#that opening reminds me of the handmaids tale

[thixcy]

✨I’m just a mere maiden 😌✨

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In Which Gojo Satoru Commits Regicide.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 0.7k.

TW: Mentions of Consensual Sex and Off-Screen Violence. I Am Coping, But I Am Also Pissed. Be Patient, I Beg of You.

Live Dove: Tender and Sweet.

You’d been a little confused when Satoru came home uncharacteristically giddy in spite of the bitingly cold February weather, and a little more than confused when he said he had something to show you, took you by the arm, and teleported you out of your apartment entirely (after waiting for you to give your clear and enthusiastic consent, of course). You had no idea where he was taking you, but it only took a single second of whipping your head in either direction, a single glimpse of those awful bright yellow curtains and tacky eagle rug, to know where you were.

“Satoru,” you gasped, and his grin widened. “Is this the oval office?”

“The one and only.” His voice was low and smug, his tone more than enough to prove that he already knew you like your surprise. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he swept the content the presidential desk in the floor with his free hand and lifted you onto its outer edge, placing himself in the space between your open legs as if brought there by a gravitational pull. You draped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss as sweet as apple pie, or funnel cake, or other true symbols of American culture that were formed through a broad, grassroot endearment rather than a bunch of gross old men deciding they’d look cool on a flag three-hundred years ago.

Reminded of gross old men, you pulled away with another sharp gasp. “But, ‘toru, what if he catches us?”

You had no problem with getting your back blown out by your loving boyfriend in one of the most sacred rooms in the United States, but if that lead-paint poisoned geezer happened to walk in (if he even could walk on his own, anymore), it’d totally ruin the mood. Satoru only laughed. “Don’t worry, baby,” And then, flashing you a quick wink, “I made sure to clear the place out for us.”

“Satoru, you didn’t!”

“Guess some fascists just can’t handle their blunt force damage,” he said, shrugging. Suddenly, your expression dropped, and Satoru noticed right away. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Well, it’s not that the racist, senile felon didn’t deserve to have his skull caved in by a bisexual transgender man – since, y’know, we’re both bisexual and transgender.” Satoru nodded, affirming the fact that you two were similarly transgender and also bisexual, which you were. “It’s just – now that misogynistic white supremacist who jerks off to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale every night before fucking his couch is going to be president, and that that kind of sucks too.”

“James David Vance?”  Satoru asked, refusing to use his initially and therefore highlighting how stupidly pretentious his name was. “You think too little of me, sweetheart.”

Possibly for the third time, you gasped. “Is he…?”

“Mhm. Took care of him right before I came home, got him right as he was coming out of his filler appointment. Beat him to death with a copy of his own book and everything, after leaving it a one-star review on Goodreads, of course.” Again, he shrugged, but smile gave away his self-satisfaction. “It’s all in a day’s work for the world’s strongest and most politically active sorcerer, I guess.”

“But, if that pathetic old man and his castrated lapdog are both dead, then who’s the president?”

“Check the news, baby.”

You fished your phone out of your pocket as Satoru sucked hickeys into your neck, obviously waiting until he had your full attention to go further. Again, you gasped. You were starting to lose count of how many times that’d happened, so far. “Abortions and insulin are provided upon request and also free now?!”

“Oh, wait, are they?” You turned your screen in his direction, and Satoru hummed in approval. Everyone’s quality of life had gotten a lot better since your good friend, Nanami Kento, was placed onto the Supreme Court in the final days of Biden’s term. “Sick. Not what I was talking about, though – scroll down.”

You scrolled down, and gasped once more. Your throat was starting to hurt. “Everyone in the country’s unanimously ellected the first female president?”

“Not just any female president,” he said, smirking and tapping on a trust-worthy article from a reliable and non-partisan source. “Say her name for me, baby.”

The final gasp you gaspt was the loudest and most gasp-like of all.

“Hatsune Miku?!”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

⭐

I'll discuss my latest Sleeping Beauty retelling, "For Love of the Princess."

Watching the first twenty or so minutes of the 1993 adaptation of The Secret Garden, the scene where Mary explores Mrs. Craven's dusty old rooms reminded me so much of "Sleeping Beauty" that it made me want to write a retelling of that fairy tale.

One of the available Chesterton Challenge prompts that day was "love", which is ideal for a "Sleeping Beauty" retelling.

Sleeping Beauty retellings are also ideal for short stories--which is what I had to focus on to keep up with the breakneck pace of the Chesterton Challenge--because the fairy tale is focused around one major moment--waking up the princess.

When looking for an angle, I remembered a painting that showed Sleeping Beauty with two ladies-in-waiting asleep on the floor by her bed. I had long wanted to write a story from the point-of-view of one of those handmaidens--how would it feel to sleep for a hundred years because you're caught up in someone else's curse?

Since the prompt was love, I decided that the handmaidens chose to stay with Sleeping Beauty during her curse--an excellent way to focus on female friendship. I envisioned that scene of the court leaving Aurora behind, and I had the opening of my retelling.

I considered having the handmaidens stay awake during the hundred years to assess the princes and find the right one to break the curse, but I didn't see a great way to make that work--the interactions would be between the handmaid and the prince, so it wouldn't be satisfying for her to hand him off to the princess.

I'm also very attached to the idea of the curse being broken by romantic True Love--specifically, true as in "faithful"--so I decided to take that route, despite the fact that I recently wrote a different flash fiction Sleeping Beauty retelling with that premise.

My first inkling of Margaret's personality--practical and protective--came when I wrote the lines: Princess Aurora, who’d been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood. Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds. Those are also my favorite lines in the whole story.

I didn't plan to differentiate the other ladies-in-waiting. I didn't even know how many there were going to be. As I wrote, I randomly assigned some names, then in group scenes, I tried to attach certain reactions/emotions to one particular name. This then gave each lady a slightly different personality that I could emphasize in edits.

Since Aurora's only sixteen, I wanted to emphasize that her love interest is young--barely past puberty--but give him some gravitas-beyond-his-years that made him a worthy hero to awaken the princess from a hundred years of sleep. It's especially fitting since Aurora's fairy gifts make her mature for her age.

I love William. He's such a good boy. So proper and considerate. I want to adopt him.

The supper scene in the Great Hall mostly exists to hint at the first sparks of connection between William and Aurora, but it was fun to explore the almost apocalyptic atmosphere of preparing for a hundred-year curse to fall--eating up the food, etc.

The scene where the ladies argue before the curse falls is where I differentiated their personalities. I then went back and wrote the paragraph describing each of them.

The ladies waking before Aurora was my way of giving them something to do to help break the curse without staying awake for the full hundred years. I rather like the simple explanation for why it works that way.

Initially, the girls made their way outside and found William waking up in the guardhouse. Then I remembered I had already mentioned the thorns around the castle. I could have given the girls a tool to cut their way out, but the stakes would be higher if the girls were trapped inside, and then I could give William the classic heroic moment of cutting his way through the thorns to save them.

Yes, William's hesitation over kissing Aurora is my way to directly address the "consent" issue. But it's still cute on a character level. He's such a good boy.

All the girls yelling "Kiss her!' is very cartoony. But in a way that's just fun enough that I'm not totally embarrassed.

I'm not fond of the fact that I end with a hugging-and-thanking scene between Aurora and the handmaids, especially when we already had one earlier in the story. I wish I'd taken the story just a little bit further--let them see something of the world outside and make plans for how they're going to fit into it--because the way it ends right now, with none of them having ventured much further than the tower, it's hard to believe the assertion that they woke up into a better world. But for something I came up with on the fly and wrote very quickly, it's a satisfying-enough ending.

I do sometimes wonder what they did after the end of the story, and consider writing a bit of it, but I also kind of like ending on the promise of a happily-ever-after--implying that everything went so smoothly there was nothing more worth writing about.

[lizzie-may-agitate]

I’ve been rewatching handmaid’s tale

When it first began airing, in 2016, it quickly became something I watched alone in off hours while my spouse was busy because they couldn’t stand it. It felt, to them, like excessive and needless pain - like political torture porn. It’s an understandable perspective, I think, and I couldn’t put into words at the time what exactly I saw in it beyond that.

But lately, I’ve had the scene from the “before times” where the main character finds out women have been stripped of their financial rights when her credit card is suddenly declined. There’s a believable mundanity to that moment, a relatability that stuck with me. The dread of realizing your bank account is empty, money gone faster than you anticipated and you’re not sure why, not knowing in that moment if you’ve overdrawn or been scammed somehow or if your paycheck didn’t go through or… or, I guess, if the government has seized your assets and reduced you to sub-citizen status without warning. It just felt like a very imaginable extension of an already familiar feeling.

I needed to watch it again, like listening to a song stuck in your head in the hopes of it unsticking. And the scene was later in the show than I remembered, and so many other little things were hitting in a way I know they didn’t back, and now I guess I’m rewatching the whole thing.

It only took me an episode or two in to realize what it was I got from this show, though. The thing that felt worthwhile, despite the brutality and the anguish that fills it. If nothing else it’s a reminder that it is possible to survive things that may be unimaginable to you now - that people have survived these things, and will again, and that survival is worth honoring. And it’s a reminder, simultaneously, of the importance of fighting back and refusing to give up or give in. That survival and staying alive are not always synonymous. It must be a reminder I need now more than I did then, because it seems so obvious to me now… which is in and of itself unnerving in a way.

The smallest, silliest thing that immediately stood out to me was the eyebrows. 2016 feels like it just happened, I don’t think of this show as “old,” I didn’t expect it to really look noticeably different than something made a year or two ago… but it does. Everyone’s eyebrows look so thin and trim and tidy, even in the “after” times. That’s how long it’s been, how long this dread has been living in the pit of my stomach, this quiet anxiety I’ve been rationalizing and coping with just fine but can never really shake.

The thing about the credit card scene, a thing I had forgotten and maybe the very thing I felt I needed to see again, is that it comes along much later than I thought. Not just in the sense that it was a later episode, but later in the process of the insurgent fascist government’s seizure of power. It happens suddenly, yes, but in the context of a drawn out unraveling that the characters have been steadily acclimating to. It’s an abrupt change, but it’s not shocking to them - at least, not quite shocking enough. The main character doesn’t immediately pack her bags and plan an escape. There’s objection and protest along the way, sure, but not they’re not flooding the streets and rioting. It’s less than I would have imagined in 2016, far less than the uprisings of 2020, but it feels proportionate now. It’s what I would expect now. And when the main character attends a protest, and senses that it’s about to turn, and begins retreating just in time as an armed force in riot gear opens fire - that feels believable now, too. Not that it didn’t before, but in a way that feels closer now. In a way that dulls the impact of the scene itself. And when the queer university instructor finds out she’s being shelved because a student glimpsed a photo of her with her wife and their child on her phone, that feels believable too. Believable like you could tell me it was already happening, and I just hadn’t heard, and I’d believe you. And all the scenes of men in positions of power discussing the birth crisis and coolly discussing enslaving women as a solution, that too feels believable. Tangible.

I kind of rolled my eyes when I first heard there was another season coming, had no real interest in sitting through another season of agony. It already felt kind of drawn out to me, I was already kind of over it by the end of season four (if not sooner). Rewatching it hasn’t changed my feelings on virtually any of the criticism I had or heard of the show while it was previously airing, but… I’m glad I decided to revisit it. I’m not sure how enthusiastic I’ll be for another season by the time I finish this rewatch, but it makes more sense to me now.

“Women are so adaptable, my mother would say. It’s truly amazing what we can get used to. I’ve been here for two months. What have I gotten used to?”

[kloppinthekop]

꧁ hello! ꧂

amy ᝰ ❧ scorpio sun and moon, she/they, grey-ace, 30s

i support liverpool f.c. (epl) and mclaren (f1). faves include: dominik szoboszlai, lando norris, oscar piastri, and carlos sainz jr.

→ formula 1 sideblog: carlandoscars ←

i have a ph.d. in english literature, specializing in science fiction, but i really only write for fun these days.

other interests include: kate bush (queen of my heart), goth and post punk music/subculture, horror and sci-fi films, jane austen, mary shelley (i am always ready to bring frankenstein into any conversation), orphan black, star trek, studio ghibli, and more.

a masterlist of my fics and other scribblings are below the cut! a gentle reminder that i do not take requests for fics; however, headcanons are welcome and my askbox is open!

you can find most of my fics on archive of our own (ao3). some may be archive-locked (only viewable to users who are logged in on ao3). fics are sorted by type, ship/pairing, and then alphabetically listed within each category (for the most part). ratings are indicated in parentheses next to each title. if you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with any mature/explicit fics. full list of tags and any potential content warnings are available on ao3. masterlist to be updated periodically.

