxus looked to him with a small nod. "What actually happened with your father. There's been rumours, but given I'm keeping you safe and he seems a part of why you might be in danger, I'd like to know the truth."

Laxus sighed. But it needed to come out.

"He's never been stable, for as long as I've been alive at least," Laxus explained, looking down slightly. "He got worse as I grew up, and apparently tried to make me like him. My grandfather tried to get him away from me when I was a kid but… this ain't actually relevant. Sorry. So, he always wanted me to be strong. Dangerous and shit. About a year ago, he was really broken and the worst he had been and tried to give him magic of some kind. Some sort of magic crystal."

"The Lacrima?" Freed offered, and Laxus nodded.

"That's it. Apparently they can infuse with the human soul or something. He was going to use it on me somehow, which would have made me as unstable as he was if the castle mage is right, and that was the last straw for Gramps. He kicked him out of the family, removed him from the throne. So now he's on the run, pissed off at pretty much everyone in the family, and wants to kill me because I'm gonna be king and he isn't."

Freed was silent for a moment.

"Shit," He eventually said. "That's… unfortunate."

"Kind of an understatement" Laxus chuckled. "Still, it's been months and I've only nearly been killed twice, that ain't too bad," The blonde joked, and Freed laughed a little.

"It could be worse I suppose. It's not as if these near-death experiences occurred the two times you've left the castle's grounds" Freed smirked, and Laxus found himself laughing as well.

"Aw shit," Laxus chuckled. "Well, that's why 've got you, ain't it? To keep me safe."

"Indeed," Freed smiled, standing up. "I should give you some time alone. You probably need it, I imagine you've been craving some time alone after what has happened," Freed looked down at the prince. "Have a good evening, your highness."

That was the first time Freed had said 'your highness' without it seeming like a slur. Laxus smiled a little at this; it was progress.

"You too, Mr Justine."

#fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #fraxus day #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail #writing

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kamechan98 · 5 years ago

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I’ve Sworn Of Dating (But I’ll Gladly Let You Buy Me A Coffee)

Prompt: “That’s irrational.”

Read on AO3

“You know I really hate you for this.”

“Don’t really see why, you need a break from your workshop anyway. And maybe get around some people while you’re at it.”

Tony rolled his eyes at his best friend and took a sip of his soda. Ugh, being social was so overrated. Why couldn’t Rhodey see that Tony was fine being on his own like this? Sure, he really liked to hang out with his friends, but he also really liked his alone time too. Was that really so hard to understand?

And, okay fine, maybe Tony had been spending a bit more time by himself these last month, but so what? He’d had inventing sprees before and he’d been fine before. He had JARVIS who could order meals for him and Dum-E would make him smoothies or coffee and there was a couch there too in case he needed a nap. What more did he really need?

Rhodey took a bite of his burger, never once breaking eye contact with the stubborn genius. “Look, Tones, can I be real here for a sec?”

Tony shook his head. “I’d really rather if you didn’t, Platypus.”

Rhodey ignored him. “You’ve completely locked yourself away! I mean, it’s one thing when you’re wrapped up in your work and just forgets about everything around you-“

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “And what makes you so sure that I’m not? I will have you know that I am so close to figuring out how to get my arc reactor technology to work for larger projects! Like, buildings and entire power grids! If I crack that, if would mean a whole new field in Green Technology and Stark Industries could go entirely green and ecofriendly, not to mention how many people would-“

Rhodey sighed and waved a hand at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Yes, yes and that’s all really great, you know I think it is. But the point is that I’ve barely seen you for almost a year, and closing yourself off like this and avoiding all human contact is just not good for anyone. And, to be honest, I’m worried about you.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively at his friend. “Oh you’re such a worrywart, Honeybear. I’m fine and you know it. I’m like a cockroach, I’m impossible to kill and I always make it out alright.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on the table. “Yeah, because me or Pepper drag you out of there, making you eat and sleep before you crash.”

Tony froze in his seat, for just one second reminded of why he had been locking himself away for a month. But he had long since perfected the art of not showing himself weak or at a loss, and so put on his usual, charismatic smile and hoped that Rhodey hadn’t caught that small moment of weakness.

“I am wounded, Rhodey! How can you have such little trust in me, after all that we’ve been through together, our years at MIT-“

Rhodey cut him off again. “Yeah, those years at MIT are exactly why I don’t trust you to take care of yourself. You are many things Tony; smart, resourceful, funny and a very good friend, but you have the self preservation of a banana fly.”

Tony placed a hand over his heart and gasped in mock hurt. “Honeybear, how can you talk about me like that, I thought we had something special.”

Rhodey smirked teasingly at him and munched on a few fries.

Rhodey had dragged him out to a local diner and forced him to have lunch with him, after having been in the workshop without break for almost a whole week. Tony had put up a fight, as much as he could against Rhodey’s superior strength, and whined and complained and made himself as obnoxious as possible so Rhodey would think he was too annoying, drop it and leave him alone to work in peace.

It hadn’t worked, obviously.

But Tony knew his best friend, just like Rhodey knew him too well. Rhodey had something else he wanted to say or talk about, and Tony had a feeling he knew what it was, but he wasn’t ready to talk about that. Not yet, and probably not ever.

But of course, Rhodey wasn’t one to avoid tough topics, at least as far as Tony was concerned, so when he cleared his throat pointedly, Tony knew what was coming.

“So… I thought about going out tonight; maybe get a few drinks and dance with Carol. You wanna come along? We’d both love to hang out with you, you know, it’s been forever.”

Tony rolled his eyes with a low groan. ‘Here we go again.’ But still, there was a small chance that he could get Rhodey to drop the subject, so he tried to look as flippant as he could.

“Oh yeah, I love being the third wheel to my best friend and his girlfriend when they go out to drink and dance on a Saturday night. Gee Rhodey, it’s like you know me inside out.”

Rhodey smiled weakly, though it was probably supposed to look relax and spontaneous. Like Tony was supposed to believe that this was something he had come up with on the spot.

“Well, I’m sure we could find a date for you too if that’s a problem. I mean, you’re great at attracting handsome men and beautiful women; you’re downright charming when you want to be. In fact, I already know this girl; she’s one of Carol’s friends and is going to law school. She’s really cute and-“

‘Oh my God, really? Are we doing this?’ Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew that this would come up sooner or later, but God, why couldn’t it have waited a little? Or never.

He groaned and looked up at his friend, trying his hardest to be patient. “Rhodey, I told you I’m not dating anymore. It’s clearly not working out for me.”

“You’ve been with plenty of men and women before! What’s that they call you, ‘Genius, Playboy Philanthropist?’ It’s not like you’ve never hooked up with anyone before, so what’s the problem now?”

Tony shrugged and took another sip of his soda. “Yeah but ‘hooking up’ and ‘dating’ are two very different thing. I can handle casual sex just fine, so long as we’re both aware that’s what we’re doing and there are no strings attached to anything, then it’s all fine and good. But I’m done with dating other people. Casual sex is fine but no dating, no tying myself up to one person, no love.”

Rhodey looked at him incredulously. “You cannot be serious, Tony. You can’t give up on finding love because one relationship didn’t work out, that’s irrational. What are you afraid of?”

Tony stared at him for a second, then sighed and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Fine then. If you want to go there Rhodey, fine, we’ll go there!’

“Oh, you think this is all about Pepper? You think that I’m so torn up about her that I’m swearing off dating? Oh-ho no, no I can handle one relationship not going the way I want them too. But it’s not just her; it’s literally every single relationship I’ve ever tried with anyone! They always turn out to be assholes, bitches or some poor soul who can’t handle me and all my broken parts and bad history. No one I date ever sticks around for me or want me for who I am, Rhodey. So why bother?

Rhodey suddenly looked at all sympathetically, a rather pityingly, which made Tony even more mad. He didn’t want Rhodey’s pity; he just wanted to drop it all.

“Aw, come on Tony, you shouldn’t let those assholes control your lives like that. You deserve to find love just as much as anyone else in the world, you shouldn’t let a few bad apples spoil the batch for you.”

Tony rolled his eyes again. He knew Rhodey cared and was just looking after him like the good friend he was, but the whole thing about dating had been really soured after so many bad attempts at find real love.

Emma Frost had been nice at first but eventually it became clear that she only liked him because of his money. And she was also from a wealthy family, and he had heard her talking shit about him behind his back, like mocking his mental health, his heart condition or his trust issues or daddy issues.

Adrian Killian had been very interested, almost obsessed with him for a while, and Tony was so starved for some kind of positive attention from someone other than his friends. But then Tony introduced him to Pepper and Rhodey, and Killian had suddenly started to obsess over Pepper and had left Tony in the dust and tried to flirt with her instead.

She had turned him down several times, of course, but still. Not a great feeling when your boyfriend starts mooning over your best friend.

Christine Everhart had also seemed interested at first, but once he started to open up to her and tell her more personal stuff, stuff about other dates and how he’d felt hurt by how most of them had turned out, she had run to the School Papers and written a story about it, as well as other secrets he had told her. Then she’d dumped him for being upset about it.

Justin Hammer had just been a dick that was trying to find ways to beat him by trying to be smarter or better at inventing and building things, which hadn’t hurt so much because he’d gotten the hint that Justin was a pathetic little bitch and had broken it off very quickly.

Sunset Bain had been manipulative and leeched of his money, asking for expensive dates and gifts and what-have-you despite not exactly being poor herself, just like Emma. And it had been revealed that she had been trying to steal blueprints and secrets from Stark Industries through him for her father, which she had succeeded at in the end. Jesus, he would never forget how mad Howard had been at him for that, or the beating it got him.

Tiberius Stone had been forceful and abusive and had pushed Tony into sex before he had been ready, and it also hadn't helped that he was a few years older than Tony so it had before he had been old enough to 'consent' to it. While it hadn't been rape, it was still too close for comfort, since Tony had more or less agreed so he would stop demanding or guilt trip him into doing as he wanted. After that incident Tony had overheard Ty making jokes about the whole thing and how 'Stark had cried like a bitch over it the whole thing, like sex is a big fucking deal' and that 'he should be glad to lose his virginity to someone like him since no one else would want to', and he had broken up with him on the spot. Well, after he had hacked into the school's computers and ruined his grades, outed him as a rapist to every one who’s opinion mattered and let Rhodey, and Pepper have their way with him. He hadn't really given his consent for the last one, but the information had made its way to him anyway and despite all of them getting detention for it, he felt good knowing his friends had his back.

And while Pepper was the first person he dated that wasn't an asshole or a bitch, it had just been made very clear that they weren't working out as a couple and worked better as friends, which they still were to this day. And it really said something about Tony's ability to judge people that Pepper- for a short time- was the only person he had dated that wasn't abusive or wanted stuff from him. Really, it seemed like Tony was a magnet for assholes, bitches and crazy people.

Oh well, Tony guessed it was the price he had to pay to be awesome and from a rich and successful family.

So that’s seven. Seven attempted relationships that had all turned out bad, stretching all the way back from high school and all the way up till after he had graduated college. How is that even possible?!

Well, okay, Tony knew why. It was because he was Tony Stark: son of the Great Howard Stark, one of the biggest and richest men in the world and the greatest weapons builder, genius and businessman of his generation. And Tony had also built himself up as a genius and a handsome, charming and successful young man and was just building up his own future with his own company, focusing on creating new technology or things that might help people, like advanced prosthetics, his arc reactors that would change the world in the fields of green energy, programs that might help people work through trauma or bad memories or mental health.

So yeah, Tony knew he was successful and on the way making a big, strong name for himself as CEO of Stark Solutions, especially for a guy who hadn’t even hit twenty-five yet. But as a rich, handsome, intelligent and famous guy, it was only natural people would try to take advantage of to get their own fifteen minutes of fame.

But still, falling for it seven times? That is beyond pathetic.

Well, maybe six, since Pepper had never been that bad. But to try so many relationships and have them all blow up in his face again and again? To give his heart to someone else only to have it stomped on time and time again and be told that he wasn’t good enough or that was a wreck, or a wimp or whatever. To let someone in only to have them hurt him in the worst possible way?

He sighed and fought hard against the tears. He couldn’t take it one more time. If it happened again, he would probably break beyond repair.

“Look Rhodey, I know you just want me to be happy and all, but I have tried it before, several times only to have my heart stomped on and a knife shoved in my back six out of seven times. Pepper tried her hardest, but it hurt that one of my best and oldest friends couldn’t handle my-“ His voice cracked and Tony interrupted himself to clear his throat and pull himself together before he started crying or something equally humiliating.

“My issues.” He eventually finished, refusing to meet Rhodey’s eyes out of shame. He heard a despondent sigh, and then felt an arm around his shoulders as he was suddenly pulled into Rhodey’s arms.

“Oh Tony… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to poke at old wounds.” Tony nodded but stayed quiet. “It’s just… You know I love you, right? You’re like a little brother to me Tony and I want you to be happy, and you’re not. Not really. I mean, I hardly recognize you anymore. There’s very little left of that snarky, passionate little guy that I met that first year at MIT. The kid who was fearless and snarky and driven and wanted to live life to the fullest and wasn’t afraid to slip up or crash and burn if it meant learning all he could. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to be… you. And I miss you.”

Tony looked away and down at the floor, blinking hard to get rid of the tears.

Rhodey’s grip around him tightened slightly and ruffled his hair comfortingly.

“And I’m not saying you need to date to be happy, but it’d be a start, or even an idea. And just because you’ve had a lot of bad luck with dating before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to find someone special.”

Tony took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and licked his lips. “I can’t Rhodey. I can’t do it again.” Because how many times can a guy take having his heart broken before it becomes broken beyond repair? How many times can a nice girl or sweet guy turn around and turn out to be a complete asshole on you before you learn to take the hint and realize you can’t trust them?

And just how cautious would one have to be with dating anyway? Where did Tony need to draw the line before deciding a second date was okay? How would he know who was decent and who was a sheep in wolf’s clothing?

“What do you mean, ‘how cautious do you need to be’?” Tony froze. Had he said that out loud? “Look, normally I would be all for being careful with strangers and all, but don’t you think you’re being just a tiny bit… um, paranoid?”

Tony jerked his head up and away from Rhodey’s shoulder and glared at him, no hints of teasing or light fun because this was not something Tony was kidding about. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What, you think I should throw myself at anyone and just see what happens, huh?”

Rhodey’s eyes widened and shook his head, clearly realizing his mistake but Tony wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “Wha- no, no, that’s not what I-“ Tony cut him off, growing more and more angry and hurt by the second.

“And paranoid, really? Is it paranoid to be worried who’ll lie and manipulate you until all your secrets are out in the open for the world to see or read about? Is it paranoid to be afraid that some other asshole will abuse and use you sexually against your will?” Tony got up from his seat and planted his hands on the table, leaning over Rhodey and staring him down. “Tell you what Rhodey, when you’ve had your heart stomped on and been used and abused by every single person you’ve dated, then we can chat about being fucking paranoid!”

Tony grabbed his bag, threw the few couple of bills he had brought with him on the table to tip the waitress and pay for his half-eaten meal before storming towards the doors of the restaurant and left in a huff, ignoring Rhodey calling after him to ‘wait, stop’ and ‘Tony, I didn’t mean it like that’.

...

Tony didn’t really know this neighborhood very well, it was somewhere in Brooklyn that he had never been in before. But at the moment he wasn’t heading anywhere specific, he just stomped down the street, angry and hurt and somewhat betrayed by what Rhodey had said.

