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amoc94 · 3 years ago

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GIF by Golden_Idol @ WeHeartIt

POLAR NIGHT

Summary:

He was a patient man. He wouldn't mind to wait for the right time to reap what he thought he deserved. He had lived in the dark for far too long, that happiness was such a foreign notion for him.

Until you crossed his path and awakened something deep inside him.

Until he realized there was indeed glowing light on the other side of his world, just a flicker at the end of the journey he had to conquer.

Until the sunshine he had waited became you.

Pairing : Taehyung x Ballerina Reader.

Genre : Yandere, Mafia AU.

Warning for this chapter: Nothing

Word count : 4.6+K

Full Masterlist and elaborate warning please read here.

Excerpt.

"You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars"

-E.E. Cummings.-

Part 4 - Present

Subpart 2 of 3

"Think about it Y/N. He's your sponsor, your boss in literal sense. Are you going to refuse his first dinner invitation? It might be about your upcoming performance in La Scala."

Oh, the man was so smart, he knew your weakness so well.

"But still why do I have to wear this dress? It's very ... slutty."

"It's sexy, attention hook, -not slutty, you have to know the difference. You need to be bold to steal the spotlight. Besides, it's not a good idea to reject a gift that he chose for you. I'm telling you, a man like him won't buy gift to ordinary woman. And he is not just any man. He is Giovanni Romano".

The name was infamous in Reggio Calabria, although you didn't know much about the man before. Seemed like you've been living under the rock all this time.

Vittorio gave you a glimpse of his profile in the shady business he operated, - half an hour ago, in the middle of rushing you to get ready for the dinner, ransacking your closet to fetch the leather Balmain shoes that you avoid to wear because the heel was too high to your liking. Well, ... he didn't exactly said 'shady business', of course.

"It won't matter had he chosen something decent. This dress is scandalous!"

"He wants you to show up at a dinner with this dress, what's so difficult about it? It's not like he ask you to pole dance or whatever. He's been supporting you, you don't know the length he has done for you to be this far. Think of it as a return favor for the capital he invested on you."

"He has a fiancee. Don't you think it's kind of inappropriate for an engaged man to want another woman to wear this kind of dress?"

"You are not another woman, Y/N. You are his employee. You know Sophia. He will not stray when he has a beautiful woman like her beside him. It's an insult to his reputation."

Vittorio really didn't need to remind you the significant gap between you and her in the sense of beauty, career and family status.

Thus his sarcastic remark was successfully distracting you to do exactly as his request.

You almost turned and walked back home, if not for the bait he flaunted in front of your nose about La Scala.

And it was too late now as you were trudging the hallway leading to the restaurant. Your curiosity definitely won over the hesitation.

You've been to Etto once, when your mother was still alive.

You remembered it was afternoon during early autumn, the weather was pleasantly cool, and she chose a corner table at the outdoor area. A dinner to celebrate your tenth birthday in a venue your family would usually avoid on casual days. Your mother insisted to take you there and treated your small family of three for the best birthday of your life, despite your nonna lingering complaints.

At least this place brought back a sweet memory from your past.

The fine italian restaurant was located inside a nineteenth century building downtown Reggio. Its historical element was preserved during some major restorations to maintain its original neoclassical architecture.

The grand structure with mazelike corridor was owned by the Romano family, the oldest of Ndrangheta mafia in the city.

You did your overdue homework by browsing through the internet and local newspapers to get a brief idea of who he was, and where he was coming from. For the first time since you knew him, you finally had enough courage to embrace the fact that Giovanni Romano a.k.a Kim Taehyung was no ordinary name, he had his face splashed around the local magazines once in a while, mostly gossip periodicals.

You were too ecstatic to take notice, your ambition was a double edged sword -it lit up your passion and determination, but you forgot there was a string attached in every good catch.

You had a strong inkling that he had something up on his sleeve, but you couldn't tell what he might wanted from you.

Although from the look of this dress and the bouquet he sent the other day had you speculated of his intention on you, but you didn't want to entertain the absurd idea. You prayed that Vittorio was right.

Your eyes shifted briefly on your chest covered in red corset dress, it was Roberto Cavalli - from their spring summer collection, and you saw the outrageous price tag attached, despite the fifteen percent reduction. The neckline had a low dip on its cleavage, bodycon cutting hugged your curve almost too tight for you to be comfortable, and the slit on the right thigh was high enough to turn some heads.

A dress so expensive that made you felt like a cheap whore.

You never belonged to a five star place like this, god forbid a lowly like you to afford to dine here, it was only reserved for the VIP regulars and elegant patron.

So lavish that you were afraid of accidentally knocked one of the gigantic tosca vase sitting across a black bronze tall sculpture that looked like a naked woman without head.

You had no clue about art or collectibles, but those two combined seemed more expensive than the only saving sitting in your bank account. Even that too, courtesy of the said man that invited you tonight.

You kept your eyes downcast and focused on your feet while the maître d' ushered you to the table. Your gaze trailed on the gold and black swirls pattern of the thick wall to wall carpet overlaid the italian marbled floor, tried not to trip on your heels and embarrassed yourself in front of the important looking people with equally swanky appearance.

You couldn't hear any footsteps around and the soundproofed insulated window completely blocked outdoor noise.

Everyone was like whispering when they chatted with low voice accompanied by soft clink of silverwares and table glasses, trying to keep the noise down and their reputation up.

Reggio Calabria was midsize to be called a metropolis, one of the most populated city in Italy, but people in the socialites circle knew one another, so keeping up image was a must at their to do list. Showing off their perfectly polished public persona.

Which none of the faces in the room that you knew or had ever seen before.

Except for one person.

The man that was sitting at the very center of the room, separated for a good distance from other guests. His table was draped with dark grey linen, different color from the rest.

There was only another seat prepared in front of him, complete set of cutleries were arranged in formal dinner setting. The venetian chandelier hanging on the ceiling was illuminating like a floodlight affirming his presence in the big room.

A man with all black suit stood near him, just a few feet away from his table.

A fine looking Asian with striking features framed under dark silver hair in sleek tapered haircut, multiple diamond studs on both ears, hoop ring pierced his brow and his lower lip. Another reason for other guests to notice you more when you walked towards the table.

The man only gave you a brief once over before his eyes were back looking straight ahead.

Mr. Kim raised to his feet once he saw you, and stepped in to pull the chair and waved his hand lightly to let you sit. His hand brushed around your forearm when he bent over and spoke with low voice, sending shiver down your spine.

"You look so beautiful. This dress suits you perfectly."

Tonight he wore a three piece suit in pearl color, without tie nor cufflinks. There was gun suspenders attached to his shoulder, but it was empty. He looked like the dark angel, distinguishly sophisticated and forbidding at the same time, an appearance that could be deceiving.

His stare turned observant, scanning your figure with obvious admiration.

Walking towards him, you could smell his perfume, an extravagant mix of zesty bergamot and lavender, your memory recognized the scent instantly from previous encounters.

You could still sense the intimidating arrogance emanated from his gesture, but he was nothing but smile and cordial to you. You had thought he would be stiff in front of his men, that was what you usually witnessed of people like him.

"I'm sorry for being late, there was delay because I was conflicted about some ... things."

About the dress, about him, whether or not you should have come or stayed back instead.

You were so close to text him that you didn't want to come.

Your mood was at its worst tonight, seeing as you just pressed the call button on your phone for the umpteenth times, and Jimin didn't even once pick up his phone since yesterday night, after he left your apartment.

You were initially worried if something happened to him, after countless calls went straight to his voice mail. But Anna, -his manager, told you that the man was busy preparing for his first performance at La Scala, which eased your mind a bit. Although you still didn't understand why he couldn't spare just a minute to answer you.

You were just consoled by the prospect to join him soon in Milan, otherwise you wouldn't be able to focus your attention to Mr. Kim. If what Vittorio said was accurate, that meant he would offer you the opportunity tonight.

"It's ok. What do you want to drink?"

He sat crossed legged while his fingers enveloped the high ball glass filled with translucent amber colored drink.

"I would like what you have."

The color was what attracted you, it looked thirst quenching.

"Champagne Dream. I hope you can handle your alcohol well, cara."

He waved to one of the server while pointing to his glass. The three rings on his fingers glinting under the yellow light, ornate diamonds and sapphires, looked opulent but strangely fitted his overall appearance.

"And you might want to choose the main course. I ordered the appetizer already."

Another waiter handed a thick menu book wrapped in slick blue leather cover with silver letters embossed at the front, it was heavy, and the elegant design reflected their price very well.

Someone must be out of their mind to want to pay ninety five euros for a serving of monk fish, -you had no idea what the fish might look like. And twenty euros for a single scoop of ice cream was outrageous, no matter how beautiful it was presented on the plate. You didn't remember their prices were this high when your mother took you here.

"Just order what you like, don't bother the price. This place is mine."

You saw him brought the glass to his lips, and you couldn't help but noticing his elegant fingers -slender and well manicured, his face was smooth and unusually flawless for a man, especially for someone in his line of work.

"I'll have one lobster ravioli and your assorted mini cakes, please."