꧁DOMITRENT꧂ (dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)

dream come true (M, eventually E) 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 ➾ [work in progress]

→ Dominik, whose dreams of becoming a professional football player ended years ago due to injury, has dedicated himself to a new passion: physiotherapy. After moving to Liverpool to complete his studies, he meets Trent, a local lad whose dream of playing in the first team is about to come true. But what if, in meeting one another, their dreams become intertwined?

⟡ by chapter: chapter one: skull and bones | chapter two: skeletons and secrets | chapter three: start of something | chapter four: sweet as sugar | chapter five: stay with me | chapter six: stuck on you | chapter seven: suddenly everything changes

꧁HENDOLLANA꧂ (jordan henderson/adam lallana)

borne in red (E; dubcon) → In a world where men have been discovered to be infertile, the few men who are not sterile are forced into service of Captains and their Wives. Adam Lallana is one of these "studs," also known as Reds. He is also, dangerously, in love with men. Over a course of Ceremonies, he discovers that his Captain has a secret, and that his proclivities may be indeed similar to Adam's own desires…

A Hendollana AU based on Margaret Atwood's novel, The Handmaid's Tale.

⟡ by chapter: chapter one: waiting | chapter two: discovering | chapter three: being | chapter four: waiting | chapter five: coda

꧁DOMITRENT꧂ (dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)

we lit the fire and it's burning bright (E) → After the Liverpool vs Manchester City game (where Trent scores the equaliser), Dom takes Trent back to his apartment and proceeds to take him apart with his hands and lips.

working on the riddle of your heart (E) → Dominik can’t stop thinking about Trent. Ever since pre-season training, he has been obsessed. God, Dominik wants to be possessed by Trent.

you're out there killing the game (E) → Trent gets his arse out for all to see, but Dom wants it to be just his.

꧁CARRAVILLE꧂ (jamie carragher/gary neville)

gary knows; or, gary the fool in liverpool (T) → Liverpool’s lost the league, and Gary’s lost his damn mind.

a christmas carraville (merry crimbo, ye big lug) (G) → God I love him, but my husband is an idiot, Jamie thinks. In which Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher are married, but Gary doesn't know it yet.

champagne supernova (happy new year, ye tosser) (T) → It's New Year's Eve, and all Carra can think about is whether a certain Manc will kiss him at midnight. Maybe a little liquid courage will help light the way.

package deal (it's valentine's day, ye dimwit) (E) → Gary's got a Valentine’s date with an idiot.

꧁GERLONSO꧂ (steven gerrard/xabi alonso)

days of legends past (G) → "When you left, it broke my heart." Three vignettes related to various and sundry myths and legends.

꧁HENDOLLANA꧂ (jordan henderson/adam lallana)

fools in love (G; archive-locked) → aka, five times that other people noticed Jordan and Adam were dating before they did, and one time they finally realize that they’ve been a couple all along.

hounds of love (G; archive-locked) → Jordan's not sure what his soulmark will be yet, but what he does know is that he's terrified. A slow-burn soulmate AU.

merry to go 'round (G; archive-locked) → The lads buy a house together at the end of the 2026 World Cup campaign, and not a single one of their teammates (former teammates now) are surprised.

soft lad (E; archive-locked) → Five-hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes… it took a span of two pre-seasons for Hendo to realize that he was in love.

vignettes: tickertape (G; archive-locked) → After the trophy lift, Hendo searches for a tangible piece of memory…

vignettes: turf (G; archive-locked) → Lallana leaving LFC, but choosing a certain squad number for familiarity…

꧁OTHER SHIPS꧂

put myself on a pedestal - virgil van dijk/jarell quansah (E) → After the Union Saint-Gilloise match, Jarell says some things to the press that perhaps ought not to have been said. It's Virgil's job to educate him. But perhaps there are things that Virgil also ought not to say out loud… Then, Jarell comes over to his house one night after training, and Virgil finds a more effective way to stop Jarell from saying stupid things.

eu sou... - eric dier/dele alli (G; archive-locked) → Dele is um idiota but so is Eric. Pining ensues. footballers watch: eurovision 2019 - multi-ship (G; archive-locked) → What it says on the tin. [Pairings include: Carraville, Hendollana, Gerlonso, Deledier, and other random cameos.]

꧁GEN FICS꧂

klopp in the kop, forever - jürgen klopp (G) → Jürgen Klopp, the normal one, is about to live a normal life, for the first time in his life.

vignettes: takumi (G; archive-locked) → Second day at Anfield • Daemon!fic aka His Dark Materials/Football RPF

⟡ domitrent headcanon - who's naughtier, domi or trent?

⟡ domitrent headcanon - valentine's day

⟡ domitrent headcanon - who fell first

⟡ domitrent headcanon - dealing with injuries

⟡ domitrent headcanon - sex positions

⟡ domi and trent headcanons - fashion styles, shopping habits

⟡ domi, trent and jude headcanons - jealousy

⟡ trent and jude headcanons - food habits, sweet tooth

⟡ cheeky - domitrent

⟡ the prince and the scouser - domitrent

⟡ queen's gambit AU - domitrent

⟡ anfield is a cauldron - gen!fic

dividers created by @cafekitsune | other graphics resources

[hayleylovesjessica]

I saw Sydney Sweeney in person recently and the stuff guys were saying to themselves…and even the innuendos they said loud enough for her to hear…her dress was semi see through and my mouth was hanging open inside my mask I mean this woman is extremely hot (and cute when she’s fixing her cars!) but there’s a certain amount of respect she is denied by men who feel entitled to make those comments to her face. She said something like that she doesn’t think people like her acting that they just want to look at her and it was actually really sad.

I feel bad for her. Yes, she does sexualize herself with the choices she makes, but that certainly doesn't give others the right to treat her in a manner devoid of dignity and respect. FWIW, based on the things I've seen her in (The Handmaid's Tale, The White Lotus), I think she's a good actress. My sense is that in some of her more indie projects like Reality, she really shines as an actress. She reminds me a little of Charlize Theron around 1999, i.e., someone whom people thirst after and who ends up winning an Oscar. At the very least, I hope great roles and projects and major critical acclaim are her destiny.

[themovieblogonline]

Babylon: The Over The Top Movie by Damien Chazelle

“Babylon” is Damien Chazelle’s salute to the movies, following on the heels of Sam Mendes’  similar homage to the film in “Empire of Light.” I’ve never met Sam Mendes, although I admire his work. But I met Damian Chazelle, when he came to Chicago for the premiere of “La La Land” at the 52nd Chicago International Film Festival on October 13, 2016. Damien Chazelle is a genuine, personable, interesting young man. Once again he has partnered with longtime collaborator Justin Hurwitz (who also did the music for “La La Land” and “Whiplash”). The "Babylon" score was very reminiscent of the music from “La La Land.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5muQK7CuFtY Babylon attempts to depict what Hollywood might have been like back when the silent movie era was giving way to talkies. It is both an homage to those chaotic times, beginning in 1926, and a criticism of the excesses of Hollywood. In fact, the opening 20 minutes, depicts an elephant being transported to an orgy hosted by someone seemingly based on Fatty Arbuckle. The golden shower scene, gross as it is, goes a long way toward illustrating those Hollywood excesses. It’s way over the top. You could say that about the entire film. One of the things that amazes me about this $80 million-dollar stroll down memory lane, is the cast. In addition to Brad Pitt as the male lead and Margot Robbie as the female lead, it seems like there are bit parts for a myriad of actors, both known and unknown. Who were these masked men (and women)? Flea has a part. Eric Roberts---who I interviewed on my WeeklyWilson podcast during the pandemic—plays Margot Robbie’s father. Lukas Haas who played the small boy in “Witness” when he was 9 in the seventies, plays George, Brad Pitt’s best friend.  Tobey Maguire, listed as an executive producer, has a truly hero-destroying role as a gangster. Spike Jonze plays Otto. Michael Dukakis has an uncredited part as a soldier. Anna Chazelle has an uncredited part as Bobbie Hart. Kaia Gerber, the look-alike daughter of Cindy Crawford, has a bit part at some point.  Jovan Adepo plays jazz trumpeter Sidney Palmer. Jean Smart (“Hacks”) plays a composite character based on columnists Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons, Elinor O’Toole. Max Minghella (“The Handmaid’s Tale's Nick Blaine) plays Irving Thalberg. Comedian/actor Jeff Garlin (“Curb Your Enthusiasm”) plays Don Wallach, and Ethan Suplee  (“Remember the Titans” 2000) plays Wilson and spends most of his time onscreen spitting grossly. Manny Liotta plays a P.A. (Production Assistant). This is a very partial list of the surprisingly elaborate cast list. (Hard to stage an orgy without a crowd, I guess.) But the main character whose work in the lead is impressive as Manny Torres is relatively unknown Mexican actor Diego Calva, who comes to the screen in a major part as a complete unknown to U.S. audiences. Calva played a drug lord on Netflix’s “Narcos: Mexico” but, if you missed that, you missed him. He came to his star-making part in much the same way as the fictional Manny Torres: by doing whatever anyone in the movie business needed to be done. Diego Calva reminded me of the “fixer” characters played by Harvey Keitel in “Pulp Fiction” or by Leiv Schreiber in “Ray Donovan.” He has been nominated for a Golden Globe (if that award still means anything.) On an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel’s late-night television show, Calva shared some behind-the-scenes insights into Babylon and into his own background. Diego learned to speak English specifically for “Babylon.” Calva learned English from playing “Pokemon” video games in Mexico. He confirmed that the chicken in the orgy scene was a great actor.  He also confirmed that they used a chicken puppet for some takes. Diego admitted he was most excited to meet Tobey Maguire since he had been a “Spiderman” fan from a young age. Among other comments the young actor made was this one about the opening orgy scene:  “It was so crazy. I’ve never been surrounded by so many naked people before.” Of his co-star and love interest in the film, Margot Robbie, Diego said:  “She’s always going to do the unexpected. She’s a fearless actress, just full-on energy.  When you’re so tired, she can play it 100 times more." Diego studied at the Centro de Capacitacion Cinematografica in Mexico. He is a talent to watch. The thing that resonated with me---especially since it was quite similar to Sam Mendes’ musings on the movies---were the lines that pin down Chazelle’s feelings about the film. It’s not unique among creative types, whether filmmakers, writers, songwriters, or painters that the work we leave behind gives us a little bit of immortality. Ideally, whatever we have been responsible for as creative artists has been good and it remains long after we are gone. Chazelle scripted one scene, in particular, between Jean Smart and Brad Pitt where she tells the fading screen star “Your time has run out. There is no why. Babylon is bigger than you. No one asks to be left behind.” Telling him how he will live forever on celluloid, the columnist says, “You’ve been given a gift. Be grateful.” Pitt’s character, in an earlier scene, states, “What I do means something to millions of people. For real people, on the ground, it means something.” He then tells Olivia Wilde’s character (Ina) to spare him the pretentious notes on his reading of a script, expressing disgust for those who try to characterize Babylon as “a low art” and, instead, enshrine Ibsen and Strindberg and the theater. The general critical consensus has been bad for the film among both critics and audiences. I understand that, as so many of the scenes are well over-the-top and, I’m sure, offensive to some. The opening scene with the elephant and the elephant dung is but one example. There is a later one involving Margot Robbie at a party rejecting the instructions to be “elegant". She tries but fails, to “act” respectable since her original nickname was “the wild child.” Now, she is to eschew her Jersey roots and act much more well-behaved. She rejects that advice. She literally smears food all over her face, insults everyone at the party, and, ultimately, projectile vomits both outside the house and inside on a newly-purchased expensive rug. It’s a bit much. Between the descent into the depths of Los Angeles that Tobey Maguire insists Manny and his companion must take, the elephant scene, the vomiting, and the golden shower scene at the orgy, the film was just too far over the top. Babylon cost $80 million.  When you see the voluminous cast list, it isn’t surprising. Not only does it have two of the biggest current stars in Hollywood (Pitt and Robbie) but it seems to have everyone else who might have been hanging around. My favorite was the inclusion of Eric Roberts, who is undoubtedly going to hold the record for most American movie appearances ever. Eric has a scene with a snake, which is pretty funny. However, a lot of the scenes were not funny and, instead, screamed gross. You get the feeling that the creative license to try new things led to throwing everything but the kitchen sink into the movie. Another factor that swelled the film’s length from a normal hour and a half to over three hours was the emphasis on the music.  Chazelle has highlighted the music of collaborator Justin Hurwitz. Although the trumpet player character Sidney Palmer (Jovan Adepo) admitted that he did not really play the trumpet, the film focuses on the band and its performances too long. The movie would have benefited from some judicious editing and shorter musical interludes. The performances, especially those of Pitt, Robbie, and Diego Calva, are good. The plot, supposedly based on the 1959 Kenneth Anger book "Hollywood Babylon," was outrageous, but many of the stories in that novel have been debunked. The cinematography by Linus Sandgren is great and the set decoration by Anthony Carlino deserves mention. Opening on Christmas Day against "Avatar" might have been a questionable move. Chazelle even pays tribute to many iconic films in a final montage of clips from various movies, including "Avatar," and those flickering images even caused a warning to be posted outside our theater. Babylon is too long. Some of the musical pieces could have been shortened.  Removing some of the scenes that depict how difficult it was for silent movie actors to learn the new way of making talkies (by doing a takeover and over and over) could have been omitted. Grossing out the audience over and over succeeded, to the film's detriment.  The sets and costumes and cinematography are great. "Babylon" was a great creative effort. It just didn't work. Read the full article

[rockislandadultreads]

Book Recommendations: National Poetry Month 

Dearly by Margaret Atwood 

In Dearly, Margaret Atwood addresses themes such as love, loss, the passage of time, the nature of nature and - zombies. Her new poetry is introspective and personal in tone, but wide-ranging in topic. In poem after poem, she casts her unique imagination and unyielding, observant eye over the landscape of a life carefully and intuitively lived.