‘How dare he call him paranoid? Who is he to tell him how to feel about everything he’s been through? He had been there when Tony found out about Sunset’s mind games, when Tony called him in the middle of the night, hysteric with tears and asking for a ride home after having been raped by Ty! And he was telling Tony he needed to get over it and get back in the dating game again!’

Because while Pepper had hurt him badly, however unintentionally, Ty had been the one who had left the deepest scars in him. The guy had acted like he cared so much, had treated Tony like a prince for months, had been sweet and cuddly and strong and protective and made Tony feel so special. Only to become possessive and abusive, had tried to cut Tony off from his friends and eventually push and pressure Tony into sex before he was ready.

How do you trust anyone after being used and abused like that?

But deep down, Tony knew that Rhodey was right.

When they had met in college, Tony had been driven and witty and full of energy. He wanted to learn everything and had a thousand ideas for projects and wanted to do everything at once. He had been reckless, fearless and Pepper and Rhodey had been forced to rein him in or carry him home after a party. But with time, slowly but surely Tony started to rein himself and became more and more cautious and introverted. While he remained as charming as ever whenever he needed to be, which was vital when you were business man, he never went out of his way to meet new people unless it was for a quick romp in the sack with no strings attached. Which inevitably led to him getting the title of Playboy and was described as ‘not boyfriend material’ by the Press and Media, but hey, that was just what he wanted so who was he to complain?

Still, he could understand that Rhodey wanted to help him and bring out that old Tony that he knew back in college, but Tony wasn’t sure that old Tony was still there. He might have died some time after he had broke up with Ty.

Tony sighed and sat down at a bus stop, resting his head in his hands.

Yeah, he missed those carefree days too. Those days when he had passion and drive and a lust for life. When he had been fearless and outgoing and not burying himself with nothing but work 24/7, which was where the only place he found any engagement or passion in these days.

So he had thriving business and bank account but absolutely nothing else to show for it. No family, no love or affection and little to no friends. And even that wasn’t much, since Pepper was an even bigger workaholic than he was and Rhodey was away most of the time with the Air Force. And no one to share his life with.

Oh, how Tony might long for something akin to true love, or at least someone he could share his life with. He had dreams of finding someone, someone who was caring and sweet and honest and who wanted to be with him, not Howard Stark’s son or the CEO Stark Solutions or Tony Stark the rich and successful. Someone who loved him for all of his faults and ugly parts and bad history and issues drenched in issues and wanted to stay with him despite of them.

Someone who loved him for him.

But finding someone like that would mean to open himself up to the world again. To show himself vulnerable and naked before someone’s judgement again and hope it wouldn’t leave him heartbroken again. And that he just couldn’t do. Not again.

Because what if they turned out to be another asshole, or gold digger or lying dickface who just wanted to cash in on his money or fame or success? Someone after the things he had to give rather than who he was and what he could give that didn’t involve money or fame? And once they had gotten what they wanted, they would leave him broken and hurt once again to lick his wounds and try to piece his heart back together again.

Or worse… what if they were good? What if Tony did meet someone, someone who turned out to be everything he wanted? Someone who was good, who treated him well and made his heart flutter and he could lower his defenses around. What would he do then? Sure, he had been able to do it alright around Pepper, but she had known him since high school, so she didn’t count. And even then she hadn’t been able to handle all of it anyway, so it’s not like it really mattered. But Tony had never had a relationship where he felt like that and it had worked out, so if someone actually did turn out to be good, how would he deal with that? What if that person would make him open himself and he wouldn’t be able to close himself off again?

To be really honest that thought scared him way more than the idea of getting his heart broken again. At least that he had learned to deal with well enough at this point, but being loved? Actually, genuinely loved by someone who was better than decent?

Tony shuddered. No, he wouldn’t know how to handle that.

A horn honked, loudly and it made Tony jump and look up to see that a bus had stopped in front of him and the driver was glaring at him, annoyed and frustrated and spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent. “’Ey pal, you ridin’ or what?”

“Uh, no?” Tony said, more than aback than angry at the attitude he was given. ‘It’s New York pal, what were you expecting? You’ve really been locked up in the house for too long.’ he scolded to himself.

The guy rolled his eyes, muttered “whatever asshole” closed the doors and started to drive off. Tony rolled his eyes too. Seriously what were people’s problem? Sure, it New York but was there any need to a jerk every single second of the day?

But the bus made him remember that he needed to find his way back home soon, so he took out his phone to find what buses or subways he needed to take to get back home, when he heard someone running and yelling up the street.

“Hey, wait!” A guy came running down the street, waving and hollering at the bus top stop, only for the driver to ignore him and flip him the bird as he drove away. The guy groaned, frustrated and angry and ran a hand through his hair.

“Ugh, fuckin’ asshole! He saw me, he fuckin’ saw me an’ he snubbed me! This never happen’d in Boston.”

‘Hm, so we have a pure-bred Brooklynite here.’ Tony mused to himself when he heard the guy’s accent.

He glanced up from his phone and paused for a second when he got a good look at the guy. And hellooo Adonis, the guy was seriously built, had a body that would make a bodybuilder jealous and beautiful windswept, blonde hair and big, baby blue eyes. He looked hot and yet sweet at the same time, All-American in a way.

He looked so hot!

‘Yeah, so did Tiberius and look how that turned out.’ That traitorous part of his brain reminded the more lustful part before it could go too crazy and he immediately stomped those feelings down and looked back down to his phone. But he had never quite learned how to turn his mouth off so before he knew it, he said,

“Yeah, I hate it when that happens.”

That was a lie. Tony had never been one to ride buses, he’d always been driven somewhere or- after he gotten his license- driven himself wherever he needed or wanted to go. Come to think off it, he’d probably never ridden a bus in his whole life. But it had seemed like a good thing to say.

The guy looked over at him, groaned again and then sat down beside him on the bench and ran his fingers through his blonde hair again. He then looked over at Tony and down at his phone. “You know when the next one comes?”

Tony glanced up from his phone, raised a suspicious eyebrow before looking after at the timetable. “What, you can’t read the timetable?” If being a New Yorker meant being a dick to avoid being screwed over was commonplace, might as well act the part. Plus, he probably looked like a rich asshole anyway, with his fancy clothes, shoes and stuff; he might as well make the guy think he was one. Might get him to leave, stay quiet or at least make his brain stop going on about how hot he was.

The guy groaned at him, frustrated, before getting up and looking over the timetable, before groaning again and sat back down.

‘So, not good then.’ Tony mused and smirked a little, hoping the guy didn’t see it. ‘Sucks to be you.’

But then again, it wasn’t like Tony was in a better place. It was a long way back home from here and he really didn’t want to take the bus or subway at this time of day, it would have to be packed. But oh well, that was fine, he would just call a taxi and be home in-

Oh for fuck’s sake! Rhodey hadn’t given him time to grab his wallet before dragging him out of his workshop and out to lunch, insisting it should be his treat. He had only allowed Tony to change into a clean shirt and nicer jeans and he had only been able to grab a few ten-dollar bills to tip the waiter, which he had already left at the restaurant. So he had no money on him to pay a taxi or even a ticket for the bus or subway.

Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic.

‘Guess this is Karma for thinking asshole-things to strangers.’

Tony resisted the urge to groan or swear out his frustration and started to search through his bag for any bills he might have missed or maybe something he could bribe someone with to get a ride back home. Had Tony been the least bit rational he might have swallowed his pride, called Rhodey, apologize for blowing up at him and ask for a ride home, since he was the one who drove them here. It was what a truly smart person would do.

But Tony wasn’t rational and had too much stubborn pride to call his friend and ask for a ride after how he had blown up at him earlier. Also, had already ignored the calls from his friend up till this point, and he wasn’t about to answer now only to ask for a ride and admit that storming out of a restaurant and run off in a part of the city that he didn’t know very well probably wasn’t very smart.

‘No way Jose, that is so not happening. I’ma let him stew a little, let him worry. That’ll teach him who’s the paranoid one’

Had Tony mentioned that he probably wasn’t very rational?

He sighed and closed his bag. No luck on any bills magically showing up and he hadn’t brought anything worth enough to by a ticket with. And he wasn’t wearing a watch that he could pawn either. And judging by the map on his phone, it was at least twelve miles from here to his house on Manhattan. Not very long to drive, but pretty long to walk.

‘Oh well, what choice do I have?’ Tony got up from his seat and started to walk, only for Big, Blonde and Beautiful to call out after him,

“Hey, are you lost?” Tony turned to look over his shoulder at him. He looked a little concerned, any annoyance or frustration he had earlier gone.

Tony rolled his eyes as subtly as he could, turned to him with a smirk that was only a little cold. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. What’s it to you, pal?” He turned away started to walk again, only to hear him call out again:

“You need directions?” This Tony only looked over his shoulder at him. He had no interest in talking to hot guys at the moment.

“No.” Yes. He had his map on his phone, but actual directions might not be so bad at the moment. But, again, Tony wasn’t very rational and had a very strong pride and was still pissed from his and Rhodey’s talk at the restaurant, so stubbornly kept walking down the street and followed the map.

According to Google, a walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan took about three hours and ten minutes, and Tony had- of course- not taken he best shoes for a long walk today, but if he were lucky maybe he could flirt his way to a ride home when he’d cooled off a little. But he’d barely made it a down the street before he heard someone run after him and for a second he thought Rhodey might caught up with him and was ready to tell him to fuck off, when he heard Mr. Blonde call after him.

“Hey, wait up!” He rolled his eyes. What was this guy’s deal, couldn’t he take a hint? If Tony wasn’t so pissed at the moment, maybe he would be somewhat impressed by this guy’s stubbornness, but he was pissed and wasn’t in the mood to talk- isn’t that a first, he could barely keep quiet when he was alone- so didn’t even spare the guy a glance when he caught up with him and started walk beside him.

‘Don’t look at him, Tony.’ He told himself, eyes locked straight ahead and head held high. ‘Don’t encourage him. Keep your answers short and few and he’ll loose interest.’

“Hey, come on, let me help. I know my way around here, I can give directions if you need it.”

“Not interested.” Tony said curtly, still not even glancing at the guy.

“Are you sure? I mean, no offense or anything, but you don’t exactly look like you’re from around here and I thought you might need a little help?”

“No thank you.” Tony cursed himself after the words left his lips. ‘Don’t say thank you, moron! You don’t say thank you to someone you want to get rid off. Don’t be afraid to be rude to a stranger.’

Blonde Hercules hesitated and didn’t say anything for a minute or so, but he kept following Tony down the street. ‘Fine.’ Tony thought with a mental shrug. ‘Maybe he needs to got his way too or something. Just don’t acknowledge him.’

There were a few minutes of blissful silence- or as quiet as it ever gets in New York- before Adonis looked back at him again. “Where are you going anyway?”

‘What is this guy’s deal? Is he blind, deaf and just all-around stupid? Or is he a stalker, or a rapist, waiting for them to come across some dark alley, drag me in there and steal his stuff and have his way with him?’

‘Well, jokes on him then, I’ve learned enough self-defense to deal with big boys.’

Read the rest on AO3

#my fic #my writing #stony fic #stony #stevetony #superhusbands #tony stark #steve rogers #james rhodes #rhodey #i wrote a fic #drabble #tumblr prompt

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thesinnerdaily · 6 years ago

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With 'The Sinner,' Jessica Biel leaps 'into the darkest of the dark'

Two years ago, Jessica Biel was raising her baby boy with husband Justin Timberlake in their Hollywood Hills home when the actress got hooked on a book. Universal Cable Productions sent her a thriller by German crime novelist Petra Hammesfahr, and once Biel started reading “The Sinner,” she couldn't put it down. “Every time I thought I knew where the story was going, it surprised me,” she says. “I liked the book's subversive quality. It was an impressive read.”

Those subversive elements, embodied in the deeply damaged title character, proved irresistible to Biel. She explains, "I hadn't worked on screen for a year, so I was ready to take the knife and let my guts spill out everywhere because I had all this creative energy that needed to be expelled. This was a leap into the darkest of the dark."

On this day, the sun streaming into a penthouse at AKA Beverly Hills, where Biel, wearing a violet pantsuit with a cream coat draped over her shoulders, cheerfully details her deep dive into “The Sinner.” “It was exciting to play this unreliable character who lies out of self-preservation and because she's afraid to expose parts of herself she believes are heinous and shameful.”

A hit for USA Network last summer, the limited series earned Biel a Golden Globe best actress nomination for her nuanced portrayal of mom/wife/shattered soul Cora. The character's psychotic break happens in the first episode. During a picnic by the lake with her husband and young son, Cora gets enraged by a loud song and abruptly stabs a stranger to death in a blood-spattered rage.

Why'd she do it?

Seeking answers, the eight-episode thriller gradually reveals Cora's toxic backstory, contaminated with psychologically abusive parents, a sickly sister and predatory men in masks. “Other people can do whodunit really well,” Biel says. "We're interested in the conceit of the ‘whydunit,’ so we peel, peel, peel away. It's about the psychological peel.”

Biel's star turn in “The Sinner” represents a startling departure for the 36-year-old actress, first introduced to TV audiences as a minister's wholesome teenage daughter in The WB's long-running family drama “7th Heaven.” She later appeared in the 2003 horror reboot of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” followed by an eclectic mix of action flicks, rom-coms, guest roles and voiceover gigs.

With “The Sinner,” Biel broke new ground by probing a character she has almost nothing in common with. “Growing up totally normal, I had cool, loving parents, went to school. I worked professionally, which was a little bit unusual, but in terms of dynamic there's nothing to really say except ‘Thumbs up.’ And I don't want to play that! It's boring! I want to find characters I'm terrified to portray.”

My entry point for Cora was partly that we're both moms, so I had compassion for her in that way.

Jessica Biel

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Biel did manage to identify with Cora in one regard. “My entry point for Cora was partly that we're both moms, so I had compassion for her in that way,” she says. “But the attraction also had to do with the fact that Cora has so many layers. Putting together all this trauma and religious zealousness and abuse that I don't know anything about, that really intrigued me as an actress.”

Cora's fitfully remembered past includes a complicated relationship with her bossy younger sister Phoebe (Nadia Alexander), whose options are constrained because of a congenital heart defect. Incest ensues. Biel says, “That scene was odd to film and uncomfortable to watch. But Phoebe needs that physical release because she doesn't feel that she'll ever be touched or loved or caressed. Cora can't say no. She did it out of love.”

Beyond her contributions as an actress, Biel exercised considerable measure of creative control over “The Sinner” through her Iron Ocean Productions company. She and producing partner Michelle Purple enlisted show runner Derek Simonds (“The Astronaut Wives Club”) to create the series and personally pitched their concept to network execs. Biel, who continues as an executive producer for “The Sinner” Season 2, which will star Carrie Coon, liked being listened to.

“It's such a powerful feeling to have people look to you and say ‘What do you think?’ Actors often don't have any input at all, but I'd been living with ‘The Sinner’ longer than almost anybody, so I had a point of view about the material. This show definitely felt like my baby.”

Source: LA Times

#the sinner #jessica biel #the sinner usa #S01 #interview #press

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multipleservicelisting · 4 years ago

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McConnell Seeks Impeachment Trial Delay as Senate Dysfunction Reigns

WASHINGTON — Senator Mitch McConnell, Republican of Kentucky and the minority leader, asked Democrats on Thursday to delay former President Donald J. Trump’s impeachment trial until mid-February, complicating their hopes of reaching a swift agreement to prevent the proceeding from interfering with the crucial first weeks of President Biden’s tenure.