He was clearly satisfied with your choice, his full rectangular smile indicated his good mood, a bit in contrast with his ethereal beauty. Almost playful.

"You might want to try this, one of our signature appetizer."

He shifted in his seat while picking up a piece of caprese skewers, which you wanted to avoid. You had a secret resenment with cherry tomato, because that was the staple ingredients your grandmother always included in your everyday salad before you were finally free from her claw.

To think about how your freedom was a part of his merit, you tried to follow his suggestion. The entrée was surprisingly delicious, considering it was literally just cheese and tomatoes.

"This is ... very good, the best I've ever had."

When you were on second piece, you could feel your nerve gradually unknotted while you savored the appetizer. You were starving.

"The hands that prepare will differ the taste completely. Our chef has five Michelin stars under his name."

He took another skewer and put in his mouth, before chewed slowly, his eyes were still on you.

"How is your apartment, by the way? Is it to your liking?"

"It's very nice, thank you. The furnishing is very tasteful and well thought. Very close to what I would model it myself."

You almost couldn't find any flaw with the design, it felt like the interior designer could read your mind.

"I'm glad to hear that. You made a lot of progress, and I must say, I'm impressed with your dedication. Consider that apartment as a reward from me."

Your aversion started to diminish with every minute passed. Maybe you just overthought the whole situation with him.

From the moment you stepped in his peripheral, not even once you felt his indecent manner over you.

Vittorio was right, you shouldn't go above yourself to think he had any lewd intention on you. He really just wanted to have a talk. Hopefully about the performance.

"And the car? The chauffeur? Are they ok?"

He was so unexpectedly thoughtful.

"More than okay. I ... I mean, these are all too generous of you. I had wanted to say thank you for all of your support."

His forefinger etched the rim of the glass while his lips turned lopsided, his smile looked a little detached but captivating nonetheless, it was hard not to stare.

"Nothing that I won't do to make sure our artist can contribute her best. Your report is pretty impressive. If this goes on, you will be able to go to La Scala soon."

That last sentence had your froze mid conversation, when you were about to put another piece of the mini skewer in your mouth. You looked up at him with astonishment.

"But ... I thought Vittorio said ..."

His face was straight up in gave nothing away. You were sure, there has been some kind of mistake.

"It will be just a little catch up from your side, hopefully in a few months."

"Months? But ... why? My RAD marks at distinction and I scored almost 90. I've excelled more than ... " You cleared your throat, almost hesitated to mention his fiancee's name.

"You mean more than Sophia? But cara, this is not about your grade, it's about attitude. How do you think a company can reward its employee when they breach the agreement?"

One of the waiter came and put the plate of ravioli in front of you, and beef steak on his side. The aroma of herbs and garlic filled the air, the lobster shell blushed with inviting shade of red, but you had lost your appetite.

Mr. Kim picked up his fork and jabbed to the meat on his plate. There was a string of clear blood oozed to the pristine white plate when his knife sliced into the medium rare meat.

"What attitude? I don't break any rule."

The blood from the meat somehow looked unsettling to you.

Even the way he chewed was very graceful - again, something about him was mystifying, you couldn't really tell what or why.

"Did you read the clause of your contract?"

You didn't, you thought your grandma was the one who should, but all she cared about was the money.

He continued when your expression clearly indicated your answer.

"Workplace romance is prohibited in my company. Vittorio informed me about your relationship with Park Jimin. And exploiting company facilities for personal affair, no less."

Your face was probably as red as the crayfish now, when you felt embarrassment mixed with indignation surged through you.

"You asked Vittorio to stalk on me?"

"He's your manager. And you are not the only dancer based in that building. People talk."

You swallowed a painful lump in your throat, refusing yourself to accept the fact that it was near impossible to continue your relationship with Jimin under his roof. It was either your career or your boyfriend. You could move to another dance company, of course, but without reference from Cilea, the road would be bumpy. And if he withdraw the apartment, you would have to go back to your grandmother. Back to the lion's den.

It took you a moment before you could find your voice, confused and betrayed.

"I don't understand. If you don't have any intention to give the role to me, then ... - why do you call me tonight?"

It was his turn to be silent, a long unnerving stillness that left you even more uneasy with the way he was staring at you with unreadable look. Leaning back on his seat, he lifted up his glass and sipped on his drink, but his eyes were still nailed on you with some mixed of emotions you couldn't decipher -longing, and ... a gleam of desire? You probably misread the sign.

It was a minute later, your anger was back, you thought of how he ordered Vittorio to prepare you for nothing.

"I'm offering you a courtship."

It was silence, a long one that came from the incredulity evident in your face. He must be too drunk to be able to think properly.

"Courtship? Like ...�� dating?"

"You may call that, term doesn't matter for me. If you want some romantic trysts in advance, I can arrange it with Vittorio. But I don't want trivialities to delay my plan. I want your hand in marriage."

It was baffling, to think this kind of words coming from a man of his status. Your grandmother would probably sneered at you if she knew. And you would be absolutely flattered had the situation was different.

"What period is this? We are not in medieval ages. Besides, you have a fiancee!"

"I terminated my arrangement with her already. You don't need to worry about that."

You couldn't help but hissed at him.

"You barely know me! And I don't know you at all. Hell, I even found out about your family just yesterday, from a newspaper. How can you even think about marrying someone you know nothing about?"

His gaze was unwavering, his fingers grazing on the edge of the tall glass. He cocked his head slightly, and his stare turned sardonic as if the situation was something normal. As if proposing to a girl out of the blue was just ordinary.

"I practically have your resume in my office. I know about your likes and dislikes, your fear, your passion, your favorite food, where you want to be in five years ahead. I probably know more about you than Jimin does."

"You know nothing about us."

"I've known you for the past two years, you met him just a month ago."

"It doesn't matter. I can't..." Your voice was weak to continue when you were still trying to make sense of his statement.

"-... just ... I don't see you like that."

His face was terribly calm for someone who had just been plainly rejected.

"It will take some time, I understand. Think about this proposal to your benefit, cara. If you want to continue your career under my financing, which I believe is your best shot now, who will be the best person to help you? This world is a lot more complicated than you think. I can give you my professional guidance".

You couldn't deny the fact that what he said were all true, but your love for Jimin was also something meaningful for you. You would not give up without a fight.

"I love him."

"Puppy love. A feeling just temporary, an intense attachment purely based on lust. I understand this is your first experience romantic wise, but trust me, once the excitement has gone, your viewpoint will be different."

Your breathing was erratic now you looked at him with so many emotions contradicted inside you.

Before tonight, you had thought about him like your guardian, almost like a father figure you never had, someone who really cared about you, -often times you couldn't believe how lucky you were.

But seemed like it was true what people said, if something was too good to be true, it probably was not.

You had your career at stake here, and you were between a rock and a hard place.

🔸️

There was one particular night he remembered when he was still living in hovel near the red district slum in Seoul. His mother secured a weekend high paying servicing job in a function held by a chaebol in his big mansion next to the sea in Sokcho, two hours bus trip from Seoul.

It was summer, a few months before Chuseok. The weather was humid and hot, he wandered around the huge house, until he reached the coastline at the back of the building.

Looking up to the sky, it was full of stars, big and small surrounded a perfectly round full moon. He sat just a few meters from the crashing waves, daydreaming about the life that he always wished to have.

He was drowning in the sea of stars, feeling so small yet there was serenity brought to him by the view above.

A few minutes in solitude before he saw the shooting star right before his eyes, at the same moment when he wished that someday he would live the life that he wanted with people he cared the most.

That last minute wish seemed so distant when he moved to Italy and met his father for the first time, living the life as the son of Marco Romano. It was completely forgotten when he lost his mother, when his life was taking the unexpected turn.

But it resurfaced now when he looked at you, the same tranquility he felt that night, when he stared at the million of stars in the night sky.

He felt completely alive, full with fervor.

He realized now, he fell in love with you since the day he saw you.

It had been so long, and he couldn't remember when was the last day of him waking up without you as the first thing that came to his mind every morning.

They said when you wished upon a shooting star, your dream would come true. It was a symbol of fortune, of when gods would especially look down and paid more attention to the praying souls.

Call it fate, curse or destiny, -whatever it was, one way or the other, what happened between you and him was meant to be.

His proposal was shocking to you, he couldn't blame you. It would take some adjustments from your side, and he would patiently lead you through.

The raising tone in your voice had Jungkook stepped next to him and placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. Even as a subordinate, the man could read him well. He was just started working for him two weeks ago, but Taehyung had developed an instant confidence to the younger guy. And the fact that he was the only Korean inside his troop, there was an invisible bond between them.

Taehyung shook his head to give a signal that he was fine. He had expected your reaction.

All this time he had thought his feeling for you was based on undying need for him to have you in his life, to be able to reach for you whenever he wanted to.

His lust was the fuel that ignited fiery desire inside his mind.

But the first time he had the chance to drink in your sight freely, he realized what he felt was deeper and stronger, beyond venereal.