While many are familiar with Margaret Atwood's fiction--including her groundbreaking and bestselling novels The Handmaid's Tale, The Testaments, Oryx and Crake, among others--she has, from the beginning of her career, been one of our most significant contemporary poets. And she is one of the very few writers equally accomplished in fiction and poetry. This collection is a stunning achievement that will be appreciated by fans of her novels and poetry readers alike.

home body by rupi kaur

rupi kaur constantly embraces growth, and in home body, she walks readers through a reflective and intimate journey visiting the past, the present, and the potential of the self. home body is a collection of raw, honest conversations with oneself - reminding readers to fill up on love, acceptance, community, family, and embrace change. illustrated by the author, themes of nature and nurture, light and dark, rest here. i dive into the well of my body and end up in another world everything i need already exists in me there's no need to look anywhere else - home

Felicity by Mary Oliver

"If I have any secret stash of poems, anywhere, it might be about love, not anger," Mary Oliver once said in an interview. In this stunning collection, Felicity, we can immerse ourselves in Oliver’s love poems. Here, great happiness abounds. Our most delicate chronicler of physical landscape, Oliver has described her work as loving the world. With Felicity she examines what it means to love another person. She opens our eyes again to the territory within our own hearts; to the wild and to the quiet. In these poems, she describes—with joy—the strangeness and wonder of human connection. As in Blue Horses, Dog Songs, and A Thousand Mornings, with Felicity Oliver honors love, life, and beauty.

Don’t Call Us Dead by Danez Smith

Award-winning poet Danez Smith is a groundbreaking force, celebrated for deft lyrics, urgent subjects, and performative power. Don’t Call Us Dead opens with a heartrending sequence that imagines an afterlife for black men shot by police, a place where suspicion, violence, and grief are forgotten and replaced with the safety, love, and longevity they deserved here on earth. Smith turns then to desire, mortality—the dangers experienced in skin and body and blood—and a diagnosis of HIV positive. “Some of us are killed / in pieces,” Smith writes, “some of us all at once.” Don’t Call Us Dead is an astonishing and ambitious collection, one that confronts, praises, and rebukes America—“Dear White America”—where every day is too often a funeral and not often enough a miracle.

[theliterarywolf]

Ya wanna know the really sad ironic thing about Lovecraft Country? The original novel, which was written by a white guy mind you, ended with the main black characters alive. It even ends on a pretty cathartic note where they all laugh in the racist shithead’s face and ride off into the sunset. The show, heralded by a black woman, ends with killing all three of the main black characters. I still can’t wrap my head around why the fuck they decided to fuck with the ending like that

See, I didn't even -- Actually, can we talk about this because I just opened Twitter upon coming home from work to see someone quote-retweeting a post from one of the showrunners talking about 'Here's some stuff from the series bible. Wish we had more time to bring it to the screen'...

And it's apparently a chart of the US where, in the canceled upcoming seasons, the country was divided by race. Like, not even racial tensions causing divides, like the country literally segregated into parts based on race under names like 'Tribal Nations of the West' (fuck the Native Americans who lived on the East Coast I guess???), 'Whitelands' (fuck the people of color who live in upper Texas, Missouri, Oklahoma, and more am I right?), the 'New Negro Republic'--

Am... Am I having a fucking stroke, who okayed thi---

And the 'Jefferson Commonwealth'.

I think the person who quote-retweeted the post initially said it best: 'Wasn't this show supposed to be about HP Lovecraft fiction?'

The more I heard about this show and the more I see from people on Twitter who defend it, it's like the race theory answer to The Handmaid's Tale. Just with even less tact. And, even worse, 1. If you wanted to tell stories like this, why did you have to bring Lovecraft into it? Especially if you can't think about him without going 'CAAAAAAAT', why would you involve him whatsoever?

"Oh, but it shows people fighting against the real monsters in the world: racist white men!"

Forgive me, I have to go on a Nostalgia Critic-style rant here. *deep breath*

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Fuck you! FUCK YOU!

FUCK!

YOU!

I am SO beyond sick! And Tired! Of every black horror production having to relate to The Struggle (TM) or 'racism/ are the real monsters'. I just want to see black and African characters fight demons or explore ancient, cursed entities! I'm a Nigerian-American woman living in the U.S.! I have seen racism, I have experienced racism at the hands of white people, black people, Asians, Hispanic, whathaveyou. I know how much racism fucking SUCKS!

However, when I watch a horror production with primarily black or African characters, I don't want to be smacked upside the head with the pimp-hand of 'Hey, racism fucking sucks! Did you know that racism fucking SUCKS?!' If I want to have a reminder of how much racism sucks, I can go watch any number of documentaries dealing with real life moments in history (in fact, the two documentaries that Netflix used to have on the LA Riots used to be some of my favorites).

But I just want horror... To be horror. And if you are supposedly taking influence from someone who, racist as their beliefs at one point in their life was, primarily focused on cosmic-horror?

I want to see FUCKING COSMIC HORROR! For fuck's sake!

[strong-as-a-tree]

LEVI X HANDMAID!READER (THE HANDMAID’S TALE X SNK - CROSSOVER) // PART. 9

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader (also Erwin but not romantically) Disclaimers: Considering what the Handmaid’s Tale is talking about, expect to have some shocking scenes in this. If you are not sure, please look out for a summary of the show on the internet before reading. This story will contain sensible topics if you are not comfortable with the followings, please don’t read this story ♡

Also, yeah the characters will be slightly OOC, because of the nature of the story I couldn’t do it differently, I know Canon Erwin would never endorse Gilead, it literally hurts me to write him as this disgusting Commander… Sorry in advance for any Erwin’s simps ! TW: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Female Oppression, Suicide, Child abduction, Miscarriage

Word count: 2,374 words MASTERLIST PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5 // PART 6 // PART 7 // PART 8

The Commander had allowed you to rest in your room after the "tragic incident". But resting was the last thing on your mind; Ofdaniel's face was engraved in your brain, and all you could think about as you paced around your room like a caged beast was how you were going to look after little Armin. You only promised to watch after the handmaid's son because you thought you could’ve save her; you never expected things to turn out this way.

Rita has been continually checking on you, entering your room with a dread expression on her face, as if she was afraid of seeing something she had imagined in her worst nightmares whenever she opened the door. She wasn't the only one whom checked on you on a regular basis; the driver would occasionally open the door, only to glance around the room, looking for your eyes, and then leave. All of this attention felt strange, but your thoughts were on Ofdaniel, and you didn't have the courage to dig into the two people's unusual behaviour. You'd been having trouble sleeping for three days and were laying on the bathroom tiles where the coldness of the floor soothed you, reminding you of when you used to lay down on the kitchen floor after a long day at school over the summer. The bathroom was connected to your bedroom, only a screen was separating the two spaces, the door that connected your room to the stairs of the house was on your right facing your bed, if someone entered they would not see you unless they would turn on a ninety degree angle immediately. Rita had checked on you a few minutes ago when you were on your bed, so you weren’t worried about anyone coming, at least not right now. You couldn’t help but think about your future too, you were destined to have a child as well, a child that you’ll have to give up. You closed your eyes, suddenly disgusted by the image of your swollen belly that your brain had created, in your worst nightmares you would imagine the fetus being this demoniac monster crawling out of your stomach while you were agonizing in pain. Yeah, despite being a pro-life regime, Gilead was surprisingly good at making women scared of childbirth, at least for you. Or maybe it was your subconscious, maybe it was easier to think that way, nonetheless all you knew is that you’ll have a child, even multiples, it was always better than being sent to the colonies for being un-woman... Was it?

You heard the door open, but you didn’t moved nor open your eyes, you had done enough, you wanted to stop being Oferwin for one more minute. Suddenly someone was shaking your shoulders maniacally; “Oferwin! Wake up! Wak-”, your eyes shot open, your body was paralyzed with the unexpected rough handling. The Commander? His blue eyes were wide open, when he saw that you were conscious, he stopped screaming and breathed a sigh of relief, he encircled you in his embrace. What the hell is happening? You didn’t dare to move, distraught by what had just happened, he placed his hands on your shoulders to slowly push you away from his torso so he could look at you. He looked even more distressed than you; “I thou- I thought you-”; the entrance of someone else in your bedroom interrupted the blonde man. You both looked at the newcomer, it was Levi, the driver looked at the wary Commander with questioning eyes, when his eyes met yours he saw that you were shaken. “I heard screaming... What happened?”; you didn’t dare to speak and quite honestly you didn’t have a clue of what had just happened either. The Commander let go of your shoulders and stood up, your body relaxed a little, the taller man took Levi's arm and led him out of the room. The usual dominating and imposing gait of the Commander was a little bit clumsy. A few minutes had passed when Levi finally came back alone, for you it was like they only left for a second, you have never seen the Commander like that... You were still sitting on the floor as the ebony haired man looked down at you, he looked nervous and was pinching his lips; “What was that Levi?” you whispered. The man sighed and knelt beside you, his dull grey eyes meeting yours, and you felt as if you were sinking into the floor. Was it all the horrors of the previous few days, the Commander's strange behavior, or something else that made you feel smaller than you'd ever felt before? Levi appeared unsure of what he should do, deep down the man was sure he will regret what he was about to do, but nonetheless, he slowly wrapped his arms around you, he was so gentle, as if he was afraid you would run away. You didn’t put up any resistance and rested your head on his right shoulder, your nose was an inch away from his neck, he smelled like fresh laundry, it felt relaxing. His embrace felt much more different than the one from the Commander as you hands were lazily fiddling with the hem of his black jacket. As a woman in Gilead, it was a second nature to be wary of men, with the Commander, your body was always tense, ready to flee at any moment. Although right now, it seemed like your brain forgotten it’s task to be prepared to protect it’s mortal coil, you felt... Safe?

Still in his embrace Levi finally found the strength to talk about something he wished to forget so bad. “Before you were assigned here, when-”; he paused, pondering if, after all, he should explain it to you; “Please” you pleaded. He sighed, “When the Commander’s wife was still alive, there was an handmaid, her name was Petra.”, the driver closed his eyes, he never thought he would pronounce this name ever again. You moved back a little to look at his face, he opened his eyes and continued; “She became really close with Marie...” “Marie?”. Levi nodded; “His wife. Despite everything separating them, they became friends, I don’t know how the hell this happened but they had this mutual respect towards each others. Marie... She always wanted a child, and their friendship was so strong that Petra really seemed to want to give her that.”, the driver frowned his eyebrows, “I’m not sure if she was really that motivated to get pregnant, I mean we both know the process of all of this... With all the good feelings in the world... It’s still- Y’know...”. You nodded, yeah even if it were for someone that you loved, a Ceremony is still too traumatizing. “But Petra was an idiot with a big heart”, you smiled a little at the annoyance in the man’s voice. “So eventually she became pregnant, but she lost the baby. Her and I... We were friends, I mean she was more like this annoying little sister, but yeah...”. You couldn't imagine Levi being close with anyone; he seemed so stoic and distant with everyone, but when you think about it, the driver has always looked after you since you were here. So after all, it might not be so difficult to imagine him form a bond with the former handmaid. You could tell it was hurting him to talk about it, and for a brief moment you thought to yourself, maybe you don't need an explanation if it's going to hurt Levi. You didn’t get the time to open your mouth to tell him you didn’t need to hear more, that he continued; “Anyway, after she lost the baby, something snapped in her brain. Marie didn't intend to get rid of her, but she used to reassure her that they could try again later. That's not what Petra needed, and it certainly wasn't what she deserved! Marie was a nice person, but she yearned to be a mother, and I don't think she recognized at the time that the miscarriage had left Petra with a profound wound.”. He shook his head; “O-one day, Marie went to check on her in her bedroom-”, he looked around the room, “here”, he looked at you, his eyes were begging you to put two and two together so he won’t have to say it, you gulped, realizing what happened, you took his hand and nodded, silently telling him that you understood. “Marie found her, it was in the beginning of Gilead, the Commander did everything he could to erase the memory of Petra, he hated seeing Marie in pain, I think he thought he was doing the best thing for his wife. Marie stayed confined in bed after this, I don’t have the end of the story, I was away for some time, when I came back, Marie had just k1**** herself too, hence why his out of character behavior just now I guess.” You let out a deep sigh, you didn’t know what to do with all of this revelations, Levi stood up, handing his palm to help you get up, you accepted gratefully, “If I were you, I would just let go of everything that happened this past few days, living in the past is never a good thing, even less here”, the man never met your gaze when speaking, you decided to dismiss every protocol or good behavior you were told to respect and hugged the driver, you felt his body stiff at the sudden gesture, but not without some hesitation you felt his arms wrapping your frame and you couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t be a Petra.”

