#pocket knife review | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sphnyspinspin · 2 months ago

Text

OMG TFONE HEADCANNON/REVIEW TIME LETS GOO‼️✨💙❤️🩷💛✨‼️

[B-127]

I just want to say I FUCKING LOVED TRANSFORMERS ONE!!! It has officially won a special place in my heart that I’ll cherish fondly until the end of time.

Okay, now I just HAVE to talk about some of my headcannons that theorizes some things that a certain review that—may or may not have irked me the wrong way—has gotten me thinking about. Like, for example:

Is B-127 really just there for comedy relief?

HELL. NO. You know why? Because he was forged to be a yapper, that’s why. He’s a storyteller. He might not be the most mature one in the gang, but he’s the type of immature that stems from being repeatedly outcasted and ignored to the point of not understanding other people’s boundaries or a majority of social cues.

And let’s just face it, everyone is their own type of immature.

His yapping tendencies can actually play a big part in some potential development as more than just a bystander. BY BEING A STAND-BYER! HEY-OH!

I think that B-127 is going to be the one to spread the true narrative about his three other friends during their long trek across Cybertron and their beginnings. Because he was there… he was always THERE.

He was there when Orion Pax and D-16 found the SOS message from THE Alpha Trion. He was there when Alpha Trion was discovered—and was REVIVED thanks to HIS pocket energon. He was there when Sentinel’s allegiance with the Quintessons was revealed. He was there when he, Elita-1, Orion Pax, and D-16 were given the T-Cogs of the deceased Primes. He was there to see D-16 rally the High Guard after beating Starscream for the first time.

And he was there when Sentinel Prime violently carved the face of D-16’s idol into his chest while parading around that same idol’s T-Cog right in front of him… In front of the both of them…

I’m not even going to try to repeat the wise banger that Alpha Trion said about how the T-Cogs are the physical embodiments of their race’s freedom to choose what they become and stuff, because I genuinely can’t remember any of it. I’m so sorry. But I know for a FACT since D-16 and B-127 were both there when he said it they immediately made it a core memory for themselves—therefore they BOTH knew the downright gruesome implications it meant for Sentinel wearing one as a trophy after murdering the Prime it belonged to.

That also means B-127 was able to see what Orion Pax and Elita-One weren’t able to see right before D-16 was about to murder the guy. Yeah, they were able to show all of Iacon all of the shitty actions he did BEFORE he captured B and D and half of the High Guard, but none of what transpired in that torture room was ever broadcasted to any servant class workers, or civilians in general, or to Orion Pax and Elita-1.

But B-127 saw it. He saw ALL of it. He was THERE. He was the only other friend that D-16 had in there, the only other friend of Orion Pax and Elita-1 that was in there. The High Guard didn’t count, they haven’t seen any of what Sentinel did through the lenses of B-127.

Through the lenses of a friend to the inevitable Optimus Prime.

So here’s what I’m imagining. B-127 is going to play devil’s advocate, one way or another, whenever there’s a time when the subject of a conversation would be Megatron related. He would be able to recollect their time together in that room with Sentinel and the rest of the High Guard—waiting to be tortured and framed and EXECUTED in front of the WHOLE CITY OF IACON. B-127 and D-16’s HOME.

He’d most likely be able to sympathize, maybe even EMPATHIZE, with Megatron’s motives. Unlike Orion Pax or Elita-1. Of course we all know that Optimus was friends with Megatron for way longer than B-127, but again he didn’t see what B-127 saw. And… now that I’m thinking about it… B-127 is a little bit like D-16. In a sense.

I think we all saw how eager he was to use his knife hands as often as possible after he discovered them. Kind of like how D-16 became real attached to his canons, both in and out of his alt-mode, when he got them. Oh my god, I could seriously go on and on about so many minor character parallels between D-16/Megatron and B-127 if I could. Like I’m just now thinking about how B and D could’ve gotten along a lot better if they actually got to know each other. The main reasoning why they’d understand each other a lot:

They both know what it’s been like to face the unjust consequences of the system they were unknowingly forced into.

While Orion was, from a shallow perspective, a rebellious punk who was always putting himself in these whacky situations to get what he wants, where D-16 would have to come and save his aft, while he’d suffer the consequences later on. Though Orion was able to subdue D-16’s wrath with calming reassurance, D-16 would still continue to be the “understanding type” from Orion’s perspective as long as he was able to be forgiven after another one of his stunts, that sometimes, he even brings D-16 into against his better—more cautious—judgement.

And Elita being the commanding type, incredibly determined at any given task she puts her mind to, like Orion, she too faced the consequences of Orion’s actions, like D-16. But then again, her strong headed attitude and overall ability to get back up and immediately put herself back to work to accomplish her goals, is what separates her from the rest of the gang; by being responsible for herself and herself only, and when ORION’S actions got HER demoted, she’s rightfully upset and makes it well-known to Orion and holds him accountable.

But B-127 isn’t headstrong like Elita, and he isn’t rebellious like Orion. He’s his own in-depth unique thing that has a slightly more similar comparison with D-16 than the other two. It’s definitely hidden well. But not completely invisible. He’s more complaisant when it comes to facing consequences, especially when he doesn’t have a choice in the system he grew up in.

And so is D-16. He literally said he deserved it when DARKWING of all bots decked him in the face for defending Orion.

As I was saying, I genuinely do believe that B-127’s progression through the story would be him being a kind of devil’s advocate to Megatron, with him being able to better comprehend the events that were put into play and how they conspired into D-16 killing Sentinel, cementing his role as Megatron. And how B-127 would be the one to be the metaphorical dampener when it comes to any misinformation that’s potentially passed around when it comes to Megatron’s “descent into madness” and be able to back himself up with the proof that’s up in his noggin.

He’ll be able to SAY something.

He’ll be able to say that D-16… that Megatron is worth sympathizing, is worth UNDERSTANDING, even when what he did was horrific to say the least.

And imagine how much of a downfall it would be if Megatron were to be the one to tear out B-127’s very instrument that was one of his main tools in saying ANYTHING that could’ve brought a bit more understanding to HIS story… From an up-close and personal perspective, outside of his own.

To show is to inform, to communicate is to educate.

Without his voice box he can always just let someone project his memories onto a screen… but to sit back and not give any verbal feedback of his personal feelings about it, would be less than ideal to the interaction-starved mech we know and love. Especially since he was one of the mechs that played one of the biggest roles in history that could wholeheartedly understand Megatron’s origins more than anyone could know.

#sphny speaks (𖦹<𖦹)•*°⊹#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #transformers one #tf one spoilers #tf one 2024 #tf one #tf one b-127 #tf one bumblebee #infodump #rant #sorry if I maybe derail a couple times without all that much supporting my original thought process #I think I might do one of these for the other three but I’m not sure #I definitely have some OPINIONS about OP and D’s relationship #and this post actually inspired me to look more into Elita’s arc too #I guess you could say there’s MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE #TO THIS GUY #HEHEHEHEHEHEEH #dissecting b has been a real treat #I didn’t even get to where I compare him to a bumblebee #like how they’ll spread pollen all around the world to make it a better place for the things to grow #and how not everybody is gonna like bees but the bees will keep doing their parts in spreading what is necessary no matter the backlash #heheheheheheheheh

52 notes · View notes

starillusion13 · 1 year ago

Text

Did you have fun?

Pairing: Hongjoong × f!reader x Seonghwa

Genre: Mafia, Yandere(slight) , SMUT W.C: 3.1k Warnings: killing someone( not imp. he was disturbing me), blood, blindfold, vibrator, possessiveness, handcuffs, blind play(?), orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral(f rec.) [I dont think anything more needed]

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Request from: @disneylover1998

[Reblogs and Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading and have a nice day ahead. Please always take care of yourself everyone.]

I really don’t know what’s going in here.the person just texted me and helped my imaginations go wild and now am here with this fic💀

MINORS DONT INTERACT UNDER THE CUE! 🔞

*under the cue*

“Leave my hand.”

“Girl, let’s have fun. Why are you fighting against me? Just let it be easy and let’s go.”

You tried to pull your hand again but it’s all in vain when his iron grip on your wrist and also, he be pulling you towards the back exit. You are cursing yourself for the infinite time and as why you came to this club today. If you were at home then you might have been chilling and watching some drams on TV while waiting for your busy boys. But no. You have to be a rebellious and go against their rules and thought to sneak out of the house even when you know how much punishment you are going to get for such act. You love those punishments sometimes but never in a while you thought yourself being getting into such problem where you are currently into. If you were not drunk then atleast you would have tried to fight him, you mean a punch or a kick might be but your brain cant handle how to put the pieces together. Dumb you.

He has almost dragged you to the passage for the exit way and you are currently begging mentally for someone familiar to approach and rescue you from the situation, it really doesn’t matter if they inform to your boys afterwards, the main thing is to get away from this shithead who has got balls to touch you or even dared to drag you along with him. Tears flowing down your heavy mascara and eyeliner decorated eyes, it was supposed to highlight the eyes during the whole night not making a mess and make the tears more prominent in black.

“Haven’t you heard what she said, Leave her hand.”

Wait. Why this voice is familiar? I mean….Oh oh He is here. Don’t tell me if I turn around, I have to face a devil right now. You shut your eyes and take a heavy breath and then you noticed how the man holding your hand has stopped and annoyingly turns around. You are also turned around because of his harsh movements but you are not willing to open your eyes to face the reality. I mean you wanted to be saved but not by KIM HONGJOONG!

“Why does it matter to you mister? Go find another chick for the night. This one is for mine.”

And then that maniac laugh. The well damn laugh which he always shows to his enemies before he welcomes them to Hell of a ride and now this man is going to say Hello to the Living Devils.

“Chick?”

His gaze travels over your body and his jaw clenched on how revealing your dress is and you are wearing it when they are not around with you and moreover this dirty hag is holding your hand. HOLDING HIS GIRL’S HAND. You know this man is dead for sure but maybe you are equally dead.

“Yeah yeah. These girls are really fun to spend night with and who knows maybe keeping them to myself and then I can bring money through her and-“

You can hear the choking sound which makes your eyes flutter open when you can feel someone snatches you away from the grip but now you are under a familiar hold but honestly this hold is tighter and rough. The man is choking on his own blood as someone has slit his throat and then you can see who is holding you. Well, PARK SEONGHWA with fire in his eyes and a bloody sharp pocket knife in his other hand.

“He was talking too much.”

“Well done.”

Hm. Thanks. You wanted to say this but you just gulp on seeing the same raging eyes of hongjoong like the other. They both are furious and you are well aware of the fact that they don’t appreciate when someone else touch you other than them, they don’t appreciate their gang members also. Hongjoong called his men to clean the mess up and do everything possible to make the people shut up who has witnessed the scene. Now what about you!

“So, my dear Y/N. Can we know why are you here?”

“Hwa….I was…I just wanted to have fun.”

“Fun? Did you have that? Without us?”

No Hongjoong. Please stop asking me like this. With a god damn sinister smile resting on his face and eyes daring your trembling figure to speak more. You can confront seonghwa but not him, you don’t know why but he is always the one who can make anyone speak up the truth or make them agree with him even on a lie.

“n-no.”

“Of course you cant have fun without us, sweetheart.”

“I want to go home.”

“So do we.”

Well, a tensed atmosphere inside the whole car ride after Seonghwa literally dragged you outside from the club towards the car. His grip was harsh than that man and a thought came across your mind. Would have been better if that man took you with him? Maybe in the midway he would have become unconscious and you would have been freed. Atleast you wont have to be in the situation s you are currently in. You slapped yourself for this and they glanced at you for your weird behaviour. Not a single one spoke a word to you and you were thankful that you didn’t have to stutter anymore.