He wasn't blind, and he was still normal too. Looking at you in a dress that almost left nothing to imagination aroused him and he would be lying if he said he didn't fantasize about bending you over the table and fuck you in front of the audience. It thrilled him to his aching core.

When you smiled at him just now, how happy your face when talking about the apartment, he started to regret his decision to give the role to Sophia.

Almost forgot that he had wanted to punish you.

He wanted your smile again. He wished to have those eyes beaming with joy one more time.

Your clear disbelief was expected, but it hurt him nonetheless, that he was the cause of your unhappiness.

"Why are you doing this? You have Sophia. She is everything a woman will ever dream to be like."

"Feeling is not something you can control."

You scoffed in derision. To him, the way your emotion laced your words was like a child throwing a tantrum, it was too cute to resist.

"He loves me!"

"Really? How can you be sure? Do you know he grabbed the opportunity the second I flaunt it to him? Did he call you to ask for permission?"

His eyes was looking straight through you, trying to read your possible reaction. Dare you to ask him further, to know the truth about Jimin.

He could see you swallowed hard, his prediction was right. Jimin probably didn't tell you about his plan. Just like how he treated all of his women in the past, disposable and replaceable. How could you even claim to have loved someone so shallow like the guy, was beyond him.

He moved forward, and leaned his arms on the table, looking at your blushed pink lips, his fingers tingled with the urge to stroke the apple of your cheek. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

You are too beautiful. There was an intense feeling of fulfillment in his heart to be this close with you.

He was willing to give everything in his power for you before.

He was willing to die for you now.

As long as he could have you by his side.

"Do you want me to take you there? So you can see for yourself? When was the last time he spoke to you?"

He knew Jimin hadn't contact you, nor he was able to answer your call. He had Anna - Jimin's manager-, to make sure the man wouldn't have the time in between his rigorous practice.

"To Milan? You mean, going to La Scala?"

"He rehearses everyday between 09.00 - 16.00. You can ask him in person about this so called relationship. I'll ask to prepare the jet by eleven. But before I take you there, I want you to promise something to me."

He saw how you stared at him with hope as well as anticipation. He almost pitied you, to easily fall for sweet words.

But then, how could he blame you. Your innocence was one of the thing that had him enamored with you.

Had it been another women in your position, they would certainly snag the opportunity to be with him without second thought.

But you were different. One of the reason he fell in love with you.

"You will come to my side when you know there is no hope in your relationship with him."

He stood and stepped to your seat, taking your hand into his palm, ignoring the hushed whispers as well as the watchful eyes around the room.

You didn't flinch, probably too stunned to even say something in response.

"I've been thinking about you constantly since the first time we met. All of the things I did were only for your happiness. It might seemed too absurd to you, but this feeling is real for me. If you give me the chance Y/N, you will see how I love you beyond words that I can speak of. How I will worship the ground that you walk on."

For a moment, you were at lost for words, eyes wide looking at him, maybe trying to register the depth of his revelation.

He almost thought he had got you. Almost.

"I have to meet him first. I'm ... I'm sorry. But I can't promise anything. Please understand. I love him too much."

You hastily pulled your hand and fisted your palm on your lap, trying to avoid his eyes.

He stared at the dark shade of lovebites on your neck, there were three of them, faintly scattered over the column near your right ear. It seemed your poor attempt to cover it with concealer was futile.

His jaw clenched painfully imagining how Jimin was the man who marked you with his stamp of ownership, to have the right to fuck you whenever he wanted to.

Well, not anymore.

Your persistence made him realized, while it was true that he was willing to do anything to make you happy, there was something he couldn't, after all.

Anything, except letting you go.

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Part 4 - Present, Subpart 3 of 3

#yandere taehyung #yandere bts #bts fanfic #bts mafia au #yandere mafia #bts fic #bts yandere #yandere v #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere tae #yandere kim taehyung #yandere bts x reader

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akiss-from-a-rose · 10 months ago

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"Yes, yes, you're so fucking talented," Aaliyah mused, rolling her eyes even as she leaned in, just a little, to Meena's touch. Softness, something they rarely afforded themselves, much less in the presence of others. Softness always felt like far more sinful than any real sin Aaliyah had committed. And she'd committed plenty of sins. She sighed. "I thought we were mad at him, Meena. We're not supposed to give credit to people when we're mad at them. Besides, if he wanted to make good points, he should have done it more sweetly." She smiled lazily, her fangs showing. "Or he should have some follow-through. Threats are so boring. Give me a little something to work with, please, I beg. Honestly, if he runs, then I've got to give him some credit. I mean, it'll be very foolish; he seems terrible at making friends, and I can't imagine him offering a lick of kindness to anyone who doesn't have a pair of fluffy ears on top of their head once a month."

Aaliyah laughed. "I personally think I look exceptional in everything I own. A lot of what I wear was expensive and designer, once upon a time." She liked clothes that were well-made, and she took care of what she had. Old habits developed in her first formative years as a vampire, fresh off of a life of luxury and thrown into one of peril and pleasure. She and her sire were not wealthy women in those first few years. Every article of clothing had to be taken care of to last, even when it went out of season. "Yes, well, I abhor giving Theo any kind of good word. It's rude to speak kindly of the dead, you know." She frowned. "You say all of that like it's a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with being bitchy or slutty. God, Meena. It's the 21st Century. Aren't we supposed to be better than this?" she teased.

Taking one of Meena's hands, Aaliyah brought it up to her lips. "Forgive me. You're barely two hundred. It looks good on you." She hummed. "I think I'm becoming moreso. Alive, that is. I was dead for a very, very long time. Parts of me still are. It's best they stay that way." Alina Roth was better off dead. Aaliyah wasn't a wife, a mother. She had no idea how to be. She'd never been good at it, anyway. But this? She could do this. "Oh? Were you expecting me to make the first move? How modern," she murmured. Then, fast as a blink, she'd moved them, pinning Meena against the wall of her office. "If we're both game..." she echoed, her mouth ticking up. "Just say the word. Any word. I'm fond of 'please,' though."

"What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents,” she teased as she continued to rake her fingers back through Aaliyah’s tasseled curls. “Apparently. Though I wouldn't entirely underestimate him. He's rightfully angry and his perspectives weren't entirely off base. Now, if he only learned to quell that hotheadedness of his, he'd actually be a rather admirable opponent. But, alas. If he does run, it won't be good for any vampires or witches in this town and he loathes me, doesn't he? What was it that he said? Oh yes, that I think I run this town as the mayor, who was specifically appointed to do just that. How odd," She shook her head lightly at the thought. "Not that I haven't been called far worse. But, if he runs, I don't know if I would risk what would happen to the clan and the coven if I don't run too and then there's another chance I'm back here again for a whole another term."

"That you do, love, and I'd bet you'd look exceptional in designer pieces too," She teased back, only to shake her head at the praise Aaliyah gave her, sweet at it was, was rather unwarranted. "That's sweet, but I didn't though. Theo did. He may have seen an opportunity to climb to the top of the ranks of us vamps and took it. It may have been born from selfish desires, but he founded this town. Not me. All I did was step off a boat. I may have fallen in love with this place after the fact, while he grew to abhor it, but in terms of lives saved, I've likely been responsible for the loss of just as many lives as I've helped save. J.C. and Theo both got one thing right about me. I'm not a good person. I haven't been since I was twenty something. I'm a bitch. I'm a slut, I will chew someone up and spit them out while looking fabulous in a pair of red bottom pumps and I'm okay with that."

"I'm barely a day over two hundred for your information," A light laugh broke from her lips as she shook her head once more. "Dead, yes. But, more so? I don't think so. I think you're more alive than you know," She admitted as she leaned forwards. Her whisper of words tickled against the other woman's inner ear. "So what are you waiting for then? If we're both game?" She hummed temptingly out. "And hm? I could very well say the same."

#with: meena #meena007 #//boy howdy I do not have gifs for this circumstance

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whirlybirbs · 3 years ago

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FEVER-DREAM ; echo/reader

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough.

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway.

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use.

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives.

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing.

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika.

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good.

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky.

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin.

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough.

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto.

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling.

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized.

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now.

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep.

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin.

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details.

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link.

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile.

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak.

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel.

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch.

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed.

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you.

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation.

Your mouth is moving before you realize it.

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?”

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way.

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.”

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact.

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right.

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

#HE IS A CORPORAL!!!!!#let echo say fuck #and omega #echo x reader #echo imagine #arc trooper echo x reader #echo/reader #echo/you #echo x you #tcw imagine #tbb imagine #sw imagine #the bad batch imagine #THANK YOU ANON WHO SENT ME THE UPDATED SPREADS #LOVE U ANGEL

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tintentrinkerin · 4 years ago

Text

Scare

Rating: teen and up / PG-13 Pairing: Sam/Dean Tags: fix it, alternative ending, cuddling, serious injury, Miracle Summary: Dean is injured in the barn, but Sam is able to call 911 in time. Word count: 755

Read under the cut or on AO3

“Sorry, I gave you quite a scare, huh?” It was the euphemism of the century, Sam thought. It hadn’t just been a scare, Sam’s world has almost shattered in a million pieces in that barn. Gladly calling 911 had been an option still and Dean could be saved. It was a critical injury and a very long, very nerve wrecking surgeries. The hours Sam had to wait for the doctors to finally come up to him and telling him Dean had survived. More than nine hours Sam had worried and cried and the first thing Dean says? ‘Quite a scare.’ Dean looked tiny and broken, connected to cables to monitors. Everything beeping. Everything showing Dean was indeed alive. “That was close”, Sam whispered, leaning down and touch Dean’s forehead with his, placing a shy kiss on Dean’s lips. “Don’t do that ever again … I thought I’ve lost you… forever this time.” Dean smiled, his lips trembling now. Not cool at all, not tough at all. He was just as scared as Sam. “I promise, Sammy”, he whispered. “We friggin retire, man. Right here.”

