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natromanxoff · 3 years ago

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25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #peter freestone #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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A Place Like This 4 - Ending

Warnings: this short series includes dark elements including noncon, violence, mentions of mental illness, mentions of contraception, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped.

Note: Alright, this is gonna be the last part. Hope y’all enjoyed.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You didn’t know how you fell asleep. You chalked it up to your near-death experience and the physical shock that still ravaged your body. You were roused by a soft sway. Andy carried you up the stairs as the pale early morning light broke through the shrouded windows. You groaned, your body was sore.

He angled you through your bedroom door and set you down, your body enveloped in the duvet as he pulled the rest of your covers over you. He sat on the edge of the bed and grinned down at you. He had already dressed, the same clothing he’d shed before the fire. You turned your face away from him.

“I’m going into town. I’ll try to be quick.” He said. “There’s a lot of snow to clear though so… who knows,” His hand was on your shoulder, heavy even through the layers. “Sleep, relax…” He leaned in so that his beard tickled your cheek. “You’ll need your energy.”

You shuddered and turned your back to him. He chuckled and stood. You listened to the old wooden floor as it groaned beneath his weight and the door shut behind him with a soft click. You buried your head in your pillow as you tried to chase away visions of the night before.

You should’ve just left well enough alone. Should have.

Your sank back down into your drowsiness, reached for it, as you welcomed sleep and an escape from your new reality. If it were only for a few minutes or a few hours, you needed it because there was no true escape to be had.

When you woke again, you heard muffled voices below. Your head was heavy. You must’ve slept for some time. You sat up and climbed to you feet with a stagger. You went to your dresser and pulled out a sweatshirt and a pair of corduroy pants. You slipped into a pair of cotton panties but didn’t bother with your bra as the loose shirt hung from your shoulders.

The stairs creaked and you turned to stare at the door. He didn’t knock before he entered. Instead, Andy strode in and shut the door swiftly behind him. He placed the paper bag on your dresser as he neared and you backed away until you were against the wall.

“You’re looking better,” He said. “Your mother will be happy.” You were silent as he watched you. “I made sure she took her pills, don’t you worry, and I brought back breakfast. For all of us.”

He turned and unfolded the top of the bag. He reached inside and pulled out a slender box. He held it out to you.

“She’s warming it up now. It was a long drive.” He said. “You should eat before you take it.”

You hesitantly took the box. Your insides twisted and you sidled away from him to sit on the bed. You carefully slipped the flap open and slid out the single pill.

“We’ll be safer from here on out,” He reached into the bag again and revealed a large box of condoms. He smiled as he faced you and read the side. “Ribbed for her pleasure, huh? Looks like I’m doing you all sorts of favours.”

You shook your head as you popped the pill out of the wrapper. You swallowed it dry and closed up the box before tucking it away in your night table. Andy set down the box of condoms and neared. He sat besides you and played with the loose sleeve of your shirt.

“I’d say we could test these out now but you’re mom’s worried,” He sneered. “Come down, humour her, and we’ll catch up later.”

“You should’ve killed me,” You croaked.

“No fun in that,” He stood and stretched his arms behind him. “But lots of fun to be had.”

“How can you do this? How can--”

“You know what I’ve learned. This world is cruel whether you’re good or bad so what’s the point in trying.” He snarled. “Might as well get what you can out of it any way you can. Good and bad be damned.” He went to the door and swung it open. “Come on. Leave your mom waiting and she might start to expect you’re up to something.”

You rose and sniffed. You tucked your feet into your slippers and followed him into the hall. You wrung your hands. You could taste the powdery remnants of the pill on your tongue and almost felt it sinking into your gut.

Your mother was in the kitchen. She pulled out the pan of scrambled eggs, hash, and sausage. The smell of coffee floated in the air.

“Dear, you’re awake,” She set the pan down and laid out the three plates stacked on the counter. “I was so worried. How many times did I tell you when you were young to be careful of ice?”

“Uh,” You sat and Andy went to help her at the counter. “There was a lot of snow. I couldn’t see.”

He nodded subtly, a silent approval as he faced away from you. You mother divvied up the goods and Andy turned with two plates and set them on the table. He turned back from the last and took it from your mother.

“Sit, I’ll get the coffee… and your tea, of course. The kettle should be ready.” He set the plate down and pulled out her chair.

She sat and preened and you hid your dismay. You picked up your fork but your mother shook her head to warn you to wait. You did as Andy brought you both mugs and grabbed the cream and milk from the fridge. He sat with his own cup of coffee and sighed.

“Well, it’s been a bit of a disastrous few days but… I’m really glad I was here to help you ladies out,” He beamed. “Out here, all alone, you two really could’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

🍂

Later that day, after your mother laid down for her nap, you retreated to your office. Writing would help distract you. And if you couldn’t write, it gave you a reason to be alone. You sat before your screen, staring at the blinking cursor. You were supposed to be writing about themes for unique holiday gatherings. You weren’t much of a host but writing had taught you how to bluff.

You sat back in your chair and pressed your hands to your temples. You couldn’t concentrate. You still felt a slight chill and a shadow of fatigue hovered over you. He would be back to work tomorrow, if the lumberyard didn’t shut down due to snow. The storm had slowed enough that it might not.

The door opened and you spun around. Andy let the door slowly close behind him as he crossed the room but it didn’t click. You watched him near and he reached past you to your desk. He laid down the condom and smirked.

“Well, it’s quiet around here,” His fingers flitted over your shoulder as he drew back. “I’m pretty bored.”

“I’m working.” You swiveled back and rested your fingers on the keyboard. He grabbed your chair and rolled it back. He stepped forward and bent to look at your laptop.

“Hmm, not much,” He said and snapped his fingers. “Here.”

He grasped your arm and tugged until you stood. He pulled the chair up behind him and sat as you shuffled aside.

“What are you doing?” You reached for the mouse as he did and he batted your hand away.

“Get undressed,” He demanded as he minimized your document and scrolled through the rest of your files. “Now.”

“Andy--”

“You don’t wanna make a scene. Wake up your mother?” He looked at you briefly. “I thought you understood how this was going to work.”

You nodded and backed away. He glanced back at your computer and sighed as he rolled the wheel of the mouse and clicked. You lifted your sweat shirt over your head and shivered. It was cold despite the distant rattle in the vents.

“He wore black. Always black. As if he thought he could fade into the background. Often he did, as he watched her. As he followed her through the crowded streets. She never noticed him, never was aware of her watcher only six steps behind…” He read allowed. “Not until that day.”

He clicked his tongue and turned to you as you unbuttoned your fly. You blinked at him dumbly and froze.

“Interesting story you got going there,” He remarked. “A bit… fantastical. Real villains aren’t so obvious.”

You blanched and looked away. You pushed your zipper down and shoved your pants down your legs. You stepped out of them, your wool socks caught in the ankles and stood. He grabbed the elastic of your panties and drew you forward.

“We’ll have to be quick right now,” He said. “But tonight, we can take our time.”

You caught yourself on his shoulder as he pulled you close. His fingers brushed along the front of the cotton and forced your legs apart. He pushed the fabric aside and felt along your folds. He poked inside you roughly and growled. He rescinded his hand and stood suddenly.

He took the condom from the desk and held it out to you. “Put it on me.”

He was quick to pull up his flannel shirt and undo his jeans. He slid them down with his briefs and pulled himself out over the top. Your hands shook as you tore open the wrapped. You flicked it onto the desk as you held onto the rubber. You pressed it to his tip and slowly pushed the ring down his length so it stretched over him. He groaned as you reached his base.

“The chair. On your knees.” He ordered as his cock bobbed before him.

You gulped and climbed onto the chair, gripping the back as it threatened to tilt beneath you. He grabbed the arms and rolled it back until his cock pressed against your ass. He hooked his hand over your shoulder as his other guided his tip down. He slid your panties aside and poked around. You arched your back as he found your entrance and pushed inside slowly.

You were dry and the rubber hurt as he got deeper. You gasped and dug your nails into the leather. He pushed himself to his limit and snarled as he wiggled his hips. He thrust slowly and the chair shifted slightly. He took a deep breath and repeated the motion, harder, so that his flesh clapped against yours. The chair jolted beneath you.

“Fuck,” He rasped as he gripped the back of your neck and slid his hand around to grope your chest. “Maybe you can write about this, hmm?”

You braced yourself against the chair as it shook beneath you. He rutted into you harder and faster with each rock of his hips. Your body responded and his strokes grew slicker and smoother. You bit into the heel of your hand as you tried to keep quiet.

“Tonight…” He spoke as he kept on. “Three taps. You come to me. Got it?”

“Yes,” You croaked as you slapped your hand back against the chair.

His hand left your tit and stretched over yours on the leather. He clung to the chair as he pounded into even hard. You struggled to catch your breath as your core swelled. He didn’t relent as you whined and the share rocked noisily beneath you. Your thighs quaked as your orgasm bloomed and you choked on your voice.

He slammed into you over and over. The tails of his shirt tickled your ass as he did and your hips ached at the sheer force. He squeezed your neck and drew you back against him as he groaned. His hips slowed and he took long, ragged strokes as he came. He stifled his voice with a growl and stilled.

He pulled out and pushed you away so that the chair spun slightly under you. You slipped down to stop it, your ass tender as you righted yourself on the seat. He hummed as he slid the condom off and flung it into the bin of crumpled papers under your desk. You stood and stepped past him to gather your clothes.

“You wanted this,” He said as he tucked his cock away. “That’s why you write that garbage.”

“Shut up,” You hissed as you fixed your panties and shook out your pants. “Don’t talk about my writing.”

“Excuse me,” He grabbed your chin and forced you to stand straight, your foot caught in your pants as they crumpled to the floor again. “You really wanna keep pushing me?”

You glared at him, searching his face as he sneered back. His jaw ticked and you tore your eyes away.

“Sorry,” You uttered.

He scoffed and released you roughly. You stumbled and bent to pull your pants up. He watched as he crossed his arms.

“What happens if the old lady doesn’t get her pills?” He asked.

You took your shirt and stood abruptly. You hugged the thick fabric to your chest and frowned.

“Don’t…” You warned.

“I just want to be prepared.” He shrugged and grinned. “Just in case… something happens.”

“I’ll be good. Just leave her alone.” You stepped closer. “Whatever you want--”

“Whatever I want…” He bit his lip and his eyes drifted down. “Tonight, when you come in, don’t say a word. You get in the bed and suck my dick until I tell you to stop.” He winked and gave a low chuckle. “Oh and I got word that the yard isn’t going to be running tomorrow so… I wanna wake up the same way.”

You sniffed and glanced away. “Got it.”

He stepped closer and you shied away. He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”

🍂

The wet noises of your mouth were trapped beneath the blanket. Andy’s thick legs bent and tented the covers as your hand slid in time with your mouth. He was salty and slick. You held in a gag as he hit the back of your throat. Your stomach had felt off since you woke but you barely noticed your discomforts anymore for this man who had made himself a pestilence on your life.

His hands pressed against the back of your head as he urged you on. You let him. You had found in the last few weeks that it was easier to just give in. Appease him and it wasn’t so bad, though his persistence remained. Any hour he was there, any time your mother was disposed, he was on you.

You tried not to think of the e-mail you received the day before. A warning from the magazine. Your work was late and often time subpar. You needed to get your shit together. You knew why but that wasn’t a problem you could solve. No, that problem was halfway down your throat.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” He rasped. “Oh--”

You pulled your mouth off of him and the blankets tangled around you as the sudden flip of your stomach had you frantic. You nearly fell off the bed as you pushed past his leg and brought your hand to your lips. The covers slipped from your shoulders and hung from the edge of the mattress as you wretched and your entire body tense. You looked around in panic and spewed into the dish of ancient potpourri that sat in the window ledge.

“What the fuck!” Andy sat up.

“I’m sorry… I don’t---” You put the dish down and wiped your mouth. “I don’t feel very well.”

“You’re sick?” He asked as he turned his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I think so. Stomach bug.” You said guiltily. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something--”

“It’s okay, I don’t need your mouth,” He stood and crossed to you. He spun you around and pulled you back against him. “Bend over.”

“A condom--”

“I’ll pull out,” He smacked your ass and you bent over. He dragged you back onto his cock. “Fuck. You fucking edged me, you little bitch.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shut up,” He gripped your hips and rammed into you without relent. “You’re gonna clean that up. Then your mouth.” He growled. “Then we’ll try again.”

Your back ached as his pelvis crashed into your ass over and over. You let out a strangled cry and his breaths grew louder as they mingled with stifled curses. His hips stuttered and he sank into you with a startled grunt. He snarled as he spasmed and you felt his cum coat your walls.

“What the fuck?” You grabbed his hands and tried to shove them away. He clung to you and held himself deep inside of you as he purred. “Andy!”