You are strong and you can fight for yourself but not when these two men are in their angry mode on. You literally fear them but also deep down like their clenched jaws, raging eyes and heavy breaths when pissed off. You smiled to yourself on this thought but quickly regained your composure. On reaching your house, you quickly got down the car and almost run towards the door. Entering the hall, you can see it empty because during the night, no maids and servants are allowed to the private portions of the mansion unless they are called. You took a turn towards the right for the stairs to quickly run towards the room and lock the door and wait for the next day to face them with a clear head.

“Where do you think you are going?”

My room. The only safe place that seems to protect me from both of you. I don’t want to die right now. Dumb you have to smile at them right now to which they raised their eyebrows.

“I need to take a quick shower as I spilled drink on myself previously.”

Saying this, you excused yourself from their intense gaze and as soon as you are behind the closed doors, you released a deep breath which you didn’t know was holding all these times. Slipping out of your mini body hugging dress, you went into the shower. You can feel the alcohol exhaustion leaving your body a bit and getting relaxed under the cold waters and your lavender shampoo scent. You spent inside the shower longer than usual because you can find yourself drifting into so many thoughts at the moment. Maybe you danced in the club a bit too hard that your body is so much exhausted. Cleaning yourself, you wrapped the towel around you before exiting the bathroom. Oh gosh! Why is it so dark? You are sure you left the lights on before going into the shower. Then maybe power supply cut off or a thief? But the windows are closed and the doors are closed? Thief coming from the door even that in a mafia’s mansion?

How ironic!

Your slow footsteps towards the door come to a halt when you feel arms wrapped around you from behind and you parted your mouth to shout when a palm pressed to your lips to make you shut. Your eyes went wide in horror.

“Do you want to call us baby?”

Damn. What are they doing in your room? Aren’t they supposed to be in their room and busy with their works and all and moreover aren’t they angry with you?

“J-joong?....What are you doing here?”

“Why? Were you planning to go somewhere again?” The voice from your front ask you.

“No no, I thought you were busy or something.”

“Do you want us to be busy so that you can think all the bullshits and then act on your own like always?”

“No.”

Atleast let me wear some clothes before scolding me. The view is becoming clear when seonghwa turns on the neon lights in the room. Now you can see both of them are in their tees and jeans atleast well covered unlike you who is fully exposed just covered with a towel.

You feel warm sloppy kisses all over your shoulders and neck and Hongjoong is smelling you in between and teasingly grazing his teeth over your soft skin. You moan against his hold and then when you noticed some familiar things kept on the bedside table. They are not thinking to do what you are guessing right?

Your view got blocked when seonghwa comes in front of you and holds your face in his hand, looking dangerously yet has a softness in them, just for you. Your toes curls under his touch and your knees feel weak under his gaze and also when the man behind you is kissing all over your exposed skin like a hungry creature. Seonghwa attach his lips to you, you can smell the alcohol as soon his lips pressed to you and your one hand holding Hongjoong’s hand holding the towel over your belly and the other one holding seonghwa’s hand caressing your cheeks. The kiss is more addictive and you are getting drunk more than a drink could make you feel it. Teeth biting down the lips to explore each other more, licking the teeth with tongue, exploring inside the mouth and your mind going in daze.

Retreating himself from you he went to the bed and roll over his tee exposing his abs which are always showcased for you. Hongjoong stops his abuse on your skin and pull you towards the foot of the bed. Your back of the knees hitting the bed and him standing in front of you, hands holding the secured knot of the towel. His other hand moved towards your chest and pushed you backwards. Your back hits the soft matress and then you can see your towel hanging in his raised hands. Alarmingly, your hands come closer to hide your exposed body but that was not to their liking as Seonghwa’s hands pulled your hands apart and you can feel metals clasped to your wrists and attached them to your head board. Handcuffs?

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just you can see this towel was blocking my view and I don’t like when something becomes a restriction in the path of my desires.”

A warm hand caress your cheeks to get your attention and you can see the devilish smile painted on his face.

“You said you didn’t have fun so we should make it up right?”

“Uh oh that…no no…it’s okay…I did have fun…a little?”

“A little?”

You pressed your feet on the bed to pressure down to lift up your body but Hongjoong pressed your knees down and settle himself between your legs. He also removes his shirt and then rest his palms over your knees. You can feel the tingling sensation in your lower belly but you know you are getting nothing if you behave like a brat right now as they are already pissed off with your earlier deeds. You can feel another set of hands moving across your chest and flicking the already hard nipples in between making your breath heavy and moan out his name.

“Seonghwa….”

“Hm? Do you need something?”

“Yes…I need you…I need both of you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“why? No no. I really need you.”

Seonghwa look towards Hongjoong and they silently communicate in between them and their nod indicates that they agreed on something. On what? Your anticipating eyes following their movements. Seonghwa grabs a cloth and damn that’s a blindfold. Before you can protest to it, he put over your eyes and let you to rely on your other senses from now. A hot breath tingling near your ear and lips gazing hovering it and licking the earlobe.

“Lets begin the fun now.”

You can feel hands lingering over your exposed thigh and your legs are moved more apart to stretch you out, hands gripping your inner knees. You can feel something cold touching your thighs and gliding up to your heat. You squirm under the touch but you are hold still by the strong grip. The cold thing stopped teasingly on your clit and it got pressed down there. A jolt spread across your body when the vibrator starts abusing your clit.

“Hongjoong..Joong”

Nobody answered you.

“Joong….Hwa…seonghwa…Hongjoong…”

“You need to guess who is this baby?”

Who? Isnt Hongjoong between your legs? You can feel someone teasing your entrance with the fingers, parting your folds and spreading your arousal around it. Another hand massaging the breast and pinching the nipples. You can feel shuffling in between your legs and when you tried to close your legs, it got stopped and stretched out more. You are already squirming under their touches. Mouths taking in the tits and covering it with their saliva and sucking it and biting around it and hands teasing your entrance. You can feel someone peppering kisses all over your inside thighs and sucking them in between and other sucking your chest and throat and jaw and licking them with juicy kisses. When you feel someone just licks a long strip of your arousal, your back arcs and then you can feel the knot building in your stomach which can burst down any moment.

“Ahhh!”

“Who is it baby?”

How am I supposed to know? Both of their voices are coming from the same place and you know they are making you to guess them but how are you supposed to guess when your whole body is shaking for it about to release.

“Joong?”

“Are you asking us?”

“no..no…It’s Joong…”

A harsh slap hit your folds which getting you the climax sooner. They can feel your movements and are sure that you are about to cum. The burning sensation indicating that you have answered it wrong.

“Hwa..Its you…”

“Where is the fun here? When its not Joong then its obvious that it will be Hwa unless you are thinking about someone else fucking you.”

“No. No. I’m sorry. Please.”

“Please what?”

“I need to cum. Please please.”

When you were just near to climax, the feelings got ripped away from your whole body as the vibrator stopped and you were forced still against the body so that you cant move anymore.

“No no no why?”

“Why?”

“I was going to-“

“cum? But we don’t want you to cum until you are guessing it right.”

“How am I supposed to guess when you literally fuck me the same way and you both are…rough.”

“Rough?”

“Please.”

They remove your blindfold and you your eyes squint from the releasing of the tight blinding fold and you see Seonghwa smirking down at you from between your legs and Hongjoong standing beside your head with blindfold in his hand which he soon throws it on the floor.

You don’t know what they are doing but you are excited to know their next moves. The vibrator turns on again and you close your eyes in the sensation as your body is reacting fast to get to the climax. Hongjoong leans down to kiss you and damn his kiss is rough and like a beast he is devouring on you, hands abusing your swollen breasts. You feel a slap on your thigh and then you can see the dark expression on the other man because of the lack of attention. Your eyes following how he bends down, his iron grip still on your thighs, leaving behind the marks. His muscles flexing while devouring your heat. The two men eating you out, one above and one down there. If they continue like this, they might suck out your life at this point. You are squirming under their hold. The familiar knot building up again and this time you are desperate for your release, your head thrown backward, body arching, giving more access to Hongjoong to leave his markings. Seonghwa still abusing your clit with his tongue and one added finger hitting your G-spot and you know you will fall apart soon. Whwn you tried to close your eyes, Hongjoong gripped your jaw and harshly made you face him.

“Eyes on him baby.”

Your moans getting lost in Hongjoong’s mouth and you cant think of anything else other than the desperation to release. You are just about to hit the high when again everything stops.

Every lingering touch, abusing, sucking and the damn vibrator was turned off. Tears roll down your eyes and you cry out, whimpering and trying to close your legs in the exhaustion of getting ripped away of the heat.

“whyyyyy?”

“Are you really asking this?” Seonghwa asks you as if he doesn’t know how irritated you are right now. Well he is lowkey liking the fact somehow.

“Okay Seonghwa lets see if she can hold her cum until we say her to let go. If she goes along with us then we can think to let her come. Yeah?”

“I think that’s something fun.”

Seonghwa’s hands start rubbing your heat with the vibrator setting in a low level and you can feel yourself overstimulated and these slow movements are making you more frustrated. You are trying to focus on the movements in your heat and giving deaf ear to everything in your surroundings.

“Eyes on me or I am going to stop here.”

You somewhat managed to make an eye contact with him but its getting too much and tears falling down your cheeks.

“Too much Hwa…please…its too much…”

“Should I stop? I think you had too much fun.”

“NO!” “Hwa. She is saying no, then what about now?”

“Did you have fun?” well this damn question.

“No no no no.”

“Hold it in or you are not going to cum.”

That’s how you know, its going to be a long night until they are satisfied with their punishment but that’s fine. You are again going to sneak out if these are going to be the punishment nights for you disobeying them.

______________________________________________________________

DONT PISS OFF MY DEVILS! HIHIHIHI HIHIHIHI!

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @eriny123

[perma taglist! open: dm/reply/send ask to be in it]

#kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #ateez #ateez au #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez poly #ateez seongjoong

373 notes · View notes

sebastianswallows · 7 months ago

Text

The English Client — Five

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: Tom hurts himself like an idiot and tries to hurt reader like an idiot

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

When she returned the next morning, she didn’t have the sense that anything was wrong, even when she found the ledgers placed in the wrong order underneath her desk. It wouldn’t be the first time… So she followed her routine and spent the chill hours of the morning making coffee in the little kitchen in the back and finished a review of Pliny the Younger she’d begun two days ago.

It wasn’t until later, after lunch, when she went into the back rooms to put Pliny in his place that she realised something was definitely wrong. The carpet, usually so carefully smoothed over the trapdoor, was creased in a light wave, its yellow tassels ruffled. The table in the centre of the room was quite askew as well, the items on it shifted to the right. She froze, then rushed to check the hidden door.

But the door was safe. There wasn’t even a scratch on it… She placed her signet ring into the keyhole and it popped open with a click, just as it always did. She lifted it and stepped inside, down the steps that led into the tunnel. It was dark and quiet… Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe she was the one who made that mess the last time she was there. She did tend to be a bit clumsy sometimes…

With a sigh of relief, she climbed back up, and as her face reached the level of the floor, something shiny underneath the table caught her eye. She got up and closed the door behind her, then crawled on her knees underneath the table to grab the foreign thing.

It was one of those fancy pocket knives with all sorts of uses… Red handle, stainless steel blade. Her heartbeat turned frantic and sweat cloyed at her hairline, and she felt her stomach drop — someone else had been there. And she’d have to report this. With brisque and heavy steps, she went back to her desk and picked the phone up.