It’s not clear to Sam if Dean was joking or not but it was crystal clear to Sam, that he definitely stopped hunting now. The had their fate in their own hands now, no God pressing replay or mute or make them rise from the dead. He wanted him and Dean to die as old saggy men sitting on a veranda somewhere in the wide countryside of Texas, Missouri, Indiana… somewhere but here.

“We retire.” Sam promised. And he can’t wait for it to happen.

It took several weeks for Dean to recover. He’s weak, lost a lot of blood, nerve damage, spinal damage. But he wanted to be home. Stubborn as he was, he signed the papers as soon as he could walk from his bed to the door and back. Sam took him home, driving the Impala. He knows it won’t be the same after the barn. Dean would need help with certain things and Sam knew he would be frustrated about it for a long time. Dean wasn’t used to ask for help. It wouldn’t be easy and Dean would probably regret being alive more than once. But when they first laid down in Dean’s bed again, Miracle cuddled up to their feet, Dean was blissful. And quiet. Sam cried silently, pressing himself close to Dean’s body. He knew it was selfish but he would defend his decision to save Dean. He did it for them.

Dean played with Sam’s hair, sighed and said quietly. “I meant everything I said in the barn. Every damn thing, Sammy. It was always us and it will be forever.” Sam nodded. “I love you.” he replied. Nothing to be said easily for both of them.

Sam’s sobbing stopped eventually and he gave Dean a smile. “Will it be okay?” Dean smiled. It’s half optimistic, half sad. “I think so. I didn’t want to die, I wanted to be at peace, Sam.”

“I know.”

Silence. For a while. Miracle seemed to be hunting a rabbit in her dream, she was whining and barking, moving her legs like she was running.

“I can apply for jobs and we buy a ranch somewhere. We leave the bunker behind and settle down somewhere else”, Sam said, “I may or may not have found some interesting offers online.”

He looked at Dean, hopeful and anxious at the same time.

“Sounds about right. I’ll stay at home? With Miracle? Cook you dinner, wear a slutty version of an apron?”

Sam smiled. He knew Dean hated being incapable of being physically active, but the doctors also said he could make some progress. But he’d never run a marathon again or even lift something heavy.

“Or you leave the apron completely.”

Dean kissed Sam’s hair, then his forehead, his lips. It’s the most intimate thing they can think of right now. But it was better than being without Dean completely. Not feel him close again.

“And stay away from anything sharp and pointy.”

“Except-” Dean started but Sam shut him down with a new kiss.

“Yes, except that.”

Dean closed his eyes and it didn’t took him long to pass out in Sam’s arms. It wasn’t perfect. It had left permanent damage.

But it was them against all odds.

Sam asked for nothing more but being with Dean. When he falls asleep too, Miracle isn’t chasing rabbits anymore and the family of three is at peace for a little while.

#wincest #sin is sinning #rating: teen

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rawiswhore · 4 years ago

Text

Hunter Hearst Helmsley x Fem Reader- "You're Beautiful"

During the 1980's, most professional wrestlers, especially ones in the World Wrestling Federation, weren't exactly Shawn Michaels-esque pretty boys.

There were a few that were pretty handsome and even were very over with females, but in the 80's, most professional wrestlers were quite ugly to look at.

And you were not attracted to them.

By the 1990's, before the Attitude era, you didn't care about professional wrestling, in fact, hardly anyone cared about pro wrestling before the late 90's Attitude era.

The WWF nearly went out of business during the 90's, after a decade when they made major pro wrestling draws like Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Macho Man Randy Savage and even Rowdy Roddy Piper household names and popular enough to cross over into pop culture.

Even some of the men you dated during the 90's didn't watch wrestling before the rise of NWO and the Attitude era, because they felt like they were too old to be watching it, and it was so silly, childish, corny and lame.

Though, when they thought of wrestling, they thought of the World Wrestling Federation and hadn't heard of ECW.

However, on a Monday night near the end of 1995, which is considered to be one of the worst years of professional wrestling ever, you were sitting on your couch in front of the television in your living room, flipping through the channels trying to find something good to watch.

You usually love whatever is playing on MTV, BET, occasionally Vh1, A&E, TBS, Comedy Central, and other TV channels, those were your go-to TV channels growing up, and you even did watch a bit of those channels that night since those channels you usually watch.

You even sometimes watched Cartoon Network if they were playing a cartoon from your childhood, during the majority of the 90's, Cartoon Network was a channel that played cartoons from throughout the 20th century so adults could either see cartoons from their childhood again and kids of the 90's could watch cartoons their parents or even grandparents grew up watching.

You should've had a spare TV Guide with you to see what's playing on television, but you couldn't really turn to the TV Guide channel since they scroll down so slowly of what's playing on television.

However, when you were flipping through the channels, you stopped at the USA Network that aired the newest episode of "Monday Night Raw", the match displayed on television was a match featuring Hunter Hearst Helmsley, a rich, elegant, classy 1800's Jane Austin/Charles Dickens blueblood aristocratic gentleman (that's a mouthful!).

When you had seen Hunter, your eyes were glued to him and didn't switch the channel.

He didn't look anything like the wrestlers you knew from the 80's like Hulk Hogan, Macho Man and Andre the Giant.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley looked like he should be on the covers of those cheesy paperback romance novels with Fabio on the cover, not wrestling.

You weren't in love with Hunter for his wrestling talent, but for his looks.

You started to watch "Monday Night Raw" just for him, even if "Monday Night Raw" was so damn cheesy and corny during this time (though was slightly improving a bit), and you eventually fell in lust with other pro wrestlers on "Monday Night Raw", like Razor Ramon (one of the few wrestlers of the New Generation era that was over and a fan favorite), Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, Marty Jannetty, and of course, the Heartbreak Kid and sex symbol of the WWF throughout the 1990's: Shawn Michaels.

'Tis a shame that Lex Luger was in WCW by the end of 1995, because he's pretty hot too.

You felt embarrassed and like you had lost some brain cells watching "Monday Night Raw" in late 1995, but there were a few hotties in that wrestling company.

You knew that rock stars, rappers, professional athletes and even serial killers have groupies, and of course, professional wrestlers have groupies as well, they're called "ringrats".

You had seriously thought of being a ringrat for Hunter Hearst Helmsley as well as other pro wrestlers in the WWF like Razor Ramon and Bret Hart, and after fighting the temptation, you did one night go to a "Monday Night Raw" show to sleep with Hunter as well as other pro wrestlers.

You had thought carefully what to wear to "Monday Night Raw".

You are going to be a ringrat, and groupies usually always wear slutty, skin revealing outfits for men to lust at them.

Kayfabe is a word commonly used in professional wrestling to describe something as real, be it anything from Razor Ramon being Hispanic, Hulk Hogan lifting up Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania 3, and Mankind being a psychopath.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley's character was a rich, classy 1800's gentleman who scoffed at cads that were beneath him, would he turn you down if you were dressed half naked and showed a lot of skin?

Though, you don't just wanna fuck Hunter, plus, wrestlers are playing characters and even back in the 1990's anyone with an IQ above their shoe size should know that wrestling is fake.

Not to mention, while watching "Monday Night Raw", you notice there are prepubescent little children in the audience watching this, and you're afraid some little kids will see you in a pretty skimpy outfit.

It isn't an outfit too revealing, like being dressed in a thong and nipple pasties, but it isn't something you'd want your teenage daughter wearing.

You had thought long and hard on what to wear, if Hunter will like you in your outfit, and if you don't do it with Hunter, you can always move to Razor Ramon, a major ladies man, or Shawn Michaels.

You decided to dress in some tiny acid wash denim short shorts and a makeshift crop top that tied at your breasts, but you prayed and hoped that Hunter would still bang you even if you're not dressed elegantly.

Thankfully, the WWF rolled to a town that was close to you, and you had arrived to that "Monday Night Raw" taping dressed in that aforementioned outfit.

You had butterflies in your stomach and felt like a giddy, overexcited schoolgirl when you saw Hunter, Razor Ramon, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, and other wrestlers you fancied, tears of happiness weld in your eyes seeing them, and thank God you wore waterproof mascara.

You waited in line with some other ringrats, you felt like a hyper kid on sugar deep down inside, you were so excited to meet Hunter as well as other pro wrestlers, but you wanted to meet Hunter first.