“It’s alright,” He shuddered and slowly slipped out of you. He drew and hand back and slid his fingers through the cum that leaked from you and smeared it down your leg. “It’s too late to worry about all that.”

“What are you talking about?” You tore away from him and stood so fast it made you dizzy. “We’ve been safe. We--”

“That pill,” He pushed his tongue against the inside of his lip. “I switched the packaging. It was an anti-nausea pill.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You grimaced. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged and laughed. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and pushed his shoulders back.

“I’m not. I can’t be.” You said. “You’re lying.”

“Only one way to find out,” He smirked. “We can go to town, get you a test today.”

“No, no, no,” You stormed towards him and pushed his shoulder. “No, it’s not true.”

“Shit,” He caught your wrists and sneered up at you. “What is your mother going to think?”

“Let go of me. You bastard!” You wriggled in his grasp. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a slut.” He retorted. “But I’ve got a good job, I’ve shown I can manage the house, and I think…” He twisted your wrists until you whined. “I’m a pretty decent father.”

“Stop,” You hissed.

He chuckled and stood, holding your arms above you as he did. You were helpless as you struggled against him.

“I know you’ve never really had a man in the house,” He taunted. “But you’re just going to have to get used to it.” He let go of your left arm and twisted your right behind you as he spun you. “Hell, I think your mother will be happy. A real man to take care of the family.”

He held you to him and you felt his cock twitch against you. “I hate you.” You muttered.

“I know,” He preened. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

🍂 🍂 🍂 🍂

End Note: I’ve left this fairly open to interpretation but that being said, hope you all had fun!

#andy barber #dark!andy barber #dark andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #au #lumberjack au #lumberjack #fic #series #short series #a place like this #defending jacob #dark fic #dark!fic

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flamencodiva · 4 years ago

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Getting Back to You 14 - Canceled Wedding

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word Count For Series: 100K+ words

Beta: @superfanficnatural and @emoryhemsworth and @jensengirl83

Book Cover by @talesmaniac89

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The day of the wedding

It had taken a lot out of Amaya to get up that morning. She and Dean had arrived in the bunker to give their report and spent the rest of the week researching. Much to her dismay, this roughneck of a man hated to research; but here he was in her room, surrounded by books. The garment bag that held her wedding dress taunted her. Climbing off her bed, she ripped off the business attire she had on and grabbed clothing she hadn’t worn in a long time. Digging through her drawers, she picked out a pair of skin tight Jeans ripped at the knee, a band tee, leather jacket, and black boots. Reaching deep into the closet of her room in the bunker, she also grabbed her helmet and bike keys and made her way to the garage.

“Maya?!” Sam’s voice echoed along the hallway. “Maya stop, where are you going?”

“Out,” she grumbled as she moved past him.

“Amaya,” Mary’s voice made her freeze. “Amaya, please. Can’t you and Dean talk about this?”

“There is nothing to talk about, Mary,” Amaya closed her eyes. “There is no wedding. There will be no marriage. I can work with Dean peacefully on assignments, but other than that, we’re done.”

“Amaya,” Mary tried to reach for her, the woman turning and scowling.

“Mary, I can’t give your family what they want. I told you what happened. I told you what I can’t give him, so, please. Let’s just be ready for the inevitable.”

“You are always going to be a part of this family, Amaya,” Mary said as she placed her hands on Amaya’s cheeks. “You may not be marrying Dean… yet,” she smiled. “But I know this will pass. Please be careful out there?” Amaya simply nodded.

Making her way to her bike, she threw off the tarp that was covering it and ran her fingers along it. Dean stayed hidden as he watched her; he waited until she was out the garage door before rushing to the Impala.

“Dean, where are you going?” his mother asked.

“Following her,” he replied. “Wedding isn’t happening, but I’m not going to let her get killed.”

He figured that was a good enough response, burning rubber as he peeled out of the garage and made sure to keep shadow distance from Amaya. He was getting used to the Impala’s features in this world; the GPS was handy when he wanted to follow someone.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice came over the radio. Rolling his eyes, Dean reached for the microphone of the radio and sighed before pressing the button.

“What, Sam?” Dean growled.

“What the hell are you doing with my brother’s car?!” he whispered angrily through the radio.

“Going after Amaya and making sure she doesn’t get killed,” Dean snapped.

“She’ll be--”

“Would your brother let her go off on her own if they were in the middle of a fight?” Dean interrupted.

The silence over the radio gave Dean his answer.

“You scratch that car,” Sam took a pause to take in a breath. “I’ll kill you. That car means everything to us. It’s one that was passed down, and we kept it in good condition.”

Dean had to smile at that before answering.

“Yeah,” he let out a small chuckle, “I know. Trust me, I know.”

With that, Dean turned off the CB Radio and focused on following Amaya. He wondered what kind of trouble she would get into.

As he continued to follow her, Dean noticed she stopped at a seedy motel.

“Huh,” he said to himself. “Looks like the Ice Queen knows how to rough it after all.”

He waited until he watched her get a room before he asked for a room next to hers. The minute he showed the Men of Letters badge, the man just nodded and handed him a key. Making his way to the Impala, Dean looked around, knowing he had to hide the car. He never wanted to hide her. It was his Baby, and she was special. But if he didn’t, he knew Amaya would spot him.

“Where can I put you, Baby?” Dean muttered.

Looking across the street, he sighed; it was the only option. Driving the car across the street, he parked her where he could see her, hoping that Amaya wouldn’t notice. Grabbing his bag, he made sure the car was locked and made his way back to the motel. Once inside his room, he could hear movement coming from Amaya’s room. It was the familiar sounds of thumbtacks being pushed into the wall and the typing on a keyboard. Whatever she was working on, he would need to keep an eye on her.

Hours had passed, and in between the shuffling and cursing was the occasional sound of Amaya throwing up. That was what worried him. Two weeks and she was still losing her lunch of all things. Something was up, and she was ignoring the symptoms. Although, to be fair, she could hold her liquor, but still, this much upchucking was dangerous.

Dean sat in the motel room for hours listening to her moving around and vomiting, watching TV and researching, cursing and showering, and eating. That is until her phone began to ring. Dean sat up straight and moved closer to the wall they shared.

“Richy!” Amaya greeted warmly. “Been a while.”

Dean could hear her shuffling and grabbed the motel notepad and pen, ready to take down anything.

“You sure?” he heard her say. “Richie, you’ve been wrong before.” Dean could hear her take in a breath, “Yeah, not happening. Just because the wedding is off doesn’t mean I’m going to spread my legs for you. So either you give me the info I need, or I hunt your ass down and kick it.”

Dean couldn’t help but smirk at that line. It reminded him of his Amaya when someone pushed her buttons a little too far.

“Okay, I’ll head out,” he heard her respond. “I’ll meet you at the bar on Main Street. And no, we are not going to do anything. I’m going to drink, you are going to give me information, or I shoot your cock off.” Dean could hear her let out a laugh, “Try me Ritchie, see if I’m lying.”

It didn’t take long for Dean to hear her move out of the room and head to her bike. He made sure to be quick as he watched the bike move out of the parking lot before rushing to Baby, turning the ignition, and peeling out of the lot, following her at a safe distance. True to what he heard, she made her way to a dive bar on Main Street.

It was hard watching her from afar. He saw her drink, flirt, and hustle; it made him think back to the times he watched his Amaya do the same. Except, he remembered her shooting guys down quickly. He could see it when she glanced at him while he flirted with the girls who would come up to him in his own world. Closing his eyes, he thought back to her, wondering what was going on. Shaking his head of those thoughts, he focused on what this world’s Amaya was doing, how she was gathering information, talking to anyone and everyone who would open their mouths.

And yet, he remembered how in his world he would go with the different girls while Amaya would go off back to the motel alone. He knew what he was doing, trying to get her to move on. He was an ass, and he knew it. But he was poison, cursed. Everything bad that happened, not just in his life but of those around him, always ended in tragedy. And who was he to bring that on her? Looking at the Amaya before him, he could see her turn the men down left and right while drinking her troubles away. It was like looking in a mirror when it came to her actions.

Digging into his pocket, he grabbed the phone Sam had given him when they had gotten back to the bunker and dialed.

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “See if you can hitch a ride to where I am. I might need back up in keeping Amaya out of trouble.”

Dean looked at the calendar in front of him. Glass of whiskey, two fingers full, and the bottle open to his other side. Taking the glass, he placed the rim to his lips, taking a large sip. Letting out a scoff, he threw the paper calendar across the room. He was angry, and he needed to do something: needed to hit something. Putting the top on the bottle of whiskey, he downed his glass and made his way to the training room. Shedding everything but his boxers, he taped up his hands and looked at the punching dummy.

With every punch, he tried to envision things that would make him angry. For one, he imagined Ketch. God, he hated the British bastard. He hoped that Amaya was staying away from him in their world. Dean also hated the way he treated Amaya, like a prize. Not to say that Amaya isn’t a prized possession, but Amaya was a goddess to him. A strong huntress, a smart woman, and the keeper of his heart.

His fist hit the dummy’s face, and he gave a satisfied grin. He could imagine bashing Ketch’s teeth in, just like when he caught the bastard cheating on Amaya.

Amaya watched from the door at the punches Dean would give the dummy. She wasn’t used to seeing Dean let out his anger on anything other than a monster. Running her fingers through her hair, she made her way to her room and changed into her workout clothes. After putting on a pair of yoga pants, sport’s bra, and her sneakers, she walked towards the training room, pulling her hair up into a high, tight ponytail.

Making her way inside the gym, she grabbed the punching mitts and taped up her hands, putting the mitts on and slapping them together to get Dean’s attention.

“You want to box,” she said, “let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” Dean sighed as he grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face.

“You look like you need to blow off steam and the dummy looks like he’s had enough,” Amaya explained as she let out a sigh. “Grab the gloves, and let’s go.”

Dean looked at the woman standing before him, his lips in a thin line as he made his way to grab the boxing gloves and put them on. As he approached Amaya, she put the mits up.

“Lets see what you got,” she challenged.

Getting into position, he started off with small jabs, not wanting to hurt her.

“Wow,” she stood up straight and looked at him. “How did you manage to punch the dummy with those soft hands?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“No, I’m curious,” she quirked. “What are you scared of? I can take it.”

Dean got into position again and rolled his neck and shoulders. He punched a little harder, this time gaining a smirk from her.

“Monsters are shaking in their claws with those punches,” she continued to sass. “Come on Winchester, show me what you really got!”

Dean let out a frustrated grunt as he moved to punch harder, but every time he looked at her, his heart dropped. He should be home, should be waiting for his Amaya to walk down the aisle towards him. He should be happily married by now: he didn’t know what to do. He turned away from her and walked over to the punching dummy. Reeling his arm back, he punched it as hard as he could, sending it toppling to the ground.

“You know,” Amaya broke the silence after a few minutes, “you need to get out of here. And I think I know just the place.”

Dean tilted his head at her, “You don’t want to listen to--”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do,” Amaya sassed. “Besides, you look like you’re about to burst if you don’t talk. Which is refreshing, to say the least.” She sighed, “With our Dean,” she paused and licked her lips, “he loved to bury his feelings deep down. Hated talking about what was bothering him.”

“So then where are you taking me?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Somewhere that I never took my Dean to,” she admitted. “I think you’ll like it.”

“What makes you think I’ll like it?” Dean asked.

“You grew up different from this world’s Dean,” Amaya said as she walked with him to room eleven. “You don’t keep your emotions in and, well--” she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, “hairs different. It’s not spiked up, just, combed to the side and… preppy.”

“I--” Dean gave a soft blush, “It’s how I always styled my hair. I mean… I’m getting used to the flannel.”

“It suits you,” she chuckled. “But,” she rocked on her heels, “I think we can go on a small shopping trip, and you can buy clothes that make you comfortable.”

“We don’t have to,” Dean said as he shook his head. “I should learn to blend in.”

“You blend in fine,” Amaya reassured him. “Just for when we’re here in the bunker. You can dress how you normally dress in your world, how’s that sound?”

“I guess it’s okay,” Dean agreed. “You know, I didn’t want to say anything but,” he gave a nervous chuckle, “It’s really weird not having money to buy anything or getting paid for missions.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “Something I just need to get used to until we sort it out.”

“Anything else that weirds you out?” Amaya asked, interested in what his world was like.

“Sam,” Dean admitted. “Something is--” he shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands around, “off about him. But it might be because he doesn’t have his glasses on.”

Amaya did a double take, “Wait, what?” she shook her head at Dean and let out a snort. “Sam? With glasses? No way.”

Dean let out a soft laugh and smiled brightly, “I’m not kidding. Glasses, and his hair in a man bun.”

Amaya froze and had to do another double take, “A what now?”

“Well, I mean, he sections his hair off and he has this like small pony tail and--” Dean paused when Amaya held on to the wall holding on to her stomach in laughter, “what? What did I say?”