“Hello?” she whispered once the Curator picked up. “It’s me, upstairs. Erm, has anything gone missing? What? Oh, n-no reason, just, I think we had a break-in and — No, it’s fine! Just — I don’t think so. Erm, did I call him? Not yet. I —”

She listened to the frustrated cursing of the man downstairs as she stared at the Swiss knife, turning it in her hands, her whole body tense and weak, when suddenly her frown melted away and lips parted. There were two letters inscribed into the blade: C. M.

“It’s someone with the initials C and M,” she said quickly. “Know anyone? No, I don’t either… Alright. Alright, I’ll call him now. Thank you.”

“Yes, it’s not much to go on, but —”

“There is no need,” scraped the voice from the other end of the line.

“What?”

“You said nothing was taken?”

“A-as far as I can tell… Downstairs is safe too.”

“Hm. Possibly something forgotten by a customer.”

“H-how can you be sure?”

“If it had been an intruder, you would not have found a knife,” he said. “You would have found a corpse.”

She frowned, not really understanding him but ready to accept this resolution.

“S-so, what would you like me to do?”

Silence on the other end. Perhaps he expected her to increase security, or just carry on as normal since he seemed so calm about it…

“Put a copy of Torchia on display.”

“What?!”

“If it really was a break-in, and it has to do with the auction, we will test the resolve of our thief.”

“Do you want that book or…”

“Yes. Ask Ambrogio,” he said, and in the background, she could hear the scratching sound of him writing something down.

“Alright, sir…”

The scratching persisted until he hung up on her.

III

Tom smiled against the receiver. He so hated telephones with their smooth plastic in unnatural colours, but they were faster than an Owl… Besides, muggles seemed to love them.

“Yes, if you could manage it, I’d be ever so grateful,” he drawled silkily, putting on the same boyish airs he did when meeting with another of Burke’s clients. “No no, not right now. I’ll tell you when. Is that alright? It is? Oh, wonderful. You know, I keep thinking of that hotel you mentioned. You were right about this one, it’s awful. Yes. Yes, I’ll consider it.”

He hissed a few more pleasantries and said goodbye. When it was over, he reached to the bedside table to hang up, but not without some difficulty. He sighed and rested his cheek against his long cold palm cushioned by the pillow. Tom was lying on his front on the narrow hotel bed, a pack of ice on his hip — just a few cubes tied up in a handkerchief. It did little to reduce the bruise that bloomed there, but at least it kept the swelling down. He could think of a dozen potions that would do much better than this, but he had none of the ingredients on hand. His own fault for leaving London without buying some supplies first…

He held the pack to him and got up gingerly, growling all the while. He should have been happy, he’d made a great deal of progress in finding where they held the book, even if the way was closed to him. And with a bit of luck, he might yet find a way to gain their trust.

Tom limped over to the window, a drop of water sliding down his naked leg. The sun was setting and the streets were filling up, frothing with white dresses and silk scarves. How he hated being around muggles…

He let the curtains close again and waved his wand to brew him a cup of tea. Fire spells were so useful even if you didn’t have your mind on arson. He was at least glad he’d brought some tea leaves with him, and could brew them at just the right temperature. The milk they served around these parts was also not so bad, and worked wonderfully with the brew. It soothed his nerves if nothing else.

He sat down in the armchair, legs askew, loose shirt covering him to his thighs, and picked up his notebook. At least he knew they had the Trevisan that he was after... It would make the perfect excuse to visit again — in a more overt manner.

Absentmindedly, he placed the ice pack on his lap, and immediately jumped up in his seat.

“Oh fuck! Cold!”

He growled and with a sharp flick of his wand transformed the pack into a pillow, and settled down again.

It should have delighted her that Frederico found the freedom to ask her out for lunch again. She sometimes thought she worked too many hours, but that impression faded when she heard from him. All Fred ever talked about was work. His shop was two streets away — not his of course, just as Casa Ur wasn’t hers — but he behaved as if it was his child sometimes, so dutifully he tended to it. She put it down to the speed with which she worked, as she was younger than most of the other book dealers in the city and less worn down by its pressures. But even she could not muster the endless enthusiasm of her friend.

Their lunches together had nothing romantic about them, they never did. He was a kind, soft-spoken man in his mid-forties, his skin just starting to sag around his cheeks, his forehead creased from frowning, brown eyes wet and tired behind a thick pair of glasses. The way he looked at her unnerved her sometimes, but then again, he seemed to look at everything that way…

He picked her up from Casa Ur and they went to a restaurant together, his paunch swinging before him and the sun shining brightly on the bald spot at his crown. He loved to talk, his high hoarse voice filling up the silence. She didn’t mind. She needed the company.

“And anyway, to prevent the shipment from being late, we found an old pathway they could take to avoid the flood, and they arrived five minutes before schedule,” he said, finishing the latest drama from his shop as they sat down at the restaurant across from the Fontana Trevi. “Can you imagine? Flooding, in the hottest summer on record?”

“Oh, last summer was even hotter.”

“You think so, but that’s not what they said on the weather report.”

“I think I’ll have carbonara,” she hummed, licking her lips. She loved the menu at this place…

“Hm? Oh, parmesan gnocchi for me, I think. With cream and garlic, oh yes… Wine for you?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just water.”

“Might be a while until they come around to us. So many tourists out today. Awful. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about the reason we found that route. Guess.”

“I don’t know,” she laughed.

“Guess, guess! Alright, so, it was our collection of Martinelli maps.”

“Fascinating. Oh, there’s a waiter! Scusi, cameriere!”

She hadn’t liked Fred when they first met two years before, but she’d gotten used to him. Or, she’d learned how to put up with him, allow herself to be carried on the wave of conversation that he wove. Now, it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, eating in the open air, letting his enthusiasm drown her worries as he wagged his sausage fingers in the air to summon up the largess of the maps that saved his boss’ shipment.

Every one of their colleagues was different, each with their own flaws and problems — broken marriage, spiteful children, loneliness and illness and malaise — but they all carried the same passion for books. Books most people never heard of, books only obsessives cared about, books older than countries. They, few and a little insane, were together enchanted by their beauty.

So she could forgive Fred his childlike wonder, even during their lunch break, because the same passion smouldered, albeit very deeply, within her. It was what kept her going in spite of her loneliness, her anomie, and the drudgery of daily life.

“By the way, who’s coming at the next auction?”

“Most of the same,” she sighed, her breath fogging the half-empty glass of water. “A few new names this time. Foreign names. Can’t say I know any of them.”

“Must be invited by Oso.”

“Oh, I doubt he has the authority.”

“No, but you know how the Baron looks up to him.”

She chuckled, her lips pursed to stop a toothy grin. “Given his condition, it’s hardly surprising.”

“What do — Oh, you mean the… Oh, that’s quite cruel,” said Fred, his eyes two charcoal slits beneath the fat dark crinkles of a smile.

“Sorry, sorry…”

“But anyway, you know he could talk him into doing just about anything.”

“Maybe… Would you like to have some coffee before we go?”

“Sure,” he said. “I know you don’t really like talking about the auctions.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that… just that…”

“Just that you don’t like it,” he laughed.

She was playing with her fork in the leftover sauce of carbonara while Fred waved a waiter over when she noticed from the corner of her eye a familiar contrast of black hair and deathly pallor. Was that Mr. Riddle? His eyes were hidden by shades and his full lips were pressed against the rim of a wine glass, but she was certain it was him. She turned before he spotted her.

While Fred kept droning on about another fascinating problem he’d had at work, she found her thoughts drifting, dreaming, and a soft smile blossomed on her face at just the memory of how good Tom looked the last time he was in her shop. Those dark curls falling over his eyes, how she longed to ease them back, to trace the sharp angles of his jawline, to kiss him… His lips looked so soft.

She sneaked another glance his way when the waiter took their plates. Leisure looked good on him, even if he seemed an amateur at it. A workaholic, perhaps, like her… He wore a pale green shirt today. The colour tasted sweet in her mind, like pistachio gelato. It was generously parted at the neck where his sweat was cooling, and underneath the table she could tell his legs were crossed, clad in sinfully tight silver-grey trousers.

“And once we had the original manuscript, we realised it referred to the Capuchin Catacombs, not the Parisian ones! My dear, are you listening?”

“What? Yes, the catacombs, of course,” she said, hiding her warm smile behind a cup of coffee.

The shop was more quiet than usual when Tom stepped in that day. That was to say, it was quieter than when he’d broken in. There was a tense silence to the place, one that slithered up his spine and settled pleasantly at the back of his brain.

He hadn’t missed the Torchia displayed in the window, in the centre of a carefully constructed swirl, holding court over far lesser volumes. In fact, it was the reason he had come.

“Buongiorno.”

“H-hello!” she called from behind her desk, getting up quickly enough to knock over a stack of papers when she noticed him.

“Didn’t expect to see me again, did you?” he grinned, sliding a hand casually in his pocket.

“Not really, no,” she chuckled. “How can I help you?”

Her eyes flitted to the window before coming back to him. She was expecting him to ask for the Delomelanicon again. She probably had a whole little script ready once he did. As if Tom would fall for so obvious a trap…

“Well, I was wondering if you had a copy of The Lost Word, by Bernard Trevisan.”

“W-what?”

“Is it a bit too obscure? He’s a —”

“Fifteenth-century alchemist,” she said, her smile suddenly beaming with nothing of the apprehension from before. “The Lost Word is a famous alchemical treatise! Yes, I know it. Which edition?”

“Doesn’t matter. Any would do.”

“We have a solid copy. Not too old, but faithful to the original, and at a good price.”

She began leading him into the second room before she’d even finished speaking. What a charming girl… She’d hoped he hadn’t been the intruder, and Tom had just confirmed it. He had gained her trust.

He followed her quick and careful steps, a heady perfume trailing behind and the metronomic echo of her thin high heels.

“It’s quite deep inside,” she said.

“Is it indeed?”

His hand came slowly out of his pocket, holding his wand.

“Not much further now, through this door.”

Tom stopped, took aim, and cast it.

“Imperio.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked as she kept walking.

“…Nothing?” Tom muttered to himself in wonder. He looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“What?” she said, half-turning.

He shoved the wand back between the folds of his jacket before she could see it.

“Ahem, nothing,” he smiled. “Please, continue.”

A chill ran down his skin and bile rose in his throat in anger. It was clear to Tom now that this building, or perhaps the very land it sat on, was protected by some counter-charm. His usual solutions of bending locks and minds would not suffice, but he could not call himself the Heir of Slytherin if he could not find a way. Tom eyed her figure, infuriating and sleek, and decided then and there that she would be his key.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

76 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 6 months ago

Text

TheStudy! Part Two: Distance - Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

The problem Dean thinks, is that you’re naïve, you see the good in everyone. You don’t see ulterior motives, not the way that he does. It’s one of the reasons he loves you, he’s sure it’s one of the reasons Jack loves you.

The study you’re undertaking and Jack, they start to become your priorities. The weekly standing lunch date the two of you usually have, it’s cancelled because Jack, he needs you for a meeting. Your afternoons are spent teaching the program at Northwestern University, the sessions can usually run late into the evening because Jack encourages you to take the opportunity to network.

The nights you are home, you’re not present, not really. You’re working on your latest revisions to the study, honing the program, reviewing the feedback.

All those times he’d shut you out, Dean’s starting to get a taste of what that feels like.