You had never had sex with a professional wrestler before or even anyone famous before, though you did do it with a few guys on the wrestling team in high school.

As you waited in line, you chatted with other ringrats about how this is the first wrestling show you've ever been to and you've never done it with a professional wrestler before, they couldn't believe you.

Then, eventually, it was your turn, and you could nearly wet yourself in meeting Hunter Hearst Helmsley in more ways than one.

You smiled from ear to ear when you approached him, and as you walked up to him, his breath was nearly taken away by you.

No, he wasn't just playing his Hunter Hearst Helmsley character, he really did find you absolutely beautiful.

Like you when you first saw Hunter on television, his eyes were glued to you and looking you up and down.

"Hi" you said as you walked up to him, waving one of your hands to him.

"Hello" he greeted, "What is your name?"

He still talked in a phony, terrible British accent.

"Y/n" you confessed.

"Pleasure to meet you, y/n" he welcomed, taking one of your hands as you got closer to him and kissed the top of it like the gentleman he played on "Monday Night Raw", keeping kayfabe alive.

You could nearly faint when he kissed your hand, your entire body could turn red from bottom to top like in cartoons when a character gets kissed, and you smiled so much.

"You are absolutely beautiful" he gushed, getting up and putting both of his hands on the sides of your face, his eyes observing your face and body up and down.

You stared at him with an ear-to-ear smile and felt like a giddy schoolgirl inside as he touched you, you were trying to contain your excitement inside.

You legit feel like you're at Disneyland meeting Cinderella or Mickey Mouse or whatever, meeting people playing fictitious characters and keeping their characters alive, making you feel like you really are meeting them.

"Thanks" you said "Believe it or not, I've actually never actually done it with a professional wrestler before"

"Well, let me be your first" he purred, grinning as he said that.

"I actually started watching the WWF because of you" you confessed. "I never cared for pro wrestling until I saw you on a Monday night and was flipping through the channels, I changed the channel and found you having a match and couldn't keep my eyes off of you"

"I'm so proud of you" he gushed. "You chose me instead of those other cads"

He really is trying to keep kayfabe alive, even though you aren't buying that he's an English gentleman.

Even his British accent is terrible.

"Awwww, thanks" you said, smiling at him and looking like AJ Lee when she looks in someone's eyes and smiles at them. "Most other pro wrestlers aren't all that handsome, but you are"

"Precisely" he boasted, grinning.

"Do you like my outfit?" you asked, pointing at your outfit. "I was trying to decide what to wear, and I was scared you wouldn't like what I'm wearing right now since you play a classy, rich gentleman that scoffs at people beneath you"

"You look perfectly fine" he admitted.

"Oh, thank God!" you thanked to him, breathing a sigh of relief.

"You're welcome" he replied, smirking. "You are such a beautiful woman"

One of his hands stroked the side of your face, his thumb tracing down your jawline down to your chin.

"I'm thinking of having valets, women that escort wrestlers to the ring, wrapped right next to me as I walk to the ring" he confessed "Would you like to my valet?"

Oh. My God.

Your face and body completely froze, you didn't know what to think.

This is what he had in store for you that you didn't know about.

It's one thing to be a ringrat, it's another to be a ringrat turned valet.

Does that mean you're going to be signed to the World Wrestling Federation and be his valet?

"I-I don't know" you admitted, stuttering. "Am I going to be signed to the WWF and be your valet escorting you to the ring?"

"Yes you are" he admitted, nodding your head.

"It isn't just me being a valet for you once?" you asked.

"Well, it's your decision" he suggested.

He is giving you that decision, but you don't know what to decide.

He's so handsome and so are other wrestlers in the WWF, that means you get to travel with him and fuck them.

But...you'll give up your dreams, and you're in something that's a little bit corny and embarrassing that hopefully won't get any worse.

"I don't know what to do" you admitted. "I'll think about it, maybe I can be a valet for you onetime"

Even Hunter thought you can be a valet for him just once, he doesn't know what kind of trouble you'll get yourself into since you're a ringrat.

"I came here to fuck you" you admitted. "Pardon my language"

"It's alright" he understood, nodding his head.

You didn't want to say how you also wanted to fuck some other wrestlers as well: Razor Ramon, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, Shawn Michaels and even Marty Jannetty.

Hopefully his feelings won't be hurt if you go off to sleep with them.

You're not sure if you want to confess that you want to sleep with other wrestlers tonight, because you're afraid you'll upset him.

Maybe he might even show you off to those other wrestlers and how beautiful you are, and they'll wanna fuck you and it'll turn into an all out gangbang.

"Do you mind if I say this?" you asked him.

"What is it?" he asked.

You took a deep breath, preparing what to say.

"It isn't just you I want to fuck tonight" you admitted "But also Razor Ramon, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty"

His eyes grew wide hearing that you wanna fuck all of those people.

"I hope you aren't upset by it" you said. "Although, having promiscuous sex leads to AIDS and HIV, amongst other STDS"

"Exactly" he admitted. "I'm not upset"

Hunter's character is very possessive of his valets, as evident by next year when he was furious over Wildman Marc Mero stealing Sable from him or when Mr. Perfect/Curt Hennig stole one of Hunter's valets.

Even Hunter admitted his women are his toys.

Hunter shouldn't be getting way too into kayfabe and taking it so seriously, he isn't really a rich 1800's Jane Austen-like gentleman, especially since those kinds of gentlemen carrying canes didn't exist anymore in the 1990's except in movies and TV shows.

That's the problem with pro wrestling: some people take their characters so seriously, they still play them when the cameras aren't filming, and sometimes, when you play a character on any wrestling show, sometimes you have to play that character all the time if you appear on other television shows.

That can be fine, but what if you're playing a nymphomaniac and you have to appear on Regis Philbin and Kathy Lee's talk show, you don't really wanna fuck Regis.

You're basically signing and selling your soul to the devil.

Though, again, wrestling is not real, and anyone who isn't a prepubescent youth should know that.

Hunter would even like to show you off to the other wrestlers, about how he's thought of turning you into a valet.

There have been ringrats he's slept with who are beautiful women, but not as beautiful as you are, much to the dismay of them.

In fact, many women ended up becoming ringrats and sleeping with other pro wrestlers in hopes that they can become a valet and eventual WWF superstar thanks to you.

Basically the Sable effect: Sable joined the WWF because she thought it would be her ticket to Hollywood, and the Bella Twins and Eva Marie followed suit, many other women have been like that as well.

And there has been controversy over "16 and Pregnant" and "Teen Mom" on MTV because of allegedly teenage girls getting pregnant just so they can be on those shows.

Later on that night, you made love with Hunter, and he even showed you off to other pro wrestlers who were in lust with you as well, especially Razor Ramon, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty.

Did you get to fuck them? Oh yeah.

And you continued to fuck Shawn and Marty next year, but sadly, not Razor, who had left the WWF to go to WCW.

When you had went home, you thought long and hard whether or not to join the WWF or not.

You eventually decided to join the WWF, which was both wonderful and horrible.

When you eventually became Hunter's ringrat, men would cheer for you, but not for Hunter, and you eventually started sharing your own ideas with the WWF's creative staff.

Eventually, you blew up in popularity in the WWF and became the most popular woman in the company, and the most controversial person in the WWF.

Some people knew about your story, how you were a ringrat for Hunter, he got a boner for you and turned you into his valet, and there were many ringrats sending angry emails and letters to you, saying that they're ringrats who've slept with whatever pro wrestler and they didn't get turned into a valet.

Many people also thought you slept your way to the top, you're a gold digger, and you're basically a wrestling Monica Lewinsky, Courtney Love or Lil' Kim.

It's really Hunter's fault because it was his idea to turn you into a valet.

_____________________________________________________________

I really hope that I haven't typed this fanfic already before.

#hunter hearst helmsley #wwf #90s #1995 #fanfiction

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autisticburnham · 4 years ago

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In Purgatory's Shadow

I've been putting these off sense we're getting closer and closer to Dr Bashir I Presume, which will be my first time rewatching it since getting diagnosed and I know it's gonna Hit and I'm scared

Ziyal!

I like the little Cardassian long high five

I do Hate Garak/Ziyal though

Garak looks lowkey turned on by "Julian" pointing a phaser at him

Changeling!Julian is right about one thing, Garak doesn't owe shit to his abusive dad

Honestly, Garak should have known it wasn't Julian when he pulled the phaser. Real Julian would use one if needed, but he wouldn't start the conversation like that

Dax, baby, you're too good for him

Ziyal, baby, you're too good for him. Also too young

I don't remember Dukat being in this episode

I do like the music when Dukat's threatening Garak

I assume that's fake Julian standing in the airlock with Garak with a slutty v neck

"I'm not talking about exposing her to your backwards superstitions! She's half Bajoran, that's part of her culture!" Sir???

Did Dukat come here just to find a reason to get upset and justify the Dominon alliance to himself?