Mr. McConnell made the request on a day when Mr. Biden’s call for unity was already running into partisan dysfunction in the Senate. Mr. McConnell and Senator Chuck Schumer, Democrat of New York and the majority leader, were locked in a separate stalemate over how they would share power and whether Democrats would promise to preserve Republicans’ ability to filibuster legislation.

The deadlock highlighted Mr. McConnell’s determination to maintain his leverage to thwart Mr. Biden’s priorities and the difficulty Democrats would have doing business with a one-vote majority.

The result: On Mr. Biden’s first full day in office and Democrats’ first in total control of Congress, the Senate was in a state of suspended animation, unable to move forward with even the basic tasks of organizing committees or setting rules for getting virtually anything done.

It was not clear whether Mr. Schumer would agree to Mr. McConnell’s request for an impeachment trial delay. Justin Goodman, Mr. Schumer’s spokesman, said the leader would review Mr. McConnell’s proposal and discuss it with him.

In a statement, the Republican leader argued that the former president’s defense team needed “a modest and reasonable amount of additional time” to prepare a case for trial after the House raced to charge Mr. Trump with incitement of insurrection for his role in encouraging the violent mob that stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6. Mr. McConnell proposed that the House bring its case late next week and then give Mr. Trump’s defense team — to be led by Butch Bowers, a lawyer from South Carolina — until Feb. 13 to begin oral arguments.

“At this time of strong political passions, Senate Republicans believe it is absolutely imperative that we do not allow a half-baked process to short-circuit the due process that former President Trump deserves, or damage the Senate or the presidency,” said Mr. McConnell, who has told colleagues that he is open to convicting the president.

Democrats had been preparing to begin a trial as soon as Monday, and hoped to reach a resolution in a week or less to try to minimize the effects of a divisive and all-consuming proceeding during Mr. Biden’s first days in the White House. But they also want to claim that they held a fair trial, and they could end up embracing a delay to quickly confirm more of Mr. Biden’s cabinet.

Earlier on Thursday, Speaker Nancy Pelosi had declined to say when she planned to send the House impeachment charge to the Senate, which would immediately start the clock for beginning the trial. She said only that she would do so “soon.”

The lingering disputes over how to proceed with Mr. Trump’s trial and the Senate’s business reflected the speed with which Mr. Biden’s optimistic calls to sweep aside partisan animus and tackle a daunting set of overlapping crises were dissipating in the realities of the polarized Congress.

Republican leaders in the House and Senate, who not 24 hours before had extended warm congratulations, were swiftly retreating into their partisan corners. Even as they pledged to keep open minds, they criticized Mr. Biden’s decision on Wednesday to re-enter the Paris climate agreement and his proposal to overhaul the nation’s immigration system.

“Several big steps in the wrong direction,” Mr. McConnell warned on the Senate floor.

“The wrong priorities at the wrong time,” declared his counterpart in the House, Representative Kevin McCarthy of California.

Mr. McConnell in particular was returning to a familiar role as the chief tactical antagonist to the majority, trying to use negotiations over a typically anodyne set of rules for operating the Senate to weaken Democrats’ power to push through Mr. Biden’s agenda over unified Republican opposition.

The Biden Administration

Updated

Jan. 21, 2021, 8:45 p.m. ET

Because the chamber is split 50-50, Republican cooperation is needed to settle the rules. But Mr. McConnell has made his signoff contingent on a promise by Mr. Schumer not to eliminate the filibuster, which effectively imposes a 60-vote threshold to advance legislation.

“If the talk of unity and common ground is to have meaning,” Mr. McConnell said, “then I cannot imagine the Democratic leader would rather hold up the power-sharing agreement than simply reaffirm that his side won’t be breaking this standing rule of the Senate.”

The demand has placed both Mr. Biden and Mr. Schumer in a difficult spot, accelerating a debate that was always going to be tricky for Democrats. Progressives favor getting rid of the filibuster to allow them to bypass Republicans altogether and win crucial pieces of Mr. Biden’s agenda. Others say it is the only way to adopt the kind of change needed to confront climate change, racial injustice and the nation’s faltering health care system. But centrists like Senator Joe Manchin III, Democrat of West Virginia, are opposed; some Democrats caution that scrapping the rule could quickly backfire if their party loses Senate control next year.

Mr. Schumer, who has remained publicly undecided about the filibuster, insisted on Thursday that Democrats would not let Mr. McConnell prematurely tie their hands or divide them.

“Our caucus is strongly opposed to any extraneous provisions,” he told reporters, “and so we are going to keep working to try and get a bipartisan agreement.”

He appeared to have Mr. Manchin’s backing.

“Chuck is right to do that, he’s the leader,” Mr. Manchin said. “I’m not worried about that at all. They will work it out. I just haven’t changed where I’m at.”

With Democrats’ margin of control so narrow, Mr. Manchin’s opposition alone would be enough to prevent the change. But it was unclear his assurances were enough to get Mr. McConnell to back down.

Jen Psaki, the White House press secretary, declined to say what Mr. Biden thought about the prospect of scrapping a rule that has been a mainstay of the Senate, where he served for 36 years.

“The president has been clear,” Ms. Psaki said. “He wants to work with both parties and find bipartisan paths forward.”

Though the dispute was arcane, its practical effect could be significant if it persists. Without an organizing resolution, Democrats’ ambitions for advancing another coronavirus aid package or any tax, infrastructure or health care legislation that gathered dust when Republicans controlled the Senate were essentially paralyzed.

In the short term, the dispute created a surreal dynamic, where Mr. Schumer claimed the mantle of majority leader, even as the chamber’s influential committees — way stations for Mr. Biden’s agenda — continued to be overseen by Republican chairmen.

Senator Richard J. Durbin of Illinois, the No. 2 Democrat, who is expected to take over the Judiciary Committee, said dryly that he did not know who was in charge of his panel.

“We know it could be one of three people,” he said. They included him; Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, who held the gavel last term; or Senator Charles E. Grassley of Iowa, who was expected to take the top Republican slot from Mr. Graham this term.

A spokesman for Senator Jack Reed, Democrat of Rhode Island, who was in line to lead the Armed Services Committee, warned reporters not to call his boss “chairman” just yet, or anytime soon.

“When will the official change happen?” the aide, Chip Unruh, wrote. “I wish I knew.”

Some committees, including the one overseeing the coronavirus response, simply could not convene at all because their former Republican chairmen had retired.

Others were more optimistic. Senator Tim Kaine, Democrat of Virginia, predicted a swift end to the haggling over the organizing resolution. “It just looks kind of churlish not to,” he said. “They have plenty of tools in the minority.”

He added: “To stop the organizing resolution and block committee assignments and things like that just seems kind of petty. I just have a feeling we’ll get there.”

Emily Cochrane contributed reporting.

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www.MultipleServiceListing.com

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#multiple #service #listing #news #local #business #ads #near #me

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caremobile · 4 years ago

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Letters

Hayley -

Hey again

I honestly feel that, easily, if I don’t see things in a brighter and more positive light and keep going and fighting, who’s to say that I could just break down, and give up.

Do you know what it’s like to constantly fight? Fight devils? Fight people who you thought, would honestly be on your side through out your life, but just to turn your back on you, only to realize, they faltered, however, you must put things in perpective -- every rhyme has a reason, and even I resemble that rhyme so I fight for that reason.

It’s hard to hear your friends but not see them, they are around but they say to me, they have some sort of suprise while at the same time, knowing, I have a child on the way, and in my wife -- someone who is extremely vulnerable just as well and where at any instance I have my ex’s telling me they love me and asking me to write them love letters and my measurements -- So I understand.

Personally, I know my limitations, God did me a favor by almost eliminating all my wires, he hardwired them, and I am programmed not to think much of my sexual self anymore -- the first thing I think of when I see a beautiful girl is the level of must their puss has because I always recall these two girls who had the most erroneous odor in their period puss at Starbucks and that was the greatest petmal.

The greatest gift I gave my wife was that date I took her to when we went on an architectural boat ride and stopped by the top floor of gleacher center at University of Chicago and I took her on a tour of the Hall of Fame of UC Nobel Laureates -- It was where the Dean took me to when he interviewed me and gave me my acceptance letter to the Bevington Shakespeare Program.

She is now accepted to UC Geo and Publishing Program and I am giving her some sort of workshop in Lexicagraphy every now and then to boost he dialect, her style, form, her spatial awareness and her grip.

As for my son -- I know it may have seemed ill contrived to write about some of the topics I wrote about -- when I should be a little bit, maudlin of sorts-- we can talk about the Avant Guard Movement, the Unified Control, the Pathfinder Legion Annex we’re forming, and how I’ve just been busy with the Operation Pearl of the Orient Sun, and we discovered the third Amoeba Devil Water, and fought the third bactrian army, and defeated it,

for me, you are asking me, is all I want and expect from God, a brown jacket and a pen that I am paying for?

I exercised my step sister from the devil who was possessed and going under the other night, I also fought the last couple of battles for her soul and the soul of both the sanctity of our home, saved our ancestral homes, our parents temple, I always have fought for the honor of my parents lately -- even, if,

it meant, I fought every devil in the area, and God allows me to put them under my dominion...

so it’s a start. I am but 6′1 187 lb, believe me, what I asked for for us, is that whethe or not we deserve much riches I asked that we’re not burdened with so much temptation we’d lose our souls....

I’ll tell you this, when I found out my wife had a mass in her stomach that could have been there for two years, the first thing on my mind, was, what would I do, if my wife dies? she has everything, and she means everything?

she literally has all my money lol aside from mother of course

and that’s all she wrote.

Of course, I have you, as my trusted friend, my ex, the mother of child, and others, who have been there as my companions, but the women in my household have put me in such a position where monetarily I don’t have much of a leverage so I am waiting for my personal effects to come and that’ll be more even keeled later -- what I am not saying is that it could have been cancer but she may very well be pregnant as soon as the soul baby has skin totally formed all over...she also has fibroids in her uteris.

The Good news is that, I feel, the baby may have been still born for a short time which is why it is more soul than skin and we’e waiting for the skin to catch up. It’s just that it’s ressurected, and now we’re writing our own version of Sta Nina.

Hayley --one other way can get our money without waiting forever for these papers to come into effect is when we sell our property, if we ever do that. After the war, the two wars in the Philippines against JI and the Devil Amoeba Huk force, our property value rose, and now it’s worth 100 Million, who is splitting it upon whom I am not sure,

so, first things first -- we all fought a battle, a war for our self preservation, to beat the devil....let us beat the devil, and remain victorious from it forever once and for all. And fully heal. And sell our home --our ancestral home, and rotate to our new heaven and be with our family, our new and bigger family

I just had a child, in Kaylee, and hopefully, soon in Lucky

if you want to know my answer -- it’s not so much that I am rich or poor, but rather, we’re lucky

I’d do anything to be with my family......now that I feel God’s will is done, in every sense of the word, the other answer is everlasting life and mercy, these promises I worked hard for will come I am sure, but if everlasting life comes first, than that’s fine, for all of us.

If you want to know what’s in my heart? I never imagined I’d be a father in this fashion...where, I am away always to my children, and to my wife, I am, too ominous such that I’m a little bit too standoffish.

Love Anyhow

Rene Justin B Ocampo

Head of Now and Marine Military Intelligence

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fmbird-blog · 7 years ago

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Musician Interview: Dr. Douglas Lundeen

This week, I decided to interview a man by the name of Douglas Lundeen, an associate professor of music at Rutgers University and a professional horn player, having played in cities across the U.S. and England.

Read on to hear about his experience with music:

When did you start playing music?

Like so many people in this country, 4th grade—you choose an instrument—and I picked the clarinet, and I started playing the clarinet.

How did you become interested in music?

I remember we had the phonograph, the record player that we had, played 78 rpm records. And we had the Nutcracker Suite, and I remember being, like, about five and putting that on over and over again and dancing around to it. So I would say that, as far as I can remember, I really responded to music a lot. And there was a really wonderful music program at the church that we went to—I went to Episcopal church, and the Episcopal church is known for preserving a classical tradition of music. And I remember always being inspired by that. But it was when I was about 13 and went Christmas caroling with the youth group—we went to old folks’ homes and hospitals and around the neighborhood—and sang for people and saw how happy it made them, and how happy it made me to sing for them, that made me start to go “oh, this music-thing is pretty powerful and pretty neat”.

What kind of instruments do you play?

I mean, professionally, I just play the french horn. And I sing. I mean, originally, the thing I wanted to be able to do first was to be an opera singer, and I studied with teachers from Metropolitan Opera. But I picked up the french horn on the side—I switched in high school because they had plenty of clarinets and they ran out of horn players. And I loved already a lot of the music—knew already the music—that featured the french horn, and was really inspired to be like “oh wow, I could play this too”. So I taught myself to play the french horn without intending to become a professional horn player but, just the way things worked out, I got the opportunities on the french horn so I ended up a french horn player. But recreationally, I play the Native American flute and, as a meditative practice, I play the Japanese Buddhist shakuhachi—the five-hole, ancient flute.

What does music mean to you?

Music is the thing that proves that words aren’t sufficient. Because music gives you feelings and emotions without words. And yeah, most of the popular music has words. But there’s a lot of music, especially in the classical tradition, that has no words and is very powerful. And I would even say there are pieces of music that, for me, connect directly to the spiritual world. I should back up—when I was 13 I had my first serious thought about, y’know, “what am I gonna do in my adult life? What am I gonna be?” And my first inclination, actually, was that I might want to be an Episcopal priest. And then when I was doing that Christmas caroling, frequent thoughts would come to my mind that I could tell weren’t from my own mind? They were from the Big Mind. And when I was thinking about becoming a priest, the thought from the Big Mind came and said “you will be a minister, but your ministry is music”. So music has always been, to me, about something spiritual. And the great gift of music is the ability to perceive that the spiritual is a real thing. ‘Cause I studied western philosophy and western philosophy tries desperately, through definition of words and logic, to prove that God is real. And words can’t prove that God is real. But there are times that I’m playing and listening to music where the music proves to me that the spiritual world exists.

What are your favourite music genres?

Y’know, I grew up in a time when the Beatles were active, and Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin, and there was a great outpouring and evidence of spirit in the music in the popular field. But about that same time I discovered the classical music, and I just threw myself 100% at the classical music. And now, I mostly don’t listen to music at all—man-made music. I go out into the wilderness to hear the natural music. To hear the birds, and the wind, and the trees, the rushing of the stream, and that’s music. I listen to the natural music because that music is what I then use as the source for my musical expression when I play my instrument.

What do you feel about the current music trends?

I think that music has become an industry, much like anything else, and it’s controlled by the money interests. What I observed is, when the Beatles started making humongous amounts of money, the people who wanted to profit off that came into the music world and created an industry. And they carved it up into all different genres and mini-genres as a product to sell. There was Madonna, who was the envelope-pushing, risque, blonde, sexual artist, and then when she got a little too old to be marketable, they brought along Lady Gaga. And you can go through the whole music industry and say “ok, this is the boy-band, this is the girl-band, this and that”, it’s all been carved up. You’ve got very smart people doing the marketing research, seeing who likes what kind of music, and they find the people to fit the niche. And the biggest thing now is that there’s so many people that want to be the next Justin Beiber that they can choose people that are perfectly beautiful people to look at. And I’m reminded—Jimi Hendrix wasn’t handsome. But he was successful because he was so amazingly talented. An ok-looking person of great talent isn’t going to have a career in popular music these days. They gotta be attractive, as well as be able to sing. I think music has been almost completely co-opted by the money-makers. Ouch.