The worst part is you’re not even doing this on purpose. This study it’s important, it’s helping a lot of people, it’s also giving you options, opportunities that you wouldn’t have otherwise. Things that Dean could never give you, things that Jack can.

“Maybe we can get dinner tonight?” He tries one morning when he comes home from his run. “It feels like it’s been a while since we’ve actually spent a little time together.”

You’re tucking your laptop into the brown leather Marc Jacobs satchel he bought you for Christmas, the one you’ve always coveted. Power dresses and high heels have become your normal attire these days, he misses the evenings he used to come home and launder your scrubs together.

“I can’t.” You tell him as you zip up the satchel and sling it over your shoulder. “There’s a drinks reception with the Board tonight, they want to know how the study’s going…”

“Yea, yea sure.” Dean says, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m starting to feel more like your roommate than your husband and I think that’s something we need to talk about.”

You phone chimes and you sigh as you glance at it.

“That’s Jack, he’s downstairs waiting in a town car.” You say as you tuck the device into the pocket of your blazer. “I’m sorry Dean, I need to go, we’ll have to talk about it later.”

It cuts like a knife through his chest because you know how hard it is for him to be vulnerable, to admit when he’s feeling hurt, upset, unsure.

“Isobel…” He begins but he stops himself because the thing he wants to tell you, that he needs to tell you, it’s not something he can just throw at you as you’re walking out the door.

You pause in the doorway and he swallows hard against the emotion that’s building in his chest because Dean, he’s terrified right now, he’s been terrified ever since Doctor Cameron had told him he was in renal failure two days ago.

“Just have a good day.” He says finally and you smile that sweet smile of yours before you step back into the room, your lips brushing over his grizzled cheek.

“Tomorrow.” You promise him clasping both of his hands. “Tomorrow night I’m all yours.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dean archer #dean archer x reader #chicago med #one chicago #steven weber

51 notes · View notes

isleofdarkness · 2 months ago

Text

Rise of Red Doll Review

Putting this under a cut because it's going to be long.

So, I got the Rise of Red singing Red doll NiB (new in box) off of eBay.

First off, the box was impossible. Getting her out was mostly easy, but there were these little plastic things keeping her head in the plastic backing for her head (hard to explain without showing but I didn't think to film the unboxing.) I needed to have my brother get his pocket knife to get her out of the box. Yes, I will acknowledge that Monster High and Ever After High dolls had these same plastic tidbits in the backs of their heads, but they only had two plastic tidbits while Red had three, and there usually wasn't a piece of moulded plastic covering the back half of their heads. She also did not come with a hairbrush, which is kind of irritating, but I guess that's what Barbie does so I'll allow it.

Now for the doll herself

Her hair is super long. It's long enough to reach the tops of her thighs. It's also crimped kind of like D2 Uma's hair was. She has these weird painted-on edges.

Her face looks like Kylie but not like Kylie, if that makes sense. Like they took Kylie as Red and edited her until she was slightly uncanny valley

Her clothes are a mere one layer, which is kind of to be expected for Descendants dolls. I got the doll with her original punk outfit and am sad to report that it does not have her crest, likely due to the velcro on the back of her jacket.

All of the designs of her jacket are printed on rather than layers, which is also to be expected.

Her shirt is just a bit too short for her high-waisted pants. You can see in the pictures that the holes of her speaker and visible between the hemline of her shirt and the waistline of her pants.

She has a belt with a black heart buckle, but the buckle is also not her crest.

She has chunky bright red platforms that do kind of have her crest if you lift up the leg of her pants to look, but it's a poor excuse for her crest, being solid red, having the lightning strike in the wrong position, and being very hard to see.

Now, for the doll as a doll

Number one, I scared myself shitless as I was trying to pull off her inconvinient jacket and accidentally pressed the button on her chest, causing her to sing quite loudly. And then I noticed something quite infuriating;

See that? yes, there are two tiny plastic tabs keeping her shirt attached to her pants. So I had to go get the scissors.

Her arms and legs are one-jointed, meaning her has moving hip joints and moving shoulder joints, everything else is fixed. Meaning she is going to struggle to do her epic jumps. A tragedy

The battery can be accessed through a small compartment in her inner left thigh using a small phillip's head screwdriver.

Overall, her design feels very Barbie-esque, which I guess I expected from Mattel.

But, here's my final test of quality

Do other doll clothes fit Red? For this, I used a G1 Mal, Dracubecca wearing Ghoulia's clothes, Legacy Day Briar Beauty, some random Barbie clothes, and Namaari. I was originally going to do more but I got so sick of getting jumpscared by the music that I decided to forgo that idea. Maybe I'll test her against G3 Twyla, Porter Geiss, and generic Cassandra another day.

Test one, Ghoulia's dress (plus a Ghouls Rule Frankie boot)

Results; Fail. Did not close down the back, was honestly a nightmare to put on due to Red's non-detachable hands

Test two; Briar Beauty's Legacy Day Dress

Results; Fail. Didn't velcro down the back and also jumpscared myself again trying. Didn't bother with the shoes since MH and EAH shoes are the exact same

Test three; Namaari

Reults; Partial success. Namaari's clothes were a bit baggy but fit. Her boots, due to Namaari having flat feet and Red having those doll high heel feet, did not fit

Bonus picture of Namaari wearing Red's clothes

Test four; random Barbie clothes (Fashionista line, I believe she was from the first Fashionista series and petite)

Results; Success, though I'm not sure if yellow is her colour. Thoughts?

Test five; G1 Mal

Results; Partial success. Clothes did not fit at all but the boots did fit

Conclusions

Objectively, this doll's quality would be a step down from the G1 Descendants doll quality if not for the dragon Mal I have downstairs, which also has arms in fixed positions. I also do not like how loud her music is. My parents are napping downstairs and I had to hide Red under my pillow every time she went off, because I was genuinely afraid she would wake them. That's how loud she is. Also, I'm skeptical about this doll being thirty dollars retail. EAH dolls were only twenty and far higher quality

If you want clothes for Red, I think petite Fashionista Barbie clothes might be a good bet.

I wish she had a hairbrush

She is not allowed to join my other dolls until that battery is removed

I am happy to have her, don't get me wrong, the multiple jumpscared just put me in a bad mood

#the darkness speaks #rise of red #descendants red #descendants

21 notes · View notes

devils-dares · 2 years ago

Note

frank castle x reader with like a bakery au or where he always comes in just to see her

wordcount: 1004

i apologize for any editing errors, my brain is not working currently.

-----

“Black with room and a slice of toast?” You ask, cleaning out an espresso puck when you see Pete at the counter.

“You know it, sugar.”

“For here or to go?” You wipe your hands on your apron, punching in the items in the register.

“For here, favorite spot’s open.” He nods his head towards the small chair and table in the corner of the cafe, basked in golden morning sun.

“Alright, have a seat,” you smile at him, “I’ll bring it over.”

Readying his coffee and filling a cup with cream, you deliver everything to him. He looks up at you with wide soft eyes, muttering a “thanks, sugar.” before indulging himself.

It wasn’t a busy day, a Tuesday at 10am meant the morning rush had left and it was only retirees and people like Pete. You’d kept the counters clean and baked more treats, but there wasn’t much to do. You boxed a few to-go orders, only leaving the counter when someone wanted to have their coffee topped up.

Sooner or later, you find yourself and Pete alone in the cafe, life bustling outside the cafe doors. You hum along to the background music playing, and Pete scratches away at his journal. He stares out the window a few times, watching families with an almost heartbroken look in his eyes. You watch him for a while, and although he can feel your eyes on him, he lets you.

After he sits in the cafe for about two hours, he gets up with a sigh, wrapping up the leather-bound journal and tucking it into his pocket.

“I’ve gotta be on my way, sweetheart,” he calls out to you, “see you soon.”

“Wait!” You call out after him, “can you- can you take this? Just as a taste test, it’s a new recipe I’m working on and I need someone other than myself to tell me how it is.” He glances at you wearily but still takes the pastry bag. You watch him leave, sighing when he leaves. He was genuinely one of your favorite customers, he didn’t talk much but when he did, the two of you had amazing conversations about everything. You didn’t know much about him, only that he served as a marine and didn’t really have anyone else, other than a nice man named Curtis who came in maybe twice.

—--

A few days had passed before you saw him in the morning at opening time. He was the first customer, in fact, ordering his usual with the addition of the pastry you gave him the other day, “if you have it sweetheart.”

“I take it you enjoyed it?” He hums.

“Keep giving me treats like that and I'll be your taster forever.”

“Gotta come here every day then,” you tease, “constant feedback.”

He tenses at your words and you panic, thinking you overstepped or something, but he relaxes soon enough.

“I’ll see.” He says simply, and that was that. He takes a seat after paying and you deliver him his typical order, along with the pastry. He hums out a thanks and you leave him to himself.

The cycle continues, he sits quietly in his spot jotting in his journal while you tidy up the never ending mess. He takes his leave after a few hours, and you wave him off after giving him a new pastry to try, cleaning up his table when he leaves. You spot a napkin face-side-down on the table, sharpie ink bleeding through the thin sheet. You look around before flipping it over.

“So you don’t have to wait for my reviews.” It read, and under was his phone number scribbled into the napkin. You smiled, thinking you’ll wait until tonight to text him.

—--

“Hey Pete.” Frank’s phone dinged as he stitched himself up, glancing knife wound on his thigh. He cleaned himself up of blood and grime before responding to you.

“I was waiting for you to text me, sugar.” His teeth gritted almost immediately after sending the text, hoping he didn’t come off as too straightforward.

“Did you try the pastry I packed for you?” Your response read. He smiled.

“Eating it right now. It’s yummy.” He could hear your laugh, airy and full of light.

“Glad you like it, any criticism?” You ask.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta pack me more next time, sweetheart.”

“Will do.” The two of you ended up texting for hours about everything and anything and Frank realizes just how easy it is to talk to you. You two talk until Frank realizes the gaps between your texts are growing longer and longer, and Frank chuckles at you.

“Head to bed, sugar. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Promise, Pete?” His heart aches just a little when he hears his fake name.

“Of course.”

—--

Sure enough? He’s there when you walk to the door, bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” You joke, inserting your keys into the lock to open up the café.

“They’re uh- actually for you.” He hands the flowers to you.

“Oh! Thank you!” You take the flowers, grabbing a vase from behind the counter and placing the flowers in them, displaying them on the counter.

“Do you want to order anything?” You ask as he makes his way towards the counter.

“No.” He says simply, and he places his hands on your hips.

“This okay, sugar?” He asks, thumb rubbing light circles.

“Yeah.” He leans down, lips hovering right over yours, but he lets you make the final move to pull him in.

The kiss was short and sweet. His hands pulled your hips flush to his as your arms wound themselves around his neck.

“Pete…” your voice trails off.

“It’s Frank.”

“What?” You pull away.

“My name, it’s Frank. I don’t like people getting too close, but I’d break that rule for you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, you’re not as mysterious as my last boyfriend, he had a lot more secrets than that.”

“You’ve no idea, sugar.” He leans down to kiss you again.