Amaya waved him off as she walked towards her room. As she reached her door, she looked over to look at Sam, who was coming from the kitchen; her laughter echoed through the halls, making Sam tilt his head and look at her.

“What?” Sam asked.

She shook her head trying to contain her laughter, “Nothing, just something otherworld Dean said. Inside joke.”

Sam gave her an amused but bewildered look before heading into his room.

Dean got up as Amaya walked out of the bar and headed towards her bike. He made sure to wait until she was on the road before rushing to the Impala and making his way back to the motel. As he walked towards his room from across the street, he noticed Sam and rushed over to get him out of line of sight.

“Are you crazy?!” Dean hissed. “She’ll see you!”

Sam looked at Dean as if he had two heads, “You called me to help you because you said, and I quote,” Sam gave him a smug but serious look, “I need help keeping Amaya out of trouble. So I came to help you drag her back to the bunker.”

Dean ran a hand across his face before dragging Sam into his motel room.

“Oh god,” Sam gave a look of disgust. “Why are you two staying in a filthy place like this?”

“Cheaper,” Dean huffed as he took a good look at Sam. “Wait… are you-- are you wearing a man bun? And glasses?!”

“I’ve always had a man bun and glasses,” Sam said as he looked flabbergasted at Dean. “The hair gets in the way, but I don’t want to cut it. I love my long hair,” he smoothed out his hair. “And I need glasses to read close up and I just keep them on because it’s easier.”

“Weird,” Dean muttered. “That’s just weird and… Just get a haircut! It won't kill you!”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sam pointed out. “Why are we not dragging her to the bunker?”

“Because if you do that, she’ll shut down,” Dean said as he got closer to the wall. “She shut down. All that’s going to do is send her to London, and I don’t think your brother would appreciate that now would he?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth as he let Dean’s words sink in, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d probably do the same thing you would be doing now.”

“Okay, so just trust that what we are going to do is follow her,” Dean said. “She’s been talking to a guy named Richie and if he’s anything like the Richie from my world, who was killed by a demon, then I’d say she is going into something half cocked,” he whispered.

“Why are we whispering?” Sam whispered as he looked at Dean.

“Because of the thin wall!” Dean said as he gestured all around. “So far I think she doesn’t know we’re here but who knows. If she’s anything like my Amaya back home, she’s as sharp as a whip.”

“I know,” Sam said with a smile. “Passed all of her hunting exams with a perfect score. Not even Dean could get that. Or myself! And I studied hard for those.”

“You guys have tests? And get paid for this?” Dean said as his face fell. All the hustling and struggling, and here was a world where hunters could get paid and have an apple pie life! “You guys are lucky.”

“I--” Sam took off his glasses to clean them considering Dean’s words, “I guess.”

“I mean it,” Dean sighed as he laid himself down on the bed, placing his arms behind his head. “You guys don’t have to worry about money because you get paid. You have good cars, and can stay in good places,” Dean let out a chuckle.

“I guess your world is a bit... harsher?” Sam asked, hoping Dean would tell him a bit more. “I know that you don’t talk. You’re like Amaya in that aspect. She closes up and keeps it in until it all explodes.”

Dean nodded in silence before answering, “Yeah I can see that.”

“Just,” Sam licked his lips, “is my brother safe over there?”

“You guys are trained right?” Dean asked, looking over at the man that resembled his brother.

“Since we turned thirteen,” Sam said.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Dean assured him. “He’ll be just fine.”

Sam let the discussion drop as the sound of the phone ringing next door stole their attention. Both men shot up and rushed to the window, watching as Amaya put on her helmet, started her motorcycle, and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Shit,” Dean hissed as he grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.”

Dean grabbed Sam by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him out of the room, rushing towards the impala with him. He pressed his foot onto the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot and trying to catch up to Amaya’s bike. He kept shadow distance as he had always done, noticing that every now and then he would glance at Sam who seemed to recognize where Amaya was going.

“No,” Sam whispered to himself. “She wouldn’t. She is not that stupid to--”

“Hey,” Dean huffed as he snapped his fingers at him. "Steve Jobs wanna be, what is it?”

Sam took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “There is a mission near here. No one has been able to take it because the intel has been scarce.”

“So you’re telling me she’s on a wolf hunt?” Dean growled. “How many?”

“We don’t know,” Sam admitted. “We’ve not been able to get as much intel. It’s been sketchy at best.”

“How many, Sam?!” Dean barked.

“Ten,” Sam muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Dean growled as he glanced at the man next to him. “Did you say TEN!”

“Could be more,” Sam sighed, as he adjusted his small ponytail. “The intel changes every couple of weeks.” He pulled out his phone and began talking to someone on the other end, “Listen I need a dossier 1489672. The wolf pack.”

Dean focused on following Amaya as she turned into a dirt road and stopped by the entrance to a small beaten path; it was already sending Dean red flags as she grabbed her gun and began walking down it.

“Let’s go,” Dean rushed towards the trunk and popped it open.

Digging into the trunk, he was thankful to recognize the silver bullets and his own Colt M1911A1.

“Oh hello beautiful,” Dean whispered as he kissed it. “Lets gank some monsters sweetheart.”

“Gank?” Sam scoffed as he looked at Dean. “God, could you be even more of a roughneck?”

“At least I don’t look like someone's submissive bitch,” Dean chuckled. “Let me guess, you love it when someone pulls on your little pony tail there.”

"Please," he gave a huff. "If anything I'm the dom. Girls choke on my cock and they gush just thinking about it," he gave Dean a smug smile.

“One, no, don’t need to think about my brother like that,” Dean held up his hand. “And B, if anything I’m the one that can make girls scream and gush in their panties. Not you.”

“Want to bet on it?” Sam chuckled.

“I-” Dean opened and closed his mouth. He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, “No, no way. I mean besides, I would totally win,” Dean huffed. “But no, that’s just weird.”

Before Sam could answer, a howl and the familiar sound of gunshots firing echoed in the distance. The brothers turned towards the sound as Dean closed the trunk and made their way towards the sound. He could see different figures running towards the east: they were chasing someone.

“MAYA!” Dean yelled as he made his way towards the group. Lifting his gun, he aimed at the nearest wolf and aimed for the heart with a clean shot.

For the next few wolves, he and Sam took them out without a problem until he reached where the wolf had chased Amaya down towards a creek. Dean didn’t listen to Sam as he rushed towards her. Dean rushed forward and pushed one of the wolves out of the way before shooting it square in the heart. Noticing Amaya’s bleeding arm, he rushed to her and shielded her from another attack.

“What are you doing here?” Amaya barked as she aimed and shot at a wolf.

“Saving your ass, sweetheart,” Dean said as he turned and began taking down wolves.

“I didn’t need saving from you!” Amaya returned as she shot at a wolf.

“Your arm says otherwise, sweetheart!” Dean pointed out as he shot at another wolf. “Where the fuck are these guys coming from, Purgatory?”

“It’s one of the last pure pacs!” Amaya growled as she reloaded her gun.

“And you thought that hunting them on your own was a good idea?" Dean growled as he killed what seemed like the last one.

“I was handling it just fine!” Amaya hissed as she pushed Dean down and shot at a wolf coming towards them.

“Keep denying that you got clawed, Maya,” Dean gritted out as he turned at her after the last wolf went down. “Let’s go,” Dean took her by her good arm and dragged her towards Sam.

“Are you out of your ever loving mind!” Sam screeched. “What if you would have been bitten? Or killed?!”

“So what!” Amaya hissed. “I was supposed to get married today! Instead I broke my engagement and Dean isn’t even really here!”

“I know why you broke the engagement Maya,” Sam sighed. “You think you can’t give him a family. But I have a feeling you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong, Samuel!” Amaya sneered. “Besides, he would have tried to get us married but here we are. And I can guarantee that by the time this is fixed, I’ll be in London and he can forget about me. He can find someone who can make him happy, someone who he won’t have to regret loving.”

Dean shook his head as he continued to drag Amaya back to the car, “Sam, you drive her bike to the motel and grab her stuff, I’ll take her back to the bunker.”

“You can’t--” Amaya began but the look Dean gave her made her close her mouth.

The ride back to the bunker was silent with Sam riding Amaya’s bike back. Dean glanced over at the woman who looked just like the one he cared for back home; the last thing he needed was to see her counterpart die because he couldn’t protect her. He only hoped that his own double was doing everything in his power to keep his Amaya safe and sound.

“Okay, turn here,” Amaya directed Dean to their destination.

“Tell me again why you’re not driving?” Dean asked, annoyed as he followed her directions.

“Because, Dean is extremely, extremely protective of this car. He has never, ever, let me drive it,” she explained, sitting back and closing her eyes.

“But what happens if you’re the only one that can drive the Impala?” Dean asked as he parked the car in front of what looked like a lake.

“Not even then,” Amaya chuckled. “He would make me take care of Sam while he would drive us all back to the motel or a friend’s lodge.”

Dean followed Amaya as she got out and grabbed a bag from the trunk. She wouldn’t tell him what it was and he was curious as to why she would bring him here. He continued to observe her as she grabbed a blanket and laid it on top of Baby’s hood.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“I come here when I need a place to sort myself out,” she breathed. “I don’t show a lot of emotion in front of Dean because… well, he needs a rock to be there for him.”

“Huh,” Dean let out with a smile. “It’s the same for Amaya and me,” he said as he watched her bring out a bottle of bourbon and two plastic cups. “I mean, she’s more emotional. Tries to hold it in and be strong, but--” Dean clicked his tongue and sighed. “Eventually it comes bottling out. I love how strong she is, and over the years, I taught her to open up a bit.”

“Well,” Amaya sighed. “She is a woman. We tend to be a bit more emotional if that helps. I mean, Dean,” she let out a chuckle, “Dean is the textbook definition of macho.” She took a sip of bourbon after pouring it into the cup and passed Dean the bottle.

Dean simply nodded as he let Amaya continue to talk.

“I mean, John raised him and Sam as hunters. Moving from motel to motel. Military upbringing, no fun or leisure time,” she said as she took a sip of bourbon. “I know Dean would bust my chops for being a happy go lucky kid, but I knew he appreciated it when I got him to have fun. Even if John would yell at him for it, I know he had a good time because Sam had a good time.”

“What if Sam wasn’t there?” Dean asked as he looked at the woman whose face was the same as the one he loved. “I mean, Sam couldn’t have been there all the time.”

Amaya let out a small laugh as she placed some loose strands of hair behind her ear, “Oh he would put on this sourpuss face and complain the whole way through.” She looked up at the stars that began to poke out of the night sky, “But, when we would go to sleep, I know he would wait until I fell asleep to tell me he had a great time.” She took in a shaky breath, “I am so angry at him right now, but at the same time I just want him to come home. And it doesn’t really help that you have his face.”

Dean let out a small scoff and finished the last sip of bourbon, “I need to get home.” He grabbed the bottle and poured more into his cup, “I need to prove to Amaya that I want to marry her… We were supposed to get married today.”

Amaya stayed silent as she watched him.

“We had everything ready. Every last detail was planned out, perfect in every way. We had lilacs, and lavender sprigs for the bouquets. Everything around us would be accented in purple.”

“Let me guess,” Amaya let out a chuckle as she waved a few strands of her hair in front of him. “Her favorite color?”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh as he let out a small sniffle, “Yeah.” he confirmed. “I wish so much that I could let her know that I love her. That what happened with Lisa was nothing but the witches messing with us to tear us apart.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Amaya assured him. “I know she loves you. And from what you told me when we got back,” she let out a small breath, “it sounds like she was raised the same way Dean and Sam were. That sounds like she’s scared of being abandoned if what you said about the version of my dad in your world is true.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “I always found a way to work through her fear of abandonment. But this--” he motioned around him, “this only solidified her belief that we were not meant to be when I know for a fact, it’s not true. I can feel it in my bones that we are perfect for each other.”

Amaya nodded, “That’s something nice to have.”

“Don’t you feel it? For your Dean?” he asked. “Don’t you feel it in the fiber of your being that he belongs to you?”

“Of course I feel it!” Amaya spat. “ I feel it every time he would flirt with women at the bar. Every time he took them back to the motel room. I could feel it when their screams filtered through the damn walls!”

She pushed off of Baby and walked to the lake's edge before turning around to face the man from another world who was the exact copy of the man she loved.

“Everytime I fell in bed with him I felt it!” she croaked. “Every touch, every time we fucked, for lack of a better word, made my skin tingle, heart ache, and my body crave him more and more,” she let out a shaky breath licking her lips. “But he doesn’t feel the same. He will never feel the same. And if he does, I am not going to wait around for him to admit it!” by now she was seething with anger.

Dean stood there, looking at the copy of the woman he loved; a woman who looked heart broken. A woman who deserved to be showered with love, because she was willing to give it. He wanted nothing more than to find a way to face his clone in this world and beat some sense into him. He could see the tears running down her face in the moonlight, and he waited for her to finish letting go of the anger she felt.