Listen, I hate Garak, but I do love Garak

Nerys and Kirayoshi ❤

Miles looks so delighted to hear Kirayoshi recognized Kira

Garak's trying to Karen his way out of being taken prisoner

Why does the Dominon even have prison camps? They're not putting them to work, they have those mindscanners so they don't need to keep them alive for information, and the Dominon doesn't seem the type to use the lives of prisoners as a bargaining chip, so why not just kill them?

I'd really like to see how the Jem'hadar are doing in the 32nd century

Martok!

Professor Kahn of the Trill science Ministry!

Voyager but it's just Garak, Worf, Julian, and Martok making their way back in a runabout

My boy!

No blood. I'd love to learn more about the Breen

Lenara was always stronger on theory than execution...

I get that Garak trusts Julian, but it's hilarious that he tells Tain there's no one there while the Breen is one bed over

Ah, part one of Julian's triple back to back trauma. 10/10

#ds9 #ds9 rewatch #my post

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jackandthesoulmates · 4 years ago

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Scare

Upon @wincest-endgames request:

I am a new follower so congrats on reaching 300!! For a prompt: Sam/Dean, Dean survives the rebar but is left with spinal nerve injuries and Sam dotes on him (so does Miracle). I do have an ao3 account: queermermaids if you'd like to gift it. Thank you!! :)

word count: 765

“Sorry, I gave you quite a scare, huh?”

It was the euphemism of the century, Sam thought.

It hadn’t just been a scare, Sam’s world has almost shattered in a million pieces in that barn. Gladly calling 911 had been an option still and Dean could be saved. It was a critical injury and a very long, very nerve wrecking surgeries. The hours Sam had to wait for the doctors to finally come up to him and telling him Dean had survived. More than nine hours Sam had worried and cried and the first thing Dean says? ‘Quite a scare.’

Dean looked tiny and broken, connected to cables to monitors. Everything beeping. Everything showing Dean was indeed alive.

“That was close”, Sam whispered, leaning down and touch Dean’s forehead with his, placing a shy kiss on Dean’s lips. “Don’t do that ever again … I thought I’ve lost you… forever this time.”

Dean smiled, his lips trembling now. Not cool at all, not tough at all. He was just as scared as Sam. “I promise, Sammy”, he whispered. “We friggin retire, man. Right here.”

“We retire.” Sam promised. And he can’t wait for it to happen.

He knew it was selfish but he would defend his decision to save Dean. He did it for them.

Sam’s sobbing stopped eventually and he gave Dean a smile. “Will it be okay?”

Dean smiled. It’s half optimistic, half sad. “I think so. I didn’t want to die, I wanted to be at peace, Sam.”

“I know.”

Silence. For a while. Miracle seemed to be hunting a rabbit in her dream, she was whining and barking, moving her legs like she was running.

“I can apply for jobs and we buy a ranch somewhere. We leave the bunker behind and settle down somewhere else”, Sam said, “I may or may not have found some interesting offers online.”

He looked at Dean, hopeful and anxious at the same time.

“Sounds about right. I’ll stay at home? With Miracle? Cook you dinner, wear a slutty version of an apron?”

Sam smiled. He knew Dean hated being incapable of being physically active, but the doctors also said he could make some progress. But he’d never run a marathon again or even lift something heavy.

“Or you leave the apron completely.”

Dean kissed Sam’s hair, then his forehead, his lips. It’s the most intimate thing they can think of right now. But it was better than being without Dean completely. Not feel him close again.

“And stay away from anything sharp and pointy.”

“Except-” Dean started but Sam shut him down with a new kiss.

“Yes, except that.”

Dean closed his eyes and it didn’t took him long to pass out in Sam’s arms.

It wasn’t perfect. It had left permanent damage.

But it was them against all odds.

Sam asked for nothing more but being with Dean. When he falls asleep too, Miracle isn’t chasing rabbits anymore and the family of three is at peace for a little while.

#wincest #wincest fic #sin is sinning #wincest-endgame #300 follower celebration

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lesbienneanarchiste · 4 years ago

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This professor is going on a little tedtalk about the relevancy of opera in today's (and by which he means the late 90s bc that's when these lectures were recorded) cultural millieu and he's arguing against a concert violinist who takes the opposite view but frankly they are both so fuckin wrong, it's obnoxious.

On the one hand, the violinist claims we should cast opera aside bc it is representative of the repressive, elitist, imperialist regimes that created it and therefore it is undeserving of our attention and we should let it die.

On the other, this professor says that's all "PC" bullshit and there's literally no problems with any origins of any art ever bc all that matters is the art in a vacuum.

And like....... Turns out people have always been incapable of nuance long before modern social media bc jfc. It's important to understand the cultures and THE FLAWS of those cultures that created the art we enjoy! It's important to acknowledge and understand that the origins of most of the art we idolize was created, supported, and kept alive by classist, racist, etc etc bigots!

But it's also important to keep the art form relevant according to modern standards. Mozart has been dead for several slutty slutty centuries, I think I can jam to his work while simultaneously acknowledging the problems within that work. Nevermind the problems inherent in the current opera world that can still be changed, can be improved upon, opening up the art form to an even broader audience that can bring new voices to the stage, both metaphorically and literally!

But instead this man is like "when we watch Shakespeare play, we don't think about the elitist repressive regimes it's espousing, so why is everyone critical of opera 🙄" and like speak for your fucking self dude! I sure as shit do think about that when I'm reading/watching Shakespeare! Also doesn't mean I think all Shakespeare's plays should be erased from the cultural imagination. For fucks sake

#disgruntled octopus #next up on tedtalks no one asked for: why i think people who watch shows on the cw should get into opera #opera tag

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forestwater87 · 5 years ago

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how can you say that, there are so many books in existence? what are your standards if none of them are sufficient?

Presumably this is in response to an ask from a while ago, in which I said I didn’t know of any books with great LGBT+ representation, and that I prefer to find that kind of rep in fanfic because it’s so prevalent. And I’ll admit I’m a little surprised at the vehemence of this response.

I mean, I’ll grant that there have been a lot of books created since the invention of . . . you know, books, but I haven’t read most of those, due to the fact that I am just one person. Throw onto that the difficulties of genre taste, the general availability of any given book at any given time, my baseline reading speed (slow; made being an English major quite the dang challenge) a limited amount of time to read for pleasure, and that I’ve barely been alive a quarter of a century, and . . . I don’t really know what you want from me, man.

I guess my standards would be “books with positive LGBT+ rep, that are in or possess genres/writing styles/stories I enjoy, that meet my particular tastes and standards, that I physically have in front of my eyeballs and have the time and inclination to read, that I can remember when my memory is notoriously bad for a variety of reasons.” Surprisingly, that’s a pretty small percentage of all the books in the world.

Go figure.

If the point of this ask was to criticize me for not having sought out more LGBT-positive books, then . . . sure. I should probably do that at some point. And in fact, I remember being disappointed by an otherwise-excellent author (she kept making her bisexual side characters slutty. It was weird) and googling “LGBT+ mysteries” a few months ago -- but then life happens. And you have to read the list of books and their summaries, decide if you wanna try them, look them up in the library catalog, request them from the library, wait for them to arrive, and then go to the library before they get tired of holding it for you and send it back (oops I just remembered a book I have out that I was supposed to pick up by today and I’m gonna have to re-request it damn it), and then read it in a timely manner (deciding whether it’s worth finishing, too, which can be a challenge sometimes), and then return it before you accrue your life’s savings in late fines . . . like, I’m just not there yet, mmkay?

And even if I was, maybe I didn’t have the spoons to give my dear friend who innocently sent that ask a comprehensive list of everything I’ve read that had an LGBT+ character in it, complete with thematic analyses and a woke score, because maybe I have a job and shit to do and just saying “I haven’t read enough to answer that question well” is a lot easier and I assumed wouldn’t draw any ire, and would probably net me some neato book recs.

I think . . . this is a really long way of telling you to go fuck yourself, anon.

I mean, I don’t see you offering up any suggestions. Which is ridiculous, because there are soooooo many books in existence! And you couldn’t even find a single measly example to recommend me?

Seems like it should’ve been real easy, is all I’m saying.

#listen i got salty for this one and i'm not entirely positive it was warranted #but also fuck you anon for making me feel bad #i'm a weak little goddamn flower and my feelings are sensitive #and also there's a lowkey shitting on fanfic implied in this ask that makes me itchy #so likeeeeee fuck off #i do want book recommendations though #i really like murder mysteries and psychological thrillers #you know the real fucked-up shit #ask forest #Anonymous

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thecorteztwins · 7 years ago

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(Hellfire Club AU fic! Rated PG-13 for a sexual situation---nothing happens, just suggestiveness--and some sexist language from Fabian. Note: This is very much set in an AU, so if something confuses you--like why Monet is a young adult while Emma is still in her coma and why Nigel Frobisher is still alive when Courtney Ross joins---that’s why.) Their invitations were scrutinously examined, the great grand doors were opened for them and they stepped into the marble foyer. Anne Marie was immediately beset by a few members of the female staff---all attired as was de rigeour for the Hellfire Club --- gushing over her, saying how happy they were to see her again. Anne Marie took it in affectionate stride, seeming neither shocked by the warm welcome nor refusing it, and instead happily embraced them back and allowed herself to be led away by the hand at a healthy pace by them. Some of them did smile invitingly at Fabian, in their trained way, and his lip curled in return, part in smug appreciation part smugger dismissal. Fabian did not like the girls employed by the Hellfire Club. The way they strutted around in scanty costumes for everyone to see disgusted him. Though it did not disgust him so much that he didn’t look too, of course---and take advantage of what the club offered. If it was on the table, why say no? But he still judged the fact that it was on said table in the first place. He’d indulge later though. He couldn’t let his mind get clouded too quickly here. Speaking of that, he didn’t like the Club’s tendency towards an abundance of psychics either. Luckily though, Emma Frost was comatose, and he was safe from the powers of his cousin Manuel so long as he had Anne Marie by his side--he’d have to retrieve her soon enough. Poor Anne Marie, she believed the Inner Circle's claims that all they did behind the scenes was for the betterment for mutantkind!