#frank castle #frank castle fluff #frank castle drabble #frank castle fanfic #frank castle request #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x male!reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x gn!reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x female reader

315 notes · View notes

ilikedyourablogithere · 1 year ago

Text

I’m gonna be honest with y’all...I ain’t giving Ginny a good review

like I know y’all seen the reference art right?

all them pockets but no cook utensils? No knifes no spatula no whisk she doesn’t have a fork on her? like how is she cooking with no tools??

even more damning ... no seasoning. Like that’s the ultimate chef red flag. She ain’t even got some salt and pepper on her. Like you know that food ain’t got no flavor to it right?

all that uncovered pink hair? you know it’s going to find it’s way into your food. That’s just plain nasty

and most importantly...don’t sit on the stove, while it is on and you facing away from the stove. Like you’re just going to get yourself hurt. And I know what you’re thinking. You thinking I’m nitpicking and being mean because she’s only 19 and THAT’S THE EXACT POINT. She is 19 years old she should already know not to do that

So until she gets her butt off the damn stove. Until she CLEANS THE STOVE (I’m not the sit on birthday cakes dude. I’m not about that) forgive me for having standards because I don’t want to taste jeans in my food. Until she get’s some cooking tools and seasonings I’m not eating at her restaurant

Don’t you ever in your life introduce me to a chef that don’t seasons their food. Like I don’t care how cute you think she is, I don’t need someone like that in my life

I hope Gordon Ramsay finds her and cuss your her out because Ginny deserve it

I’d rather eat In n’ Out.

And no I am not sorry about that

#cry about it #dislyte

76 notes · View notes

idiopathicsmile · 1 year ago

Text

i just got an alert on my phone from Yelp for a new restaurant called Twin Peaks. there was no other real information but the name, and so for one glorious moment i was briefly transported to a pocket dimension where some enterprising human thought that what the people really needed was a literal Lynchian nightmare-scape to go along with their burgers

like maybe all the servers are trained to be just a little uncanny, a little stilted, a little wrong. and also occasionally a mysterious figure dressed in half a modified frog costume runs into the middle of the restaurant floor and screams backwards Latin until the host (a man in a full tux) snaps "mind the fire code, Reginald" while sharpening a large knife

anyway, welcome back to our own dimension because i went ahead and skimmed the reviews and turns out it's just a normal sportsbar where the waitresses wear suggestive outfits.

(it's tits. the peaks in the name are tits.)

no word on the frog thing yet but i wouldn't get my hopes up

#to be clear i only saw a few eps of the show and i am not a david lynch superfan #but god the specificity and strangeness of theming a dining establishment off his work had me ENCHANTED

78 notes · View notes

dreamersbcll · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write a fic where Sam and Tara seem finally happy, they’ve just finished up their meal at a pizza place that is just a lil bit too cheap to not raise an eyebrow and are now walking home to their apartment before they get bombarded by conspiracy theorists. They go to hassle Sam aggressively shoving her and interrogating her before Tara charges at the theorist, knocking them over and pummelling their face with punches. This protection doesn’t come free,though as the theorists grab Tara and beat her up while same is unable to help. Sam’s guilt would drive her crazy after this

“Loomis”-

————————————————-

“You know, for someplace that only had two stars on Yelp, that hit!”

Sam threw her head back and laughed, pulling her sister in for a side hug. The pair had just finished eating at Guido’s Pizzeria, a family restaurant down the block from their new place. Tara had begged to try it, even though the Yelp reviews were dismal. So they did.

Kissing the side of Tara's head, Sam sighed. “You know, it wasn’t half-bad. The tomato sauce was a little sweet for my taste, but I’d try it again,”.

Tara hummed. “The garlic bread was good. I love garlic bread,”.

“I know you do, my love. I know you do,”.

Sam was so busy fussing with Tara's jacket that she didn’t notice the crowd of men approaching them.

That was her first mistake.

“Oh boys, look what we have here. The killer of Woodsboro!” crowed the ringleader, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Sam moved Tara behind her, eyeing the men forming a circle around her. The two sisters both had tasers and knives on them, but six full-grown men were surrounding them. They would have to be smart about this.

“I think you’ve heard wrong. I’m no such thing,” she carefully said, watching as one of the men started cracking his knuckles.

The ringleader laughed again, a cold, calculated laugh. Tara gripped her wrist harder, her hands shaking. Sam stood straighter, one hand in her coat pocket, grasping the knife hiding there.

He quickly got up in Sam’s face, grinning wider at how both sisters flinched. “No, I think I’m right. You’re the bitch who murdered all those people. And enjoyed it. You’re bold to walk around this city, Sam, the murderer,”.

She bristled, eyes darkening. “I’m not my father. But if you ask nicely, I’m sure I can do a good impersonation of his work. Now back up before I make you,” she growled.

Grinning, he got nose-to-nose with Sam. “I’d like to see you try, Loomis,.”

Her second mistake was not punching him first.

Instead, chaos erupted. Within a blink of an eye, Tara jumped on the guy, screaming that she was not like her father, and pummeled him with a barrage of punches. The other guys, along with Sam, were frozen in shock, watching the man get beat up by a five-foot girl.

Her third mistake was not reacting first.

As she reached down to pull Tara off the guy, the other boys regained their confidence quicker. Two guys yanked Sam up, forcing her to her knees, her arms behind her back. The other three easily plucked Tara off their ringleader, holding her up in the air by her armpits.

The ringleader got up, wiping blood off his nose. He pointed at Sam, and she smiled at the damage Tara had done, despite the fear running through her.

“I’m surprised you let your sister hit first. Maybe you’re not your father's daughter,”.

Tara squirmed in their grip, trying to get free. The ringleader smiled a cold, bone-chilling smile. Before he spoke, Sam connected the dots on what would go down.

“But somebody has to pay for the deaths in Woodsboro. And your sister will be our penance,”.

With that, he advanced on Tara, despite Sam’s pleas and Tara's squirming. Reaching into Tara's jacket pocket, he pulled out the pocketknife.

He waved the knife in Tara's face, smirking at her eyes widened with fear. “Aw. You were gonna use this on me, weren’t you? I wish you did. It would’ve made what would happen next more fun,”.

And with that, he punched Tara in the gut, and Sam let out a scream she never knew she could make.

She doesn’t remember much after that. For every two punches they threw at Tara, one was thrown at Sam. Eventually, she lost track, and Tara stopped crying out.

They gave up after a while, throwing down Sam and letting Tara's limp body hit the ground.

Fighting the urge to black out, Sam reached out for her baby sister. Tara was covered in blood, bruising blossoming over her closed eyes. She wasn’t moving, yet Sam could tell she was still faintly breathing.

The whole image of her sister tore Sam apart. It was yet again another bloodbath she could’ve stopped.

But what made Sam’s breath catch in her throat were the words that were scratched onto her sister’s arm.

Sam Loomis

—-

Sam doesn’t remember getting to the hospital. It was all so sudden.

Flashing lights, questions, and people strapping her down into a gurney.

“I need to see my sister. I need to be by her,” she gasped, wincing as the paramedic stuck a needle in her arm.

The paramedic gently pushed her down again, silencing her. “She’s in the other vehicle. I need you to lay down, Ms. Loomis,”.

She jerked back up, crying out at the pain in her ribs. “It’s not fucking Loomis. I’m Sam, Sam Carpenter!” she spat out.

“Okay, I’m sorry, Ms. Carpenter. My mistake. It was just written on your sister’s arm, that’s all,”.

Laying back, Sam felt woozy. The medication was hitting. Was that a sedative? She hasn’t been sedated in so long. Where was Tara? She should be here.

“Loomis,” she mumbled, drifting off into a drugged sleep for the rest of the ride.

——

“Listen, if you don’t let me see my fucking sister right now, I’ll add more bodies to my list. I swear to god!”

The nurse pushed Sam back down into the bed. “I told you, I’m not afraid to restrain you. Your sister is in the ICU recovering from surgery. No guests right now. Now sit!” she said crossly.

Sam threw her hands back in exasperation. “I’m already stuck in this fucking bed. I want to see her, please!”

She wasn’t above begging anymore. She was stuck in a hospital with her ribs wrapped in gauze and stitches above her eye- and heavily medicated. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere else besides her sister’s side.

“No, Sam. I’m sorry. Maybe later,” the nurse sympathetically said, closing the door softly behind her.

Groaning, Sam laid her head back against the bed. She fucked up. She fucked up tremendously. Once again, due to her lack of awareness, she had gotten the sisters into a perilous situation.

And once again, Tara was hospitalized.

It was as if Sam was incapable of being a protector. She is incapable of taking care of someone that depended on her.

Sam knew deep down that those men were right. She was a killer. She took after her father. She knew all that, and she knew it well.

But she always took pride in how much she loved Tara. How Sam could anticipate her needs, calm her fears, and make Tara feel loved. She knew she could provide that stable love and home Tara craved and deserved.

Yet again, Sam repeatedly proves to the world that she’s a complete and total fuck-up. Unable to take care of the one person who truly matters. She was a failure in all accounts of the world.

She kept her eyes closed and breathed slowly. Deep down, she knew that if she looked into her reflection, she would see Billy.

And he would smile back at her, thanking her for following in his footsteps.

Sam Loomis.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #this one was specific but fun #ao3 author #my writing tag #sorry! an attempt to be happy was made!#AU: i’ve got blood on my hands

49 notes · View notes

starillusion13 · 1 year ago

Text

Bambi

Pairing: Baekhyun x f! reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere, Dark Fantasy

Warnings: Stalking, possessiveness, restraining acts with chains, knife and blood, obsessive behaviors.

W.C: 3.1k

Note: Thanks for joining the event. thanks to the ones enjoying my works and your reviews are always appreciated and feel free to interact with me.

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Request from @anyamaris

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @yeoobin

⛓️

*under the cut*

“I will be home soon.” Walking through the streets late at night is a relief to you to get some peace and air of comfort. The bell sounds brings your attention towards a house and suddenly a train moves past through the tracks alongside the road. You got startled and your wide eyes looks around to see if anybody noticed you in that situation.

No one is around you, you sigh in relief and went towards your home, putting the phone in your pocket.

A smile appears in shadows. A gloved hand adjusted the hat on top of head to hide the face properly. The shadowed figure whispered,

“My Bambi.”

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

“Uh….”

Waking up in a dark room filled with the scents of different flowers; all of your favourite. The essence of these variety flowers is making your drowsy state more helpless. You can’t remember what happened to you before being in such a state.

“Help me…”

Rubbing your eyes, you realized that the room has dim light sources from the only candles placed on various light stands all around the room. You tried to sit up when you found yourself on a floor which is so shiny as if you are laying on a mirror because it can perfectly reflect your presence on it. Leaning sideways and balancing your weight on two hands, your attempt to sit on the floor is a success. Lifting up one of your hands to remove the hairs falling over your face to tug them behind your ears earned a groan of pain from you. Your hands feeling so heavy that caused your wrist to ache and then you found the cause for the happening. Hands are tied up in chains connected to the chains tying up your leg, the other end of the chain is getting dispersed into the dark corner of the room.

“Why am I tied with chains? Who even tied me up?”

Thinking hard to remember what happened to you in last moments.

Several memories popped up starting from morning when you found a letter and a bouquet at the front door like everyday. You were giggling to the sweet words and the praises written all over the letter, the sender ended the letter with a signature which can be read as BAMBI. You were sure it is from your boyfriend, the boy you are dating for last six months. Oh! He is such a sweetheart, his love for you is more than you have ever wanted from someone.

The memories flash forward to the evening when you were returning from a long day of work to your apartment to finally take rest. You were on a call with someone maybe your boyfriend when a figure with all in black came up to you suddenly. You didn’t hear anyone coming in that lonely road then how come this person is suddenly standing before you. Face was hidden due to the black panama hat and the extended hand towards you was covered with tight black leather gloves. The person was in all black attire maybe that was only possible for you to recognise because in that dark street with insufficient light to distinguish colors that was only how you could recognise it.