You decided to follow Levi’s advice and tried to be more active, you needed to heal too. You began to go out with Ofgrisha again, and she even discovered a new area where the two of you could meet other handmaids for a few minutes without anybody noticing; the handmaids began to refer to the small patch of grass beneath the road as "the shortcut". It almost felt normal? Women meeting without supervision, speaking without worrying that they were out of place, it was a feeling of freedom that you all needed. The “criminals” hanging on the wall on your way to the grocery store became as invisible as the constant presence of soldiers in the street. That's where Gilead excelled; making the most outrageous and terrifying things become ordinary, as if they were part of a sick routine. The Commander avoided you since the last time, he never spoke to you directly only asking Ruth. It was a breath of fresh air, you became even more close with the Martha, she taught you new recipes and it almost felt like home. Even Levi became more “relaxed”, well, most people would beg to differ, but you could see he was more willing to engage in casual conversations with you and Ruth. He even allowed you to prepare his tea; “Well, it’s not that manky”, for Levi it was a compliment and the next day he didn’t teased you about how dreadful your tea was and just drank it.

Nonetheless, you were still curious, and you began to inquire about the previous ‘Oferwin’; Petra, to the other handmaids, all of them of course arrived around the same time as you but they all promised to ask their Marthas. Ofdaniel’s Martha even gave you from time to time updates on Armin, in that way you felt like you honored your promise. Soon enough, it was time for a new Ceremony, with anxiety lurking in your guts you had waited with Ruth in the living room for the Commander to come read the bible, but he never came. Instead, Levi came and announced that the Ceremony was cancelled, it was such a relief. Ruth had decided to go to bed and Levi and you hang out in the kitchen. When you sat down next to him at the table with a cup of tea, you expected him to tell you to go away, but he remained silent, side eyeing you every time he took a sip from his cup. Levi had an odd habit of holding his cup by the rim.; “Why are you holding your cup that way?” “Why are you holding yours like a recently divorced mom?”, you almost choked on the warm liquid, peering down at both of your hands clutching the cup, immediately taking your right hand away and feigning annoyance at him. Levi rolled his eyes, “Brat...” he muttered. It was your turn to roll your eyes, he was such a grumpy old man sometimes, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at him, you could see how hard he tried to hold his composure despite the tag of his tea bag constantly trying to escape. Without thinking you took the tag and stuck it around his cup’s handle. You didn't dare to look at him knowing he would snarl at you, so you just continued to drink peacefully. You felt him readjusting himself on his chair, “Did you always lived in Gilead?”, you turned your head to face him, you didn't expected him to start a conversation, “No, but I was really young when the Sons of Jacob took over our town, my mother became an econowife under the responsibility of my father, and you?”. “Why didn’t you became a Daughter and married an economan or even a Commander?” he inquired completely ignoring your question; you looked down at the table, the nooks in the wood suddenly becoming really interesting, “I don’t know, they never told me, one day I just woke up and was sent to the Red Center...” you faced him again, “You didn’t answered my question” you added, “I know”. You were about to roll your eyes at the man’s bluntness but you were stopped by him flicking his finger on your forehead, “Oi!”, you looked at him with your hand rubbing the spot where he had touched you, “Don’t roll your eyes at me”, he simply said while standing up, “I didn-” “You were about to”, and with that he left the kitchen. Such a grumpy old man.

Thank you so much for reading this chapter, with around 2,374 words it's my biggest chapter so far! I'm in the process of moving out, you'll have to wait again for the next chapter. I wish all an Happy New Year, and I hope you'll be here next year to follow Levi and Oferwin's story <3

Lovely people: @fate-huntress @omlbarnes​ @gothiccii @a–nonymousse​ @rapsgoddess​

PART 10

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja

Summary: “I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is a princess and Ivar travels to England with his brothers & thinks the princess is beautiful but he gets teased by Sigurd and his brothers but she can understand their language and decides to flirt with him in front of everyone?”

So I made her Kwenthrith’s daughter because why the fuck not, and Blaeja (Aelle’s daughter) is on this cause again, why the fuck not. Also the Reader might be a tad insane, but at this rate all my Reader characters are idk what to tell u

Word Count: 4.7k (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mentions of rape and child abuse, mentions and allusions to violence and death, my horrible writing

A/N: Idk how I feel about this, I hope I don’t dissapoint the anon that requested it lol. Hope you enjoy, thank you for reading, and ily! <3

Also, I kinda went a lil overboard :/

The handmaid is fixing the coronet over your head when you hear the doors to your rooms open, so she turns to demand propriety from whoever entered unannounced, but seeing Aelle’s daughter with a devilish smile on her lips stops her on her tracks.

“Your Grace.” The woman bows gracefully, and steps back, letting Blaeja take her place.

“Are you ready?” The girl whispers to you, adept hand working at the tresses of your hair to make sure it is carefully hidden under your veil that showcases the delicate circlet on your head.

“You are the one that will be sent off to be married, my friend,” You remind her, chuckling, “To one of those…”

“Lord Sigurd is not that bad,” She interrupts, what for a second sounds like girlish infatuation on her tone. You are opening your mouth to quip on how she refers to one of those brutes as a ‘Lord’ but she clears her throat, and continues, “He played some music for me, the other day.”

“You have nothing to fear then,” You mock with a roll of your eyes, “Maybe he also played music for your father before they executed him, made all of it a much more lovely affair.”

Blaeja tugs at your hair in warning, and you steal a glance at the handmaid that looks carefully at the floor. As if she needed eyes to hear you, as if you didn’t know how she’ll gossip about this with the others.

“Careful, or I’ll ask that you come with me,” She laughs, “I’ll have you sold for two gold coins.”

“You are talking to the heiress to a broken and war-torn kingdom, Lady Blaeja, you better remember that!” You tell her in jest, and she laughs, with that laugh you two share, that laugh born out of despair and loss and uncertainty.

“How could I? Judith never lets me forget what a might Mercia continues to be.” She replies with no little disdain in her tone. After a breath of hesitation, she orders with curt words for the servants to leave you two alone, and once the doors close, the Princess of Northumbria kneels in front of you where you sit, grabbing your hands tightly on her own.

“You are scaring me.”

“There’s no reason to fear,” She tells you even as tears fill her eyes. With a tremulous smile, she whispers, “I heard my sister talking with her husband, about you.”

“Me?”

“Alfred would benefit greatly from having a Mercian Princess as wife,” She states, and though she smiles you feel only cold settling over your heart, dread. “With your mother dead…”

“Dead when King Ecbert, blessed be his memory, took control over Mercia, Blaeja! They already own my kingdom.” You remind her lowly, leaning down so your faces are closer to each other, but this doesn’t dim her smile.

Your heart aches at the reminder of your mother, for her, in all her sins and her scars, was the only family you ever had. The only protection you had, in that palace filled with monsters.

If you think about it, if you sit surrounded by all your sins and your mistakes and your faults and think about it, you know it was the sight of her shaking hands as she looked at them expecting to see blood and told you of the death of her brother that made you stop having faith in your God.

It wasn’t the death of a would-be king at the hands of his sister what made you realize the bishops and priests and deacons and saints were all full of lies, no. It was the emptiness in her gaze as she spoke of walking out of that room a Queen and realizing it wasn’t enough to make up for the pain he -the last remaining alive in the long line of monsters that made up your family- caused her.

It was the hoarse voice of the proud and ruthless Queen of Mercia telling you of the barbarity that took place right under her father’s willfully ignorant gaze, it was the shaking hands that clasped your own and begged for forgiveness that she didn’t need to ask for, it was the severed heads brought in by the Vikings that weren’t enough to heal her, it was the realization God, if he was ever there, looked away most of her life.

You shake those thoughts off, and focus on the Princess before you that smiles in a mix of joy for your fate and bitterness for hers.

With shaky breaths, you insist, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They would have Mercian blood on their lineage, it would strengthen their claim.” She states, and the disgust it fills you with makes you feel shame. You should be ecstatic at the chance of becoming Queen, at the prospect giving Wessex strong sons to prepare for ruling and beautiful daughters to…to exchange like broodmares, like Blaeja, given to a Viking of all men, breakable daughters to fail to protect, like Kwenthrith, raped by her own brother and uncle.

You remember your mother’s pain. You remember her whispers about the court being filled with snakes, you remember her stories about the women with swords and loud voices.

And you remember King Ecbert’s lessons. You remember his tales about the land where his Ragnar Lothbrok came from, you remember his bitterness at the strange land that captured the heart of a man of God such as Athelstan.

You meet her brown eyes, and force a smile on your lips, because may the earth part underneath your feet and drag you down, you will not wed Alfred.

____

They introduce you to the sons of Ragnar, and you will admit, Blaeja looks positively smitten by the easy smile the blond man gives her in greeting. Lovely.

Judith makes a point of having you be sitting next to Alfred who, blessed be his soul, attempts to strike conversation with you only to be stopped by his own shyness.

You still offer him a few courteous smiles, and thank his kindness when he offers it so. When the Vikings talk amongst each other, mostly about the strange food and customs, you notice the King looks at you to gauge your expression, as if he knows you also know their tongue.

You worry about how much King Ecbert shared with him for a moment, but say nothing.

“So, the one that walked in with your bride,” One of the sons of Ragnar starts, and though you decide to pay attention you keep your gaze on your food and the entertainment going on around you, offering one of the performers a small smile. “Who is she?”

“Princess of Mercia, I think. The crazy queen father fought for with Uncle Rollo and the others, that’s her daughter.” A man with hair that you thought first was short but realized later falls down his back in a thick braid, his blond beard unkept, but his eyes those of an experienced man as they look over the room.

“Let’s hope beauty is not all she shares with that crazy bitch, huh? I would love to fuck a Saxon princess again.” Mocks a man you weren’t introduced to, so not a son of Ragnar, with ink on his face and long dark hair.

You realize too late you have lifted your gaze and set your eyes on him, what is sure to be affront and embarrassment showing on your face.

You lower your eyes again to the table before you, clenching your hands into fists on your lap, but you feel like someone is looking at you, and from the other end of the table, when you peek carefully, you catch the eyes of the one they introduced but whose name you can’t remember, the one with short dark hair, the one whose legs seem to be broken.

He looks at you with a silver of surprise, but there’s something else there. Regardless, you know he knows, and it makes fear settle on your stomach like acid. You wonder if this is what Burgred felt when he was poisoned.

“You’ve been staring at her all night, Ivar,” Blaeja’s betrothed starts, voice sickly mocking. “Are you hoping she’ll look back? Take your cripple ass to her bed?”

“Sigurd…” One of the elder brothers grumbles, clearly tired of it all.

“I’m just saying, he’d have more luck forcing a thrall to touch him than hoping a free woman will.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, brother? Fucking your slave so she can’t even say no.”

“Who out of the two of us will bed a princess, hmm? It surely isn’t the cripple that can’t even please a slave right, is it?”

You and Alfred exchange a look, no longer pretending either of you don’t understand, as the youngest, Ivar, snarls some threat at his brother, voice and temper rising alike.

Refusing to be spoken of like some sort of cunt with a crown, you speak up, though your gaze remains on your plate.

“Princess Blaeja asks you to play that awful lute to keep your paws off her, so I fear that arrogance is unfounded, my Prince.”

Alfred chokes on his drink as he tries covering a startled laugh with a cough, and you feel wide eyes from the end of the table where the Vikings seat settle on you.