If you didn’t have a career related to music, What would you be doing?

I would be a subsistence farmer. I think that’s the only thing that makes sense for us to be at this time. Unfortunately, there’s not enough land on this planet for all of us to be subsistence farmers. But, yeah, I think that’s the most honest occupation to me.

A recommended listen: Gentle Giant

youtube

A short performance:

youtube

#music #french horn #flute #orchestra #popular music #pop #interview #church #opera #beatles

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survivorwakea · 5 years ago

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Episode 8: “from now on i’m doing whatever the fuck I want.” - Asya

kind of a good thing i didnt vote this round because people dont know where i stand in everything

it seems to be facebook vs tumblr but fuck that bc i genuinely dont trust most of the tumblr people and id hope that if i jump on the facebook train that they'll take me into their community AND into their alliance if i become sheepy enough and stop socializing with people so i seem like an ftc goat. lets see what happens :)

I JUST WANNA REALLY QUICKLY RIGHT NOW APOLOGISE TO ELMO FOR THE LONG ASS CONFESSIONAL I MADE A FEW DAYS AGO WHEN I DOUBTED HIM. I WAS VERY VERY PARANOID AND THOUGHT LITERALLY EVERYONE IN THIS GAME WAS GONNA BE AGAINST ME AND I THOUGHT ELMO WAS PROBABLY GONNA BE IN THERE AS WELL JUST TO BE PETTY BECAUSE IM A DUMB BITCH OKAY I FEEL REALLY FUCKING BAD ABOUT IT ELMO PLEASE DO NOT HATE ME I ADORE U SO SO MUCH OH MY GOD

i’m like genuinely irritated lmao like i can’t even talk to these people i’m so mad.

i felt so bad lying to chloe and writing her name down when i genuinely just wanted to work with her in the merge. and these fucking Freaks were so sure that lily and anabel would vote her and it would be fine so i said okay. then what happened? one of those two flipped. i should’ve voted lily last night just to send a message. from now on i’m doing whatever the fuck i want cause fuck these people

youtube

Omgggggggg. I’m livinggggggggg. After completely flopping the last round I’m just so happy that I know That I’m safe. I’m trying to figure out how to navigate the rest of the game and I think it’s about damn time that I get an alliance going. Or at least have myself talk with everyone and make sure we can agree on a vote because if I’m in the minority again and either Johnny or Jared go home I’m a goner. I’m really hoping I can find a way to work with Elmo and Ben for the rest of the game as well. I think if I could be in an alliance with all of them I may just be able to make it far in this game. Also Chloe I’m sorry for voting for you last round. It’s honestly because of how iconic you are and I hope you can forgive me Queen.

WHEW what a night this has been. Ben decides to make an alliance chat with me, Elmo, Zack and Justin. Okay sure I guess this is happening now. We all be sharing idol guesses with him as well. It's called Anabel's angels, which is kinda funny since she's not in it but apparently Ben does not trust her to not leak it. I also had Jared speak to me and say he wont come for me this round if I don't go for him, I mean sure, I wasn't gonna go for you yet anyway so if this helps to take the target off me for once then fine. But he also mentioned that he spoke to Ben who said he wanted to work with me, which led Jared to say he would be open to as well. It leaves me questioning the bond between Jared and Ben. Not something I'm going to freak about just yet, but will be kept in mind. And I also had a chat with Zack about how I feel I'm being overshadowed a bit right now and a bit stuck. Justin is definitely in a power position right now and I think he knows, everyone sort of knows it, just no one from the alliance really wants to say it out of fear that he will then target him. I do think Justin needs to go soon, he's far too much of a threat the closer the end gets and I feel he definitely will be one of the first to at least attempt to make a move. I feel my first move should be to turn on Justin and if I pitch myself right I really think I could get it to work. Shame though because as a person I adore him, I just don't want him to start running this show too much and then be left scrambling to try to get him out near the end. To finish it all off, Lily has messaged me and said she wants to work with me this round after being totally inactive today. She gave a not fantastic apology compared to the others and did not give me a single reason as to why she voted me. Asya, yet to message me. @ both of them ~ hit the bricks bitch.

I wanna say that I'm really glad for Elmo, Zack and Ben and the fact I know them all. I had a not fantastic time today but tonight we called nd played some roblox, or at least I listened to them because my roblox wouldn't connect. I had so much fun and I feel it did bring us closer as a group and it was something I really needed. So ya I love these guys so so much, they deserve the world and I hope we have more roblox calls to come <3 <3 <3

https://soundcloud.com/bodhi-small/week8/s-0GitL

honestly feeling like my number is up. i don’t know i just have that icky feeling that i’m joining joey tonight.

i threw around the idea of throwing johnny utb to save my own skin, since he was very Loud last round abt his legacy advantage (which i’m starting to think he didn’t? actually? play? idk i wasn’t at tribal but i watched part of it and i don’t think there was any indication that he played the advantage) but idk how to feel about that. like if i did it would purely be out of self preservation, and not with the hope that he’d will me the advantage he may or may not have faked playing the other night. but anyways i don’t see myself lasting long regardless with the way things are. in a more fluid merge i’d be less worried, but i feel like there are capital s Sides and i’m on the wrong one

and chloe will have definitely told her allies i’m a lying rat by now. i wish i could talk to her but i’m Baby and if anyone is just a little bit mean to me right now i will legit burst into tears

my people still don’t have a name and honestly i don’t have one to throw out. the last time i did i was wholly ignored and it blew up in our faces. now that person has immunity and we don’t have the numbers. i don’t know i cant think about this anymore or i’m gonna concuss myself

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"Hey Elmo? wanna vote Bodhi?"

"Not yet"

Oh we doing this again. I see you.

ugh. it's getting to the point where i literally can't deal with these people anymore. even the people i'm working with are getting on my damn near last nerve. the only person i've talked to about how i'm genuinely feeling, is chloe. i can't tell elmo and justin how i'm feeling because it's clear as day at how close they are and it's even more clear about how close they are with people outside of our alliance. and i'm glad when i talked to chloe, she felt the same way. everyone we're aligned with are so vocal and want to be in power so it's gonna clash soon i feel like. i don't want elmo and justin to think they're controlling everything and think i'm gonna just be in the background. i will be in the background for this vote though because it seems like justin is the one being in everyone's pm's trying to figure out how they're voting. and hopefully i'm not the only one who see's that and people start to realize how power hungry he really is. so i'll let him do all that right now and let him pick this vote and then when the time comes, people can think he was running it all and if it needs to be done, i'll drop hints here and there about it. i can't help but feel some typa way because i'm seeing it all with my own eyes and i don't think i'm over thinking it. elmo is close with jared and probably has multiple side deals. elmo and justin are closer then they're putting off. justin and johnny are close and justin seems to be trying to talk to everyone so.. all i know is, i need to start making side deals and talking to a lot of other people, and chloe agrees she's gonna do the same. so after this round, i think we're gonna try and get 2 step aheads and start focusing on the future of this game so we can try and have one over on them.. because i know this isn't gonna last.

haha so remember when i lied to jared and bodhi and asya and lily and voted joey out.. well.. perhaps i am now lying to elmo and ben and justin and zack and chloe and voting justin

________________________________________________________________

why am i LYING so much in this game. is it impossible for me to just. be HONEST. apparently it is bc there’s not one person ive been completely honest w... even johnny..... oopsies!!!!!

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sorry this is a short one but everyone has agreed on asya but im almost like sure that its a fake plan and im NOT SURE IF I SHOULD PLAY MY IDOL OR NOT BECAUSE IM SO WORRIED HISDFHISDF BUT I DONT WANNA MISPLAY IT? I ALSO DONT THINK THEY SHOULD BE COMING FOR ME...

god im nervous jsdfoij

This is a last minute confessional im legit at tribal rn I think im going home. it was too quiet all day and I dislike what Bodhi has just said. I feel uncomfortable and sick. If I go home then I go home but I will be a bitter jury member.

this vote was going to be ben, but i tried to get it to split. ive workede pretty hard at this and maybe it’ll work.

________________________________________________________________

Justin is voted out 7-4. He becomes the second member of the jury.

#episode #sailaway

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seraphladyvenom · 6 years ago

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We Are Family. [A Fairy Tail FanFic]

Ch.3: My Idol. [PT.1]

You had spent a couple of hours in the Fairy Tail guild and already you were feeling like a part of it. Even the master of the guild Makarov came down and introduced himself and joined in on the fun. This tiny man was sitting crossed legged and armed in front of you with a mug of beer next to him as he listened and talked with the rest of them.

Lira was on your lap with a glass of juice and you had your mug of beer in your hand as you laughed at the stories and tales they fed you. It was comforting to know that your favorite guild really was just as friendly and welcoming as you had hoped. "Another round Mira! For our guests!" The master raised his mug in the air, a pink stain on his cheeks as he clearly had one too many in just the short amount of time that passed.

Mira chuckled. "Coming right up Master!" She was adorable. "Oh no, I really shouldn't, you've given me so much already!" You pleaded but you knew it would be a hopeless battle as this old man has already proven himself to be quite stubborn. "Nonsense! It's no trouble at all my child. We here at Fairy Tail are always open to meeting new wizards and making new friends!"

"Well in that case, another round please Mirajane?" You giggled and raised your mug. "That's the spirit!" Cana patted you on the back rather roughly but you knew it was all love there.

"So what do you think of the Fairy Tail guild, Seradith?" Levi asked with a cute smile on her face. She had been sitting to the left of you with Jet and Droy lingering behind her as always.

"Well...its not boring, I can tell you that!" Everyone laughed.

"Honestly, it's everything we had imagined and more. The atmosphere in here is just so different from the many places we've been to before. So care free, fun..." She ducked just in time as a mug zoomed past above her head. "Rambunctious, but over all an awesome guild to be in." you concluded as you took a sip.

"Well I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." Erza smiled.

"Oi! We really are, it's fun in here, plus the food is really yummy." Lira added as she took a bite of her dish. Mira giggled and thanked her for the compliment.

"Well it seems you've met just about everyone from the guild already minus the few who are off doing jobs at the moment." Wakaba replied as he took a puff of his pipe. "Yes, but..." You stopped mid sentence. "But what Seradith?" Wendy asked.

"It's just that we have yet to meet our idols, I guess they are out doing jobs right now. What a bummer." Lira replied as she looked down pretty bummed.

"Hey it's alright Lira, don't be down, it just wasn't meant to be today." You patted her shoulder in reassurance. "Yes don't fret Lira dear, you may not have been able to meet who you wanted to meet today but you can always come back another day and try again." Erza smiled and Lira looked up at her with gleaming, hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Erza almost couldn't control herself but managed to hold back her anxiety of wanting to cuddle her to death and took a sip of her drink. "Of course, you are always welcome here in Fairy Tail." "See Lira, don't lose hope, there's always a way!" You smiled down at her and she inhaled excitedly and looked up at you smiling. "Mhm!" She nodded.

"So Syrup-Teeth, what is it that you do really?" Natsu asked bluntly.

"IT'S SERADITH!" Lucy smacked him in the back of the head but it didn't phase him.

You chuckled at that and thought for a moment. "Well, nothing special really, I'm just a traveler honestly." "A traveler, really?" Erza asked intrigued. You nodded. "Yes, we normally just go from town to town, across country just visiting places and exploring new things. Nothing too fancy."

"Wow that's so exciting, I bet you've seen some really amazing places, haven't you?" The gleam in Lucy's eyes was almost brighter than the golden keys that hung on her hip. "Oh Yes! We've been to a lot of cool places, also really pretty ones. Like recently we visited an old castle that was built over 400 hundred years ago!" Lira said through her glass. "Really?! How was it?!" Erza asked excitedly.

"Yeah, we're there any creepy ghosts or freaky monsters in there?!" Natsu asked with the most creepy face and voice you could imagine. Gray smacks him across the head. "Knock it off Natsu, quit being a pest." "What so you wanna fight you pervert?!" "Who are you calling a pervert, fire breath?!" He shoved his face into his. "You you filthy streaker! Put on some clothes!" It was then you realized Gray had stripped down to his underwear and you looked away. "You're the pervert, why are you looking at me anyway you disgusting freak!" "WHAT YOU SAY?!" Natsu combusted into flames and Grey retaliated with starting up his ice magic. "You heard me!" "Silence you two! Can't you see that Seradith is in the middle of telling her story?!" Erza glared. "Aye sir!" They replied.

You cleared your throat. "No, none of that, the castle was really well preserved and almost looked like it was stuck in time, that's how amazing it looked." "So you saw nothing weird then?" Natsu asked rather disappointed. "No, sorry...but then there was this creepy old maid keeper lady who had really huge front teeth and looked at you like she was going to eat your soul or something, if that counts." You and Lira both shudder at the sudden flash memory of that keeper.

"How boring." he was blunt yet again.

"Don't be so rude Natsu!" Lucy scolded. "Yeah yeah." He frowned unimpressed. "Honestly you need to learn some manners Natsu, geez." "Whatever." He leaned back against the chair and Lucy just continued to berate him. You couldn't help but giggle at it all. It was really like a big ol' family here. It was nice.

You looked down into your mug as your eyes lowered a bit, a small hint of sadness flickered in them as you recalled how you never really had such a luxury. It was always just you, that is until Lira came into your life and then it was just you and her against the world.

"What's wrong child?" Makarov's voice broke you concentration. You flustered a bit at being caught and tried to brush it off. "Oh nothing sir." You stuttered, beads of nervous sweat forming on the back of your head. He looked at you through one open eye as he sat in the same position he was in before closing it again. "Very well then." You took a breath of relief.

It was just then when you heard the creaking of the guild doors opening that turned everyone's attention towards the front. As the doors opened to a halt 4 wizards walked in, all in a group. It was then you realized who they were. The blonde spiked hair, the short, barely dressed, specks woman, those rather alarming long green locks, and a questioning looking helmet that covered half of his face. Your heart nearly flat lined right there.

"Ah Laxus my boy, welcome back." Makarov spoke. You and Lira stared wide eyes at the group that just walked in. It was almost godlike as they kind of sparkled in your eyes for some reason. The short brunette lady on the right with the flashy dress, glasses and a smug attitude to go with it was Evergreen, a vivacious wizard with a bod to back it up. The tall gentleman on the left with the weird long moss green hair was Freed Justine. Keen with his scripture magic, quite brilliant. The tall man in the back of him was Bixlow. He had that weird helmet that made you feel somewhat uneasy even through magazine pictures.

And then there was him. The tall, blonde, muscular man, with what seemed like a permanent scowl printed on his face was Laxus, the leader. All together they were the Thunder Tribe, solely named mainly because of Laxus lightening. He was a lightening dragon slayer after all.

"Welcome back guys, how did the job go?" Mira asked in her usual cheerful tone. "It went well actually, we finished it in record time if I do say so myself." Freed replied with a slight bit of cockiness in his tone. Mira just chuckled. As for Lira and you, well y'all couldn't take your eyes off them. It was like the air around you became so thick that you could barely breath.

"Alright Laxus! You're back!" Natsu grinned mischevously. "So how about we have a fight?!" He was so enthuastic as he ran up towards Laxus. "Not today Natsu, I'm not in the mood." He spoke uninterestedly. "Oh come on Laxus! That's not fair! You always pass me up!"