“What?....”

your head is aching with all these memories flashing on. Now the worst part is that you can’t remember what happen after that scene. You are trying hard to think, the headache causing you to close your eyes in pain. Your breathing is heavy and your whole body is paining. Your hands are not enough strong to keep your balance for any longer. No. You have to be strong, you need to figure out how to escape this place wherever you are and then you can think later about what could have possibly happened to you.

After three times of breathing practices, your panic settles down. Being in somewhat a little bit stable state, you looked around the place. The room is really dark, only the places where the candle lights can reach to is lit and visible, where the rest are mysteriously dark. You can feel that you are situated in the middle of a room, to your front there is a black curtain hanging from the ceiling covering the whole wall only leaving the sides for two very old vintage closets on either side to be palced. On your two sides, the walls have different kinds of hanging candle holders and various shelves and tables with things decorated on top of them which are barely visible. Turning your head to take a look of your back, its too dark that side and your chains are ending to that side.

You pulled the chains to see if the other end is fixed or not and to your dismay the action made loud jiggling sounds of the chains which echoed in the dark room.

“Haha…ha ha ha…” a laugh followed the sound of chains. Your eyes flash fear and a shiver run down your body on realizing that there is one more presence inside the room. So, all your actions till now were observed by someone and you didn’t know of it. This made you feel cautious and your hands automatically braced yourself and you pulled your knees inwards to your chest, sitting now facing the direction of the voice. The chains moving in a rhythm as if someone on the other side is playing with them. Heavy footsteps approaching you which made you close your eyes for not having the courage to face what is coming next.

Again, the person laughed, totally mocking your current state. You can hear a lot of chain sounds and ‘click’, something gets locked. The person’s voice is now much closer than before and so in the effect, your heart is racing too fast that it might burst out and cause an explosion then and there.

“Open your eyes my love.”

He is near you. Wait. He is totally in front of you, you can hear the footsteps stopped near you. The voice belongs to a man and your ears are blessed to hear such a smooth and honey like voice, even calling out for you. Slowly you parted your eyelids, revealing your glossy eyes to the man.

Is this real? Is this man real? The smile is so heavenly, no doubt that voice came out from these pretty lips. Oh no wait. This attire and the hat, your eyes scanning all over the figure in front of you and on realization you tried to scoot back. The chains didn’t help your attempt.

“Who are you?”

The man chuckled. Why is everything funny to this man? He has now sitter himself on his folded knees and one hand checking whether the chains are tied tightly or not, your eyes followed the chain and there is the other end locked in a hook on the wall. The other hand on his side seems like he is holding something.

“Why am I here?”

You are getting impatient to hear his explanation to keep you here like this even in this condition. He scoots near to you when his other hand revealed holding a shiny object. No no no. That’s a knife. Is he going to kill you?

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is cracking in fear.

“My baby is so impatient.” He chuckled. The voice is so sweet and it can really hipnotis someone including you.

“I’m not your baby.”

He is literally keeping you like an animal who needs to be tamed and then also calling you with nicknames.

“You are being a bad girl again love.” Your eyes falling where he is playing with the knife, candle lights falling on the knife reflecting your fear in the room of mysterious dark.

“Stop with your names. Tell me who are you. Why am I here even tied up like this?” You are literally shouting at this point. Tears coming out in a flow and you are jerking your hands and legs to atleast get rid of those restraints.

“Oh. We can go slowly. One question at a time.”

He stands up in his position and now you are getting his overall look. He is wearing a black fedora coat with matching pant and a white shirt inside with a black tie visible perfectly in middle. His face is still hidden, if only it was not hidden then you could have tried to recognize this person.

Suddenly, the chandelier above you lit up and now the room is a bit more visible to you except the man’s face.

“Can you guess my name love?” He is smiling at you. Walking over to his previous place near you.

Glancing at the knife in his hand, you gulped and replied “……no”.

“Oh!” he pouts at you. “I am Baekhyun but you can call me candy.” He laughed at his own words.

“Baek-baekhyun?” you are trying to think if you have heard this name before or even have encountered someone who goes by this name.

“Thanks love. I like the short name. Call me Baek if you want.” You glared at him. In one of the corners situated a small brown couch, he walked with quiet footsteps over there and sat down with cross legs.

“What am I doing here?”

“You are safe here.”

“I don’t need any safety when I was already safe in first place.”

“No. Bad people are all out there. They will take you away from me.”

“What are you even saying?”

He suddenly stood up. Slow steps nearing your weak frame on the floor. Looking around for any object to throw at him which can at least hurt him and prevent him to approach you. In his way, he took off his hat and placed it on top of the table at the side of the couch. Revealing his beautiful face with jet black hairs and flawless baby face. His look is ethereal to belong to a criminal like him. His eyes seem like holding two diamonds in each hole with his precious smile resting on his face.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“You are keeping me tied up here without any particular reason and you are telling me not to fear you. Also, holding a damn knife in your hand.” Your teary eyes looking up at his face.

You pleaded, “Please let me go.”

“Bambi……my only Bambi…… my love.” He is getting lost in your eyes, in your glossy eyes which seems like the brightest star to him right now. Always.

Bambi? This. You have heard this before. Oh wait! Those flowers. Those letters. Those Candies.

“You…you…he…letters….” He grins widely when you mentioned about letters.

“Did you like them? Oh yes of course. The way you always giggle when reading them and one hand busy eating those candies. Thanks for always decorating those flowers at the places I like them the most.”

You are shocked to know this truth. All this time you thought that those are all given by your boyfriend and he didn’t ever mention it because maybe he wants to keep it like that. But you were totally wrong, that was him, the man standing before you.

“How do you know?”

“I can’t miss to see you even when you are home.”

“What the……”

“Hell? I am from there. Thank you. Fuck? Well maybe we can but later.” He is scooting near to you to come face to face with you.

“Go away. Let me go. Don’t come near to me.”

“I can’t do that when you are my favorite person.” His hands tracing your face, eyes admiring your face. Brushing your hairs away to take a better look at your beauty. His other hand brings up the knife and traced over your cheeks which cuts you a bit.

“I don’t want to be your favorite person. You are a psycho.” You shouted at him.

“You are so precious baby even your shouts sound like a melody to me.”

Jerking your body so much causing pain to shoot over to your hands and legs, this effects to cause deep purple marks over the skin near the tied-up places.

Blood flowing down your cheek and the cold knife placed on your other cheek cutting similarly as before. He is still smiling while looking at you. You are silently sobbing with eyes shut tightly and hoping someone to rescue you from here.

“The day I locked my eyes with you at the café. I knew, I have to keep this bambi eyes all to myself. The owner of these starry eyes should be kept in a safe place.” Blood oozing out of the cut is getting mixed with the tears falling from your eyes. Wiping the blood with one finger, he brings it near his eyes and admires it.

“Doesn’t this look like a melted Ruby. The stars falling from your eyes and the red velvety liquid from your skin mixing together to form this ruby.” Your eyes slowly open to respond him. Your cheeks are burning and your nails are digging on the shiny floor.

“Please, it hurts.”

“It hurts me too.” He stopped smiling and put the knife aside. “It hurts me too when I see you smiling without me, when I am not the cause of your precious smile. It hurts when you are laughing at something when I can give more things which can be funnier. It hurts me when you are holding hands with someone and that’s not me. IT HURTS EVERYTIME WHEN THE THINGS WHICH ARE KEEPING YOU HAPPY IS NOT ME.” He shouts in the end of the sentence.

Your sobs become audible on the impact of the shout and noticing it, he pulls you in a hug and caressing your back and hairs. The smell of his cologne is so soothing and it’s giving you comfort but this is literally wrong, it should not be so comforting when coming from a criminal, moreover a psycho.

“it’s okay love. I will not shout at you. It’s okay, don’t cry.” These words causing you to cry more because you are missing your boyfriend.

“I want to go home. Please……”

“But this is your home.” He said softly, placing a kiss on your head.

“No……. I want to go back to my own life where I can be all by myself and with him.”

“Him?” He holds you tighter before releasing to grip your forearms to make you face him.

“There is no him. You are my Bambi, my one and only precious Bambi and you love candies the most so I am your Candy.” He is having an evil glint in his eyes but quickly returns back to his soft appearance.

“No, I’m Y/N. I’m not your Bambi.”

“You are so funny my love.” He puts a hand inside the pocket of his coat to bring out a handkerchief and wipes your tears and blood. He gives you his little smile and put away the hanky aside. Again, repeating the previous action but now took out some different kinds of your favorite candies and chocolates. Your lost eyes and confused mind staring at him as to why out of so many other girls, he chose you when you just look like an ordinary girl beside other girls who are way more beautiful.

“Why me? I’m not that special.”

He chuckles at you while looking down at the candies. Bringing up the hand to pat your cheeks, he leans forward to kiss your forehead. He sits on the floor before you facing the curtained wall and pulls you on his lap with your back leaning to his chest. Held in an unknown man’s embrace, who is also the one keeping you captive makes you stiff in your place.

“You know, why have I kept the room dark?” silently and slowly you move your head side to side.

“Look at your reflection on the floor because of the candle lights. Its looking so nice. The bright lights will not allow me to admire your beauty like the way these candle lights with dim effects reflecting your beauty. I want your beauty to be the brightest light in this room and your eyes “, holding chin, he makes you face him. He is bending a bit forward, he smiles at you, “Your eyes to be the brightest star.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“To keep you safe of course. Trust me I can be the best person to you forever.”

“I don’t even know you and also you don’t know me then how can you expect me to trust you?”

“Oh love, I know you a lot more than you can ever imagine.” His other hand sliding up and down your forearms and side frames. This giving you chills all over your body.

Hand holding your chin moves to his other pocket to bring out a small remote and when he clicks it. The curtains covering the wall move aside and you look over there. Your eyes go wide in shock when realizing what’s on that wall.

Your pictures, every picture showing all types of your emotions. Pictures including of you practicing a dance cover of your favorite group, slipping on the floor, crying on the sofa while watching a drama to the ones where you are wearing your favorite dress and going to work, eating ice cream, going to date with your boyfriend but only you in the frame. There is countless of pictues which you yourself can’t even recall from where they are. You felt a kiss on top of your head.

“Do you like it?”

“How? This can’t be real.”

He chuckles, “This is very real.”

“No……..”

He turns your face towards him to take a look of your shocked eyes. He waited a bit before speaking up, “You know why you are my Bambi?”

“……”

“A deer when comes near to a car in front of the headlights, their eyes, those Bambi eyes look the brightest gem under the dark sky.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he places a soft kiss on your quivering lips, “You look exactly like that deer. Every night when I had followed you in shadows, under those street lights whenever you were afraid, those Bambi eyes looked the brightest star. They looked like mine to keep safe.”

He placed a candy inside your mouth. On realization, you wanted to throw it but he closed your mouth with pressing his palm over your lips tightly. Your eyes looked in fear towards him. He kissed your head and smiling adorably at you. Your heavy eyes slowly closing while staring at his smiling lips, the first thing of this man you noticed back then.

“Sleep my love, My Bambi.”

[Expected something horny? Nah nah nah. Let it be like this.]