“When we fix this,” she huffed and licked her lips. “The minute he gets back, I’m leaving the bunker. I was better off on my own anyways.”

Dean said nothing as he looked at her. He gave a simple nod of understanding, hoping that his counterpart could fix what he was about to lose.

Dean helped Amaya to the infirmary once they arrived back at the bunker. His jaw was clenched in anger as he thought about everything that could have gone wrong. Didn't she realize that she could have died? Couldn’t she see that it would have hurt him? At the very least his counterpart would have most likely gone insane with grief.

“You must be the most selfish person I have ever met,” Dean growled.

“Selfish? Who in the fuck are you to call me selfish, you other world wannabe!” Amaya hissed.

“Did you even stop to think about how he would have felt when he came back and you were gone?!” Dean spat, as he stopped them just before the reached infirmary and pinned her against the wall, “Do you even care that one of the biggest fears I have is Amaya, my Amaya, dying because of me? Dying because of a stupid mistake I’ve made? Do you not understand that from the way everyone here talks to me thinking I’m your Dean that he wouldn’t be happy that you are gone?!”

“What do you care?!”

“I care because you have her face!” Dean said through clenched teeth. “I care because the last thing I need is her uptight, ragged ass, thinks she’s tough shit, cheap copy dying because she has a death wish!”

Amaya raised her eyebrow at him, her brown eyes boring right into his green ones. She could see it, deep in there. He loved the Amaya from his world. And it was killing him to see her, an exact copy. She could see it in the way he tried to avoid looking at her. She didn't know what came over her, but she let out a snort.

“Wow,” she tsked. “For someone who says he doesn’t love her, you really go through a lot of trouble to protect her like you do.”

Dean’s back straightened a bit as he looked at her, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He loosened his grip on her as he shook his head, “She’s a friend, who occasionally I let into my bed. Who occasionally I help relieve stress with because hunting in our world is a bitch.”

“Favorite color?” Amaya asked quickly.

“Purple.”

“Music?”

“Depends on the situation, she can rock out with the best of them, but she loves to listen to latin and pop music from time to time, which I think is lame.”

“Movie?”

“All Saints Day with the occasional Romcom bullshit like How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days.”

“What light do her eyes sparkle best in?”

“Moon light, just after a hunt and it’s night time sometimes the light hits her just right and I catch her looking and--- what the fuck are you doing?!”

“Rapid fire questioning,” Amaya said matter of factly. “Asked questions quickly to--”

“I know what it is!” Dean huffed. “That doesn’t prove anything! It only proves that I am a good friend and --”

“Best way to make her cum?” Amaya fired.

“There is a spot just under her ear-- would you stop that!” Dean hissed. “You’re trying to distract me from the fact that you want to die!”

“I do not!” Amaya countered. “I am a capable hunter and I had that wolf pack handled.”

“You tell me that gash on your arm is something you’re okay with, sweetheart?” Dean said as he crossed his arms across his chest. “How could you think that this was okay? How can you want to go out there so recklessly? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Says the man living in denial. God, how long are you going to lie to yourself? How long are you going to tell yourself that you don’t love the other version of me? Look at me and tell me to my face that you don’t love her!”

Dean licked his lips as he closed his eyes. He opened them and focused on the spot right between her nose but just enough to make it look like he was staring her in her eyes.

“I don’t love her,” Dean growled. “She is a friend. She knows that. She knew what our benefits were. She’s not stupid enough to fall in love with me. So you can think what you want, but I don’t love her.”

Amaya nodded and pushed him away from her, heading to the infirmary doors.

“You know,” she said, pausing to take one last look at him, “if that’s how you really feel. Then I guess when you get back and she leaves, it would be the best thing. Since you won’t actually have to see her die, if she’s far away from you.”

With that, Amaya opened the door and made her way to Eileen, leaving Dean alone with the words she spoke echoing around him.

Chapter 15

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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🎃 Frightful October Act I, #3 ~ Movie Marathon (Nathan Prescott)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Halloween

Word Count: 2,876

Pairing: Reader x Nathan

World: Life is Strange

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The bell rang, signaling the end of class. You stretched your arms above your head, your back cracking. For some reason, the day felt like it had passed by agonizingly slow, and you still had another class before you could go home. Unlike most of the students that attended Blackwell Academy, you didn’t live in the dorms on campus – your apartment was a five-minute walk away. The main reason you chose not to live in the dorms is that you didn’t much care to be brought into all the drama that the students thrived off of.

You gathered your things before stepping out of the classroom. Your best friend was waiting near the door, his fingers flying across the keyboard on his phone. Sean Jamison stood at five-foot-five, his thin frame covered by a pair of jeans and a chocolate brown sweater. His blonde hair looked like it had been cut using a bowl, and his brown eyes shined with mischief. He was a technology geek that planned to major in computer science and game design when he graduated.

He glanced over at you, pushing his square glasses up with his middle finger. “Last period is math, your favorite.”

You scowled at him as you passed. “Don’t remind me. We can’t all be number genius’ like you.”

Sean chuckled, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, the number genius won’t let you fail!”

“You better not. I can’t afford to flunk because of one subject.” You entered the classroom, making a beeline for the table at the back but Sean tightened his grip, pulling you back.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N.” he wagged his finger in your face. “How can you learn properly sitting in the back of the class?”

“I am not sitting in the front,” you deadpanned.

Sean frowned, pushing up his glasses. The fluorescent lights reflected off of the lenses, hiding his eyes. “Then we can compromise by sitting in the middle.”

You didn’t care for that, either, but it was better than sitting up front. There were four rows of three desks, allowing two people per desk. You scanned the room before choosing the third row from the front, sitting under one of the large windows. Sean sat beside you, focusing on his mobile game.

There were still a few minutes before class began, so you turned your attention to the window. It was the beginning of October, the sky overcast as a chilly breeze knocked leaves from the trees, colored in various shades of brown and orange. The school grounds had been covered in leaves. If you didn’t watch your step, it was easy to slide and lose your footing, hitting the ground. Just ask Miss Grant, the science teacher. She had been peddling another petition to passing students and wasn’t paying attention to the ground. Too bad she was wearing a skirt that day – her underwear choice had been the talk of the school for a week.

You felt eyes watching you and you glanced at Sean, but he was still buried in his game, hiding the phone between the desk and his lap so the teacher wouldn’t see it when she entered. You scanned the room, eyes locking with those belonging to the one and only Nathan Prescott. He was sat at the opposite end of the class in the back row. When he realized you caught him staring, he snapped his head in the opposite direction.

You frowned, turning to the teacher as she entered the room.

As expected, class was long and boring, and you found yourself zoning in and out more than a couple of times. Sean was going back and forth between taking notes and elbowing you in the side whenever the teacher sent you a pointed look. By the time class ended, your side was sore – you were sure it would bruise by tomorrow.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” he questioned as he shoved his books into his bag.

You hummed, thoughtfully, doing the same. “I’ll probably just watch a few horror movies and sleep.”

He tsked. “So much youth, wasted.”

“And what are your brilliant plans?” you scoffed, but immediately regretted it as his eyes lit up.

“Isn’t it obvious? Dino Murder Force 2 is finally being released tomorrow and I’m going to camp out in front of the store tonight so I can get my copy, then I’m going to spend the entire weekend beating the game I’m going to be the first to write an in-depth review!”

You stared at him, blankly.

He had said all of that without pausing for air, so he huffed when he finished the run-on sentence. Saying nothing, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left the room, ignoring Sean as he called after you, “You don’t understand the brilliance that is Dino Murder Force, Y/N!”

“Stop yelling, Mr. Jamison!” The teacher scolded him.

You chuckled. He was such a weirdo, but he was your weirdo.

You stepped outside, a blast of cold air stinging your skin. Autumn, in your opinion, was the calmest, most peaceful time of year. There seemed to be less drama around this time, and that was something you appreciated. Halloween was pretty cool, too.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!”

You paused near the gate, looking over your shoulder.

Nathan was jogging toward you, his usual cocky expression switched out for a nervous one.

“What’s up?” you asked, softly.

“Can I… walk you home?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

‘It’s only a five-minute walk, it can’t hurt…’ you contemplated it for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” You walked side by side, his hand occasionally bumping against your own. It brought back a flood of memories.

The first time you had met Nathan, you were in kindergarten. Back then, he was a pretty shy kid, but he was so cute that the girls in class naturally migrated towards him. He had this polarizing aura that pulled people in. You appreciated how he tried to help others the best that he could. Deep down, though, he was already beginning to harbor feelings of self-doubt and loathing.

One day during recess, you chased a rubber ball that had been kicked to the back of the building. That’s where you found him, curled up against the building as his small body shook with silent sobs. Instinctively, you rushed over to him and brought him into your arms, running your hand through his hair as you told him it would be okay. That was the first time you had spoken to him and, from that day onward, Nathan stuck to you like glue. You were his best friend, the rock that kept him grounded.

Having him depend on you so strongly made you feel needed and happy, and you oftentimes dropped whatever you were doing to accommodate him and provide comfort when he was upset, which was slowly becoming more common as you both grew.

As your relationship deepened, his parents started to take notice of you. They didn’t think that you were good enough to be friends with Nathan, and they were sure you were just trying to get to his money. Your family had no social standing, and your single mom worked three jobs just to make ends meet. In their eyes, you were trash, but they always acted pleasant on the rare occasions you met them. You had no idea how they truly viewed you.

Nathan never told you how his parents put you down and insulted your mother, or how they pressured him to stop spending time with you, but you knew him like the back of your hand and you knew he was beginning to change. The shy, kind little boy that you had become so close to was starting to morph before your eyes, but Nathan Prescott did not morph into a beautiful butterfly, he morphed into a monster – arrogant, entitled, and full of hatred.

The time you spent together became less and less frequent until, in the second year of middle school, he completely cut you out of his life. You tried talking to him, to demand an answer, but he was always surrounded by his new friends. Every time you got close, they would make fun of you and Nathan would just stand there, acting like you didn’t exist.

You became invisible to him.

While you were friendly with the other kids in your class, Nathan had been your only friend. Now you were left alone.

Shortly after, your mom began quite ill after pushing herself to keep working. She ended up being hospitalized. It was at this time that you met Sean, who found you in a similar way that you had first met Nathan.

Sean was a loner, preferring to tinker with his games and gadgets over talking to his peers, but he knew that you didn’t have any friends and he recognized that you were very distressed. Rather than bring you into his arms like you had to Nathan all those years ago, his way of comforting you consisted of forcing a handheld game into your lap and making you play with him. It wasn’t conventional, but it helped.

Your mom passed away a month after you started at Blackwell.

Nathan came to the funeral, returning to the empty apartment with you. He held you, allowing you to cry your heart out until you finally fell asleep, clutching his shirt in your fist. When you woke up the next morning, he was gone. There was a thick envelope left on the table – ‘sorry’ was the only thing written on it. Inside was a key to an apartment on the other side of town and fifteen grand in cash.

You remember thinking how typical it was that he thought cash could solve everything.

You didn’t want to accept the money, but he gave you no chance to return it. The apartment had been paid for in advance for the next four years, but you still had bills to pay and needed to buy food, not to mention the tuition for Blackwell. No job given to a high school student would be enough to pay for everything, so you did end up using some of the money, but you used it sparingly, only taking out enough for the bare necessities. In the meantime, you had gotten a part-time job at Two Whales diner.

A couple weeks later and you found another envelope in your mail. It read: ‘Quit your job. I’ll send you a monthly payment – N.’ Enclosed was fifteen hundred dollars.

You didn’t like this at all, but Nathan did what he wanted, and what he wanted he got. He had you fired from your job, knowing you wouldn’t quit on your own. You considered confronting him about everything, but that would require stepping out into the spotlight and you didn’t need that kind of drama in your life.

Even after all that, he still treated you like you didn’t exist, despite the monthly payment that was put in your mailbox every month.

So why the sudden change? Why was he suddenly approaching you after all this time?

Nathan frowned at your thoughtful expression. He knew he had royally screwed up the best thing he ever had but was it too late for him to fix things? “Hey, we’re here.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, smiling sheepishly. “Oh, right. Thanks…” you paused at the gate, hesitating. “Do you… want to come in?”

He nodded, not wanting to leave you just yet. Nathan followed you to the third floor, his mind running wild – he couldn’t remember a time that he felt so nervous.

You unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him enter. “Want something to drink?”

“Water,” he added as an afterthought. “Please.”

You stepped into the small kitchen attached to the living area, pouring out a glass of ice water for him and ice tea for yourself. He sat on the couch as you set the drinks on the coffee table, absentmindedly playing with the black rope around his right wrist.

Your eyes widened when you saw it and you reached out, holding his wrist so you could see it better. “You kept this?” It was a simple piece of rope with a yin-yang symbol tied through the front of it. You made it for him in fifth grade as a birthday present.