“What did you say?” One of the men asks slowly, and with the madness your mother left you with, you lift your gaze and meet the eyes of the man you recognize as Bjorn Ironside.

“My mother wasn’t crazy,” Is all you reply with gritted teeth, before turning to the blonde that Blaeja is to marry. You don’t know what it is that makes you open your mouth again, but you do, “And I was indeed looking at your brother. I feel for you deeply, my Prince, if you can’t recognize want in a woman’s gaze.”

Alfred clears his throat, what you could swear is a smile -the youthful smile of a boy witnessing chaos- shyly settling on his lips, and stands up to propose a toast and dissipate the atmosphere.

“With this being one of the last nights our dear Blaeja, daughter of the late King Aelle, blessed be his soul, spends with us, I-…”

You don’t listen anymore, taking a sip from your wine and catching over the rim of your goblet the eyes of the youngest son of Ragnar -Ivar, you remind yourself- on you, studying you with a mix of mistrust and curiosity.

You keep your gaze on his, and as you lower your cup from your lips, you offer a smile. His own lips tremble in what was sure to be an instinctual reply with a smile of his own, before he schools his features.

Regardless, he takes his eyes off yours and in his whole posture embarrassment is written. Managing to fluster a Viking of all men fills you with a thrill, a heat, like no other.

The men toast and you gesture your goodbyes as the dinner is dispersed. Before you can make it out the door, Blaeja stops you with a hand on your arm.

“What did y-…do you speak their tongue?”

“I do. King Ecbert taught me a lot before he died,” You state, before frowning in confusion and thoughtfulness, “Before he died at the hands of these men…Blaeja, my friend, don’t you ever stop and think about how strange it all has become?”

Blaeja only narrows her eyes with a growing exasperated smile on her lips.

“I care about what you said to my future husband.”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” You pat her cheek in friendly jest, making her roll her eyes. After a moment of consideration, you tell her, “Though he may not play his lute as often anymore, I fear.”

____

You wait impatiently by the window to your room, wondering over and over if this is the wrong choice, if you are making the worst mistake possible, if you are walking into the wolf’s den.

Before you can think yourself out of this, Blaeja, with her head covered by a dark cloak, makes her way into your room.

“I didn’t think your betrothed would agree.” Is all you state, dryly, as she motions for you to get your own cloak.

“Oh, I can assure you Prince Sigurd despises you, but luckily, he seems to adore me. Go, and don’t make me regret this.”

With a light laugh you kiss her cheek and dart out of the room, ready to follow the familiar path to where you asked Prince Sigurd to arrange a meeting between his brother and you.

“So it is you.” He says, dragging himself up a couch in front of yours. You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling, and try to remember all the logic, all the strategy, you’ve put behind this stupid plan of yours.

“I told them to let you know.” You reply curtly, but the Prince shrugs.

“Sigurd could be mocking me. Make the cripple think he is meeting with the Princess?” He shrugs, but it is not nonchalant in the slightest. In all of his fame and vitriol, you notice, now only remains a man uncertain, unmoored, braced for rejection or mocking like you’ve scarcely seen before. The knowledge that you, or the combination of you and his older brother, seem to be a vulnerable point for him is a knowledge you don’t truly know what to do with. You say nothing in response, and with a movement of his head, after settling in his seat, he insists, “Why did you want to meet with me?”

“You norsemen have a reputation,” You start carefully, plucking at a lose string on the sleeve of your dress. “And the crown needs the allegiance Blaeja’s marriage with your brother gives them, so no mat-…”

“I don’t like your roundabout ways,” He states brusquely, and it stops you on your tracks, your eyes wide and lips parted as you stare at the Prince. He gestures with one hand, a frown starting to mar his face, “Just say what you want, Princess.”

“I want you to take me with you back to wherever it is you come from. I want them to believe I’ve been stolen.”

The Prince looks at you like you have grown a second head, and to be quite frank, once the words have left your lips you realize you might as well have. This is foolish, and dangerous, and...crazy.

That’s what they called your mother, not only these norsemen but all of them. Because she admitted what many didn’t dare to: that if she had been born with a cock they all would have bowed and given her the crown she deserved, that the earth would have been easier to walk on.

You refuse to think madness is a bad trait.

You don’t have to ponder whether the Viking will see it as such, for you notice you have piqued his interest, you notice the curiosity at the madness in your request.

“Are you sure you aren’t the mad Mercian princess?”

You offer a humorless laugh at his taunt, and retort, “I don’t want to be here anymore. And…I can prove useful to you.”

“If you say a wife…”

You don’t let him finish, leaning closer and whispering,

“They want me to marry Alfred.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“His grandfather took Mercia from me, I will not be used as a broodmare so they can hold on tighter to my kingdom.”

The Viking starts to smile, wild and yet calculating, the ruthless and intelligent man his fame says he is.

“But you don’t want revenge.”

“They can fight for the scraps of what once was a mighty kingdom for the rest of time for all I care,” You offer honestly, “I do not want to be caught up in between. I will have to give him children if I marry him, and I refuse to let a child of mine suffer like my mother did, like Blaeja did.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and his tone grows cruel, mocking, like the cat that plays with the poor mouse before eating it, when he insists, “I could make you a slave, sell you. If you annoy me, I could torture you. If you betray me, I would kill you.”

“I told you I was of use to you, though,” You insist past the fear that makes your hands tremble, “I will not be of use in pieces. You and Alfred played chess before, haven’t you?”

He loosens his posture, his expression is no longer so guarded and venomous as he asks, “And what is this use?”

“I’m a pawn they want to make Queen,” You state, and the Viking starts to smile. You knew he was smart; you knew he was aware of how he could take advantage of ‘taking’ you as a prisoner for his own gain. You have a feeling he wanted to know if you were aware of how your position could be played. Like chess, you ponder. “Surely you could ask for a lot in exchange for my safe return home.”

He considers your words in silence for a few moments, eyes travelling between yours as if trying to read your response to the words he has not yet uttered.

“And if I don’t want to return you to your home?”

You shrug, “Then they’ll have a rallying call for their war against your people, and I will be free from these…these nobles and their fucking priests.”

The Viking breathes a laugh, surprised and a little enthralled it seems, but you find yourself smiling back.

You keep careful eyes on the moon that travels the skies, watchful over the time that you will have to return to your rooms before anyone notices your absence. But in the meantime, you enjoy with easy smiles and a light heart the company of the Viking, surprisingly enough.

____

And the few extra days Blaeja can buy you do almost nothing for the plans of your escape -a part of you is certain the Viking has a plan he won’t share with you- but it does let you get to know the man you are asking to kidnap you. A giant brute like the others, that’s for certain, but he is smart, and cunning, and his dry humor never fails to make you laugh.

You find yourself intrigued, captivated, much more so than you could have thought when you made the choice to speak out against his brother during that first dinner. It is no secret to you he is no longer a pawn in the game you decided to play, but you cannot help but think you still are merely a pawn to him.

One of the nights you meet under the guard of the moon, he starts, “I cannot take you from this city, not without an army.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise, “And you have thought of a way around that.”

“Haven’t you?” You reply with a small smile, knowing he has.

“If you could go closer to York…”

“Or you closer to Tamworth.”

“We’d have no way to leave by sea. I can’t exactly walk through the wilderness with you, Princess, as you can see.”

You roll your eyes with a smile on your lips, but eventually acquiesce with a nod.

You sigh, “Then I don’t know, Ivar.”

You notice it is the first time you have said his name instead of his title, and you raise startled and apologetic eyes to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though you notice his gaze lingering on you for a few moments longer than it should.

It gives your still young and innocent heart a shock of hope that you feel all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“One way or another, I will steal you, Princess,” He insistes, and you only lift an eyebrow in response. He crosses his arms, “I promise.”

____

“They leave tonight.” Blaeja starts from her place sitting at your side on the garden bench. You turn to her.

“You leave tonight,” You remind her, “Aren’t you forgetting your lovely husband to be?”

But she shakes her head, “Prince Sigurd and I will marry if he returns,” Her voice wavers, and you realize with a mix of dread and joy she has learned to care for the Viking. She straightens her back and continues, “When he returns from the battle they depart today to prepare for.”

“Against Alfred?”

“Against the woman that murdered their mother. He says they are to take back their Kingdom from her.”

“Your Prince trusts you with all of these things.”

“His brother tells you things too.” She states without hesitation, and you look at her but stay silent, not denying Ivar has told you of Queen Aslaug and her murder already. Many things actually, just as you have told him many things too.

“So it will be a while before you see him again, if ever.” You muse, not only talking about her. It would be foolish to feel pain, loss, fear; you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop the prick of tears on your eyes, or the pit of pain on your chest.

“I will depart to Bamburgh in three days to await word of the outcome of the battle.”

You lay your head on her shoulder, releasing a shaky breath, “I’ll miss you.”

_____

Judith hounds you like a dog and it is starting to get on your nerves. You feel you are being judged and considered carefully for the role of Alfred’s wife, a role you do not want to be in and, if you were to ask him, you don’t think he’d want you in either.

The talks start of having a royal wedding soon after Blaeja weds the Viking Prince, who seems to have survived the battle for Kattegat. You tried asking around, bribing a servant or two, to figure out the fate of Prince Ivar, but you are too close to bearing the crown for them to feel comfortable trading secrets with you, it seems.

You catch sight of Alfred’s eyes on you during a dinner one night, and he offers what you swear is a soothing smile even if his warm eyes shine with regret.

Judith grabs onto her son’s arm and a tired-looking Aethelwulf stands up from his throne, calling for the attention of the clergy and nobles alike.

They announce you as Alfred’s betrothed after a few words you don’t bother with listening to.

As a gift for his bride to be, Alfred arranges for a few soldiers to escort you to Bamburgh, apparently at the request of Princess Blaeja that you accompany her on her wedding day. And barely with time to pack, almost three months after you last saw her, you are in a carriage on your way to the North.

____

She looks radiant, that’s the first thing you notice when you see her awaiting for you by the gates to the royal home. Bright smile and even brighter eyes, rosy cheeks and excitement and joy written all over her posture.

It gladdens you, to know she will be wed to a man she can care for, a man that can care for her. That maybe, just maybe, like in those tales your mother used to mock, there’s love to be felt before the Lord is to bind them together.

And once the ships arrive you will not lie and pretend you don’t feel disappointment, maybe grief, at the absence of the vitriolic yet captivating prince you met what seems so long ago.

You heard them talking about a son of Ragnar becoming King of Kattegat, and you have no doubts as to who bears the crown now. In another world, you may have left, he may have earned a kingdom in what used to be Mercia or Northumbria in exchange for the safe return to Wessex you’d never make.

But you will not let it stop you from finding a way out of this arrangement, of this…this marriage.

The possibility of asking Blaeja to claim you as a permanent resident of her land is there, of course, but you don’t think she has enough leverage against the crown itself to be able to keep you more than a few months. You could simply run away, but you are not stupid, you know you’d die or be found before you can spend a moon in the wilderness.

Still, you are a smart woman, you tell yourself, you will find a way out.

While the dinner -feast, they call it- in celebration for the wedding takes place, a man you recognize as one of the eldest sons of Ragnar approaches you while you sit alone.

You cannot help the pang of fear that runs through you at the sight of one of those giants looming over you, but you still offer what you hope is a courteous smile.

“You have to come with me.” He tells you, and you frown.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Follow me.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, turning his back to you and slithering effortlessly between the dancing and feasting guests. After a moment of consideration, with a small smile on your face as if it were a thrillingly dangerous game of hide and seek, you chase after the Viking.

He leads you all the way down to the docks, and since the moon is high up in the skies, the streets are almost deserted and you are left forced to guide yourself in the darkness or thanks to the rare and dim light of a faraway lantern.

You still push on, your heart beating on your ears and fear and thrill bubbling under your skin.

“This is where I leave you, Princess,” The son of Ragnar says, stopping abruptly and turning to you. You frown, but he doesn’t step closer so you have nothing to fear. “We will see each other again.”

The man with the blondish and long hair gestures a mock of a formal goodbye, and walks confidently back to the royal home where the party -feast- is still taking place.

You are left dumbfounded and alone in the darkness, and instinct makes you want to chase after him and demand answers.

“Following a strange Viking into the darkness,” A familiar voice starts from behind you, stopping you on your tracks, “No wonder people say you are as crazy as your mother, Princess.”

You turn around with a frown and raised chin, ready to retort, “My mother was not c-…”

But you realize halfway as the words leave your lips whose voice it is, to whom the familiar pale blue eyes belong to.

Ivar stands now, and his hair seems longer and braided in some strange style, even his armor looks different. It seems like years have passed even though it has scarcely been half a year yet.