141 notes · View notes

lafortis · 5 months ago

Text

Okay guys pocket knife opinions need

This guy (Mujun Fuji Knife) is the option I'm leaning towards rn, when folded it looks like Mount Fuji from the Miho peninsula, good carbon steel (strong but requires oiling, not maintenance free), mostly an aesthetic choice cus I love owning pretty things, ~70$ (the cheapest one on the list

Kershaw leek, absolute workhorse, extremely common edc choice, listed as "assisted opening" so potentially technically illegal but also it's already in the country?? So apparently border services wasn't too worried. idk not too worried about it Canadian knife laws are wacky anyway (basically you gotta have a "reason" for having the knife, which means completely officer discretion, but in my specific case I'm wh*te so certainly never been a problem before). Excellent stainless steel (14C28N), allegedly pretty much the best price point for performance out of stainless steel for a knife. Currently $99.99

(I could only get the thumbnail for some reason) Coldsteel Recon-1, this is the tanto edge but there's a bunch of em. Extremely well reviewed, reliable, lasts forever. I do like black. Better regarded amongst outdoors people, the kinda knife you can beat the ever loving shit out of, baton wood, chop saplings, whatever (not of immediate concern to me, but I've been known to do some of that stuff so not irrelevant either). $192.99 (ouch, but a fair price). This also comes in Magnacut (the new Best Stainless Knife Steel) for $292.99, but I don't know if I'm enough of a knife nerd to need the current cutting edge (heh) steel frankly. I mean improbably not even sharpening it well enough to notice the difference in things like edge retention lmao

QSP penguin in 14C28N, don't know much about it but it comes highly recommended for the price point. $79.99

The expensive option, the North Arm Skaha II. Magnacut steel, handmade, BC small manufacturer. Apparently incredible, obviously expensive. $275, but hey, buy Canadian?

Also taking suggestions if anyone has a sexy one

#im getting paid next monday (substantially i mean) so im getting myself a treat #but i leave it up to yall how treat that treat is

7 notes · View notes

goose-books · 9 months ago

Text

goose-books productions: a 2023 review

only [checks watch] two months late! view the image in higher quality here; read past years-in-review here; and thank you as always to my beloved @yvesdot for the template!

i shan't be dishonest; 2023 was not exactly the year of max. but i still got a lot of good writing done! transcripts + commentary under the cut, and, uh, take the godsong character roster again.

cws: animal death (february), pregnancy/miscarriage + body image issues (july), addiction (september), self-harm-as-metaphor (october)

january

what’s that? godsong ran away with me for another year? well, it does that. in the second of a plotted trilogy, anna (roughly: what if aeneas were a very sad lesbian?) and her lieutenants visit a soothsayer. ichari wants to kill for her, btw. anna please let them kill for you,

“Have we got to sacrifice an animal?” Sascha said, tilting his head. “Let you dig around in the entrails?” “If you’d like,” the Sibyl said, upper lip wrinkling. “But I’m haughty enough to believe I can make do with a bit of holy blood. Not you. Annadrijanna, if you would give me your hand.” Anna didn’t move. Her eyes widened, very slightly, as she stared at the hand the Sibyl had extended to her, palm up. Ichari’s hand was on their knife again before they could blink. Damn the gods and Avender’s Sibyl, and damn Anna’s quest, the moment she needed it they could have their blade in the prophet’s throat no matter what holy punishment tumbled down on their heels— “It won’t be like the other,” the Sibyl said, nodding to Anna’s right hand. “I keep my tools clean. Far less messy than entrails.” From their cloak pocket they drew a glinting silver pin, topped with a bead of pearl. “Just a prick, that’s all.” Ichari couldn’t tell if Anna’s chest was rising and falling beneath the robes, or if she had calcified entirely. “Anna,” they said, soft, warning. Almost pleading. Just give me the word, Anna. Just say the word. “You’ve a lot of ghosts clinging to your robes, Annadrijanna,” the Sibyl said softly. “I need a bit of life.”

february

while anna’s doing that, ambergris is causing problems. raised in regency patriarchyville, she recently befriended a dragon and received Powers; now she’s working toward 1. making it seem like her family’s manor is haunted 2. killing her parents and 3. having gay sex. not necessarily in that order.

Blood and yolk still stuck to her hands, gumming the webbing between thumb and forefinger. But it was a pretty picture, the mews desecrated, the falcons gone mad and tearing open their eggs. The duchy would whisper that Pyranimia had forsaken even the birds, that the Armindale fortune was suffocating in broken shells, and no one would consider that it was only nature, that rabbits and snakes and stable cats would swallow down their young if they got hungry. But not here, Ambergris thought, serene, picturing what her mother would say when she learned of the mews—the slight twitch of her mouth before her face settled back into glacial calm. Not you. You wish you could. You’re starving for it. But you won’t be rid of me now. You don’t know that yet. But I hold you in my hands now. If I were really a sorceress, I could twist up your body, ruin the organs that made me, the ones that hurt you. Or I could take them out and let you go free. She could sympathize. Abandoned by the goddess, she too might have withered and waned, and come to loathe the children sapping her strength as they grew inside her body. But her mother had made Ambergris too well for that—too cold to love a child or a husband, too cold to shrink from blood. You took the knife from your chest and put it in mine, Ambergris thought. But the gods have been watching. My god has been watching. The storm is building. And before I ever let you eat me, Mother, I will finish a daughter’s work and drain you dry. She raised her hand to her mouth, where her thumb met her forefinger, and licked away the blood.

march

in the spring i wrote a very long paper about antony and cleopatra (the shakespeare play, and also the people, and also the echoes of their story in the aeneid). which got me thinking about the deliberate narrative parallels between dido and cleopatra, which got me writing a ten-minute play where they have a one-night stand. happens to the best of us. i’m very proud of how this one came out, actually, but i have no idea what to do with it. target audience of weird lesbian classicists?

D: I want to be someone they don’t write tragedies about. C: (to the audience) Well. How charmingly ironic. D: If I could just—have—if I could just—just a life. Just someone who loves me. Just someone who won’t go away. Something boring. Something monotone. I don’t care how good I look burning. I want to stop being on fire. C: You have absolutely no sense of flair. D: I miss my sister. (A pause. She looks to C.) C: Can’t help you there. I had mine killed. D: (exhausted) Happens.

april

fans of the aeneid, please enjoy The Scene In Which The Protag Loses To A Tree. if godsong ever drops i will accept a 10-page double-spaced essay about how it is in conversation with the jason & medea myth.

Anna set his jaw. He braced his wooden hand against the trunk, then stepped up onto the coil and reached for the golden branch. It was slick and cold under his fingers, closer to stone than wood; Anna took hold and yanked. The branch slid from his fingers. Anna grabbed the trunk so he didn’t fall backward, ice jolting up his spine. The serpent hadn’t moved. Again he tried to snap the branch. A whisper of leaves as it bent, but there was no give; again his sweat-damp hand fell away. The word that slipped from his mouth startled him, because it was the sort of word no one used in a temple, something Caradorra had been scolded for saying in front of their mother. Another glance at Sascha. The serpent hadn’t stirred. Anna wiped his hand on his robes, straining up on his toes, and wrapped his hand around the base of the branch. If he could saw at it—but his sword lay gleaming and useless in the grass, his calves starting to ache, the branch warming under his touch. Please, Iv, please, please, please— He ignored the flicker in the corner of his eye: movement from the lakeside. But then came the hiss, rising like steam from the water thrown at the charred walls of a burning city, and his blood ran cold. Breaking from the lake, wet and shimmering, came an enormous frilled head. The second serpent, awake and alert, slitted yellow eyes fixed on Anna. It moved faster than thought—legs bunching, coils rippling, launching itself for the tree. “Sascha, down!” Ichari shouted from the treeline, and the gun went off, louder than godly thunder, and the branch beside Anna burst into splinters, and as he gave a last desperate yank the golden branch snapped cleanly into his hand.

may

while working on the actual plot of godsong, i was also fleshing out the backstory, and ended up stumbling into the personalities of anna’s parents (a t4t4t throuple! let’s go gay people). so here’s a bit of anna backstory from the perspective of his mother, who is wonderful and nervous. did you know anna was chosen for priesthood at age 11? probably had no long-term psychological effect on her at all.

It was a celebration for Eli’s records: three days and three nights of festival feasting, of singing and dancing and hymns, of the temple bells ringing a clangorous echo from dawn until dusk. In past years, after past Ivtouchings, the celebrations had been citywide but quieter, briefer—the ceremonial anointment before the temple doors, to mark the new priest as a new melody in Iv’s living voice, and then a song. But it had been three hundred years since Iv had plucked a child from the rings of Ivander to holiness. No simple ceremony would suffice. On the first day, the older Ivtouched helped Anna atop an oxcart, the horns of each ox wrapped in gold ribbon, and led him in cheering parade through the city’s spiraling roads to the temple. In the street, in the surging shouting crowds that followed on foot, Radi cheered her voice hoarse and tried to etch the picture into her memory: the brilliant blue of the sky, the loose tail of ribbon flapping from one oxhorn, the glint of the sun off the bronze-painted spokes of the cart’s wheels. All of those details she might have set to canvas, with a small enough brush and a steady enough hand. But she knew even then that she wouldn’t try. There was no replicating her son’s smile, so broad it must have ached, or the dazed look of joy in his eyes. As if he were dreaming and praying not to wake. As if some curtain had unveiled before him to show him the heavens in shining vivid color, the world created for him anew. Someone else’s hands would mark him holy; someone else’s hands had dressed him in the dark Ivtouched robes, billowing out behind him in the breeze. He wasn’t quite tall enough. The hem was pinned up so it didn’t drag. Every few minutes atop the cart, Anna’s hand drifted down to hike the fabric up, more twitchy than deliberate, each yank a quiet spear through Radi’s heart.

june

please refer to my february comments on that list of ambergris’s.

Ambergris regarded them coolly. She had pulled them around the back of the orchestra into a corner: curtained from the rest of the room by a clot of musicians, the strings near too loud to speak over, the lanterns throwing warped shadows over the floor. “I apologize,” she said, slow, “if I startled you, Captain. I’d like a word.” Ichari’s heart still pattered at their ribs. Again they forced down the shaking need to wipe that faint smirk from her face. “You’ve had a few. You satisfied yet?” “Y-you’ve met my husband,” Ambergris said, “twice now.” So she had been watching, then, probably sunken into the shadows like a grotesque. “Twice too many times,” they said, curling their lip. “You aren’t impressed.” “Don’t let me offend your wifely sensibilities.” Ichari flashed their wickedest grin to see if she would squirm. “But you’re too pretty to go to waste on an ill-dressed fool’s limp cock.” Ambergris didn’t flinch, but her eyes widened slightly. Big innocent eyes, Sascha’s eyes, with all the guilelessness of a kitten. “Am I?” “Too good for him? I’m sorry you had to find out this way, duchess.” “Not duchess,” Ambergris said, “yet. I find—I know I’m too good. Am I pretty.”

july

more backstory, this time in second person about ambergris’s mother, who gets a POV in the book proper. not a very fun POV, but there's generational trauma to explore. creusa is the doctor that's been called in to help jonquilla through a miscarriage; she is gnc as fuck (jonquilla voice: you're insane).