Well, there was some truth to it, he supposed---it certainly benefited a select number of mutantkind. Very select. That was who was in attendance in tonight, mutants only. Mutants who were already either members, who were interested in joining, or who the Inner Circle was themselves interested in. For instance, just over there was Monet St. Croix, the wealthy daughter of a Monacan ambassador. She’d once had the looks of a fashion model---now she had the looks of a fitness model. Why did women do that to themselves? And a few yards to her left, in dresses of lilac and violent, were Betsy Braddock and her girlfriend Kwannon, whom he could swear shared a mind. It was unsettling, how he could be talking to one and not know which she was, even though they were different races. And approaching him now, her loyal lapdog Nigel Frobisher at her side as ever, was the Club’s replacement white-clad platinum-blonde backup bitch queen, Courtney Ross. At least she wasn’t as slutty as Emma---though her high-necked gown also meant he couldn’t subtly eyeball her cleavage while he talked to her. Just as well, he supposed; best he kept all his wits about him when it came to her, same as her predecessor. He didn’t know what kind of powers she possessed, but she must have them if she was here---and most of the Club didn’t need them to be dangerous anyway. “Mr. Cortez, how delightful to see you here,” she said, “And how...unexpected.” Impertinent slag. He took her white-gloved hand, which gleamed with her signature opals and moonstones, and kissed her knuckles out of politeness as was expected, and resisted the urge to grant a subtle insult in return, instead saying, “I’m so glad I am, Ms. Ross---it means that I have the pleasure of seeing you.” She laughed as she withdrew her hand, but Fabian got the feeling she’d have laughed the same way at a dog that had just performed a trick. Speaking of dogs... “Where’s Anne Marie?” Nigel asked, glancing around, “Did she come with you? I brought Vixen, she loves Vixen.” Fabian couldn’t stop his lip from curling the second time that night as he watched the emasculated buffoon bounce the pet fox mildly in his arms, perhaps to calm the creature in this hectic environment, or simply to emphasize to others that it was there. He couldn’t believe any man could be so desperate as to even desire his sister. Of course, if he’d known Nigel a little better, he might know that while Nigel hit on every woman in general, he did seem to have a certain type that Anne Marie fit.

”Anne Marie is otherwise engaged at the moment,” said Fabian, a hint more coldly, but only a hint, “I’ve been meaning to track her down, though----you know that child, can’t leave her alone for a minute!” ”Oh, please let me know when you do,” Courtney touched her hand to her flawlessly foundationed cheek, “I do find your sister so very engaging.” Before Fabian could reply, they were joined by none other than Sebastian Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club, and its unspoken leader. Selene and Courtney might fill equal seats in name, but Fabian knew where the real power lay. He was good at that, at picking out the top dog in any kennel, the creme de la creme in any dairy, the crown jewel in any diadem. But he also knew that simply because Shaw was head honcho now didn’t mean he had any control over these two women either. They were very much free agents he dared not interfere with. Fabian couldn’t blame him; he wouldn’t challenge the likes of them either. Another thing Fabian was good at---never underestimating an opponent, potential or otherwise. Male, female, human, mutant, he never let these factors cloud his judgement when it came to taking the measure of someone he might have to take on. Shaw affected a jovial attitude, making the requisite greetings and welcomes, but Fabian felt, as he always did when Shaw approached him or anyone else, that Shaw was really just there to check. Check for what, Fabian didn’t know. But something. Conflict, perhaps, to quell or exploit to his own ends. At least that’s what Fabian would do, and thus as far as he could figure. He invited them to a game of chance, but while Courtney was delighted (Nigel looked rather nervous) Fabian politely refused, saying he really needed to find his dear sister before settling into the fun and games. In reality, he just didn’t trust the telepaths to play fair---sure the building had psi-dampeners, but it was their building---and he had no doubt Shaw knew every cheat in the book too. He probably wrote it, in fact. Ugh, this was supposed to be a place to cut loose, but he couldn’t even have a drink to calm his nerves, because he didn’t want to risk dulling them even a little around these cutthroat sharks. Becoming privy to the Inner Circle---if not yet an actual titled member---had turned what was a den of hedonism for everyone else into a place of paranoid abstinence for him. Still, it would be worth it for the power he could get here if he played his cards right...just, not literal cards. But instead of seeking out his sister as promised, he retired in one of the Club’s many private rooms with a trio of girls. He sat while one started by rubbing his shoulders. When he closed his eyes and his lips parted, she took her left hand from his shoulder, hooked her index finger finger, and began rubbing him under his chin near where his neck attached to his jaw. Oh, oh that was nice. He leaned back so head resting against her chest, turned and cheek pressed against exposed top of her right breast. Bless these costumes. Without opening his eyes, he gestured in the air with one hand, speaking to either remaining girl, “You, come over here.” When he could feel her close to him, he then ordered, “Start unbuttoning my vest.” When she began, he grabbed one of her wrists, “No, don’t bend over to do it---get on your knees. There’s a good girl.” She obeyed, and he put his hand on the top of her head, stroking her hair as she undid the buttons, nuzzling the bosom of the one behind him. ”Now the shirt,” he breathed, and gestured again, this time to the third, “You too, you come over and--” Just as he had grabbed hold of her and been about to really get busy, the door opened. It was Tessa, Shaw’s...secretary, or sex doll, or whatever she was...so he couldn’t yell at her. “Fabian Cortez,” she said in her ever-flat robotic tone, “There is a conflict in the game room.” When he arrived there he saw the ‘conflict’ for himself. Courtney was being helped to her high-heeled feet from the floor by a begrudging Betsy and Kwannon, while Monet looked on in her typical judgmental apathy. Across from Courtney, expression triumphant and aggressive, was Selene, her black-gloved fists clenched, psychic power brimming around her. Between them stood Anne Marie, stance stalwart, fixing the Black Queen with a harsh, determined gaze. As Fabian took in the scene, Nigel emerged out from under a nearby chair, Vixen nowhere to be seen, and half-whispered to Fabian, ”Selene attacked Courtney---something about undermining her power base behind her back---and your sister stopped her! I think they’re---” ”Fighting with their minds now, yes,” said Fabian, “Even Anne Marie knows better than to touch that woman physically---I hope.” “You challenge me, child? I who have seen the passing of centuries?” Selene laughed, “I can feel you trying to break into my mind. What do you plan to do once you’re there, I wonder? I almost want to let you in the find out, I won’t be affected by whatever you try anyway.” There was no answer from Anne Marie, only her unending stare. Unlike Selene, she didn’t need to defend, she could put all her energy into an attack. Selene was no great telepath like Frost, and thus Anne Marie’s own psionic abilities blocked her out automatically. Whereas Selene was having to fight against Anne Marie to keep her out. And for all her boasting, Selene knew she was at risk---not just of losing the fight, but, far worse, losing face before the Inner Circle and their guests. Any blow to her image as an impenetrable predator, and the jackals would swarm her in hopes of taking a piece of her power for themselves. So she begin to make use of her other power, summoning her telekinesis to assault Anne Marie physically, to break her concentration. It started with a nearby vase that flew at Anne Marie, who blocked it effortlessly with her arm. it shattered, but her gaze never wavered from Selene. More decoration did the same, and bigger too, and Fabian doubted it would be long before Selene simply risked turning her mental energy to full offense and crushing Anne Marie with the floor itself as she had once tried to do to Shaw. Indeed, the hardwood had begun to ripple under her in threat of exactly that. And still Anne Marie stood, throwing back every mental force she had. ”Enough games,” Selene raised her hands, “I could have forgiven your interference--but you signed your death warrant when you did not submit to the Black Priestess, mistress of the---” THWACK! Selene toppled forward, unconscious, felled by a kick to the neck from behind and above. It was Viper, Prince of Madripoor, operative of both HYDRA and The Hand, and Courtney’s bodyguard. She had leaped down from somewhere in the ceiling, having apparently been lurking up there should the White Queen need her. Fabian hadn’t even thought she’d been in attendance tonight. He supposed that was the plan. ”Such an egregious display,” she purred, as Courtney joined her proudly at her side, “First to assault my mistress so rudely---and then to toy with a sweet little girl like that!” Fabian wondered if they had been watching the same fight. ”Shaw, what should we do to her?” said Courtney, “I take it there’d be no objection if I killed her?” ”You’re welcome to try, madam,” said Shaw, “Myself, now that the show is over, I think I’ll have a drink in my office.” Cortez, care to join me? Fabian heard Shaw’s voice in his head, surely relayed there by his pet telepath Tessa, If your sister needs no attendance, of course. Fabian looked at Anne Marie, who simply shook her head, dog-like, as though coming out of a daze, then beamed over at him. Looking back at Shaw, he sent a mental affirmative. Since the message had been relayed psychically rather than spoken, despite Shaw being right there, Fabian assumed Shaw didn’t want the others knowing about the invitation. Therefore, he did not follow him immediately. Instead, he waited around a bit. When an argument began---the others had been betting on the fight, and only Kwannon and Nigel had correctly predicted Viper’s interference, and there was some debate on if that was fair from Nigel, since he surely had foreknowledge she was there---he took his opportunity to slip away. Tessa let him into Shaw’s office, then stood guard dutifully outside it. Smiling, Shaw stepped from behind his desk passed a glass of cognac to him. Fabian took it, planning how to only seem to drink it. ”I know you instigated this weeks ago,” said Shaw. He sounded amused. “Set this up. Whispered in the right ears, knowing it would reach Selene, and that she’s one of the few of us who would act so overtly, as she initially tried with me. I wonder, did you mean to eliminate Ms. Ross? Or simply set the women against each other? Was Anne Marie getting involved an unplanned error, or a way to make it seem like you, by extension, oppose such conflict? Perhaps endear Ross to you in future endeavors? If that’s your goal, give up, she doesn’t understand gratitude. She’ll just think your chivalrous sister is easy to manipulate. Of course, if that’s what you wanted...” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Fabian. No defensiveness, most certainly no rudeness, just a matter of fact reply. Shaw smirked a bit, and looked more amused than ever, “I could have Tessa pluck it from your mind, you know. But it matters little to me.” He drank from his own glass, “So long as you’re not threat to me---and you’re not---I think I shall enjoy watching more of your games, Fabian.” Placing one hand on Fabian’s shoulder, he steered him towards the door, but not without another smile, this own knowing and unpleasantly eager somehow. “Expect an invite to our next event.”