“You’re alive.” You whisper, and the Viking frowns, affronted.

“Of course I am,” He replies arrogantly, and you cannot keep the smile from your lips. He extends a hand, “And I’ve come to…steal you, was it?”

You don’t answer, even if a part of you is thrilled at him remember that first conversation. You only look at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a king now.”

“Hmm, and I was offered a queen, was I not?”

It startles you back to reality, back to your senses, and you notice the three ships with dim lanterns and silent warriors docked at the sides of the dragon-headed ship Ivar -King Ivar now, you suppose- stands in.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You say, but still your hand grasps at the skirts of your dress to lift it up, and you walk closer.

“Have you decided to stay with them?” And the sudden steel underneath his words, a promise of what you could be at the other end of if he is to believe you’ve fooled him, or gone back on your word, makes a thrill of fear go down your back.

“No, but…”

“Usually stealing a bride doesn’t involve this much talking, Princess.” He interrupts, and extends a hand, and you look at it with wide eyes.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“I-…” You look into his eyes, pale blue eyes that you saw more than once when you closed your own in these past months, and a breathy laugh leaves your lips, “This is madness.”

Ivar says nothing, but his hand is still stretched between you. You take it, and jump into the ship.

___

So, that was it :/ I have a feeling it’s pretty boring but I’ll hope that’s cause I wrote it lol

Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think, and if you wanna rquest anything go right ahead, I promise to try my best lol

Thank you, I hoped you enjoyed <3

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Handmaid's Tale: The Wilderness (4x10)

Oh boy. I don't even know what else to say. Just. Lots of stuff happening here.

Cons:

So, obviously I'm going to talk about the Fred situation, but I actually want to start by saying there was a logistical weirdness with the end of the episode that kind of troubled me. For one thing, and this is just a script decision I don't understand, why does the mailman open the mail and see the severed finger and wedding ring? Why not have Serena opening it so we get the full impact of the horror? That just felt odd to me.

And then... the ending. June comes back to say goodbye to Nichole, and says she's leaving in five minutes. My initial read on this was that she was going to go and face the consequences/get locked up for what she did to Fred. But then I realized that made no sense, and maybe she's instead going back to Gilead to get Hannah? See, the problem here is that a) I'm bored of Gilead and want to keep the story in Canada. And b) June's connections with Lawrence and Nick seem to be able to get her a lot of things... it feels like it would be a relatively simple matter to snatch Hannah and run at this point, wouldn't it? The narrative stakes feel uneven, after what we saw June was capable of orchestrating in this installment.

Also just going to go ahead and say that as this was a finale, I was a little bummed not to have more time with certain characters. No Janine update, and only sparse screen time for Moira, with no mention of her love life at all.

Pros:

Okay, let's start with a smaller detail: Mark Tuello has been more of a narrative device than a character for most of the show, so much so that I kept forgetting his name. I don't think this is necessarily a mark against the writing or acting. He's meant to be representative of the slow-moving arc of justice, of a neutered American government trying to do its best. But here he came to life for me, in two moments. One when he asked Serena to explain her decision to stay with Fred. And another when June shows up outside his house and he has an outburst about how she's crossed a line, and then apologizes for it.

He's a person. He's dealing with a lot of fucked up people, and traumatized people, and he's trying to prioritize the greater good while seeing the very real personal consequences of Gilead's atrocities up close. I just really liked how he was utilized in this episode; it almost felt like a culmination, happening quietly in the background.

And then there's Fred Waterford. It's hard to really put my finger on why Fred is such an unsettling villain, but I think it has something to do with the fact that he buys his own bullshit so easily. He's really incredibly gullible. When he and June have that chilling scene where they both say they "miss" Offred, Fred is 100% buying what June is selling. June is... not even that good of an actor except when she has to be, but Fred genuinely, actually, believes that they had something approaching a relationship of mutual understanding back when June was his literal sex slave in Gilead. And June plays him like a fiddle. He's utterly shocked by June showing up at the end and kissing Nick. It never occurred to him that June, a person he repeatedly reminds everyone is duplicitous and sneaky, might be involved in some greater scheme.

And why? Because he really is that full of himself. He has every reason to believe that the world will keep catering to his needs, that he will, again and again, be able to dodge the consequences of his actions. It's always been true in the past, hasn't it?

That's the genius of Fred as a villain. He's not playing three-dimensional chess, he's not someone you can just "outsmart" and be done with. It's his worldview, this absolutely unshakable belief that he is a good person. He even apologizes to June in this episode, but it's not in a way that holds himself accountable for his behavior. It's more in a "I'm sorry you suffered, I do regret that aspect of it" kind of way.

There's something so twisted about a zealot whose zealotry is tied up so intensely with his misogyny that he looks like a caricature of a sexist man when you see him talk, and yet he's not playing it up. That's really how he thinks! Just imagine it.

But also... holy shit, that scene at the end was brutal. Can't really blame June for it, I guess, but it was tough to watch. Not because I felt sympathy for Fred, but because I felt sorrow in my heart for what he'd driven these women to. I hope they get some measure of peace from his death.

I think (and kind of hope) that Season Five of The Handmaid's Tale is the end. Not because there's not a lot here to enjoy, but because it seems like we're reaching a culminating moment for June. Getting back to Hannah has been the driving force of the show, and now June is right on the edge of achieving that.

There's a lot more I could say, but I'm keeping this one nice and zippy for the moment. See you next season!

9/10

[avintagekiss24]

Wonder (I’ll Use My Hands) || Steve Rogers.

PAIRING; Steve Rogers x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 2,180

WARNINGS; Slight Body Worship, Oral Sex (female receiving), Smut, Sex

SUMMARY; Steve Rogers is napping... or he was napping...

NOTE; It’s been a minute since I’ve written something for Steve! This is for @thefanficfaerie​ Life in Song writing challenge! I chose Your Body Is A Wonderland by John Mayer, hence the title. I used my favorite parts of the song (which is really just the first verse and the middle part before the guitar solo, lol). Hope you guys enjoy!

We got the afternoon

You got this room for two

Steve Rogers is napping. It’s twelve thirty in the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, dogs are barking, birds are chirping, people are mowing their lawns - and Steve Rogers is sleeping through all of it. You thought he was sick at first… this isn’t like him. Normally, he’s making himself busy in the backyard, or fixing some random light bulb or creaky stair. Lately, he’s been in the garage with his new woodworking tools, his brow furrowed as he maps out the plans for your new dining room table. 

When you walked into your home after your overnight shift at the hospital and found the backyard empty, the garage barren, and the staircase and hallway vacant, you squinted suspiciously. To be honest, you got pissed. His phone has been ringing off the hook for the past few days, Tony’s name flashing across the screen. You snatched it from his hands yesterday while the two of you cuddled on the couch, trying to get caught up on the Handmaid's Tale, and threw it across the room.

“You’re retired.”

He chuckled and kissed your temple, trying to ease the building tension between the two of you, but you knew better. It was killing him to not know what was going on in the world around him, and better yet, that he wasn’t helping to keep it safe.

You huffed loudly when you didn’t find him this afternoon as your mind convinced you that he had run off to Tony’s aid. You stomped down the hallway towards your room, pulling your scrubs over your head as you rounded the corner. You stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you entered the bedroom. There he was. His broad torso bare, the sheets pulled just to his waist, the black band of his Calvin Klein underwear peeking out. 

You let out a sigh and closed your eyes as your shoulders went limp. You are an absolute asshole You moved to his side, resting the back of your hand against his forehead and then underneath his chin, only to find his skin the normal, slightly-warmer-than-the-usual-human temperature. You kissed his temple, ran your fingers through his blonde hair, whispered an apology, and moved into the bathroom to wash your work day away. 

You’re now fresh out of the shower, your locs piled high on your head in a protective bun. You slip into a pair of pink boyshorts and tug one of his old shirts over your head before you let your hair down. You move back into the bedroom, your eyes skirting towards the clock as it reads twelve fifty six. You grab a headwrap from your nightstand and start wrapping it around your head and hair as you calculate the amount of sleep you can get before you need to get back up for dinner. 

One thing I've left to do

You slip onto the mattress, underneath the warm sheets and roll over onto your side as you cuddle up next to him. He’s always so damn warm. You throw your leg over both of his and stretch your arm over his chest as you rest your chin on his shoulder. You let out a deep breath as you try to coax yourself to sleep. His skin is so smooth though. You can’t stop running your fingers along his sculpted chest and over his (despite not working out like he used to) sculpted abs. 

Your eyes move along his tanned skin as the sun washes over him, illuminating the scratches and scars that litter his body. They’re beautiful, each one telling the story of his tumultuous past. Each one reminding him that he’s not, and can never be perfect - no matter how bad the Government and the masses wanted him to be. 

You push your nose to his skin and take a deep breath, filling your nose with the faint smell of soap. You push his hair off of his forehead and catch a whiff of his shampoo. Before you know it, you're pressing your lips to his arm, and then his shoulder, and then his collar bone. You push your weight on top of him, straddling his waist before you flatten your chest to his. 

Discover me

Discovering you

You run your hands up and down both of his arms as you rise and fall with the rhythm of his chest. You plant soft kisses to his neck as your body starts to stir from deep within. You lean up and pull his shirt back over your head, tossing it to the floor. You bite your lip as you lay back down, pressing your naked breasts to his skin. You nuzzle into his neck and peck at his neck with your lips as your hips start a slow grind into his. 

It doesn’t take long before he stirs underneath you. You feel his large hands on your butt and then along your thighs as he lets out a deep breath and rolls his head to give you better access. You smile into him and continue your assault as his hands run up your back slowly. You kiss a trail up his chin until you meet his pink lips with yours. You pause, your chin resting on his chin, your eyes scanning his face as his eyes remain closed. 

A smile breaks out on your face when a similar smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You giggle, and kiss his cheeks and nose as he starts to laugh. You kiss his lips, eating up the delightful sound of his laughter as he squeezes your body to his.

“What has gotten into you?” He asks softly, his voice deep and groggy from sleep.

You shrug as you continue to kiss him all over - his face, his neck, his chest and shoulders as he chortles. You move down his stomach, kissing your way through the dark hair that blossoms at his belly button before you send your eyes back up to his. You tug at the rim of his boxers with your teeth before quickly biting his side, giggling again as he jumps and laughs. 

One mile to every inch of

Your skin like porcelain

You push up onto your knees as you straddle him, settling down on his crotch. He bucks into you playfully and one of those bright, brilliant smiles that he likes to hide spreads on his face. Honor swells in your chest. You walk your fingers up his sides and spread them across his chest, just feeling his skin. His large palm cups the side of your face and you nuzzle into it instinctively, pushing your nose and lips into the curve of his hand. His thumb brushes along your cheek as his eyes move around your face slowly. He pulls you down into him, leaning up slightly to close the distance between your lips. 

You inhale slowly as the kiss deepens without so much as a warning. You feel his tongue sweep along your bottom lip, sending out a silent invitation. You accept and grant him access to your warm mouth like so many countless times before. He squeezes your body to his as he massages your tongue, pushing deeper into your mouth. You pull back to look at him through hooded eyes. His lips are swollen with his lust for you - a deep pink tinge blushing across them. 

One pair of candy lips and

Your bubblegum tongue

You run your thumb across his bottom lip as you cup his face in your hands. You stare at him as he stares back at you - slow, stupid smiles tugging at each of your mouths. You let your hands drop to his shoulders before they slip around to his back. They push along his rippled muscles, flexing softly with each of his deep, slow breaths. You push back into his chest, holding him to you as you continue to skim your hands up and down his back.  

He nips at your chin and neck with his teeth - holding you tight, confirming your emotional, mental, and physical safety in his arms. His warm lips push down to your clavicle, peppering it with his admiration for you. He bucks his hips again and your eyes pop open as a soft gasp escapes your lips when you get a feel of him.

Damn, baby

You giggle when he flips you over onto your back. His greedy fingers pull at your underwear, slipping them down your long legs. His lips brush along your skin on the way down, his strong hands massaging your calves, his mouth suddenly on your ankles and the soles of your feet. Laughter fills the bedroom as he tickles your instep with his fingers while keeping a firm hold of your foot, not allowing you to pull away. He kisses the pads of each of your manicured toes slowly, softly, delicately - sending a signal right to your sex. 

You moan as your hips push upward - your body tingling all over. He sucks your toes into his wet mouth, his tongue kneading your digits. He releases your toes and pushes your legs up and over his shoulders as he kisses each ankle again. He forges a hot path to your sex with his tongue and lips, nipping, kissing, and biting your flesh as he moves.