"I don't think it's a good idea to try anything today Natsu." Ever replied a bit worried. "Yeah, Laxus didn't have a very good time on our way back here, so he's not in a very good mood." Bixlow added. "Why, what happened?" Gray asked. "Just some punk thug wannabe thieves tried to challenge us. As you can see..." her eyes glanced down at the bottom of Laxus overcoat which had been shredded with many holes. "Let's just say it didn't end well for those punks." Freed sweatdropped.

"Really?! You let some low life punks get the the better of you Laxus?!" Natsu taunted. His face turned dark. "I thought you were the strongest one in the guild." Laxus face darkened and the others looked at him with shock. "What do you have a death wish or something Natsu?!" Bixlow asked bewildered. "I guess it wouldn't be much of a fight if we fought now huh?" Laxus was pissed. You can see it clearly in his face.

"Come on Laxus! Prove me wrong!" He attacked. And with a swish of his wrist, Natsu was face down imbedded deep in the floor of the guild. Laxus retracted his arm and grunted. He didn't even bother to look his way. Everyone sweatdropped. "That didn't even last 2 seconds." Droy stated. Romeo sighed deeply and shook his head. "Oh Natsu."

"Anyways, Laxus, Evergreen, Freed, Bixlow. I want to intoduce you to someone." "Huh? Introduce us?" Ever questioned curiously. "Yes, this is Seradith and Lira, they are travelers who happen to be quite the fans of our guild, and came all this way to meet us all." "Yeah, they've been everywhere in Fiore and seen a lot of cool places, they were just talking about them actually." Levi smiled.

"They came here to meet all of us, including a few who are their idol's, though we still have no clue who they are." Lucy giggled. Evergreen gave a smug grin. "I see, well as you can see I am Evergreen, the most beautiful woman in ALL of Fairy Tail and part of one of the strongest teams here." She winked. "No pictures please." She spoke as she strutted a pose. "And I am Freed. I too am part of the strongest team in Fairy Tail." He bowed slightly. "Yowza! Hey there cutie, the names Bixlow and these are my babies. And we're here to rock your world, baby!" He threw a rock symbol at you as he stuck his fairy tail marked tongue out through his creepy grin. "Rock your world, baby!" The tiki drums repeated in unison.

#my ocs #oc #ocs #fairy tail #fan fic writing #fan fiction #fandom #fanfic #fantasy

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anavoliselenu · 7 years ago

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Crashed chapter 5

Every part of my body angles into him—wanting, needing, daring him—but he proves he still has control when he chuckles out a pained laugh. “My turn. Why haven’t you seen the boys yet?”

Of all of the questions he could have asked me, I had not expected this one. I must look a little shell-shocked because he’s right. I do desperately want to see the boys, but I don’t know how to see them without bringing the circus with me. The circus that their already fragile lives don’t need and can’t handle.

“You need me more right now,” I tell him, not wanting to give him the exact reason, so that he doesn’t have something besides recovering to worry about.

“That’s bullshit, Selena. I’m a big boy. I can be left alone for the night. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

But what if it does? What if you need me and no one is here and something horrible happens? “Yeah … I just,” I trail off, needing to say it and at the same time not wanting to offend him. “I don’t want your world to collide with theirs. They don’t need cameras in their faces telling everyone they’re orphans—that no one wanted them—or any of the fallout I’m sure would come with it.”

“Selena, look at me,” he says as he lifts my chin up to meet his eyes. “You and me? I don’t ever want it—me, the craziness around my life, the press, whatever—to come between you and the boys. They are what’s important, and I understand that more than most.”

Between telling me he needs me and then this declaration, I swear I could have just won the lottery and it wouldn’t matter because those two things just made me the richest person in the world. He really gets me. Gets that my boys make me who I am and that in order to be with me, he needs to love them. Beckett says I’m Justin’s lifeline, but I think he just proved it goes both ways.

I swallow back the lump of tears in my throat as he continues staring at me, to make sure I hear what he’s saying. I murmur in agreement, my voice robbed of emotion. “I’ll figure something out,” he says, leaning in to brush a kiss to my lips. “I’ll make sure you get to see the boys soon without interference, okay?”

I nod my head and then curl myself into him as my mind whirls with numerous questions when one jumps out at me. “My turn,” I say, wanting and fearing the answer to the question.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That first night,” I pause, undecided about how to ask the question. I decide to dive in head first and hope I’m in the deep end. “What were you doing with Bailey in the alcove before you found me?”

Justin barks a laugh followed by a curse, and I think he’s a little surprised by my question. “You really want to know?”

Do I? Now I’m not so sure. I nod my head and close my eyes in preparation for the explanation to come.

“I walked backstage to take a call from Becks.” He laughs. “Shit, the minute I hung up she was on me like a pit viper. She had my jacket stripped, the front of her dress unzipped, and her mouth on mine faster than …” He fades off as I try not to react to the words, but I know he feels my body tense because he presses a kiss into the top of my head in reassurance. “Believe me, Selena, it was not what it sounds like.”

“Really? Since when does the infamous ladies’ man, Justin Donavan, turn down a willing woman?” I can’t hide the sarcasm in my voice. Even though I asked the question, it still hurts to hear the answer. “Besides, I thought you like women taking control.”

He laughs again. “There’s no need to be jealous, sweetheart … even though it’s kind of hot that you are.” I poke him with my finger, content that he’s trying to soften the blow of the truth, and instead of pulling away, he just holds on to me tighter. “And I’ve only ever let one woman take control because she’s the only one that’s ever mattered.”

I scrunch up my nose as my heart sighs at the comment, but my head questions whether he is just trying to exercise self-preservation. Cynicism wins. “Hmpf.” I puff out. “I do believe I heard sweet Jesus come out of your mouth and not get off me.”

I feel Justin’s body shudder as he laughs in that full bodied way I love. “Think of it more like being eaten alive by a piranha with dull teeth.” I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his comment, and I just shake my head. “No seriously,” he says. “The minute I was able to come up for air, that was the first thing that came out of my mouth because the woman kisses like a fucking bulldog.” I can’t stop laughing now, my jealousy easing toward relief. “And the funniest part was at that moment my mom called to see how things were going and unknowingly rescued me from her claws.”

“You mean from her voodoo pussy?”

“Fuck no,” he chuckles. “You, baby—you’re my voodoo pussy. Bailey? She’s more like a piranha pussy.”

We laugh a bit more as his analogies get funnier and funnier and then he says, “Okay, so...” he trails a finger down the bare skin of my arm leaving tiny sparks of electricity in its wake “...Ace?”

I was waiting for the question, and I just pull back from him and shake my head. “You’re going to waste your next question on that? You’re going to be so disappointed.” I twist my lips and look at him. “Don’t you want to know something else?”

“Quit stalling, Thomas!” His fingers dig into my ribs, and I squirm trying to evade them.

“Stop,” I tell him as I keep wriggling. “Okay, okay!” I put my hands up and he stops right before I shove his shoulders. “Tyrant!” He tickles me one more time for good measure and then grunts as I try to explain. “Haddie tends to have a ridiculous penchant for rebellious bad boys.” I stop mid-sentence as he raises his eyebrows at me.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, huh?” I can see him trying to keep the smile off of his face.

“I told you that night at the carnival that I don’t do bad boys.”

“Oh, baby, you most definitely did me.”

I don’t even fight the laugh that comes out because the cocky, mischievous grin is back on his face, lighting up his eyes, and solidifying the theft of my heart. “I sure did, but you were most definitely the exception to the rule,” I tell him with a smirk.

“As you were mine,” he says, and I think back to how easy it seems for him to say these things now when a month ago I never thought it would be a possibility. He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine, his tongue delving between them to taste and tantalize. I groan, unsatisfied, when he pulls away. “Now give me answers, woman. Ace?” he says with the raise of his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay,” I relent, although I’m still very distracted by how close Justin’s lips are to mine and how much I crave just one more taste even though my lips are still warm from his. “Like I said, Haddie goes for tattooed men destined to break her heart. Some are good for her, most are not. Max and I used to always laugh at the revolving door of rebels that surrounded her. In college she dated this guy named Stone.” I just nod when Justin shakes his head, making sure he heard me correctly.

“Yes, Stone was in fact his name. Anyway, the guy was a jerk but Haddie was madly in lust with him. One night he stood her up for his boys, and as we sat with a bottle of tequila and a bag of Hershey kisses, I told her he was a “real ace in the hole” she’d picked this time. One thing led to another shot, and then another shot.” I laugh at the memory from all those years ago. “And the more we drank, we decided to make ace stand for something … we thought we were hilarious with our guesses and once we decided on the perfect one for Stone, we couldn’t stop giggling. Later that night after he’d been out on the town with his buddies, he showed up at the door and when Haddie answered it, she said “Hey, Ace!” and the nickname stuck. He thought she was telling him he was an ace in the sack when she was really telling him he was an arrogant, conceited egomaniac.” Justin’s eyes meet mine when I finally give him what he wants to know. “And from there on out, every time she dated a guy who was like Stone, we called him Ace.”

He just stares at me for a second before nodding his head subtly. “Hmpf,” is all he says after a beat, his expression stoic and unexpressive. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I wait, and then a slow, lazy grin curls up one corner of his mouth. “It’s still a chance encounter to me, but I guess I earned that title the first night we met.”

I snort. “Umm, yeah, you can say that again.”

“Don’t kick an injured man when he’s down.” He pouts in mock sadness, and I lean in and brush my lips against his.

“You poor thing,” I croon.

“Yep, and just because you feel sorry for me, you’re going to let me ask another question. What other memory am I forgetting that you’re not telling me?”

I swear my heart skips and lodges in my throat. I try to not falter. Try not to show the break in my figurative stride, which would most definitely let him know that I know something he doesn’t. “Nice try, Ace,” I tease, swallowing hard and figuring distraction is key at this point.

I lower my lips and kiss little pecks down his neck and chest and then instantly know my next question. I probably shouldn’t ask it—know it’s a no-go area and I really intend to ask about the knock four times on the hood of the car thing—but the question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “What do your tattoos mean?” I feel his chest hitch momentarily as I look up and meet his eyes. “I mean, I know what the symbols represent … but what is their meaning to you?”

He stares at me, tumult in his eyes and uncertainty in his grimace. “Selena … ” My name is an exhale on his lips as he tries to find the words to express the warring emotions dancing at a rapid pace through his irises.

“Why’d you get them?” I ask, thinking maybe I’ll switch gears, anything to get rid of the fear flickering in them.

“I figured I was scarred permanently on the inside—live with it every day, a constant reminder that never goes away—I might as well scar myself on the outside too.” He shifts his eyes away from mine with a deep breath and looks out toward the ocean. “Show everyone that sometimes what you think is a perfect package is filled with nothing but damaged goods, scarred and irreparable.” His voice breaks on the last word and with it so does a little piece of my heart. His words are like acid eating at my soul.

I can’t stand the sadness that overtakes him so I take the reins. I want him to see that whatever the tattoos represent, it doesn’t matter. Show him that only he could take what he deems an invisible disfigurement and make it visibly, beautiful art. Explain to him that the scars inside and out are meaningless because it’s the man that wears them—owns them—who is important. Is the man I’ve fallen in love with.

And I’m not sure how to show him this, so I move on instinct, touching his arm so he raises it up. I very slowly lean forward and press my lips to the uppermost one, the Celtic symbol representing adversity. I feel his chest vibrate beneath my lips as he tries to control the rush of emotion swamping him when I move ever so slowly down to the next one: acceptance.

The notion that anyone should ever have to scar themselves permanently to accept horrors I can’t even fathom hits me hard. I leave my lips pressed against the artistic reminder and close my eyes so he doesn’t see the tears pooling in them. So he doesn’t mistake them for pity. But then I realize I want him to see them. I want him to know that his pain is my pain. His shame is my shame. His adversity is my adversity. His struggle is my struggle.

That he no longer has to battle it alone, body and soul stained in silent shame.

As I lift my lips from the symbol of acceptance and move it down to healing, I look up at him through my tear blurred eyes. His eyes lock on to mine and I try to pour everything in myself into our visual conversation.

I accept you, I tell him.

All of you.

The broken parts.

The bent parts.

The ones filled with shame.

The cracks where hope seeps through.

The little boy cowering in fear and the grown man still suffocating in his shadow.

The demons that haunt.

Your will to survive.

And your spirit that fights.

Every single part of you is what I love.

What I accept.

What I want to help heal.

I swear neither of us breathe in this silent exchange, but I can feel walls crumbling down around the heart that beats just beneath my lips. Gates that once protected are now forced apart from the rays of hope, love, and the trust breaking through. Walls collapsing to let someone else in for the first time.

The absolute impact of the moment causes the tears to fall over and trail down my cheek. The salt on my lips, his scent in my nose, and the thunder of his heart breaks me apart and puts me back together in a magnitude of ways.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the tears, and before he opens them, he’s reaching down and pulling me up so we’re at eye level. I can see the muscles in his jaw tic and see the fight over how to verbalize it in his eyes. We sit like this a moment as I allow him the space he needs.

“I …” he starts out and then his voices fades, lowering his eyes for a beat before raising them back up to mine. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet. It’s just too much and as much as it’s clear in my head—in my soul and my nightmares—saying it out loud when I never have, is just …”

My heart splinters for the man I love. Fucking shatters into the tiniest shards possible from the memories that just put that lost, apologetic, shameful look in his beautiful eyes. I reach out and cup his jaw in my hands trying to smooth away the pain etched in the magnificent lines of the face.

“Shh, it’s okay, Justin. You don’t need to explain anything.” I lean in and press a kiss to the tip of his nose as he does to me and then rest my forehead against his. “Just know I’m here for you if you ever want to.”

He exhales out a shaky sigh and pulls me tighter against him, trying to make me feel secure and safe when I should be doing that for him. “I know,” he murmurs into the darkening night. “I know.”

And it’s not lost on me that he let me kiss all of his tattoos—express love for all of the symbols of his life—except for the one denoting vengeance.

“Motherfucker!”

Where the fuck am I? I jerk awake and sit up. My heart’s racing, head’s pounding, and I’m out of fucking breath. Sweat beads on my skin as I try to wrap my head around the jumbled images floating, then crashing through my dreams. Memories that vanish like fucking ghosts the minute I wake up and leave nothing but an acrid taste in my mouth.

Yeah, the two us—nightmares and me—we’re tight. Thick as motherfucking thieves.

I glance at the clock. It’s only seven-thirty in the morning, and I need a drink already—screw that—a whole fucking fifth to deal with these goddamn dreams that are going to be the death of me. Talk about motherfucking irony. Memories of a crash I can’t fucking remember are going to kill me trying to remember them.

Can you say fucked up with a capital F?

I laugh out loud only to be answered by the thumping of Baxter’s tail against his cushion on the floor beside me. I pat the bed for him to jump up on it, and after a bit of petting, I wrestle him to lie down, laughing at his wildly licking tongue.

I lie back on my pillow and close my eyes trying to remember what the fuck I was dreaming about, what empty spaces in my mind I can try and fill. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Sweet Jesus! Throw me a goddamn bone here.

Baxter groans beside me. I open my eyes and look over at him, expecting puppy dog eyes begging for attention. Nope. Not in the slightest. I can’t help but laugh.

Fucking Baxter. Man’s best friend and shit and also comedic relief when needed most.

“Seriously, dude? If I could lick myself like that, I wouldn’t need a woman.” My words don’t even make him hesitate as he finishes cleaning himself. After a beat Baxter stops and looks at me, head angled, handy tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. “Don’t give me that smug look, you bastard. You might think you’re top dog now with all that flexibility and shit, but, dude, you’d hold out too for Selena’s pussy. Fucking grade A voodoo, Bax.” I reach out and scratch the top of his head and laugh again with a shake of my head.