He quickly pulled his wrist away, his cheeks tinting as he tugged the sleeve of his jacket down. “It was a gift from you, of course I kept it.”

Those words went straight to your heart, making it increase in speed as it grew warm. You looked up at his face, taking in his appearance for the first time in a long time. His brown hair was slicked back but messy, as if he had run his hands through it nervously. His blue eyes, once bright and full of life, were dull and he had deep bags under them from a mixture of stress and lack of sleep. Overall, he looked exhausted and aged.

Seeing him in such a state made you frown.

“Stop staring at me,” he muttered, starting to feel self-conscious. People around him were constantly complimenting him, saying how gorgeous he is and how handsome, but he wasn’t very good at reading people, so he couldn’t tell if they were being genuine. Whenever you used to compliment him, it always felt genuine and made him feel happy, but when everyone else did it, it felt empty.

“Have you been sleeping, Nathan?” It was the first time you had said his name in so long, it made his breath catch in his throat. His body started to shake despite himself. “Nathan, what’s wro – ” you squeaked in surprise when he threw himself at you, sending you both to the ground. His arms were tight around your body as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You gently rubbed his back, free hand running through his soft hair. It had been so long since you last held him, but your body remembered the position perfectly.

“I’ve missed you… so goddamn much…” he sobbed, clutching you tighter. “I didn’t want to, to push you away… I had to do it! I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you sink with me…”

“Oh, Nathan,” you chided, softly. “You’ve always been such an idiot. You’re my best friend, I would have happily sank with you. And you know what? I would have dragged you back to the surface.”

“You’re too good… for me…” he cried.

You hummed, thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

It took a while for him to calm down and stop shaking, but you didn’t mind. Even after everything that had happened, he was still the most important person in your life. You would always be there to catch him when he fell.

“Can I… spend the night with you?” he asked, softly. He sounded like a child, lost and scared. The shy boy flashed in your mind.

“Of course you can,” you smiled, gently pushing him back. He pulled away from you, sliding back until he was leaning against the couch. His eyes were red and swollen, but they held more life than they had earlier. You pulled yourself to your feet, feeling pinpricks in your back and butt, unhappy about being squished against the wooden floor for so long. You glanced at the clock – it was eleven-ten. “Hey, Nathan?”

He glanced up at you.

“There’s a Halloween marathon starting in twenty minutes. Wanna watch it with me?”

Nathan smiled, remembering all the times you had binge-watched movies as kids. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You returned the smile before heading into the kitchen to make some popcorn. When you returned, Nathan had curled up on the couch with a blanket he had taken from your bedroom. He held one side of the blanket up and you squeezed in beside him, holding the bowl up as he flung it over your body. You turned the TV on and he moved closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

The first movie began, a cheap knock off of A Nightmare on Elm Street. He reached for your hand but hesitated. You smiled, slipping your hand into his and interlocking your fingers with his.

After two movies, Nathan’s eyes started to droop. He fought against the sleep invading his mind, not wanting this moment to end, but his body and mind were exhausted. His head fell onto your shoulder, breath evening out. You smiled, turning down the TV so the screams wouldn’t disturb his rest.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring – if he would go back to ignoring you or if you could be friends again, but that didn’t matter to you at the moment. You had your best friend at your side and that’s all that mattered to you.

You brought his hand to your chest, holding it with both hands. ‘No matter what happens, I will always be here for you, Nathan Prescott,’ You pressed a kiss to his palm and he smiled in his sleep. For the first time since he was a child, he slept peacefully through the night.

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crybabytoy59 · 5 years ago

Text

The Meeting (reworking)

The meeting.

I was so aroused that day my first weekend to myself in a long time my business consuming most but all of my time. Often i wished i was not such a product of my own success. looking through all the ad’s I had found on Craig’s list that evening a warm sunny day i had left work at lunchtime giving my staff the afternoon off as i did each Friday of a “Play Weekend”.

Now sat on my favourite wee leather kneeling stool in my pink pvc maids dress, a pink cartoon fairy disposable Nappy, with two large 4000ml pads both i had cut to let my pee pass through to the next this made for a very swollen Nappy plus i could wet multiple times, over them my pink pvc popper nappy cover i loved the softness of them plus i found the smell of the soft pink rubber Very overpowering. Next my huge frilly silk pants I had custom-made they had a Huge frilly heart at the rear inside the huge frilly white layered heart was embroidered the word “crybaby” ! Around the pants layers of silk and lace stood out ward around six inches! With the nappy under them my butt looked huge, the hem of the pink maids uniform only just hid the bulky Sissy Pants my petticoat pushing the huge hemlines upwards to almost 90deg such was the fullness of the handmade garments custom-made for me by an ebay seller i had become friends with she had made all of my wardrobe.

I decided to place an ad of my own on craigslist working on a small window of who I was as a sissy Abdl/bondage play Thing....posting it my heart was racing...

I went back to my usual internet bank of clips and pictures, feeling more and more aroused i put the first Baby bottle to my lips the huge teat filling my mouth as the warm milk slid over my tongue i swallowed compressing the teat as i did made it refill starting an almost siphoning effect i gulped it down.

I was going to have the weekend to myself to play my self bondage games, taking myself further each time I played....

But this was interrupted by a ping from Craig’s list..I had a reply to my ad?...it was from a couple they had read my ad and felt very sad for me that I felt I would never get to be who lived inside of me, they also said they had followed the link to my tumblr and that my stories were very good....We need to talk “Baby”..was all they put ..a link appearing to a WhatsApp page...this I followed I typed in a simple “Hi I found your reply to my ad ...would you like to talk?” I waited but nothing came back, so I went to close it and noticed someone was typing...

A reply came ! “Clever Baby...that was your first “Little” step...Now as it’s Friday night are you playing by yourself? ( my ad told of my self play at weekends to

Fuel my Kink) I typed in “Yes” no my keyboard, almost instantly a reply came ...how long do you play Baby? I replied that I was off this weekend so I am going to play All weekend 😜....a reply came...Well you have read our ad would you like to meet for a drink and a chat?....”Eh yes please but it’s getting late?” ..Don’t fret we stay Very close to you....I was confused by this as their ad said a different area..so I typed a message back...

I think we stay in different areas? ...it’s ok Baby our ad is old we have moved..Ok you have 30mins ! are you dressed? If so put on something to cover up to go outside, if Not go and get dressed Now ! I typed back that i was already dressed for the evening.

Then we will see you in 30mins at M* ,*******y,s in the car park we will be parked under the sign...park up then come to our Car under the sign 29mins “Baby”...

That was it even though I sent an Ok ..nothing more came back, so I rushed to get one of my boiler suit’s on as the bulk was so large I could fit nothing else on!...driving there I felt very nervous also my adrenaline was pumping so hard I felt I needed the toilet but time was ticking away... so I took Breath’s through the Need to go and they passed, sitting in the car with all my padding felt strange but nice I had never driven dressed up, in fact i had never went out in public with anything more than a simple Tena nappy in plain white so if I was discovered it could be explained away with a medical excuses, but this?...this was different i was in full sissy AB attire a huge padded rear with a swollen straining “Clittie” !!

As I drove into the car park there was a 4x4 under the sign! But only one person in it?... I parked up but was hesitant due to the single occupant, so thought to myself I would simply go over and ask for directions that way if I was wrong no harm..

As I got to the car the door opened to my surprise a man got out opening the back door...as I walked up he spoke “In the back Baby”. I did as I was Told,there was a girl in the back she spoke to me....”In Baby Kneel on the floor face me...Clever Baby..Open Wide!”

The car had one of the back seats removed so there was a space on the floor with a changing mat in its place,this mat had Winnie the Pooh bear characters on it ! I felt something being put around my ankles & I panicked slightly....Blurting out ...”P,p,please are we not going for a chat?” Suddenly my mouth was pulled open from behind as the girl pushed in a rubber ball gag with a face harnessing, this was pulled Very tightly! My arms were forced behind me and locked In cuffs! I was spun around and a hood pulled over my face, next I was in the seat with a seatbelt put over me.m The door shut then the second door shut as the car started up.....she spoke to me.... “Clever Baby Sit Still just a short drive and we will be home....Then Cutie The Fun Will Begin....Baby we Are going to make Your stories seem like a soft fairytale.....tell me Cuteness are you a bit afraid at the moment ? (I nodded) Clever Baby...You Have Good reason to be Afraid....what’s this all under here Eh? you can Hardly Sit !...don’t fret Baby... we are going to make sitting Very uncomfortable for You!” They both laughed but not a funny laugh ...a Deeply wicked laughter.....That’s us here Baby let’s get you inside so we can have a better Look at You Babyslave!!”....I was taken into their home...the hood was Not removed... they put a spreader bar on my ankles then he spoke “Now Baby I want you to wet and mess yourself in a moment so kneel for us...Eh Now Babyslave!”..... (if any of you have knelt with a spreader bar on its quite difficult) ..I collapsed to My Knees, The hood was bellowing in and out over my face as I gasped, she spoke to me “Ok let me explain what is happening as You potty for us....(the hood was being unfastened as she spoke to me) My Name is Mistress M....that is Master D when we allow You to talk you will talk with a lisp like the Little You Are....a Three year old girlie Got that ?” I nodded as the hood came off...I was blinking because there was a bright light in my face I could see her but only a shadow figure, she continued “Baby we are going to have a weekend together, if after that you would like us to keep You we will take that next step... should you wish to leave your free to do so...Ok? You can answer past the gag we will understand You...” I told them Yes lisping best I could past the gag, she spoke again.......”Now The Hard Part Babyslave!....You will have No Safeword & No limits!! We will not hurt you permanently or leave you scared in any way...Only perhaps mentality ! Now Babyslave Master D is going to uncuff you, if you want to leave put your arms out in front of you, But if You fully understands what I just told You & are the person in your “stories” I Want You to put your handies behind your head keeping them there..Ok Babyslave Toy..time too choose ??”

I could now start to focus on her she was stunning! Long black hair in a ponytail she was very slim around 5’9″ tall smiling down at me...

I put my hands together behind my head interlocking My fingers.....

This was what they had hoped for they had spent hours looking over ads reading through them they had come across his ad it was very different from most as it held an Abdl content as she read over this Mistress Mandy smiled she knew of abdl but had not chosen that path in her FEM DOM career, but now older looking to retirement both her and her husband were looking towards having her Deepest Fantasy fulfilled to use a genuine submissive without bounds other than the physical limits of the human body the Mind ..well that was a different thing altogether !! Reading his ad she had become very wet....asking her husband over to look at the ad she was grinning ear to ear ! Turning to his wife he smiled are You sure ?...but he could already tell this new Toys fate was sealed, she smiled “yes darling am sure the abdl will give us a huge Humiliation element to his training, plus i kind of like that I could have him collapsing into a Babyslave’....Ok message him I lets see what happens darling was all he said.

They could not believe there luck not only was he Deeply submissive he was alone at home for the weekend already Playing !! The next bit was simple as she typed “Baby you have 30mins !” Heading in the car too there home she was throbbing with want a Deep Want of Dominance her way, a wish about to be fulfilled, they parked up...five mins latter a silver Bmw drove into the car park facing them as he stepped out she turned smiling “That him look at the shape”...he got out opening the door....

Her thoughts returned to her she spoke to him “Clever Babyslave Ok lets begin Get her up on her feet Master D”. I was pulled upright! She unzipped the suit as Master D pulled it down I felt a tug at the side then a ripping sound then a second tug followed by a second ripping sound as the hook on the blade cut through the black overalls....

I now stood before them in my pink maids uniform with the huge Nappy on, Master D lifted the dress at the sides then spoke “My my Mistress M look at this Sissy is already dressed to go to work for us!...” Mistress M spoke “Yes indeed Master D...But She has her very first task to do ..Don’t You Crybaby! Do it Now!....push Hard I want to see that Crybaby Face go red with Effort!,”

They both came around to watch the spectacle as I went Potty’Pants in front of them both ! I felt so Very ashamed but strangely I found I was Very turned on at the same time...she spoke to me “Clever girlie Crybaby is that it all out? ...then turn the fuck around so we can get a good look at your poopies” as I turned in the spreader bar I couldn’t believe my eyes I was in a dungeon!! It had every bondage Toy around whips,paddles,leather straps,hoods, cases with strange-looking equipment in them....

She patted my rear lightly Sit Down!” As I bent I could feel the mess spreading up my back. Suddenly my hips was held and I was slowly lowered on to something? It was a knee ? Mistress M came around in front of me then bent forwards “Bounce on Master Daddy’s Knee Crybaby! ....this was something I knew about them from there page..they were both heavily into Humiliation !! As I bounced I felt a smack to My rear! Then Master Daddy Spoke taking my hips “No Crybaby like this !” He forced me up & down getting more & more forceful as he did, Mistress M spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s better isn’t it!..yes ? (They both giggled as I listed out a Wess) Louder Crybaby! Say it !..Clever girlie you bounce for Master Daddy as I get your first punishment set up....its time to see You Crying....