You feel his hot breath hovering over your now quivering, warm, swollen pussy. He drops a kiss to your sticky flesh, making your hips jump as you gasp from the quick contact. His long arms reach the length of your body to grab your breasts, groping them gently. You cover his hands with yours and arch your back, pushing your soft mounds into his palms. 

You frustrate me

You melt into a puddle as his tongue pushes through your folds. He hums and moans as he sucks on your clit, his tongue teasing your opening. He pulls away only to nibble on the shaky flesh of your thighs, smearing your juices along your skin before he delves back into you. 

You scratch his scalp with your fingernails before grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He grunts with each pull, sending vibrations through your pussy, exciting you further. He pulls away from you again, only to replace his tongue with his fingers. He pushes them along your lips, slipping your clit between his index and middle fingers before he rubs firm circles against it. His hot, steady breath beats down on you, tickling your already aroused flesh, encouraging your sex to quiver from the sensation. 

He pushes his face back into you, shaking his head back and forth as he flicks your clit. He laps at you, not wasting a drop of your sweetness. He pushes his fingers into you and strokes your muscles with his curled digits, watching you as you squirm around him. 

You catch a glimpse of his face as he fucks you slowly. His lips and chin are shiny with your secretions - marking him as yours. His cheeks are flushed red, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead as sweat springs up on his skin. 

I know you're mine all mine all mine

But you look so good it hurts sometimes

“Come ‘mere.” Your whisper is low and full as you pull at his shoulders. 

He crawls up your body before he flattens on top of you, his weight pushing you deep into the mattress. You wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he guides the tip of his cock through your lips. You lift your hips, helping to push him inside of you before you let your head fall back into the pillows. 

He sinks into you slowly, your body accepting him as your muscles spread wide. He pushes his hands underneath you to hug you tightly as his hips start to move. Both of your moans mix and rise towards the ceiling as you lose the afternoon to your love making. 

He wears you out. He sucks every ounce of energy from you until you can barely keep your eyes open. Your limbs are achy and weak, your breath labored and deep. The sheets are twisted around your bodies, the duvet nearly pushed entirely to the floor. You’re curled into his body, your leg thrown over his, your face pushed into his neck as you fight the sleep that invades your body. 

He holds you tight, kissing your forehead as he lifts your body from the mattress. You protest, but don’t open your eyes as he fumbles with the satin scarf on your head to re-wrap your locs. He lays you back down once he’s finished, his hand behind your head while he settles you back down into the pillows. He cuddles into your side as he rests his head on your chest. He throws his arm over your breasts and cups the side of your face in his hand as his fingers push just underneath your headwrap. 

It’s three seventeen in the afternoon; you and Steve Rogers are napping. 

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Sixteen: The Seventh Book

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,803

TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE!!!!! BEWARE!!!!

A/N: thank you everyone for reading this fic i love you all. one chapter left to go. i am so sorry for what follows.

MASTERLIST

~

Your eyelids were so heavy it was almost impossible to open them. The chair you were in was cold and hard against your back, the discomfort prompting you to wake up a little faster.

Then your surroundings forced the memory of what had happened into your mind.

It was a dark metal room with a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Across the room on the wall were several closed metal hatches. Although you couldn’t make out much more. After all, your eyes were still partially closed and the dim light of the room made it even harder to see.

A small gasp next to you alerted the presence of someone else in the room.

Turning your head — with immense effort — you saw Spencer Reid slouched in the chair next to you, hands tied behind his back, slowly coming to.

“Spencer,” you said, voice quiet and strained. But he seemed to have heard judging by the way his eyes snapped wide open and he began to writhe in the chair.

Grunting harshly, he finally got his arms untied, jumping up and running toward the back of your chair and pulling off the rope, leaving your wrist burning slightly from the scratch.

Quickly analyzing the situation, Spencer firmly pressed against each of the four metal walls, ensuring that there was no way out. Then, when he was sure none of the walls would give, he started ramming his elbow against the metal slots in one of the walls.

“Spencer!” you had found your voice suddenly at the thought of him hurting himself. Strangely, you had just noticed that the two of you were only wearing your underwear. Even your bra had been put back on. Although he was wearing a watch you’d never seen before with a tight leather band that squeezed his wrist.

His gaze snapped to you, a determined look in his eye with a fire behind it that sent a spark through you.

“Where are we?”

It was a stupid question and you knew the answer, but you still had to ask. Spencer attempted to soften his expression but to no avail.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hurt on a whole new level. There was so much meaning behind them. They confirmed the fact that you had indeed been kidnapped and taken to some sort of torture chamber, they signified that he had failed to protect you, and they broke the pact you had to never apologize to one another.

There was a crackle and heavy breathing filled the room, the sound coming from a minuscule vent in one of the corners of the room.

Spencer stepped between you and the vent, reaching out a hand behind him to make sure you stayed behind him.

The breathing hesitated and after a moment, someone spoke.

“Hello, Y/N.”

The voice was so familiar. You knew you knew it but you didn’t know from where. The memory was just out of reach and it kept slipping through your fingers.

Spencer, however, had frozen, presumably recognizing the voice. Your hand moved to his shoulder of its own accord, finding the skin there to be freezing cold.

The voice from the vent chuckled.

“I understand that you and Spencer have become quite attached lately.”

You looked at him, unsure whether to respond or not. He glanced at you over his shoulder and nodded stiffly.

“Ye—ahem—yes, we have. Why?” To recognize the voice, you needed to keep him talking.

“Hmm. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for each other.”

There was a whooshing noise and one of the four slots in the wall shot open, revealing a small hidden space.

“I’m sure if you can’t figure out what to do, Doctor Spencer Reid can help you.”

And then it clicked. And it all made sense. 

How he’d found your address, “Whoever accesses your card, even for something as small as a stick of gum, has the opportunity to use that information to find your name, your address, your workplace—” “Ok. I get it. People I see frequently and my credit card info. Gotta warn you, there’s not much I buy with it other than books and coffee.”

How he’d known which hotel you were at, “Whatever. Gives me more time to prepare for a cute date with a hot barista. Or . . . the other way around.”

Even how he knew you were at the cabin, “I actually had a coworker who had a cabin in the woods and he never mentioned becoming one with nature.”

All because “ . . . the waiter here, Tom, works at my regular coffee shop. Barista by day, waiter by night.”

“Tom. . . .”

Spencer looked at you sorrowfully as the voice chuckled through the vent.

“Very good . . . Honestly, I’m disappointed it took you this long to figure it out. I mean, it was pretty obvious. And so easy to get so much information about you! But! But, that's beside the point. You have a task I expect you to begin. After all, time is running out.”

Spencer reached into the hole in the wall, withdrawing a stopwatch, an electric hair clipper, and a small Exacto knife.

The stopwatch had two minutes and thirteen seconds on it, counting down slowly.

“What are we supposed to do?” you yelled at the wall, holding up the timer as if he could see it. You don’t know, there might be a camera, you thought to yourself, wrapping an arm around your bare stomach.

There wasn’t a response though, just the sound of the stopwatch clicking quietly.

“Y/N . . .” Spencer spoke from behind you. “It’s the seventh book.”

Frantically trying to remember the order of the books in your nightstand, you realized what the clippers and knife meant.

The Handmaid’s Tale, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Telltale Heart, The Great Gatsby, 1984, A Clockwork Orange, and . . .

The seventh book was a very old and very rare edition of The Gift of The Magi.

“So we have to choose . . .”

The watchband on Spencer’s wrist was too tight to slip the knife through without cutting through his skin. And your hair would take much longer than two minutes to cut with a knife and clippers.

Without a word, Spencer took the exact-o knife and plunged it into the skin around his wrist, wincing in pain as he cut through the band.

“Spencer, no!”

But the watch fell from his hand to the floor, dripping with blood, Spencer’s wrist sliced open neatly. The wound was superficial but it looked like it hurt. He collapsed to the floor, dropping the knife and you rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded weakly, putting pressure on the cut.

“Very interesting . . .” Tom’s voice echoed around the room and you felt your stomach fill with rage like never before, spinning around and throwing the clippers at the wall with all of your might.

“We’re not going to play your fucking mind game!”

“Y/N,” Spencer whispered from the floor. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

The answer to your question came in the form of an ear-splitting siren, the noise resonating around the room, forcing its way past your eardrums, giving you an abominable headache.

The noise suddenly stopped and Tom spoke again.

“It is your choice whether you play or not. But consider that a preview of the punishment for refusing to. And trust me, there’s worse punishments than that.”

The second hatch slid open.

Head darting between it and Spencer on the floor, holding his wrist, you opted to fetch the next items.

There was another stopwatch, this time with five minutes, two small slips of paper, and some kind of device transmitting footage of two people in a poorly lit room, strapped to chairs similar to how you had been moments ago.

“What the fuck is this?”

The light in the room came on, showing the people in the chairs to be a man and a woman. You didn’t recognize either of them, and, judging by his face, neither did Spencer.

“Oh no.”

You read the slips of paper.

Man and Woman, they said.

We have to choose one.

“We have to choose one.”

Spencer looked at you shaking his head, so overwhelmed by the fact that the two of you were in this situation.

You scrambled, unable to deal with the thought, “What if we—“

“—I’m sure the punishment will be worse if we don't choose one. Most likely, he’ll kill both of them. Statistically, men die younger than women and they can’t bear children. But women have a higher pain tolerance and—“

He was talking himself in circles, trying desperately to come up with a solution to an impossible problem.

“Spencer, this is something you can’t reason. We just have to pick one.”

You couldn’t believe he was only twenty-six. His eyes bore the weight of someone much older.

You forced a weak laugh that tasted terrible on your tongue, “Eenie Meenie Miney-Moe?”

He chuckled weakly. “No luck, I know you land on whichever one you didn’t start with.”

“Me too.”

“Time’s running out,” Tom reminded you.

Your face fell, all hints of a smile gone.

“The man.” You gaped at Spencer who had piped up just enough to make the decision.

There was a pause, then a dark figure walked into the room onscreen, brandishing a gun and aiming at the back of the man’s head.

The muffled sound of a gunshot rang out, making you and Spencer jump as the man went limp in the chair and the feed cut out.

Bile rose in your throat and you ran to a corner of the room to throw up.

“Very interesting,” Tom repeated, his voice sparking disgust deep in your stomach.

“Why are you doing this?” you begged, reaching out for Spencer who seemed to be doing a bit better judging by the fact he could now stand and his wrist was no longer gushing blood.

“I like watching the way you think.”

The now-familiar sound of the hatch opening brought you back to the situation at hand, trying desperately to get the image from the screen out of your mind.

Spencer reached into the hatch and pulled out two more slips of paper and another stopwatch.

The screen flicked back on, showing two more people in a dark room, another man and woman. The room was still dark so you couldn't make out much more.

You looked up at Spencer, confused, but his face had gone white as a sheet and he was staring at the pieces of paper.

“No.” Spencer ran to the vent, slamming on the wall. “No! Ahh!” shouting in pain when his wound made contact.

Tom didn’t say anything so you approached Spencer, snatching the pieces of paper to better understand why he was so angry.

The room on the screen lit up the moment you read the papers. This time it didn’t say man or woman. This time there were two names.

Steve and J.J.

Spencer’s blonde coworker and your closest friend were slumped over in the chairs on-screen, wriggling against their restraints. All breath left your body, your heart stopped in your chest.

“TOM! Please don’t do this.”

The desperation seeped into your voice pitifully. 

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Y/N,” Spencer stepped between you and the vent again, holding your shoulders. You suddenly felt how wet your eyes were. Strange how you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“I . . . I can’t.”

Being forced to decide who lives and who dies was difficult enough to break anyone’s spirit. But this . . . this shattered yours to the core.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer said, “I can do it.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tom chided playfully, voice muffled through the speaker. “You’ve already chosen twice, Doctor. I think it’s Y/N’s turn, don’t you?”

“Look, I can make the decision. You don’t want to put her through too much, do you?” Spencer’s voice was soft, but the way he was gripping your hand suggested he felt otherwise. “You wouldn’t do that to her.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though, while I do care for her, it is her turn. But don’t fret! You can make the next decision together.”

Your eyes were locked on the screen, watching as Steve and J.J. came to, becoming rapidly aware of their situation and struggling against the bindings. Spencer gently squeezed your hand, showing you the time on the stopwatch. Fifty seconds left.

There was no right decision.

J.J. had a child, a husband, a family. Steve had no one. Steve had you. 

There was no right decision. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wrong one.

“Steve.” You hadn’t said it out loud, just mouthed the word letting the breath flow out of you.

Then, realizing he couldn’t hear you, you repeated yourself.

“Steve.” It was barely a whisper but it was the loudest sound in the world.