Am I that fucking desperate that I’m talking to my dog about sex? And the doc says my head’s not fucked up? Shit, I think he’s taken one too many right turns on an oval track.

Baxter stands and jumps off the bed. “I get it, use me and then leave me,” I say to him, and Selena’s words to me the first night we met resurface. Fuck ’em and chuck ’em. Fucking Selena. Pure class, gorgeous as fuck with a defiant mouth and feisty attitude. How the fuck did we get from there to here?

I swear to God life is a fucking series of moments. Some unexpected. Most not. And very few inconsequential. Fuck if I would have ever expected a stolen kiss to lead to this. Selena and me.

Motherfucking checkered flags and shit.

Blowing out a breath as the headache starts, I roll over on the bed to grab my pain meds from the nightstand. It feels like my head explodes with a bright burst of white—a flash of memories from the drivers’ meeting hits me like a fucking sledgehammer—and then disappears before I can hold on to more than a tenth of what flickered.

“Goddammit!” I shove up and out of the bed, the dizziness not as bad as yesterday. As the day before yesterday. I feel restless as I try to force myself to remember, to make my fucked up head recall all that I’d just glimpsed. I pace, my mind drawing nothing but fucking blanks. I’m frustrated, feeling fucking confined, unsettled.

More fucked up than not.

I don’t feel like me anymore. And I need that right now more than fucking anything. To be me. To be in control. To be on top of my fucking game.

To still be Justin fucking Donavan.

“Aaarrrrggghh!” I shout because fucking is most definitely what I need right now. What will help me find the fucking me I need to be again. I may be pacing in front of my bedroom window, but my dick is hard as a rock and my balls are so fucking blue I’m gonna turn into goddamn Papa Smurf if the doc doesn’t clear me soon.

Pleasure to bury the pain, my ass. When you can’t have the pleasure, what the fuck do you do with the pain?

And fuck me if it’s not the worst—sweetest—fucking torture sleeping next to the only woman I’ve ever ached for. I can’t take another damn day of this. Even though it aches like a bitch, just the thought of her has me reaching down to palm my dick, make sure it didn’t shrivel up and fall off from lack of fucking use.

Yep, still there.

And then my hand trembles. Shakes so that my fingers can’t even hold my own dick anymore.

Motherfuck, cocksuck! I’m fucking shaking with frustration right now. At me, at fucking Jameson for crashing into me, at the fucking world in general! This confinement is suffocating me. Making me lose my shit! I’m going fucking crazy!

I pick up the pillow next to me on the couch and chuck it at the wall of glass in front of me before flopping down into a chair. “Fuck!” Squeezing my eyes shut, I suddenly feel like images zoom and collide at a rapid pace slamming against the front of my mind. The bright flash of white returns with a vengeance, crippling and freezing me at the same fucking time.

Go, go, go. C’mon, one-three. C’mon, baby. Go, go, go.

Too fast.

Fuck!

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I jolt my eyes open as memories lost to me rush back in high definition color.

My stomach tumbles to my feet as the forgotten feelings hit me. Fear strangles me as I try to piece the crash together from the Swiss-cheese sized holes still in my memory.

The anxiety attack hits me at full force and I can’t shake it. Dizziness. Vertigo. Nausea. Fear. All four mix like a Long Island Iced Tea I’d kill to fucking gulp down right now as my body trembles with the tiny bits of knowledge my memory has chosen to return.

I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, mid free fall as I struggle to draw in a fucking breath.

Suck it up, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy! Fuck me because all I want right now is Selena. And I can’t have her. So I rock myself back and forth like a goddamn puss to prevent myself from calling her on her first full day back with the boys.

But fuck if I don’t need her, especially because I get it now … get her now. Understand the claustrophobia that cripples her, because right now I can’t even function. All I can fucking do is lie flat on the floor with the edges of my vision blurring, the room spinning, and my head pounding.

And in a moment of lucidity amidst the strangling panic, my mind acknowledges that if I didn’t feel like myself before, then I most definitely hate this fucked-up pussified version of myself—falling to pieces, lying on the floor like a little bitch because of a few memories.

I close my eyes as my mind swims in a fucking fog.

… If it’s in the cards …

More memories graze my mind, but I can’t reach them or see them long enough to hold on to the fuckers.

… Your superheroes finally came …

I push the memories back, push them down into the blackness. I’m so fucking useless right now. As much as I need to remember, I’m not sure if I can handle them. I’ve always been a balls-to-the-wall kind of guy, but right now I need motherfucking baby steps. Crawl before you walk and all that shit.

I close my eyes to try and make the room stop the fucking Tilt-A-Whirl it’s become.

Thwack!

And another flash of a memory hits me. Five minutes ago I couldn’t remember shit and now I can’t fucking forget. Fuck being broken or bent, I’m a motherfucking scrap yard of parts right now.

Breathe, Donavan. Fucking breathe.

Thwack!

I’m alive. Whole. Present.

Thwack!

I take in a couple of deep breaths, sweat staining the carpet as it pours off of me. I struggle to sit up, to piece together the parts of me scattered all over the fucking place to no avail, because it’s gonna take a whole hell of a lot more than a torch to weld me back the fuck together.

And it hits me like a motherfucking freight train what I need to do right now. I’m on the move. If I were more coherent, I’d laugh at my naked ass crawling across the floor to reach the television’s remote, at how fucking low I’ve stooped.

But I don’t give a flying fuck because I’m so goddamn desperate.

To find myself again.

To control the one fear I can control.

To confront the memories and take their power away.

To not be a fucking victim.

Ever.

Again.

I reach the remote with more effort than it usually takes me to run my typical five miles, and I’ve only crawled ten fucking feet. I’m weak as fuck right now in so many ways I can’t even count them. I’m out of fucking breath and the jackhammer is back to work in my head. I finally reach my bed and I push myself on my ass so I can prop my back against the footboard.

Because it’s time I face one of the two fears that dominate my dreams.

I aim the remote at the television, push the button, and it sparks to life. It takes me a minute to focus, my eyes have trouble making my double vision merge. My fucking fingers are like Jell-O, and it takes me a few tries to hit the right buttons, to find the recording on the DVR.

It takes every fucking ounce of everything I have to watch my car slingshot into the smoke.

To not look away as Jameson’s car slams into mine. Lighting the short fuse on a fireworks display.

To remember to fucking breathe as it—the car, me—flies through the smoke-filled air.

To not cringe at the sickening sound and sight of me hitting the catch fence.

To watch the car shred to pieces.

Disintegrate around me.

Barrel roll like throwing a fucking Hot Wheels down the stairs.

And the only time I allow myself to look away is when I throw up.

Expectation vibrates and contentment flows through me as I drive the sun drenched highway back to Justin’s house, back to what I’ve been calling home for the past week. A silent tiptoe within a monumental step of our relationship.

It’s just out of necessity. Not because he wants me to stay with him for an unspecified period of time. Right?

My heart is lighter after spending my first twenty-four hour shift in over three weeks with the boys. I can’t help but smile, recalling Justin’s self-sacrifice to get me out of the house and to the boys without a paparazzi entourage. As I was behind the wheel of the Range Rover and its heavily tinted windows, Justin opened the gate on his driveway and walked right out into the media frenzy, drawing all of the attention on himself. And as the vultures descended, I drove out the other side and left without anybody tailing me.

Anticipation is not inconsequential. The phrase dances through my mind, a parade of possibilities rain from the four words Justin texted me earlier. And when I tried to call him to ask what he meant, the phone went to voicemail and another text was sent in response. No questions. I’m in control now. See you after work.

And the simple notion that after being with him basically non-stop for three weeks and now I’m not allowed to talk to him—that in itself has created serious anticipation. But the question stands, what exactly am I supposed to be anticipating? As much as my body has already decided, vibrating at what it knows to be the answer, my mind is trying to prepare me for something else. I’m afraid that if I think he’s really been cleared by the doctor, and he hasn’t, I’ll be so frenzied with need and overwhelmed with desire that I’ll take what I want—am desperate to have—even though it’s not safe for him.

I can’t help but smile in satisfaction as I think of what tonight just might bring, on the heels of a great shift with the other men in my life. I felt like a rock star walking into The House from the warm and loving reception I received from the boys. I missed them so much and it was such a comforting sound to hear Ricky and Kyle bickering over who is the best baseball player, to hear the sweet sound of Zander’s voice in its sporadic but steady bouts, to listen to Shane rattle on about Sophia and Justin getting better so he can teach him how to drive. There were hugs and affirmations that Justin really is okay and all of the headlines in the papers saying otherwise were not true.

I turn up the radio when What I Needed comes on and start singing aloud, the lyrics bolstering my good mood, if that’s even possible. I look over my shoulder and change lanes, noticing the dark blue sedan for the third time. Maybe I didn’t escape the paparazzi after all. Or maybe it’s one of Sammy’s guys just making sure I get home okay. Regardless, I have a slightly unnerving feeling.

I start to get paranoid and reach for my phone to call Justin and ask him if he had Sammy put a security detail on me. I reach across to the passenger seat and my hand hits all of the homemade gifts the boys made for Justin. It’s then I realize that when I loaded my stuff into the back of the car, I set my phone down, and forgot to pick it back up.

I glance in my mirror again and try to shake the feeling away that eats at me, that makes me worry when I see the car still a few lengths back, and force myself to concentrate on the road. I tell myself it’s just a desperate photographer. Not a big deal. This is Justin’s territory, something he’s completely used to but not me. I blow out an audible breath as I make my way through the beachside community and onto Broadbeach Road.

I shouldn’t be surprised that the paparazzi still obstruct the street outside of Justin’s gates. I shouldn’t cringe at having to navigate the street as they descend upon me when they notice I’m driving his car. I shouldn’t check my rearview mirror again as I push the button for the gates to open and see the sedan park itself against the curb. I should notice that the person in the car never gets out—never claims his camera to take the shot he’s been following me for—but driving with camera flashes exploding around me, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else.

I breathe out a shaky breath as the gates shut behind me and park the Rover. I exit the car, my hands a little jittery and my head wondering how anyone gets used to the absolute chaos from the frenzied media as I hear them still calling my name from over the wall. I look up to where Sammy stands just inside the gate and accept the nod he gives me. I start to ask if he’s added a man on me but I suddenly remember Justin’s text.

Anticipation is not inconsequential.

Everything in my body clenches and coils, my nerves are already frenzied and aching for the man inside the house in front of me. I open the back of the car and grab my purse, figuring I’ll leave everything else and get it later. I move quickly to the front door, have the key in the lock, and the door open in seconds. When I close the door the cacophony outside is silenced, and I lean back against the wood, my shoulders sagging at the literal and figurative notion that I’ve just shut out the world and am now in my little slice of Heaven.

I’m now with Justin.

“Tough day?”

I almost jump out of my skin. Justin steps out of the shadowed alcove, and it takes everything I have to remember to breathe as he leans against the wall behind him. My eyes greedily scrape over every defined edge—every inch of pure maleness—of his body, covered only in a pair of red board shorts hanging low on his hips. My gaze roams up his chest and over inked reminders to take in the lopsided ghost of a smile, but it’s when our eyes lock that I catch the spark right before the dynamite detonates.

And from one breath to the next, predicated by a carnal groan, he is on me—body crashing into mine, pressing me against the door, mouth doing so much more than kissing. He’s taking, claiming, branding me with unfettered need and reckless abandon. I immediately reach up and fist the hair at the back of his neck while one of his hands does the same to me, the other is on my hip, his desperate fingers digging into my willing flesh. My breasts pillow and pebble against the firmness of his chest, the warmth of his skin adding heat to the blaze building inside of me.

An inferno of need rises inside me that I don’t think will ever be sated.

We move in a series of fervent reactions, his hand holds my curls hostage so my mouth is at the mercy of his dexterous lips. So his tongue may delve and tantalize and taste like a man savoring his last meal, like a man saying fuck off to his restraint and accepting gluttony as a welcome sin.

My hands graze down the blades of his shoulders as he gasps—so grateful to have the chance to feel again—before he hikes my leg up and over his hip. I moan, the change in position allowing his rock hard erection to be perfectly placed against my aching core. I throw my head back against the door as the muted friction swamps me, and Justin takes advantage of my newly exposed neck. His mouth is on the tender flesh in the beat of a heart, his tongue sliding against nerves, bringing them to life and then simultaneously singeing them with desire.

My fingers grab onto flexing biceps as his hands make quick work of the button on my jeans. I wiggle my hips when his hands slide between the fabric and my anticipatory flesh. I step out of them as his fingers roam, feathering over my swollen folds to tempt but not take. His other hand palms my backside, a barrier between me and the door, and presses me further into him.

Need swells to unfathomable heights as the parasitic strains of desperation consume every part of my body.

“Justin,” I groan, wanting—no needing—him to complete our connection. My hands grope his torso and tear apart the Velcro on his board shorts. I hear the hiss of his breath as my hands find and encircle his tortured length. His whole body tenses at the feel of my skin on his.

“Selena …” He pants my name as I slide my hand up and down him. His hands find their way beneath my top, stripping it off me and making fast work of my bra clasp. “Selena,” he says between gritted teeth. He’s so overwhelmed with the sensations ricocheting through him that he stops kissing me, stops moving his hands over my flesh, and braces them against the door on either side of my head. He presses his forehead against mine as he vibrates with the need coursing through him, his breath coming out in short, sharp breaths against my lips.

He says something so quietly I can’t hear it underneath the heavy breathing filling the otherwise silent room. I move my hands again, enjoying the feeling of him trembling against me. “Stop,” he says quietly against my lips, and this time I hear him. I instantly stop and move back to look at him, fearing that his head is hurting. And I am immediately unnerved by the sight of his eyes squeezed shut.

He draws in a pained breath and opens his eyes slowly to meet mine, as his fingers gently knead my ass. “I’m fucking desperate to bury myself—feel, lose, find myself—in you, Selena …” he says, the strain in his neck visible and his desperation audible. “You deserve soft and slow, baby, but all I’m going to be able to give you is hard and fast because it’s been so fucking long since I’ve had you.”

My God the man is so damn sexy, his admission such a turn on, that I don’t think he realizes I don’t care about soft and slow. My body is strung so tight—emotions, nerves, willpower—that a single touch from him will undoubtedly break me, shatter me into a million fucking pieces of pleasure that oddly will make me whole again.

I angle my head up to him, lean in, and brush my lips to his. I hear his pained intake of breath, feel the tension in his lips as I pull gently on his bottom one from between my teeth. When I pull back, I meet his lust-laden eyes.

“I want you,” I whisper to him, one hand wrapped around his iron length and the other fisted tight in the hair at his nape, so he can feel the intensity of my desire. “Any way I can have you. Hard, fast, soft, slow, standing, sitting—it doesn’t matter so long as you’re the one buried in me.”

He stares at me for a beat, disbelief warring with the need raging in his eyes. I can see him try to rein it in, can feel him tremble with need, and know the instant his resolve crumbles. His mouth meets mine—bruising lips and melding tongues—as he takes, tastes, and tempts as only he can. Strong hands map the lines of my torso, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts already heavy with need, before descending back down the curve of my hips.

If I thought the seeds of desire planted before had bloomed, I have never been more wrong because right now—right now—I’m a garden of need.

He grows even harder in my hand as I rub my thumb over the moisture at his crest and am rewarded with a groan from deep in his throat. My other hand scratches up the skin of his back as my lips brand his with just as much fervor. In an instant, Justin has his hands on my hips, lifting me up and pressing my back against the door. My legs try to wrap around his waist but he holds me up, suspended so the one connection I want the most isn’t made, so the steeled length of him against my thighs is a torturous tease to my begging apex.