#fic #writing #hellfire club

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group1thoughts-blog · 7 years ago

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America Needs Feminism

Women make up 50% of the population on Earth. We’re strong, smart, and capable of many things. Marie Curie was a scientist who made the very important discovery of Radium in the early 1900’s. This major discovery paved the way for medical devices like x-ray machines. While this was monumental, the barriers to Madame Curie were even greater. Women didn’t have jobs outside of the home. Their jobs were to take care of their husbands and children. They were denied access to voting, jobs, and even their most basic human rights. Marie Curie is an excellent example of why we need feminism. This isn’t about demeaning men, it’s about being equal as a man. Even though it’s 2017, we’ve come so close but we keep getting pushed back. Let’s take a look into why we need feminism in the 21st century.

It’s a man’s world. As much as we like to make this joke in movies and TV it’s the truth in reality. While women are able to vote, work, and make other decisions based on what they believe it, we’re still being pushed around. Many women of color are restricted by voting due to gerrymandering and ID laws. Women may work hard, but our pay is still less compared to our male counterpart. It may seem like women have control over their own being, but this is far from the truth. Politically, the United States government is led by the male majority. (105 women in Congress, 21 women in Senate, 84 women in House of Representatives, and 5 delegates for American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, District of Columbia, and the Virgin Islands.) These numbers count for a small amount of each Chamber being served. This lack of women in each Chamber leads to a small portion of decisions regarding women’s health in the control of men.

Our healthcare has always been under scrutiny. Under Obama the United States passed the Affordable Care Act. It was a big step for universal healthcare for all in America. While it may not have been the best to begin with, it was a way for us to start. It’s estimated that 20 million people had signed up for healthcare with the Affordable Care Act. The ACA was a trailblazer for health care for many who couldn’t obtain it. It allowed children to stay on their parent’s plans until they were 26, and made insurance companies cover people with pre-existing conditions. Another health care perk from the ACA was that women were granted free birth control. A staple for many women across the country let alone the globe. This doesn’t just prevent unwanted pregnancy it’s an actual medication for millions of women facing issues related to their bodies. It’s frowned upon by some religions to even use contraceptives leading to the debate on whether your provider has the right to refuse birth control coverage. It’s a war, and it’s getting ugly. This issue had died down for a bit, but now with a new administration in town it’s back on the table. The Supreme Court never reached a decision on where employers should stand. There are 9 Supreme Court Justices, and out of them 3 are women. So here we have 6 men making that decision on what an employer can do when it comes to allowing birth control. That hardly seems like it would be fair. A man should not dictate what a woman can and cannot do with herself. If a woman needs birth control, then she should have access to it without any issues. Keeping it free will help women from not only unwanted pregnancies, but to help keep major diseases from becoming worse. An example would be Endometriosis. A disease that I unfortunately suffer from. I know firsthand the horror of having this and the constant pain it causes me. The treatment for Endometriosis is birth control. I’m not using it to be promiscuous, I’m simply using it so I can be a functioning adult. Without it I’ve had to endure horrible days and nights of pain where I can’t move, can’t eat, and can’t sleep. I depend on birth control for the rest of my life. Men cannot have Endometriosis, nor can they get pregnant, so why must a group of men make this decision for women?

It’s more than just the birth control debate. It’s our lives at stake here. Women are sexualized to no end. Movies, music, and TV have become worse over the years. Our bodies are under constant scrutiny. Kim Kardashian was made famous for her sex tape. A sex tape. She’s worth millions of dollars, but she’s constantly being picked on by the male, and female, population for what she looks like or what she talks about. No one stops and thinks about who she is as a person. It all comes back to her sex tape from over ten years ago. She’s a mother, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. People are criticizing her for her every little move. We have to stop and think about how we treat men. James Deen is one of the leading male adult film stars in the business. He’s got the looks, and he’s got the stamina to be an adult film star. He’s cool, he’s hot, he’s trendy, and no one bats an eye if he does something wrong. In fact, in recent years Deen has been accused of raping women and degrading them along with being physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive. Not just to one women but multiple; women he’s been in long term relationships with, and women on set. This came out in later 2015, and it’s now coming close to two years later. No one talks about it. There was to be a documentary regarding the allegations, but Deen allegedly took the signed release forms for the documentary. It was set to premiere on Showtime in July 2016 with an update regarding more allegations. The documentary is currently in limbo due to a lawsuit involving Deen. People are so quick to assume that these women are lying about these allegations. They are just looking for easy money. Like Kim Kardashian, which many people she married Kanye West simply due to his wealth. Women are constantly second guessed for what they say and do. Kardashian could come out and say she was sexually abused by a man, but many would say she deserved it. Why? Because it’s Kim Kardashian and she made a sex tape once so she is automatically lumped into the category of being “slutty”.

This behavior isn’t just limited to celebrities. Even on a local level we’re constantly blaming the victim for what’s happened to them. In the documentary “Audrie and Daisy” we see two teenage girls that are in high school in different parts of the United States. Both girls we’re raped at parties, with pictures of them being distributed around their school. The girls we’re labeled as “sluts” and harassed continuously. Due to the harsh treatment by her classmates Audrie Pott committed suicide by hanging. She was 15 years old. The juveniles in Audrie’s case were charged and sent to juvenile hall for their actions. But Audrie would not be able to return to life and live. The behavior conducted by the boys we’re the direct reason that Audrie Pott is not alive anymore. Simply because she was drunk and she wanted it, right? Daisy Coleman was 14 years old when she was sexually assaulted at a party with her 13-year-old friend Paige. Daisy was sexually assaulted by her older brother’s 17-year-old friend at the party while being unconscious after consuming too much alcohol. People stood by and watched, some filmed the event. When it was over, they took Daisy and Paige back to Daisy’s house. Paige made it inside, but Daisy was still passed out from all the alcohol consumption. She laid in the cold wet lawn until morning when her mother found her. Due to the town being close nit, and the 17-year-old being a star athlete, students and adults we’re quick to say that the girls we’re lying. The video of the sexual assault we’re never turned into the police as they believed they had been deleted. Daisy left school after continuous harassment at school and over social media. Her mother lost her job, and their house was set on fire. The accused student pleaded guilty to a less counter of misdemeanor count of child endangerment. It’s believed that his grandfather, a former state representative, was the reason for the lack of reasonable punishment. He received two years of probation with a delayed sentence of four months if he violated his probation terms. Daisy and her family moved shortly after their house was set on fire. She now travels around the country to help educate others about the dangers of sexual assault and cyber bullying.

With the stories of sexual assault, along with the health care debate, we need feminism to help put women first. A woman's ability to make her own decisions without the judgment of a man is important for the world. We’re humans, we bleed like men do, and we can work just as hard as men. Our voices are strong, and we’re more than just a sexual object to keep men happy. We deserve better than what we’ve been given.

Ashley Tacey

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