She wheeled over a large box it was black the top had a hole around 8” Mistress M opened the top, inside was what looked like a saddle with a back to it, this had straps on it.

She loved this box a friend had given her the saddle and another carpenter friend had built the box, inside the black leather saddle was mounted on a leather-covered platform 2ft high this was oval so the Slave in the saddle had to both bend their knees wide but angled under them once in the leather ankle cuffs, the back had a padded angular back rest with a built-in arm binder that laced up the rear once the slates hands were made immobile by the ball mittens, above this the lid had a round leather covered top a hole at its centre that was in two half’s so the slaves head would be the only thing seen once closed up tight. It’s Was truly a wicked bit of BDSM furniture !!

Master Daddy was still Bouncing me at this point he then stopped, I still had my hands behind my head as I was genuinely afraid to move them ! Master Daddy then lifted me up the mess was spread everywhere I could now smell it, he pushed me forward towards the box he spoke to his wife “ Let’s hurry up as stinky butt here needs to appreciate The Gift we let her have Mistress Mummy” He then took the spreader bar off as she stood in front of me....

Mistress M spoke “Ok into the box for us Crybaby leggies Down the side of the saddle for Mistress Mummy..Clever girlie Crybaby arms down the back so Master Daddy can strap You into your armbinder” my arms were slowly being pulled together tighter and tighter, i started whimpering as my chest was forced forwards the more my arms tightened my shoulders became taut pulled relentlessly back, the last two straps crossed over my chest down over my shoulders to the waiting buckles these he wrenched upwards ! as I jerked due to the force he spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby..lets close this up” patting my head He positioned the top rear part then spoke “headie all the way back....Clever Crybaby Hold Still for us “Master Daddy pushed closed the front part then locked the two half’s together now only my head was out the box, Mistress Mummy had a rubber hood this one went on tightly it covered my head but left my face open framed by black rubber, Master Daddy had what looked like a large helmet in two half’s with buckles all over it to join the two half’s together, at the mouth it had a short oval tube, Mistress Mummy spoke to me “Open Wide Crybaby! “ as I did the tube was forced into my mouth i had to open really wide to accept it...I whimpered as he pushed it on Very hard pulling the two half’s together the oval passed behind my teeth holding my mouth open, he strapped it on tightly! I heard pumping as the inside of the helmet Got tighter!.. It was inflatable !!

Master Daddy put a tube from the back of the box to the helmet at the rear, then patted my head walking off, Mistress Mummy squatted down at my side as she spoke “Ok Crybaby Master Daddy and I have to get something set up for you so sit here till we’re Ready for you Crybaby, as there was not much time to prepare Your punishment equipment for this evening...So as you Sit here contemplating what we’re going to do to You Crybaby here is a wee taster so too speak’ she giggled as Master Daddy came over with a red funnel this had a tube from it around six inches long, handing it to Mistress Mummy she started pushing it in my nostril hole! Next Master Daddy did something to the box and it tilted backwards! As she held the funnel he lifted A condom full of a huge load ! Without warning he poured it into the funnel! I could feel it go down the back of my throat, it was still warm! I started to tear up as I knew this pair meant every word of their Dominance over me...with her other hand Mistress Mummy pushed a cock gag into my mouth making me hold it! As she strapped it behind my head.

“Clever Baby hold that until we get back did you like Mummy & Daddy’s Gift ...Yes Cutie it was from us both You made us so het we had to Make love..But we didn’t want our Baby to miss out so Mistress Mummy squatted Over the wee funnel as she climaxed Master Daddy’s Gift Out to mix with hers...Clever girlie... Crybaby cock sucker!”

She removed the tube from my nose then pulled mask over my nose and mouth that clipped to the helmet via holes in its sides..I Suddenly heard a sound like the hollow tubes as a kid we would spin around our heads to make different sounds..but this tube echoed to my Breaths as I slowly started to smell my rear only much stronger !!!

Mistress loved this bit of the Box as it had a built in fan that made the slave have to endure whatever they decided to put in the box, she had put many things into the Box at her clients ask, But this time ? This was her choice her devious plan to slowly reprogram his mind to her will..Her wants and needs...

They seemed to have been away for ages, with me sat in the box kneeling over the saddle smelling my own mess!..I tested the bonds but it made the smell stronger as I moved spreading my mess even further around my now soaking wet nappy !! when the door opened Mistress Mummy was first to walk in she had changed into a black rubber skirt and white rubber top it was sleeveless she had on black rubber tights and hold ups...She strode over without a word then picked up an item a strange two foot long tube, it had a shaft from it with a handle the inner and outer shaft were threaded at the base of the inner it looked like an oval leather pad...Mistress went behind me screwed it to the back of the box....as Master Daddy came in he had on a black rubber shirt and rubber pants on the front of these was a pouch...He stood in front of me then spoke “Now Crybaby we have everything set up for You so now let’s give You a look at what Is ahead” ..then Mistress Mummy Spoke “Right Crybaby look back at me..Clever girlie Crybaby Keep looking at Me!!” Suddenly I felt something in my back pushing me forward into more of an arch....”Clever girlie Crybaby Keep looking at Me !” It started to hurt being bent in an arch the more I arched the less movement I had till I could simply Not move! I started crying...

“Awww Clever girlie Crybaby...tears already look Master Daddy real tears, seems Crybaby has very low limits poor thing”...Master Daddy just chuckled as he took the pouch off his shorts, Mistress Mummy removed the harness then the gag. In front of me he was already swollen, straddling the box pushing into the mouth hole..”Right Crybaby lets give You a good skull Fucking...then we can take you to get cleaned up for your Obedience Training!”....he started slowly entering my mouth!!....mistress mummy held my head looking down at me as I gagged for air as I was throat fucked by this man i had only just met !!

“Clever girlie Crybaby work Master Daddy’s Dummy nice and you get air ! if not ? No Air cuteness...that’s a girlie!” Master Daddy withdrew as I gasped for air, he spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby just like that suck with your cute Baby tongue under Master Daddy’s Dummy....Clever girlie Crybaby here we go Deeper this time though cuteness ! Hold her nice and tightly Mistress Mummy, she needs to learn To sallow !”....Mistress mummy forced me on his shaft as I wrenched I felt him swelling then the first spasm! Mistress mummy barked at me “Don’t You Dare pass out Crybaby!! Swallow! ..Do it every last drop of Master Daddy’s gift!”

Fuck this was all she had hoped for he was a true submissive as they worked there trade he had simply collapsed tears streaming from him at the realisation they were Very much in control a control they would use to train him to total submission a compliment Babyslave that they and there friends would use...Yes she would take her time show her DOMINANT friends just how she could mould a SLAVE....

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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The Reluctants | Chapter 1 | The Reluctant Landlord

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

The hardwood floors creaked under Charlie’s weight as she pushed off the mishmash of sheets, quilts, and duvets to the side and her bare feet landed. She ruffled her impossible brown curls, which smashed flat against the back of her head after a night of sleep. It was only September but the old triple decker on the outskirts of Quincy, Massachusetts seemed to be in a wind tunnel. Every gust, bluster, breeze, or slight cough rattled the aging home. But Charlie wasn’t about to complain.

With her salary at Legal Aid barely covering the high cost of living in Boston, it forced Charlie to get creative with her living situation. Roommates were not an option after her last one during her third year of law school, decided instead of washing dishes, she would tuck them wherever convenient. Be that between couch cushions or in an early edition of The Hobbit Charlie kept along with her other books on a shelf in the living room. Charlie took to locking valuables in her room and swore off living with anyone.

It was a pure stroke of luck when the listing for an entire two-bedroom apartment in a converted house came up for cheaper than sharing something downtown. She submitted an application and was delighted when the property management company contacted her to do a walkthrough. The house was old and falling apart around them. When a piece of crown molding nearly took the agent’s head off, Charlie negotiated for a 15% percent reduction in rent. There was only one thing nearly stopping her from moving. The landlord.

For one, his name. No one in 2020 is named Nicolas Copernicus. Not Copernicus himself would be called that in 2020. He would change his name to something like Nick Copper and found a startup company in his college dorm room. Charlie attempted to use what little resources she had at her disposal at her job to determine the true identity ofher mysterious landlord. All searches ended up at the same place. NOZ, Inc. A company with no internet presence. But plenty of assets.

“I am telling you I think my house is front for the mob. Or WitSec!” Charlie protested as she slumped into her desk chair.

“Or maybe,” Elise retorted. “It’s just a corporation that bought up a bunch of buildings to make some easy revenue.”

Her green eyes shot daggers at her co-worker. “If that’s the case, how come every week there is something new falling apart? Wouldn’t they refurbish the place before renting it out?”

Elise opened her mouth to respond when she stiffened in her seat. Charlie spun her chair to come face to face with a stained dress shirt. That shirt belonged to her boss, Jason Chambers.

“Ms. Bock.” He stared down Charlie through wired frame glasses too small for his round face. “If you are done socializing, a word in my office.” He jerked his thumb to the glorified cubicle he called his “office” and walked away.

“Sorry,” Elise mouthed while Charlie smoothed out her Banana Republic Outlet blazer and skirt.

“It’s all right.” Charlie gave a tense smile.

“Take a seat.” Jason gestured to a stained chair covered in paper. Charlie shifted her weight on her heels.

“I’ll just stand.” The sooner she got of there the better.

“I make this short and to the point. Your spending too much time with the clients.”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but Jason held up a hand. “We are here to help with legal issues not listening to their life story.” Jason grimaced. Charlie learned early on Jason believed this job was beneath his Harvard education.

“Those life stories often have bearing on their legal cases.” she interjected.

“I don’t care. Move the cases along faster or I will have to terminate your employment.” Jason grinned over the table. “This is your only warning.”

He locked eyes with Charlie, who held his stare. “Understood, sir.”

Jason’s face broke out in a smug grin. “You’re dismissed.”

Charlie shuffled out and back to her desk. Elise leaned forward.

“What did the B.O.D. want?” B.O.D. standing for Bag of Dicks, their nickname for Jason.

“Just the usual. Stop talking so much, move the cases.” Charlie huffed, doing a poor imitation of their boss.

The two giggled until Jason popped his head over the top of his cubicle, glowering. Elise snapped back upright and returned to typing, while Charlie busied herself with the papers in her inbox until he disappeared again back into his hole. The day continued on like that until lunch when Elise and Charlie hightailed it out of the office to a nearby deli.

“Did I tell you about the weird note I got last week?” Charlie stood over at the counter in the crowded deli, crunching up oyster crackers into her clam chowder.

“Do tell.”

“So I got home late one night to find this,” Charlie fished a crumpled piece of paper out of her purse, bringing up a couple of rubber bands and a lipstick along with it.

Elise unfolded the paper while taking a bite of her Reuben sandwich. “Is this written with a quill?”

“You noticed the ink splatters too? And what about the handwriting? Is that the handwriting of a serial killer or what?” Charlie dribbled some soup on her blouse. She dabbed at the stain with a napkin.

“Who is Mr. Shelley?”

“My new basement neighbor.”

“What does he look like?”

Charlie dribbled more soup. “No clue. Haven’t seen him.”

“Nothing?”

“I have only heard the hum of some music through the floorboards. I think he is nocturnal. Like a bat or something.”

“Spooky.” Elise passed the paper back, and they finished their lunch, making plans for drinks later that night.

Jason slipped out around 4:30 in the afternoon claiming he had to make a “supply run” and would be back in twenty minutes. Everyone knew this was code for that he needed to go pick up his skinny ass girlfriend from work because she couldn’t drive having just racked up her third DUI. Charlie suspected they met at Jason’s previous job at the Public Defender’s Office, but nothing substantial turned up in her searches of public access records.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s knock off early and grab drinks.” Elise already shut down her computer and was pulling her coat on.

“One second…” Charlie held up a finger as she put the finishing touches on a pleading. She hit save and closed the document. “… there. Where to?”

“How about the restaurant across the street? Bar menu is half off for happy hour.”

“Looks like momma is getting drunk on beer and burgers tonight.” Charlie snagged her coat off the back of her chair and followed Elise out the door.

Charlie stumbled up her stairs, her heels in her hand. It was late. In fact, so late that she had nearly missed the last train home. But it was worth it to spend time with Elise and some other friends.

As she fumbled for her keys, a sound came from the side basement entrance. Crouching low, Charlie crawled over to the crumbling railing to see what was the source.

Charlie spied two men standing at the threshold. She squinted in the dark, making a mental note to schedule an eye appointment. One man appeared to be wearing scrubs underneath an old gray peacoat. While the other man leaned out of the basement. Mr. Shelley, Charlie surmised. He looked like something out of a punk music video from the 1980s. His black hair shot out like wires and his clothes were all black and either leather or denim.