He sucks in a breath as I reach between my legs and grip him, wanting to control the man who is uncontrollable. Needing him in the worst way. The best way. In any way.

His eyes flicker with some undecipherable emotion, but I’m so pent up, so preoccupied with what’s going to happen in the next few moments I don’t even give a second thought to what it is.

I release him momentarily and reach between my legs to wet my fingers with the pool of moisture within before encircling his crest and coating it, preparing him physically and showing him figuratively what he does to me, and what exactly I want from him. And my little demonstration weakens all of his restraint.

His fingers dig into my hips and lift me up a little higher as I line him up before he pulls me back down and onto him. We both cry out as our connection is made. As my wet heat stretches past its limits to accommodate his invasion.

And it feels like it’s been so long since he’s filled me, my body has forgotten the pleasurable burn his presence can evoke. “My God,” I breathe as my body takes him in. “I’m so tight,” I tell him, chalking it up to the fact that it’s been over three weeks since we’ve been intimate.

“No, baby,” Justin says, mirth dancing in his eyes as he stills his hips so I can adjust. “I’m just that big.”

The laughter fills my mind but never makes it to my lips before I see a flash of his cocky grin and then his mouth is on mine again. But this time as his kiss claims mine, his hips begin to move, hands begin to guide, and his cock begins to stroke over every attuned inch within my nerve-laden walls. He is in complete control of our movements, our motions, our escalation of sensations.

I lift my head up from its leaning position against the door and take in the sight of him. His own eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, hair mussed from my hands, and shoulder muscles rippling as he moves us in rhythmic motion.

My broken man is now in pure dominant mode, and every nerve in my body screams to be taken. To be made his. To be the one he proves his virility to.

“Fuuuccckkk you feel good,” he tells me as he pushes me up and then plunges back into me as my muscles clench and nerves are paid the attention they most definitely have been craving.

“Justin,” I pant, my fingers digging into the tops of his shoulders as he drives me higher and higher. Sensation spirals—little shock waves of pleasure preparing me for him to shake the earth beneath my feet—and warmth starts to spread like a wildfire through my core. He drives back in again as my thighs tighten around him, my fingernails score lines, and my mouth seeks his with a frenzied need.

It only takes a few more seconds before the pleasure ratchets into an explosion of white in the abyss of darkness that has consumed me. And I am instantly lost to a world beyond our connection. It’s just him and me—sensation overwhelming and breath robbed— as I drown in the liquid heat and lose myself to the feeling, his name a repeated pant from my lips.

Within moments, Justin’s cry breaks through my pleasure induced coma at the same time his hips convulse wildly beneath mine, finding his own release. He rocks back and forth in me a few times trying to draw out the moment, his breath ragged and chest gleaming with our combined sweat.

His body sags against mine as he buries his face into the crook of my neck. My arms wrap around him from my position atop his pelvis and pressed against the door. I absorb the moment—the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against my neck, the unmistakable scent of sex—and understand without a doubt that I’d move Heaven and earth for this man without a second thought.

Justin adjusts his grip on my hips, and I slowly lower my feet to the ground; although my head is still figuratively in the clouds. He slips out of me and yet our connection is not lost because he gathers me in his arms, skin to skin, as if he doesn’t want to let me go just yet.

And I’m okay with that because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let him go either.

“Fuck, I needed that,” he sighs with a slight chuckle and all I can give him is a noncommittal answer because frankly I’m still riding my own high.

We fall silent for a few moments, lost in the moment, enjoying the comforting feel of just being together.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he says, breaking the silence and shakes his head back and forth before pulling back so he can look at the questioning look on my face.

“Tell you?” I’m confused.

A ghost of a smirk graces his mouth as he brings one hand up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing ever so softly over my lips still swollen from his kisses. “What I said to you before I got in the car ...”

My inhaling breath dies and my heart skips a beat, lodging itself in my throat from the words on his lips and the emotion in his eyes. I want to ask him to say it, to tell me the words himself, because hell yes I know what he said, but I want to hear that he remembers those words and still feels the meaning behind them.

I try to control the hitch in my breath and wavering in my voice but I have to ask. “What do you mean?” I’m a horrible liar and I know he can see right through my feigned confusion.

He chuckles a quiet laugh and leans in to brush a tender kiss against my lips and then the tip of my nose before leaning back so he can look into my eyes. He darts his tongue out to wet his lips and says, “I race you, Selena.”

My heart melts and my soul sighs at hearing him repeat those words I’ve used like glue to bind the broken pieces the crash created. Even though the words bring me peace, I can hear nerves shake his voice, can sense the anxiety in the bottom lip he worries between his teeth. And now I’m starting to get nervous. Did he say the words and now doesn’t feel the same way he did then? I know it’s a ridiculous thought, considering what happened between us moments ago, but the one thing I’ve learned about Justin is that he is anything but predictable.

“Yeah,” I sigh, meeting the temerity in his eyes. “Those words … are you saying them now because you’ve reclaimed the memory or because you still mean them?” There. I’ve laid it out on the table, given him the option to say it’s the former and not the latter—an out in case he no longer races me. In case the accident has changed how he feels and this—us, me and him—have reverted back to a just casual status.

Justin angles his head and studies me a moment, eyes beseeching but lips motionless. The silence stretches as I wait for the answer, as I wait to see if he’ll rip me apart or be the soothing balm to my healing heart.

“Selena … don’t you know I never forget a single moment when I race … on or off the track?” It takes a moment for the words to register, for the words and what they mean to sink in. That he remembers and that he still feels the same way. And the funny thing is now that I know—now that all of this worry can go away and we can move forward—I’m frozen in place.

We’re naked, leaning against a door that a hundred or so reporters are on the other side of, the man I race has just told me that he races me back, and yet all I can do is stare at him as my soul realizes the hope filling it, is finding its permanent home.

Justin leans in so his mouth is a whisper from mine, hands framing my face as he looks into the depths of my soul. “I race you, Selena,” he says to me, mistaking my silence as not understanding his prior statement. Little does he realize I’m so head over heels in love with him, right here, right now—body naked and heart bared—that I’m robbed of the ability to speak. So instead I accept the brush of his lips over mine in a kiss that’s soft and reverent before he rests his forehead against mine. “Don’t you know?” he asks. “You’re my motherfucking checkered flag.”

I can feel his lips curve up in a smile as they brush against mine, and I let the laughter that bubbles up fall free. It feels so good to suddenly have that thorn removed from my side.

To know the man I love, loves me in return.

To know he’s caught my free-falling heart.

Justin’s hands start the descent back down the line of my spine—the tremor of his right hand so slight now I barely notice it—and then back up as I feel him start to harden again against my lower belly.

“I take it you’ve been cleared from the doc?” I ask, my sated body already thrumming with newfound desire.

“Yeah I did, but after my day,” he says, kissing my forehead and pulling me back into the comfort of his arms, “it didn’t fucking matter if I got the okay or not, I was taking what was mine.”

“What was yours, huh?” I tease him despite the words warming my heart.

“Yep.”

And then the words he said before register and have me pulling back to search for an answer. “What was wrong with your day?”

I see something cloud his eyes momentarily before he pushes it away. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, and I’m immediately concerned.

“What else happened, Justin? Was there something you remembered—something that—”

“No,” he says, quieting me with a press of his lips against mine. “I only remembered what was important. Some voids are still there.” Ever the master of deflection, he continues, “It seems I’ve been neglecting you as of late.”

So whatever is bugging him, he doesn’t want to talk about. Okay … well, then on the heels of the past twenty minutes, I will most definitely give him the unasked for space and not push. “Neglecting me?”

“Yes, not treating you properly,” he says as he slaps my butt; the sting it leaves has nothing on the shock waves that ripple through the hypersensitive flesh between my thighs. “You’ve been taking care of me—of everyone else but yourself as usual—and I haven’t properly taken care of you.”

“I do believe you did just take care of me … and quite properly,” I tease, wiggling my naked body up against his and earning the hum that comes from deep within his throat. “If that’s considered not taking care of me—neglecting me—Ace, then please...” I nip at the skin on the underside of his jaw “...neglect me some more.”

“My God, woman, you test a man’s restraint,” he groans as his hands run down my spine and clasp together against my lower back. “But, that was just a minor sidetrack to—”

“Minor is not what I’d call it,” I quip with a raise of my eyes and another wiggle of my hips that causes him to laugh out loud. “I’ll take one of your sidetracks any day.”

“Bet your ass you will,” he teases with a quick squeeze of my hips, “but as I was saying, it’s time I treated you to a proper night out rather than gross hospital food and keeping me occupied while I lie in bed.” When I just quirk a suggestive eyebrow at the occupy in bed part, he just shakes his head at me and that grin I love lights up his face. He leans in and kisses me softly, murmuring his next words against my own lips. “There’ll be plenty of time for you to occupy me in bed later because right now—tonight—I’m taking you to a movie premier.”

His words catch me by complete surprise. “Wh-what?” I look at him with incredulity on my face and lips parted in shock. He just grins at me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary look because he’s surprised me.

A little thrill of excitement shoots through me at the thought of experiencing something new with Justin—making new memories—but at the same time that means I’ll have to share him with them. The paparazzi who sit outside the gate and will no doubt be at the event with their intrusive questions and in-your-face cameras. And it also means we have to step outside of this world, away from our cozy little realm where we can make sweet, lazy love whenever and wherever we want.

I know which one I prefer.

His sarcastic comment to Becks from days earlier chooses right now to hit my ears and take hold. The words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. “I thought once you got the okay, nothing was going to come between you and me but a change of sheets for a long, fucking time.” I repeat his own words back to him.

Justin’s eyes instantly darken with lust and spark with mischief as his mouth twists, his mind figuring out which option he’d prefer. “Well,” he says with a laugh, “I did in fact say that.” He traces a finger lazily down my cheek, to my neckline, and then down between my breasts. I can’t help the breath I suck in, the pebbling of my nipples, or the swelling of my heart. “And you know me, Selena, always a man of my word … so how exactly am I going to keep you naked with the exception of a sheet and at the same time attend a premier I’ve already committed to? Hmm … decisions,” he whispers as he leans down and traces the curve of my neck with the tip of his tongue. “What shall we do?”

I open my mouth to answer but all I can do is try and breathe when his teeth tug playfully on my earlobe. “I guess the world’s about to learn how damn sexy you look wrapped in a sheet.”

My eyes snap open to meet his as shock kicks my libido down a notch. Within a second Justin and his devilish grin have picked my naked self up and placed me over his shoulder.

“No!” I shriek as he starts toward the stairs. “Put me down!”

“The media’s going to have a field day with this one,” he taunts as I swat his ass, but he carries on. “Well one way to look at it, it’s not going to take you long to pick out what to wear.”

“You’ve lost your marbles!” I shout, my comment earning me another smack on my bare ass perched so seamlessly over his shoulder.

“My loss is your gain, sweetheart!” He chuckles as he climbs the last step up the stairs.

“Gain, my ass!” I mutter under my breath, and he belts out another laugh.

“Oh really,” he says, angling his head to the side and placing a chaste kiss on my hip beside his face. “I didn’t know you liked to play that way, but I’m sure we could explore that avenue when the time’s right.”

My mouth gapes open and I sputter a nervous laugh as Justin stops and slowly slides my body down every firm inch of his until my feet touch the floor. The impish gleam in his eye causes me to wonder if that’s yet another something Justin might be into that’s never crossed my mind before. I’m so lost in my momentary thoughts and the quiet calculation in his eyes that I miss the fact he’s set me down on the private, second story terrace.

And when I realize it—when I notice my surroundings—I’m shocked once again … but this surprise is one that melts my heart.

“Oh, Justin!” The words fall out of my mouth as I take in all of the preparations around me. A portable movie screen has been set up on the far end of the patio and the chaise lounges have been arranged in theater style seating, draped in several layers of none other than sheets. A smile spreads over my face and warmth permeates my soul as I take in the little touches, little things that let me know he cares: a bowl of Hershey’s kisses, a bottle of wine, funnels of cotton candy, lighted candles sprinkled everywhere, and clouds of pillows to lie back on.

I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes nor do I care when one slips over and slides silently down my cheek. The thoughtfulness that went into everything that sits beautifully in front of me leaves me at a loss for words. I turn back to face him and just shake my head at what I see … because if what’s behind me robs my words, the beauty inside and out of the man before me steals my heart. He stands there naked— unshaven, hair mussed and, not including the shaved patch, in desperate need of a haircut, and a look in his eyes that reinforces the words he said to me downstairs.

“Thank you,” I tell him with a broken breath. “This is the sweetest thing …” My voice drifts off as he takes a step toward me and brings his hands up to cup my cheeks and angle my head up so I can meet his eyes. “The best kind of night out. A movie with my Ace and sheets … nothing between us but sheets.”

He smiles that shy smile that undoes me and leans in for a whisper of a kiss before pulling back. “That’s exactly right, Selena. Nothing between us but sheets. Nothing between us ever again but a set of sheets.”

His words stagger me, move me, complete me, and all I can do is step forward and press my lips to his—feel his heart against me, the scrape of his unshaven jaw against my chin, see the love in his eyes—and say, “Nothing but sheets.”

The heat of the morning sun warms my skin, chased by the cool blow of the ocean’s breeze. The stereo we forgot to turn off last night plays Matt Nathanson’s voice just barely audible above the noise of the surf. I snuggle in closer to Justin, so content with the unexpected turn our lives have taken when we more or less crashed into one another that I swear my heart hurts from the enormity of it all. With the second chances we’ve both been given—that we’re both slowly accepting—that a year ago we could have never imagined.

I squint my eyes, thankful for the trellis above that blocks the sun from where we fell asleep last night on the bed of chaise lounges. I don’t even bother to suppress the sigh of a more than satisfied woman as I reminisce making slow, sweet love to him under a blanket of stars and in a bed made of possibilities.

I recall rising over him, sinking down onto him, and watching the unguarded emotion flow through his eyes. How the soft and slow with Justin is just as mind blowing as the hard and fast. How a man used to showing no emotion—used to guarding his heart at all costs—is slowly opening up, moving each brick one at a time, allowing the key to turn in the lock.

I smile softly as I lift my head and look at all the reminders of last night. How sweet the gesture was from a man who swears he doesn’t subscribe to the notion of romance, when everything around us screams just the opposite. What man calls in a favor from his dad to get a copy of his not-released-yet but soon-to-be-blockbuster movie so he can have an uninterrupted date night with his girlfriend? And even though I came to find out he had Quinlan’s help, it was all his idea … the little touches here and there, because it’s the little things that mean so much more to me than the extravagant ones.

I raise my head up from where it rests on his chest and watch him sleep, let my love for him warm the parts of me the breeze has cooled. “I can feel you watching me,” he says groggily with a curl of his lip even though his eyes remain closed.

“Mmm-hmm.” I can’t help the smile on my face.

“Whose idea was it to sleep out here? It’s too damn bright.” He shifts, eyes still closed, but brings the arm that rests behind his head down to pull me closer to him.

“I believe the words were, ‘Your voodoo pussy has worked its magic and stolen mine. I have no energy to move,’” I repeat, not hiding the smug look on my face or the pride in my voice.

“Nope, definitely not my words,” he says before cracking open an eye and looking over to me, that salacious smirk I love displayed proudly. “I’ve got magic in spades, baby, it must have been some other guy your voodoo sucked the life from.”