Actually, strike that, the loudest sounds were the footsteps entering the room and standing behind your friend, holding a gun to his head.

Tom’s voice came back over the intercom.

“I need you to say it.”

It took every ounce of strength not to fall to the ground and burst into tears. The only thing keeping you upright was fear. Pure terror. You couldn’t say it, but if you didn’t they’d both die.

“Kill Steve.”

You closed your eyes before the gunshot went off, knees giving out and collapsing to the ground, feeling Spencer fall with you, trying to keep you as upright as possible.

“Hey,” he grabbed your head, forcing your gaze to him, his dark brown eyes dark with rage. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Tom’s voice made your stomach contort.

The fourth and final hatch slid open.

“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” your hands were trembling harder than your voice as you shook back and forth, clutching your legs to your chest.

“Okay, it’s okay. It’s almost over,” Spencer said, standing and reaching into the last slot. 

He didn’t move for a while, back turned to you, looking down at something.

“Spencer?”

“Me, I choose me,” he said, turning towards the vent, revealing the item he was holding. A gun. His gun.

“No!”

“Very well,” Tom said, chuckling. “But that’s not quite how this works. One of you has to die, but the other has to do it.”

Spencer ran and sat next to you on the floor, forcing the gun into your hands, lightly placing your finger on the trigger.

“Spencer . . .”

“Listen to me, it’s okay. Okay? If we don’t do this, he’s gonna kill us both. I need you to understand that I am okay with this. I am choosing this, not you. This is for me to decide.”

He slowly brought the gun up to his head, resting just between his eyebrows.

That was too much and the sobs that had been building up in your chest escaped your lips, tears pouring down your cheeks and falling onto your legs. Your hands trembled harder, the gun shaking against his head.

“Y/N,” he smiled, eyes bright and twinkling. “It’s okay.” Then, he swallowed, looked away for a moment, then looked back at you with fire burning deep behind his eyes. What he said next changed your life.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You sobbed as he cocked the gun and steadied your finger on the trigger.

“I love you, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. You didn’t even have to think before you did what you did next.

You removed the gun from his head, held it against your own, right on your temple, and stood, turning toward the vent.

“5 . . .”

“Wait!” Tom called out.

“4 . . .”

“Y/N, stop!” Spencer shouted at you.

“3 . . .”

“That’s not how this works!” Tom yelled furiously, voice cracking. “Stop! You have to shoot him!”

“2 . . .”

The wall under the vent slid open and a dark figure stumbled in, holding out a blunt object, approaching you threateningly, rearing back.

The instant you saw the whites of Tom’s eyes, you aimed the gun directly between his eyes and squeezed the trigger, attempting to keep your arm as still as possible. In a flash, you were brought back to the alley where you shot a gun for the first time. All you could think of were your and Spencer’s lips meeting for the first time.

You didn’t realize you’d closed your eyes until you opened them and was met with the image of Tom The Barista with a bloody hole in his head, falling backwards to the floor, crumpling like a rag doll, a blank expression on his face.

Taking one last look at Spencer to make sure he was okay, you felt your legs give out beneath you and you fell to the floor, losing consciousness. 

Again, everything went dark.

~

last chapter tomorrow. i am so sorry. bring tissues.

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams​ @mjloveskids666​ @dolanfivsosxox​ @criesinreid​ @fanficsrmylife @racerparker​ @sammypotato67​ @lukeskisses​ @reidcrimes​ @you-had-me-at-hello-dear​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @thatsonezesty13​​ @yourmisosoup​ @queenofthebees003​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @eu-solidao @perverted-guardian-angel​ @boiled-onionrings​ @rainsong01​ @lesbian-emilyprentiss​ @andiebeaword​ @itsmoony​ @cielo1984​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @mendesminimuffin​ @fukyouthink​ @addie5264 @gretaamyk​ @sercyan​ @expressiodeppresio @matthewreid​

[atrophiedcompassion]

my second viewing of black widow: i cried, i laughed, i held my own hand, it was glorious

the opening sequence sets the tone for a high adrenaline movie, it's stunning and it goes so smooth from the quiet ohio suburb dinner time to exhilerating chase and you can't help but root for the russian agents.

nat begging not to be sent back, overly protective of yelena hits different the second time. it just fucking kills.

the opening credits, with the GORGEOUS and HAUNTING nirvana cover, chilling and so effective in setting the dark tone of the movie and its theme: trafficking of women, grooming and disposal of women, taken as young girls and subjected to the most awful things.

the high energy sequences are really well done. the close quarter fighting is spectacular. reddit is decrying the underuse of taskmaster, but that bih was overpowered. literally wiped the floor with natasha (on first encounter) AND the red guardian with ease. not someone you can actually fight to win

the apt fight between nat and yelena, so so so good. it reminded me of the berlin apt fight in atomic blonde. i also loved the appraisal moment between the two, esp nat taking in her lil sister

and then, the quiet moments. the dinner scene with the family felt corny on my first watch. alexey hamming it up, melina acting like a mom, suddenly the family myth is busted by natasha and yelena is stripped of the only good moments in her life, it felt...unearned. but on the second watch, you know these guys have held close those memories and nat is lashing out because she's hurt by melina's apparent lack of cooperation. it feels real.

a note: natasha was psychologically brainwashed and somehow one can never really put those demons away. that's why she's so tender hearted and tries so hard to wipe the red in her ledger. she did those things fully aware. yelena and the new get of widows were chemically controlled. and with the antidote, they're free. i believe the psychological baggage may be absent, which is why yelena seems so ok after years of being a widow.

the villain is the weinstein of the mcu and the scenes with him and nat were very hard to watch, especially on the second viewing. there was no subtext there, it was huge writing on the wall and i wouldn't have expected anything less from this movie. his demise should've been by nat's hand, or by the freed widows' hands (a la handmaid's tale), but the way he died was good too.

the resolution of the film works for me. natasha had wanted out, but now she has newly found family she should fight for. she knows there's hope for the avengers as well. so she and cap go bust the guys out of the raft and they're all on the run (except scott & clint who cut deals) till infinity war.

the post credit scene is good, but i wanted it to be nat's funeral. with all of the avengers and her family, with old cap, and sam and wanda. with bucky and alexey and melina. with yelena and clint. i know that every marvel movie somewhat needs to set up further movies, and the scene we got, with yelena and valentina does that. but maybe for a long overdue prequel about a char who is dead at the moment, perhaps a send off scene rather than setting up new adventures would've worked more for me.

yelena was the best. pugh exuded little sister energy throughout. harbour was hilarious and perfectly cast. scarlet shone and did a lot of subtle acting that showed her thoughts. and my milf rachel was perhaps underused but still a rounded character

[dakotasgreenkitchen]

Take A Chance On Me- Part 4.

“Okay so you’ll just have to hang out here. No school and I don’t want to leave you at home yet so.” Amelia said as she unlocked her office, Florence following behind. Messaging Jolene as she did so.

Florence: I have to go to fucking work with the perky people today.

Jolene: Fucking brutal. Don’t they work at a hospital. Maybe you’ll see someone’s leg fall off.

Florence: Shut the hell up, we don’t wish that on anyone. Except Mrs. Lawrence.

Jolene: Gotta go, mass is starting. Love you to the moon.

Florence: And back every day.

“So you can come with me on rounds. Just be seen not heard.” Amelia said as she placed her bags behind her desk.

“Deal.” Florence said, putting her phone into the pocket of her straight leg jeans. Along with that she paired an ABBA vintage shirt and over sized light blue cardigan with black loafers.

Amelia and Carina had to collaborate on a patient earlier in the week and despite Amelia having a slight crush on Carina- they were able to be close friends.

“Uh who is the bambina?” Carina asked noticing Florence walking behind Amelia.

“Florence, Carina DeLuca, Carina this is Florence.” Amelia said as she motioned for Florence to walk closer to her.

“And she is your daughter si?” Carina asked as she grabbed the chart from the nurse, pushing a piece of her behind her ear.

“No. Her and Atticus picked me out of a home for kids with dead parents.” Florence shrugged as she stood with Amelia, pulling out her phone after receiving a call from Jolene.

“Okay then.” Carina answered unsure of how to respond to an answer like that.

“Hey lovey.” Florence laughed as Amelia let her sit at the nurses station, the spinning stool under her.

“Hey bitch. I got out of mass by pretending I was sick.” Jolene laughed, falling onto the bed behind her.

“The same trick we’ve been using since we met. I don’t even have mass to get out of anymore. But I’m at the hospital with Amelia and people who keep asking if I’m her daughter.” Florence sighed as Amelia and Carina made her get up once more.

“Who are you talking to?” Amelia asked, noticing Florence staring intently at the phone.

“Jolene. Jolene, Amelia, Amelia and Carina this is Jolene.” Florence said as she turned the phone to Amelia and Carina.

Jolene gave a small wave before directing her attention back to Florence. They conversed in the hall as Amelia and Carina me to patients.

“Okay I just got paged 911 for a surgery and Link is also in surgery. I’m going to leave you with Carina until we both get done. Have a really good day.” Amelia said as she put her hand on Florence’s shoulder before she ran off to the elevator.

—

“So why do I have to go to a fire station with you?” Florence asked as she sat in the passenger seat of Carina’s car.

“Because my wife works there and I am going to go see her.” Carina smiled as she pulled into the station drive.

“Okay.” Florence answered. Carina turned off the car and let Florence walk in front of her. Andy, Vic and Travis sat at the front desk arguing over a caller.

“Carina!!” The group cheered as they saw the Italian walk through the glass door.

“Hi, everyone this is Amelia and Link’s little bambina.” Carina grinned placing a hand onto Florence’s shoulder.

“I’m not their daughter. They picked me out of a home after my parents died in a fire.” Florence said with a monotone.

“Because they’re crazy people.” A voice came from behind the adults, the spinning chair revealing a girl with bright red ringlets and emerald eyes.

“That’s one of our new interns-“ Travis started before the girl shoved past them, hugging Florence so hard she almost toppled to the ground.

“JOLENE.” Florence shrieked wrapping her arms around Jolene.

“What are you doing here?” Jolene smiled widely, finally pulling back from the tight hug.

“I’m here with Carina visiting her wife. What the hell are you doing interning at a fire station?!” Florence asked her eyebrows raised but her eyes full of joy.

“I don’t know Mrs. Lawrence made us do it. I’m so happy to see you.” Jolene said as she grabbed Florence once again.

“Oh so you two know each other?” Vic asked as the adults watched the young girls interactions.

“19 this is my best friend Florence. Florence this is 19.” Jolene smiled introducing her to the team.

“Hey. So I wanted to tell you something.” Florence said as everyone walked to the beanery.

“Who did you kill?” Jolene joked, taking a juice out of the fridge.

“I have a chess rating now. And I’m the only girl on the team.” Florence bragged. Florence wasn’t one to be shy about her intellectual abilities. She found herself superior to most people in life because of the way her brain worked.

“Don’t-“ Jolene started, her tone hushed not wanting the team to hear it.

“Let the consequences of genius catch up with me. I know. Ive got this under control.” Florence promised as they sat at the table with Vic, Travis, Jack, Carina and Maya.

—

“Hey don’t you have your chess thingy on Sunday?” Amelia asked as she leaned in the door with the laundry basket.

“Yeah.” Florence said, glancing between her book and the board. Book to board. Her mind traveling a thousand miles every second as she played her favorite opening- The Queen’s Gambit.

“I really want to know you. You are such a sweet and unique kid and I want to know you.” Amelia said sitting on Florence’s bed.

“There isn’t much to know.” Florence chuckled. Turning to face Amelia. Amelia’s eyes welcoming and kind.

“Well let’s start easy. Tell me your favorite movie, favorite book and favorite show. And we will watch them and read them.” Amelia said walking over to the chess board.

“Favorite movie is umm Silence of the Lambs. Favorite book is The Handmaid’s Tale same for favorite show.” Florence smiled. Passing Amelia the old and somewhat torn up book.

“Kind of dark.” Amelia chuckled, flipping through the book. Writing and markings of lessons and words learned in it.

“My mother said it was one I had to read when I was mature enough to handle it. I couldn’t put it down, I devoured it really quickly.” Florence smiled, showing Amelia the handwriting of her mother.

“If I upset you in the beginning I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Amelia said, grabbing Florence’s hand.

“You didn’t. You remind me of my mother and Atticus of my papa. They loved each other the gross lovey dove way you do.” Florence said her sad eyes meeting Amelia’s.

“I’m sorry. I lost my dad when I was young too.” Amelia said rubbing Florence’s shoulder.

“Did you father die in a fire that your mother started to take her own life?” Florence asked quietly looking at Amelia. Her and Link hadn’t been told how Florence’s parents perished. Just that they did.