In a flash of brilliance or stupidity, depending on how one thought about it, Charlie retrieved her phone from her pocket and turned on the camera to record.

Charlie now spotted the Stop and Shop bag in the Scrubs Guy’s hand. She covered her mouth as she gasped when Mr. Shelley pulled a wad a cash from his back pocket. His head snapped in Charlie’s direction and she ducked into the shadows.

The two men finished the exchange, and Charlie shifted her weight to relieve a cramp in her calf. As she moved, the termite-ridden porch gave way and her foot went clear through the crawlspace. Charlie scrambled to her feet as footsteps approached, slamming her front door and dead bolting it once she got inside. She remained motionless and boot steps stopped in front of her door. It seemed like an eternity before the footsteps faded away and Charlie exhaled. Now sober, she trotted off to the kitchen for a late snack before tucking into bed to watch old reruns of Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

The next day was a repeat of the one before, except today was Friday and payday which meant instead of the nearby deli, Elise and Charlie splurged on delicious Chinese food, side of egg rolls plus a trip to the store for candy to be stashed in the top drawer of their desks. Jason kept to himself, grunting to himself.

“Bets on what he is looking at in there?” Marie, the receptionist, asked.

“Nudes from the girlfriend.” Charlie chimed in.

“Porn Hub.” Elise added.

“Cat videos on YouTube.” Marie commented as she waltzed over and popped her head over the cubicle wall.

Elise and Charlie giggled as keyboard keys clattered at a frantic pace. Jason muttered to Marie before she jogged back to the girls.

“You owe me twenty bucks.” Marie commented, pointing at Charlie “and you owe me twenty bucks.” She turned to Elise. “Lazy Cat Turns Body Into Slinky To Get Down The Stairs.”

Charlie grumbled as she fished out her wallet. A receipt came along with her striped wallet, along with a bus ticket. “He watched that one last week too.”

“And yet you continue to guess nudes. Someone sounds sexually frustrated.” Marie snatched the bill away from Charlie and grabbed Elise’s, reaching across the desk.

“Which is why you should use that twenty to buy me a drink tonight, so I might loosen up enough to land myself a date.” Charlie quipped. She widened her eyes until they looked like huge emerald saucers.

Marie pursed her lips. “That Puss in Boots look won’t work today. I have to meet my mom out in Brighton for a family dinner. Besides, I thought you hated dates. Especially after what’s his name?”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled at the word “family”. To say her own family relationship was strained would be an understatement. Shattered to a thousand pieces and scattered to the ends of the earth might be closer to the truth.

“Richard.”

“Dick the Serial Dater.” Elise added. “Didn’t the hostess comment you were the fourth girl he brought in there that week?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m so sorry, Marie. I should buy you a drink.”

Marie giggled as she returned to the front desk. “Not every hates family and relationships like you.”

Charlie squirmed. “I don’t hate relationships. I just don’t like the fanfare that goes along with them. I just want a guy who is happy being him and let’s me be me. No strings, no commitments. And no dates.” She shuddered.

“You want a fuck buddy.” Elise commented as she pulled her phone receiver away from her ear.

Charlie shushed Elise. “I don’t want a ‘fuck buddy’. I just want a guy who doesn’t expect me to swoon after him or put aside my interests for his. I want to be me, fucked up me. And it doesn’t hurt if he is hot as hell.”

“That guy doesn’t exist, Charlie.”

She sighed. “You’re right, but a girl can dream.”

Jason snuck out even earlier than usual. Marie mouthed “anniversary” as he walked by before slapping on a fake smile as he exited onto the crowded downtown Boston sidewalk.

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose before blinking and return to the writ she was drafting. The last hour of the workday flew by and Elise was soon tapping her shoulder.

“Drinks at McCormicks?”

“I’m shouldn’t. I partied a little too hard last night. I’m not sure my liver can take it.”

“I’ll buy you truffle fries.” Elise singsonged.

“Well, one drink won’t kill me.” Charlie capitulated.

“That’s the spirit.”

They linked arms and waved goodbye to Marie before heading down to Faneuil Hall.

Charlie was true to her word and only had one drink. Which was good fortune because she was sober enough to realize when she got home, her front door was ajar. She dropped her purse at the door and grabbed a commemorative hockey stick from a Bruins game from the umbrella holder by the door. Wielding it like a sword, she stepped first into the living room to find the place not ransacked, but rumpled, as though someone had gone through her things but attempted to put them back as they were.

“Hello?” she called out like every soon to be dead girl in a horror film. A noise echoed from her bedroom and Charlie tightened her grip on the hockey stick and made her way there. She nearly dropped the stick when she saw the man she presumed to be Mr. Shelley standing there, her silk pajamas fisted in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!” She yelled.

In a blur, the hockey stick disappeared from her hand. She glanced around the room to find it but saw it nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until the end of the weekend Charlie noticed it back in its place in the umbrella holder by the front door.

“Are you going to answer my question or just stand there, creasing my best set of pajamas?” Charlie tapped her foot on the floor. “You can’t be in here. It’s my place.”

“Yes, I can.” His words slow like syrup. His accent British. Charlie’s chest tightened for a moment. “I’m the manager.”

“I thought your name was Shelley. The guy that owns this place is Nicolas Copernicus. Fake name if you ask me.”

“Shit.” The man whispered under his breath. At least he dropped her pajamas. “I used the name Shelley so you wouldn’t bother me when I moved in. So I have the right to be here.”

“No you don’t.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“I beg your pardon? This is my house. I don’t need permission to enter it.” His voice louder and the tone more not mad but irritated, as though he hated talking to people and this conversation had already gone on too long.

“Massachusetts Regulation 940 says you must give a tenant at least 24 hours before entry a residence unless it is an emergency.”

“Bloody fucking regulations. There was a leak.” His face contorted for a moment. If Charlie paid attention more, she would have realized he was in pain, but she was only concerned about him lying. About his name, about being there, about everything.

“There was a leak.” She made each word pointed. “… in my delicates drawer.”

He dropped his head and pushed past her. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” She called after him but he didn’t break his long stride to the front door. “I want to talk to you!” But the slamming of the front door and boots traveling down the stairs answered her plea instead.

Soon the basement door slammed, followed by the sound of feedback and music coming up through the floorboards. Charlie sulked for a moment before crouching down to pick up the bits of silk, satin and lace clothing on the floor.

“No respect.” she muttered before flopping onto the bed. The frame creaked as Charlie laid down onto the pile of pillows. At least five, not counting decorative ones. She closed her eyes and listened to the hum of whatever music, Shelley, or Nick, or whatever the hell his name was playing down there. Charlie had half a mind to stomp on the floor when a lightbulb went off.

“What a scathingly brilliant idea!” She grabbed her phone and scrolled until she found what she was looking for and headed off to take a shower before setting her plan into action later that night.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

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9uk · 6 years ago

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Don’t Wanna Fall : 3

⌲ summary : after your boyfriend breaks up with you, you are in need of company. strangely enough, you get more company than you had initially wanted.

⌲ pairing : sugar daddy!seokjin x reader

⌲ word count : 4.9k

⌲ genre : fluff, smut, angst if you squint

⌲ warnings : um masturbation, phone sex, intercourse, breathplay, unprotected sex and... BDSM. A light one, dun worry.

prev > 3 > next

He wanted to die.

It has been around ten minutes since he left your dorm with a painfully obvious hard-on beneath the fabric of his slacks.

Seokjin had never been this affected by anyone—until you. Maybe it was the cute flare mini skirt he rarely saw on any office lady. Maybe it was the bubblegum knee-high socks that made him want to ruin you. Maybe it had to do with how obedient you were to him the last time he touched you. He couldn’t comprehend anything regarding you.

And by affected he meant the relentless hardening of his dick, never softening even as he sped through the roads and reached the front of his doorstep. The thought of jerking off in the car did not go unconsidered, but he figured the expensive internal furnishing of his automobile did not deserve to be tainted with ribbons of his cum.

Instead, he found himself getting harder by the second, his length growing bigger with each mile he drove— all because he couldn’t block the image of you spread out on your desk cheeks pink and panting, lips swollen from his kisses—all for him.

And yet, he managed to hastily make exit to restrain himself from going any further with you.

Perhaps he knew this was going to be a long-term affair with you, and he did not want to rush into things too soon. He jumbled with his keys and busted into his penthouse, immediately unbuckling his Armani belt and throwing it onto the couch, any care whether the curtains were drawn or not.

But he wasn’t worried. He lived on the highest floor, and his muscular thighs were nothing but a trophy for him to proudly put on display.

Seokjin pounced on the silky skin of his King-sized bed, hands coming to fish his uncomfortable erection out of the tight of his boxers.

He groaned as the familiar feeling of his cold fingers wrap around his length, coaxing the angry monster to calm down. His tip was red and swollen with a drool of precum surrounding it, his fingers ran over them and spread it across his girthy shaft. The wetness enabled his palm to slide across his dick smoothly, the feeling screwing his eyes shut and causing an involuntary groan to spill from his lips. After a few fast and urgent pumps, the strokes started to turn languid.

Still, he couldn’t get into it, despite the clear contrast in the blood rushing to his cock, standing and hard as rock.

The atmosphere of his bedroom was suitable for satisfying his physical needs, to indulge in self-pleasure—the lighting was dim, the sheets of his spacious bed sinking him in soft quilt.

He tried closing his eyes and letting the image of you from earlier on to cloud his mind, but to no avail.

The memory was foggy and he couldn’t seem to picture the whole of you, something about you was always missing and hard to pick up on.

Was it the emptiness in your eyes?

Or the way your lips curled queerly?

He reaches for his phone that was casually tossed onto the bed beside him, dick still solid in his grip. His heart thumps erratically against his chest as the consistent ringing travel into his ears.

Till all vibration ceases.

Replaced by the croak of your voice.

“Hello?”

You sounded half-dead, almost like you had just woken up from hibernation. He didn’t expect this.

“Ah, did you just wake up? I’m sorry for disturbing-”

“No! I’m just finishing up on my work that needs to be submitted tomorrow.” He can hear you typing away frantically at your keyboard. Seokjin glanced over at the dick in his hand and moans quietly when he gives it a few strokes to maintain the erection.

A soft moan of complain from you covers up for the noise he made, and it sparks a fantastic idea to form in his head, like a missing screw finally being drilled into place.

“Are you stressed?” He asks, cautious of your response.

“Very. You don’t even know how complex this assignment is.” He likes the fact that just moments ago he made you come without even touching you properly, and now here you were, ranting to him about your essay.

“Do you want me to help you?” He offers, tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

“Are you serious? I can email you the draft-” Your voice lights up but he is quick to intercept to clear the misconception of his sentence. He holds back a chortle at your innocence. How on earth can one be so oblivious? Maybe he hadn’t met enough women who weren’t needy for him at all.

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant.” The question to his offer fall from your lips and he is impatiently suggesting it to you, balls starting to ache a little.

“I want you to finger yourself.”

You gulp at his sudden demand, thighs squeezing together at his crudeness.

“What?” You probed again, rather flustered. “Seokjin…”

He lets out a groan at his name being called in this way, almost like a pleading whimper.

Pumping his fist at a faster speed, he throws his head back at the pleasure building up.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

The query catches you off-guard but you realise the direction this phone call is heading towards and you find yourself creeping onto your mattress.

“However you want to.” You bit down on your lip, deciding to play along.

A grunt can be heard through the phone and you can tell that Seokjin is enjoying this a lot.

“Are you touching yourself as well?” The last two words confirms your initial suspicions and you look at the silly rubber ducky design on your pyjama shorts.

“Maybe,” You say coyly, wishing to tease him further.

“What do you intend to do the next time we meet?” You may be leaning towards the pure and decent type of girl, but when required, you would be the dirtiest little slut for your man. Not yours entirely though, in this case.

“I will ask you to strip for me and come over to straddle my lap then,” Your breath hitches at that, not expecting him to be this frank with his fantasies. “I would force you to take two fingers into you at once, shove them up your heat and stretch your walls open and nice to get you ready for my cock.”

You nibble at your fingernails, thinking of a reply.

“Ah, S-Seokjin…”

You try to imagine the feeling and moan in coordination, making it seem as real as possible.

Nose scrunching, you cringe inwardly at the act you were putting on for him.

He speeds up his pace at the lovely sounds you make, closing his eyes and drowning in the intense feeling. “Then, I want you on all fours, ass up for me. I will fuck you so hard from behind till you can’t even walk properly the next day.”

The way Seokjin asserts his dominance over the phone is overpowering, and you wonder how he’s like in person.

“I want you so bad…” You cry out, rubbing at your clit to spice things up a little.

“Do you want me, or my dick?”

He exhales with a light chuckle, his cock feeling thick and warm in his hand.

“Your dick…” You were returning the honesty. “Actually, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. You decide what you want to put inside of me, touch me with…My body is yours, Daddy.”