Four weeks Creusa tends your bedside—four fuzzy weeks drifting in and out of fever, your thoughts racing like loosed horses, as you bleed out the last of your hoped-for heir. You loathe her for it, with a bright-hot intensity you can only grasp for moments at a time between unconsciousnesses. You loathe her for daring to pity you, for helping you sit up to drink down your pain relief; you loathe her for doing it well. You loathe her because she is fresh and young and rosy-cheeked and you are soft and lumpy and pathetic. You loathe her because she is beautiful despite all she does to destroy it, despite the way she prowls the manor in trousers, despite the fact that you have never once seen her suck in her stomach. Beautiful the way you were mere years ago. Beautiful enough to make breath catch when those worn fingers tuck her shorn hair behind her ears. What gives her the right to see you like this? What gives her the right to sprawl out in your home, in your chambers, in all her impropriety? What gives her the right to choose to be—this? Does she have a husband somewhere who lets her run free? Children she tends to with the same slight curve of a smile she gives you? Sisters? Brothers? Who does she fall into bed with at night? You want to step inside her skin, to pry it up, to take her apart and see how her heart beats. She’s had her hands in enough of your blood. You want to hold her organs. Your dreams come in tatters. Your stomach swollen to bursting again. The endless hallways. Dittany soaring away from you. Children squirming in your gut. Creusa stroking your hair. Sometimes those are not dreams, you think; sometimes your eyes flutter open and she is there, patient, quiet, calm. As she always is, except for the crease in her soft rose-petal lips, because when you are asleep she does not smile at you. She watches you as if she is afraid for you. She watches you as if she is guilty of something. There are other dreams, too. Dreams you refuse to remember.

august

in august i had a Medical Experience. but first i finished the draft of godsong2, because i never fucking lose. this bit is from the very last scene, where no one is doing well.

Most days she shaved her face each day after morningsong, when she had the strength and a passable mirror. In Ivander she had not needed to, but she liked the look of it, the cleanness; in Armindale Manor she had been particularly careful. Sascha must have noticed, or picked it up from her face, because he scrambled wobbling back to his feet. “I’ll fetch a razor, eh?” “Sascha—” Ichari started, but Sascha waved a hand. “I’ll do it, Anna,” he said, earnest. Her twinge of warmth was faint; she inclined her head slightly. They had done something like this before, Sascha scrunching up next to her to wind his fingers through her hair—hair, Anna realized distantly, that was soot-choked and tangled now. He had spun her waves into a thick braid, then a number of tiny ones, chattering all the while; she had repaid him for it once with a spiraling swirl of mehndi across each of his fluttery hands. Now, though, when he held the razor up to her face, there was a new trepidation in the set of his lips. It took Anna too many sticky seconds to realize he was trying and failing to settle the terrible shake in his hands. “Sorry,” he said, blanching, when Anna looked at him. “Ah, I’m sorry, I…” “Armindale,” Ichari said, soft. Gentler than she had ever heard his name in their voice. They held out a palm. “S’okay.” Anna tilted her face toward them. Sascha scooted back to wrap his arms around his knees and watch Ichari sliver the hair from her chin, one hand braced against her cheek, their hands callused and cold and kind.

september

and we've reached the part of the year where school hit me like a Fucking Train. here's some carronash. that is, MILF julius caesar x neopronouns mark antony, in an extremely uneven borderline-religious-worship dynamic that has swallowed the latter's entire life (more about their deal here). you know, out of context here, they almost look sweet.

Ash shut xir eyes so xe wouldn’t see her hear it, and xe croaked, “I need a drink.” Her chest rose and fell beneath xim in silence. Somewhere beyond xir walls, a cart rattled over the streets. “I know,” Ash said, panic starting to rise cold in xir throat. “I know—I know, but it hurts, I need a drink, Julienne, it hurts, I think I’m going to die. I think I might fucking die.” I know you do, she had said the last time xe’d told her xe needed a drink. I know you do. I know you know why it’s a bad idea. And she had kissed xir forehead like an anointment and held xim when xe shook with frustrated sobs. Nothing now. Just her hand combing through xir curls. “Julienne,” Ash said, near a whine, the craving a spidery itch beneath xir skin. “Ash,” Julienne said. “Am I asking too much of you?” It didn’t sound like a condemnation. Xir insides curled anyway. “No,” xe said, small as a scolded child. “No, I just—I just…” “If it’s too much,” she said, soft. “If you can’t bear it. There’s no shame in that.”

october

i posted this poem here, but we’ll see it again! i think it’s kind of heavy-handed, but that's what happens when you try to articulate an insanity.

2:35 grindstone // max franciscovich there is a knife in my hand. there is a knife i am holding in the palm of my hand. i hold it by the blade. when i squeeze the blood runs down through the webbings of my fingers and the sting is hot. if i uncurl my fingers i will let go of the knife and it will not hurt. if i let go of the knife i will forget pain. suffering and fear will dull and scab over and my eyes will close. when i squeeze i remember it hurts. i remember i am dangerous. my eyes can close. i can cut with a touch. if i let go of the knife it will not hurt to make a fist. if i let go of the knife i will make a fist. if i let go of the knife in my hand i will forget there is a knife in my hand. when i squeeze the sting whets my thoughts and i see the world in all its brutal glory and i touch nothing i could ruin. there is a knife in my hand. there is a knife i am holding in the palm of my hand.

november

no nano this year :( i was being crushed by school and mentals, unfortunately. which sucks, because i've had a streak since 2018! but alas. next year. i did write a little more godsongverse backstory, set in anna's old city and starring the book's hector and andromache figures (ira and lucia, respectively; imi and nia are their twin toddlers).

Here was a part of the war that would not be told: that sometimes it would be late, very late, the sun sunken into the earth and the children in bed, before Ira came home. That Imi and Nia were asleep, Lucia suspected, was not an effect but a reason, because sometimes her heart-knit lover was nigh unrecognizable in the doorway, hunched and haggard, bathed in gore, and the twins would have been terrified. Blasphemous, maybe, for Lucia to see the dried blood cracking in rivulets on Ira’s skin and think of Iv’s shattered face. But even blasphemy was better than the other reason she shied from the thought—that likening Ira to the holiest of martyrs felt like giving up. Giving into what she suspected everyone else already thought inevitable. After the first night she had stopped fearing the worst. There would have been no missing the uproar in the city. Her fears were simpler: how much blood there might be, how many times Ira would wake in the night. But unless the wailing rose high enough to shake the temple down, the sixth wall of Ivander stood, and Lucia sat at home with the spinning and waited.

december

and… would you look at that, more godsong. i did write non-godsong things this year! but most of them are short stories i'm hoping to send out for publication, so i'm not keen on sharing yet. this, however, is literally a godsong x hadestown AU that i’ve been calling spadestown, and if i ever finish it i Will be posting it here. in a beautiful alternate world, godsong is an annaspades romcom. (it's not even that in this AU.)

Lying on the bed watching Anna write, Spades said, “You know xim. The queen.” Not an accusation, exactly. But a search for solid ground, an escape from the ice shifting under her. At the desk, Anna tapped the end of his pen against his lips. Distracting lips, unfairly plush. “Yes,” he said after an absent moment. “It is—natural. Xe returns every summer.” “Only here?” “As far back as I remember.” Anna blinked; Spades watched it sink in. “But not where you come from.” Spades shrugged. There were gods where she had come from, too. Not the sort one poured drinks for. “I suppose we can’t all be holy,” she said, reaching out across the narrow span of the room to his chair. Anna took her hand, his skin warm against hers, his pen calluses already familiar—the tip of his second finger, the inside of his third. When she closed her eyes, Ash’s grin flashed behind her lids. Xe must have known who she was. Gods always knew. “Sing it again,” she said, patting the bed beside her. Anna was staring at the page. He hummed another bar under his breath. Spades thought she might have to get up, to close the journal for him, to slip the pen from his hands and kiss him and hope he kissed back instead of dreaming louder. Then Anna said, “Sing what?” Spades tipped his chair back to hear him yelp. “What do you think, dipshit?” “My song?” Anna said, and there was his little winking smile. “Or our wedding hymn?” There was only one bed in the attic room, so they slept curled together. Invariably Spades woke with silky hair in her mouth. Not bad, she figured, for a night always warm.

and that's a wrap! i know i didn't post much this year, but i'm still hard at work at various odds and ends. thank you for sticking around, and i hope everyone reading this has a wonderful 2024!

#max.txt #max actually writes #year in review #okay tags time innit.#godsong tag #anna ivtouched #ichari felidore #sascha armindale #ambergris armindale #jonquilla armindale #julienne carron #ash pyrris #hellenira ivtouched #lucia tag #< poor girl doesn't have a last name yet. that's on me #cinquedea spades

12 notes · View notes

jungwnies · 2 years ago

Text

partners ✰ 5 leeching off their fame

masterlist | next

as you get ready for bed you couldn't help but notice the sound of your phone vibrating on the bathroom counter. you pick it up and answer, "haven't you heard of texting?" you ask, putting your phone on speaker.

"are you dumb?" the boy on the other end of the line snaps. "i've been trying to text you for the past hour and you didn't reply so i've resorted to calling."

you look at your phone and snicker as you see 20 unread texts, "oops, i guess."

"okay well, i planned something for friday and i just wanted to let you know that you should dress formally after music bank." jake tells you.

"okay." you say, quickly hanging up.

it is now the day of music bank and the two of you are backstage practicing your lines, "you guys are up in 20 minutes." your manager says, popping into the room quickly and leaving.

"oh, i should probably let you know i won't be here in two weeks." you say as you continue to read your lines and review them.

"so i'll be working with a filler mc?" jake verifies as you nod. "thank god."

you roll your eyes and eventually the two of you are called to film. it goes smoothly and there are no side-eyeing or any snarky remarks.

you return to your personal dressing room and put on the outfit you prepared last night. you look in the mirror and run your hands down your sides adjusting your clothes. you grab your bag and make your way outside and say bye to your fans, and smile at the cameras for at least 5 minutes.

you enter the vehicle, the door closing quickly behind you. this time no managers, just you and jake and a driver who you've never seen in your life so it's safe to assume that it was jake's driver.

"so where are we going?" you ask, putting your phone in your bag.

jake hands you his phone, "this rooftop restaurant, i was doing my research and i saw in a video it was on your bucket list to go to some fancy rooftop restaurant with a good view of the city." jake tells you as you look at the page with endless pictures of the place he's taking you.

"i'm surprised you consumed y/n content, just to learn a little more about me too?." you tease handing him back his phone. "it's nice jake, thanks for putting in the effort."

"yeah, it was nothing." jake says putting his phone into his pocket. "let's just hope all goes well."

well he said that a bit too soon.

"if it wasn't for me your group wouldn't have as many fans as they do now." jake snaps.

"do you think they would've asked me to mc with you if we didn't already have recognition?" you argue back, putting down your knife and fork.

"your group continues to grow only because my face is being put next to yours." jake says laughing.

"not everyone idol is coming from a company that bts is under, the only reason you've gotten so popular in the past two years is because you're leeching off the fame bts brought to hybe." you state with anger in your tone. "so many idols have to work their asses off to get to where they are now and the fact that you're invalidating my group and i's hard work is by far the rudest thing you've said to me."

you stand up and begin to walk away teary eyed. it's not that jake has gotten to you (well he kinda did) but the fact he has the audacity to tell you that he's the reason you've gotten any kind of recognition made you furious.

"wait y/n!" you hear the boy shout from behind.

you ignore the boy and continue to walk out of the restaurant and make your way back to the lower level. you pull your phone out and call your driver to pick you up. as the van approaches, you enter. you see jake rushing out of the elevator running towards you, "let's talk it out y/n." he says holding your door open.

"i really don't want to see your face right now jake, so please let go of the door and let me go home." you say tiredly. "i'm tired of your bullshit, so just go before people start taking pictures."

word count: 742 thanks for reading! 🩷

taglist: @whois-alexis , @hanienie , @reikofruitloops , @baldi-2 , @yelleloww , @aetzensvct , @moonshoon , @kimipxl , @shinsou-rii , @giraffeass , @ghostiiess , @ohbeomgyu , @tlnyjoong , @silcry , @beomgyusonlywife [open - bolded could not be tagged]

53 notes · View notes