I fight back the urge to laugh because that gravelly morning voice and those sleepy eyes are the perfect combination of sexy, making it extremely hard to feign nonchalance. “Yeah, you’re right. Remember, I don’t do bad boys such as yourself.” I shrug. “It was that clean-shaven guy I see on the side. The one who gives me what you can’t,” I taunt as I lift the sheet resting over our hips and peek under it, my eyes roaming greedily over his impressive morning hard-on. My muscles, slightly sore from last night, immediately clench in welcome anticipation of more to come. I close my eyes to hide the desire I’m sure clouds them and make a satisfied moan.

“See something you like? Something he can’t give you?” I love the playful tone in his voice.

I make sure my voice is even when I speak because all of this bantering foreplay is making me crave what is beneath my fingertips.

“No worries.” I force the words out as I look up from beneath my eyelashes to find his eyes dancing with humor. “This woman is more than satisfied. No need to experience your magic when that man can drive his stick down the homestretch like you wouldn’t believe.”

Within a heartbeat Justin has flipped me on my back and hovers over me, weight resting on one elbow, and his other hand cuffing my wrists above my head. His face is inches from mine, smirk locked in place, and eyebrows raised in challenge. “I believe my words the other day were a long, fucking time,” he says, pressing his erection at my apex. “There’s the long, sweetheart, now we just need to fulfill the fucking time part of it.”

I start to belt out a laugh but it ends in a pleasurable moan as he sinks into my willing body. I’m not fully ready for his entrance, and although this would normally hurt, it doesn’t. Instead it adds the perfect amount of friction to awaken every nerve possible, including any he might have missed last night.

“Sweet fucking Jesus, you feel like Heaven woman,” he murmurs into my ear as his hips pull out and slide back forward, his one hand still pinning my hands above me. In an oddly intimate action, he lowers his face and rests it just beneath the curve of my neck so each time he withdraws and sinks back into me, the scrape of his stubble and the warmth of his breath teases my skin. And maybe it’s because of his face being so closely positioned by my ear or just that we are so in tune with one another again, but there’s something about the sounds he makes that are such a turn on. Grunts turn into moaning sighs, audible satisfaction.

I try to move my arms but his grip holds me still. “Justin,” I pant as my body starts to quicken, warmth spreading, the desire coiling so tight I’m waiting for it to spring free. “Let me touch you.”

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republicstandard · 7 years ago

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Pedophilia is Being Normalized by the Liberal Media

Having sex with people who are neither physically nor mentally mature enough to consent to it is rape. This is apparently an increasing controversial hill on which to die, but so be it. If you read the left-wing press, whenever they tackle the issue of pedophilia it is unanimous that pedophiles are just misunderstood.

“The current misconception is that every pedophile is a child molester, and if they’re not, it’s just a matter of time. It’s important to show the world that that’s not the case.” https://t.co/rV4SexSO5f

— VICE Canada (@vicecanada) February 8, 2018

When Ender Wiggin was banned from Twitter last December, it wasn’t because he was a far-right troll or Nazi sympathizer. In fact, Wiggin had an army of pizzagaters harassing him all hours of the day, insisting he kill himself right up until the moment his account was disabled on December 14.

That’s because Ender—aka @enderphile—is the pseudonym of a “non-offending” or “anti-contact” pedophile: someone who is attracted to children but claims to be against adult-child sex and child pornography. Inside that community, he’s known as the unofficial leader, and claims he’s been using social media to reduce the stigma associated with pedophilia, showing other pedophiles they can live lives without offending. Jackson Weaver, VICE Magazine

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VICE used to be awesome. Even after the McInnes era, some of their reporting, articles and video journalism was top notch. Nowadays the company is riddled with sleazeball liberals who can't treat women with politeness and literal endorsements of pedophilia. Worse, it is not just VICE Canada that is as insane as Justin Trudeau. Salon published another self-described "Virtuous Pedophile" in 2015, claiming that he was a poor suffering lamb, who just wants to be loved.

Nice to meet you. My name is Todd Nickerson, and I’m a pedophile. Does that surprise you? Yeah, not many of us are willing to share our story, for good reason. To confess a sexual attraction to children is to lay claim to the most reviled status on the planet, one that effectively ends any chance you have of living a normal life. Yet, I’m not the monster you think me to be.

Such degenerates as Todd and those in the VICE article describe themselves as non-offending pedophiles. The natural question then is this- if you are a non-offending pedophile, how would anyone know? The answer is that nobody would know. You would tell nobody. So why are "non-offending pedophiles" identifying themselves?

Jackson Weaver of VICE expends a lot of energy gathering quotes and making the case that kicking wannabe child-molesters off social media platforms is counterproductive, citing that peer support- i.e., other pedophiles- is essential to stop non-offending pedophiles abusing children. However, he also writes of one prominent online pedophile that

"He’s been using social media to reduce the stigma associated with pedophilia."

The unambiguity of his words should tell you all that you need, but let us spell it out, clear as day. Pedophilia must be stigmatized in society. It must never lose its stigma. The very idea that a pedophile should feel without stain is a very dangerous idea indeed. One may feel a certain level of sympathy for the pedophile- I sincerely doubt that anyone would choose this life- but to empathize with them is a path to ruin. No doubt Weaver and others in the liberal press will deny it, but the agenda here is clear. Leftist activists are using the liberal media to convince people that pedophilia is not immoral.

I had an interesting conversation on Twitter yesterday about the hijab. The hijab, as you know, is not ubiquitous in Islam, nor is it solely Muslims that wear a head covering for modesty. It is almost exclusively Muslims that apply this modesty rule to children, however. The conversation came about in a thread begun by regressive left darling Mike Stuchbery, an unemployed failed supply-teacher-turned-banal-Twitter-chimp who goes on lengthy rambles about how history disproves conservatism, in search of Patreon dollars. The tweet, -which Mike subsequently deleted- was his standard fare of prostrating himself before Islam and coming out against a school administrator who had suggested that girls under the age of eight had no need to preserve their modesty from sexually active men. The administrator, after talking to the community, stepped down.

“Having spoken to our school community we now have a deeper understanding of the matter and have decided to reverse our position with immediate effect.”

Mike supported the people sexualizing kids, in this instance. So did some of his followers, who stated that no-one should force girls to wear anything they didn't want to, but nor should they be forbidden from wearing things that they did want to wear. I contend that as a culturally mandated practice, the hijab is a forced item- and this brought us to the topic of agency in children. We have rules about what children can and cannot do because they do not possess the experience or ability to comprehend consequences that adults are supposed to exhibit. This is why we have an age of consent, an age at which one can drive a car or fight in wars. You need to be able to understand what you are getting yourself into.

It is therefore curious to me that the case of the hijab is so contentious in the West. It is a garment for a particular purpose- it is not even a religious purpose per se. According to the Quran, Muhammad, when encountered with a woman wearing see-through clothing, averted his eyes and told her, "After a young woman reaches the age of puberty, nothing should be seen of her except this and this," motioning to his face and hands. That has been interpreted in many ways.

This is King Abdullah II, the King of Jordan. He is the direct descendant of Prophet Mohammad, and this is his family. The question is, what on earth happened to wearing the Hijab and Burqa? ..... *Cricket Sounds* ..... pic.twitter.com/fqQEUR9Mmr

— Imam of Peace (@Imamofpeace) February 9, 2018

The modesty of grown women is preserved in most Islamic cultures by some form of veil- burqa, niqab, or hijab, depending on just how barbaric the men of that culture may be. In the more advanced places like Iran, you may only be beaten severely by religious police for not wearing your hijab. In Taliban controlled Afghanistan, to go without your niqab means summary gang-rape and murder by stoning or immolation. If you aren't murdered by your rapist, you may not survive being murdered by your own family in an honor killing.

It is the woman's fault in both cases of course because the woman is immodest- a man cannot help but rape everything that he is aroused by, so it is essential that a piece of fabric is used to reinforce the generally accepted global social norm that no raping people in public is allowed. Some particularly advanced societies have even extended this emancipatory ideal to include not raping people in private, too. In all but the most fundamentalist and stone-age interpretations of this cultural practice, the veil is the reserve of adult women- at least by the standards of Islam, which is 9-years-old for some. Sadly, the fundamentalist and stone age ideals are in the ascendant.

Naturally, I oppose the sexualization of children and therefore reject the idea that an eight-year-old-girl (or younger) should be forced by her parents to wear a modesty-protector. She is a child. She is not sexually active, and therefore outside the remit of modesty- unless we are to accept the pedophiles delusion- that children are sexy. The intrinsic concept of modesty is to avoid encouraging sexual attraction in others. Modesty only exists when the person being modest understands that they are sexually attractive- the Islamic understanding is that this is a female power over men, and therfore the female's responsibility.

I am unsure why I am a better feminist in this regard than most feminists, but the world is a crazy place of late. To cut a long story short- the responsibility for being sexually attracted to children does not lie with the immodest child. Childhood is a sacrosanct garden of learning -at least Western civilization has tried to make it so- and must be innocent. This means that parents make responsible choices for the child's actions. This means no hijabs, as it infers that adult men cannot prevent themselves from rape without it being worn by all females of all ages. In essence, the hijab forces children into a sexualized state of being.

And so, we are brought back to the topic of the pedophile acceptance movement. These child molestation acceptance activists will demand that children be given the right to decide for themselves whether they can have sex with adults. This is the agenda which lies underneath the non-offending pedophile movement. If they can normalize attraction to children, goes the rationale, then what next? It is the very spirit of regression to wish Western culture back into the dark ages of marrying old men to prepubescent girls. At least in antiquity, the basis of such unions was for politics or economics, rather than to sate the lusts of mentally ill degenerates.

If you were a secret pedophile who never offended, why would you tell anyone? Perhaps there is the Catholic confessional route to salvation at play but surely there are few other benefits to proclaiming yourself as a theoretical child molester. The only logical -if logic can hold under such circumstances- is that you realize that the route to satisfying your sex drive and not being murdered or arrested is through public acceptance and ultimately legalization of pedophilia. So, you out yourself as a public pedophile with the relative safety of an anonymous Twitter handle. Maybe you write for Salon or encourage leftist media muppets to interview you about how misunderstood the whole issue of having sex with children is.

The very definition of pedophilia -or any sexual philia- is an abnormal appetite or liking for. For example, you might be a pogonophile and have an abnormal appetite or lust for beards. As a bearded man, I am abnormally attractive to you- irresistibly so. While it's funny to think about on the surface, it is actually utterly superficial. You do not know me. You do not care about me- all you want is my beard. If I were to shave it off your attraction would evaporate as rapidly as the steam on my mirror. In a similarly disordered manner the pedophile is not interested in children in the romantic way typical humans fall in love or feel attraction. It is sexual desire of prepubescent children in the same irrational and alien way that the pogonophile is drawn towards beards. Incapable of love, the -philiac is attached only to that which arouses them; when the object of desire changes -by shaving a beard off, by a child entering puberty, or whatever other form the abnormality takes- the philia goes unsated and the desire for what once was irresistible is gone. The -philiac must find another locus of arousal.

Pedophiles do not love children. One cannot love children and be a pedophile. The pedophiles use children to satiate their base desires. This is why pedophilia is an abnormality rather than a sexual orientation- A chronophilic disorder. A person may well find a much older person attractive, but when they only find the elderly attractive, this is beyond merely a sexual preference- it is gerontophilia. The attraction in this case is still a disorder but as it affects only adults there is no need to legislate against it within our society. Not so for the person who is inescapably attracted to children. It is as far from being a sexual preference or orientation as it possible to be; consider those poor souls who find themselves irrevokably attracted to tractors or who marry bridges. It is impossible to normalize even those people who harm no-one with their behavior, let alone those who wish to normalize attraction to children.

This is why the gay movements around the world have struggled so hard to distance themselves from pedophilia, with varying degrees of success. Once more for those in the back- pedophilia is not normal. In a nightmare future, the Western child is forced into the hijab and made to answer questions about whether they are ready to have a sexual relationship with an adult. How culturally enriched we will be.

Last week our Conservatoire Nursery held a (Drag Queen Story Team event to promote social inclusion. Thank you to the nursery team and parents for being open minded. pic.twitter.com/XfugTWFopv

— LEYF Nurseries (@leyfonline) December 1, 2017

June O’Sullivan, chief executive of LEYF, said:

“By providing spaces in which children are able to see people who defy rigid gender restrictions, it allows them to imagine the world in which people can present [themselves] as they wish.”

This is the motivation behind Drag Queen Story Time- The project also seeks to tackle misogyny, homophobia, and racism, so it's just your small-scale neo-Marxist indoctrination of 3 year-olds, who clearly are already so bigoted against blacks and gays that they need to be taught how to think by drag queens.

If pedophilia is normalized also, then it will become acceptable for a man who is sexually attracted to kids to run a similar project. Conservative philosophy is concerned with the preservation of the pillars of our civilization. The very concept of what makes up a family has been under attack for more than a generation, producing the tragedy today that in America 40% of children are born to unwed mothers and 25% of all children under the age of 18 — a total of about 17.2 million — are being raised without a father. 35% of these broken families are poor. The story gets even worse once we break that figure down by racial demographics.

The bedrock of our great Western Civilization is the family unit. In 1933 Christopher Dawson wrote “The Patriarchal Family in History,” and drew parallels to the decline of the Greek and Roman civilizations that preceded our own.

“As in the decline of the ancient world, the family is steadily losing its form and its social significance, and the state absorbs more and more of the life of its members,” Dawson wrote. “The functions which were formerly fulfilled by the head of the family are now being taken over by the state, which educates the children and takes the responsibility for their maintenance and health.”

Can any deny that 85 years on from Dawson we are even further along this path to destruction? Instead of addressing this matter with concern for the very fundamental building blocks of society itself, the radical intersectionalists of the left have instead pared the pieces apart with the hatchet of Social Justice. The family is irrelevant when there are transgender identities to care about. The environment that children are raised in produces racists and homophobes, so therefore society must take over the raising of children from the inadequate parents. So often unwed and solitary, the single parents of this generation and the last have gladly relinquished responsibility- and who can blame them? As a culture we have produced untold millions of people without an coherent identity of their own to pass on to the next generation.

" Ender claims that any attempt to make another account—under any name—was initially blocked following his ban, but thought they had reconsidered their stance after he was able to log back on. Following his most recent ban, he's less optimistic. Until Twitter directly addresses how they’re going to deal with users like Ender, non-offending pedophiles exist in the same state. It’s a kind of limbo, where they’re able to speak about their attractions to children publicly, but without knowing for how long." - Jackson Weaver, VICE Magazine

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This is a progressive magazine with a culture of sexual harassment towards women. This magazine -with a huge readership- is appealing to one of the biggest social media networks on the planet to stop banning pedophiles. More than this entire article up until now, this should tell you everything you need to know about the pedophile normalization movement. Non-offending pedophiles want to become pedophiles who are non-offending because the abnormal sex they desire has become socially accepted. While the majority of people will be repulsed by the behavior, once the normalization of degeneracy has become ratified then it is then bigotry to criticize it. It is now normal for an adult man dressed as a woman to teach your three year old son how not to be a homophobe. Don't tell me this is a leap of the imagination.

Still, it is conservatives who are the problem, right? We are the ones holding society back from true progress. Progress towards what exactly? A society of fatherless sons with no role-models, no aspirations and the exaltation of self-centered gratification of the basest desires of the depraved. No thank you, not on my watch.

No empathy for the devils.

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