The amount of submissiveness you contain for him, and only him sends him spiralling into a whirlpool of lust. You were pressing all the buttons to trigger his dominant side and he wanted nothing more at that moment to own you, claim you as his.

“Princess, will you be a good girl for Daddy?” He prompts, feeling his high approaching.

You think about your answer for a moment. You recall how much he liked being addressed as Daddy, and praising him for how much he makes you feel good. You chose to play that card. Hearing the low grunts and slaps from his side of the call, you can vividly imagine just how fast he was going.

“Of course Daddy, I’m always so wet and tight for you.” His breathing quickens, and you happily it take it as a sign. “You are the only one who can make feel so good,”

“Shit, princess I’m gonna-”

“You’re the only one who can make me cum.”

That seems to flick a nerve in him, because he is growling into the phone, followed by long groan of content as he ejaculates in relief.

Mirroring him, you added a tinge of neediness into your cry of pleasure, as if you had reached your climax at the same time as he did. You pant into the phone for a bit as the cherry on top to your entire act. Your hand leaves your pants, getting up to plop back down onto your study chair.

Your job was done here and you ended the call without another word spoken

“Ah,” He sighs in satisfaction, the heavy load of white seed finally being released. “That was—wait what?” The call had ended and he looks at his phone in confusion, like it was a raptor’s egg in his possession. The sugar glider in his home screen stares back at him, as if mocking him for getting hung up by a girl. It was baffling, and hurtful to his pride. You didn’t even bother to hear what he has to say. Just ending it as soon as the both of you came. So much for being the highly and respectable boss of the corporation that owns about a quarter of the food industry. He can’t help but laugh in disbelief, heading for the toilet to grab a damp towel.

As he rinsed the towel, the thoughts of you flooded his mind. Again.

It had been almost a whole day he spent with you, and he still couldn’t figure you out.

You fell into none of the categories he separated women by.

You were definitely not hungry for sex, otherwise lots of other things would have taken place just now because he was sure all it took was for you to beg for him, and he would succumb to your needs. But you didn’t. And that is why he ended up jerking off alone in his bedroom.

You were also not greedy for money, Snowball being the only thing you laid your eyes on.

Were you too good of an actress or were you just kind by nature?

It had been so long since he felt this comfortable with anyone. Even though it was only for a few hours, he never laid his guard down so low before. You didn’t take any of his shit jokes and spoke to him so easily albeit being a few years younger. You had the balls to insult and mock his cockiness, successfully expressing your disappointment every time he raged a little. It was meaningless conversation, but they were also something he needed in his life.

To not really mind his tone and choice of words, to be himself around you.

It was like, he knew that he wasn’t being taken advantage of and you enjoyed each other’s presence a lot.

Despite all that, he’s still unable to have you figured out.

You seemed like you were sleepwalking through life and at the same time, shielding the most vulnerable side of yourself with an easygoing and tough exterior.

He wonders if he can actually scavenge for all the broken shards of you in the deepest part of your soul.

The sink overflows, and that is when he realises the towel had fallen from his hands and blocked the drainage of the lukewarm water.

“Oh shit,” Slapping the tap handle down, the water stops running and so does his thoughts.

Stop.

He needs to stop thinking about shit like that. It was highly distracting.

Seokjin painstakingly cleaned the huge mess he made on his bed, before tucking himself to sleep at the other side of the humongous bed in an unrecognisable kind of dubiety.

It has been weeks. Weeks since the call happened and the both of you masturbated to each other.

Or so he thought.

Seokjin has a hectic schedule daily, considering it is the start of the year. There were many plans and projects for the new food products they were preparing to release that needed to be reviewed and adding to that, he was toiling hard to revamp the image of the company after a food poisoning case in one of the restaurant outlets.

“Finally!” He slams the file of reports shut and switches off his wide-screen computer. Seokjin hasn’t had any sexual intercourse for weeks now and he finds himself getting grumpier as the days passed. But that’s not it. He could have easily ringed Seunghye or Yeseul up for a quick fuck, but honestly he was getting sick and tired of these loose girls who threw themselves at every loaded man they sniffed out.

Why didn’t you call?

The question frequented his head whenever he had some type of free time to himself. Lunch break, using the loo or even, as he sips the iced Americano the secretary got for him.

All of his thoughts would be occupied by you with every second work was off of his mind.

And you have never contacted him in any way.

Were you planning to grab the bag and flee?

Or could you be too coped up with school work like he was with the company?

There certainly had to be some time you could make for him. It was impossible to be busy twenty-four seven.

A kiss was shared, an orgasm was provided, a bunny was purchased and god, he was even extremely giving with the string of filth falling out of his mouth to rile you up.

What exactly was holding you back from contacting someone as handsome, rich and perfect as him?

Unless…you were strictly abiding by his rules.

Rule number three. You live your life and I will live mine. Only I am able to call you and not the other way round.

The memory of his words gradually sneaked into his brain.

He wanted to throw a slap across his face.

He was an idiot. And so were you.

Leaning back onto his office chair, his eyes land on the black cellphone on the polished desk.

Crossing one leg over the other, he rests his interlocked fingers against his lips in midst of a cogitation. He squints at the device, still silent. His ringtone suddenly comes on to disrupt the peace of puzzlement going on in his mind.

He lunges forward and snatches the phone from the table, takes only one look for him to toss it back to place with an irritated huff.

It was a message from work.

“I’m coming over right now. I want you to be fully naked for me when I reach your place.” He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, making a sharp turn into the street leading to your university. He doesn’t even spare a listening to your sounds of protests, ending the call and focusing on the road ahead.

It was a phenomenal day of the week—Friday. Only on the exception of this week though, for your tests were at last, over for the month of nightmare. The long awaited sleep you have been wanting to catch up on were perfectly destroyed by a simple phone call, informing you of his arrival.

You wanted to order Seokjin to visit you tomorrow, have morning sex and leave, but you were in no position to do that. The only option is to happily comply with his irregular hormone spikes.

Why on earth, at midnight?

You prayed to whoever who was listening to cut you some slack from this unruly coincidence of his decision to come and ruin your poor sleep schedule.

Your room was dark, the only light source being the flashing screen of the Ted Bundy series on your laptop.

Upon the incessant knocks on your door, you hurriedly ridded of all your clothes and welcomed him at the entrance.

Peeking out, you try your best to hide your bare body, opening the door at minimum for Seokjin to come in.

“Hurry!” You whisper harshly to him and he slips through the gap with no difficulty, given the fact that his body was rather slender.

He steps into the room, inspecting every corner as if it was his first time here.

You closed the door behind him, heat filling your cheeks as you are suddenly aware of how bare you were compared to his office suit. It was his request after all, wasn’t it?

Seokjin makes no move, just standing there and going through every piece of stationary on your desk. Folding your arms over your body, you felt shy being naked from head to toe as he pays you no attention. Was he humiliating you?

The silence was uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be, especially with someone like Seokjin and you start to feel uneasy. The bareness of your body being the pinch of salt on the wound.

“So, we’re going to stand like this and see who cums first?”

It sounded spiteful, but you were cold without any clothes on.

At that, he turns around and begins to undo his tie.

Still, he hasn’t said a word. Just stands there and observes every curve and line of your body.

Seokjin looks so hot like this, large veiny hands removing his tie as he looks you up and down.

Somehow, a man as perfect as him viewing your body in this manner pumps waves of insecurities into your system. You suddenly feel the need to cover yourself up and disappear from the face of the earth. And his silence was not helping you in any way.

“Get on the bed.” He commands and excitement bubbled in your stomach.

He grabs a hold of both your wrists and ties them up together, and throws them behind your head. He’s taking his time with you, tracing his crooked fingers along the corner of your jaw, to the crevice of your neck, dropping to the curvature of your breasts then smoothing the small of your waist with his palms. Then, he kisses you, causing a squeal to escape from you as he presses his growing boner against your core. The room was close to pitch-black now that your laptop had went to sleep, and you can barely make out his face but you know by heart just how beautiful he was.

His plump lips are locked with yours, a moment or two of messily making out with the bondage on your hands. The knot did not come loos even if you struggled, and that was what turned you on even more—not being able to move them easily, The restriction, plus the fact that you were completely exposed to the skin while he was fully clad in his crisp white shirt and black slacks, elevated the senses of his ghostly touches and escalated the dying need for the man on top of you.

His mouth falls to your neck, sucking harshly at one spot making you moan shamelessly as he held your jaw in place. The hard edges of his Rolex watch rubs against your collarbone roughly, but you must admit you love the feeling of it all. You want him all.

As his mouth does the same wonders to your breasts, you can’t help but squirm under his touch and whine for more. You can feel your pussy clenching around nothing every time his bulge brushes against your clit, your juices damping the front of his pants.

All care for the sleep you once craved has dissipated into thin air, now only consisting of a scorching desire for Seokjin to fuck your burnt-out brain upside down.

Somewhere in between sloppy kisses and mindless hair tugging, his pants were on the floor, accompanied by his boxers. To think about it, you have never seen Seokjin naked before. And his impressive length makes a pool of saliva to form in your mouth, you find yourself drooling for his thick and long cock to fill you up. You wonder how it feels to have him between your walls,

“Sorry princess, I can’t help it anymore. I have to be inside you,”

You didn’t take him as a man who lacked self-control but rather, quite the opposite. But you didn’t have the thinking capacity to analyse that any further when you were about to finally get fucked.

He holds his throbbing cock in one hand positioning it at your entrance, while the other stays put on one of your shoulder blades to hold himself steady.

He purposefully prods his tip at the seal of your folds to tease you, enjoying it every time you mewled softly when he did it. He is amazed by how wet you got even without any foreplay. Imagining the sex with foreplay just drove him nuts.

“Ngh—!” You were the least to say, not expecting Seokjin to test your pussy’s ability to take it all in at one shot. Besides mentally wise, your cunt hasn’t been stretched out this much for so long by any guy. It hurts a little, but-

“You’re a big girl, I’m sure you can take it all princess,” He tells you in a low, throaty voice by your ear and in all honesty, it has you going. His voice too, is strained by how well your pussy envelops him like he was the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

Your hands were still bond and you kept them above your head, drowning in the immense pleasure of every thrust he drove into you. His eyebrows are furrowed, focusing on entering you again and again, feeling euphoric at the smooth texture of your wet, warm walls sucking him back in and cuddling his shaft. You would cry out each time his tip hits your crevice, and it encouraged him to snap his hips faster, harder, forcing pretty sounds to spill from your swollen lips with every impact.

It has been too long since you were fucked like this—with Seokjin’s knitted brows in full concentration of making you feel the heavens—like he wanted you, and craved you for the whole week, and he was finally having you.

Mesmerised by his beautifully carved face, you fail to notice how he has threw your leg over his back and starts fucking into you like there was no tomorrow. Indeed, you hoped that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. A tomorrow where this stunningly gorgeous man would not be by your side, the only thing keeping you company your books and papers. The thought of it kind of scares you, but you were getting used to being alone, suffocating with deadlines and killer projects. But all was fine—the last thing you wanted was to have Seokjin come and destroy the process of your adaptation to this devastating life.

You were close.

You can feel the climax nearing as he relentlessly bucks his hip into yours, cock ramming the clarity away from your eyes as you shudder in bliss.

“Ah, Daddy…”

It wasn’t intentional or anything, just so naturally comes out of you. Your voice was husky yet gentle and sweet, it rapidly heightens his drive to shove his length into you till you screamed.

You were oversensitive, and he knows it. But still he does whatever he wants with your body. How you feel. Whether or not you get to cum. The permission to move. It was all under his control.

“How do I feel?” A drop of sweat rolls down his temple. You don’t give him a reply, fingers tugging so hard at your pillowcase that it might rip apart. All you could think about is how amazing his stamina is. “Answer me, princess. You like being fucked like this? Hmm?” He sends a particularly hard thrust at the last syllable, a broken cry to leave your throat.

Seokjin grabs you by the throat and demands response, but it was already shown all over your fucked out expression and needy moans.

“Yes! I love being fucked like this, I love being a little slut for daddy, I love—Mmph!” Seokjin’s luscious lips land on yours, cutting off the filth trailing off your little mouth before it made him cum. It also felt like a kiss of assurance, making sure that you were safe in his hands.

Before the look in his eyes darkens.

His fingers tighten around your neck, constricting the airway which results in the second time of your vision fading out. You couldn’t care less if you died while having sex with a man this striking. His dick feels so good in you, his hands were a perfect choker paired with his hot breath against your neck—all the while your hands are still made unavailable to roam his sculpted body—pushes you into another orgasm. Coming twice in a row made your hole clench around him tighter than ever, and he loses himself in the feeling of it.

“Shit, baby fuck-”

After a couple of quick thrusts, he pulls out and hot white liquid spurts everywhere messily, especially onto your pink red cunt.

It was almost like the ejaculation was unexpected and hurried, Seokjin grimaced as he witnesses the soiling of your sheets.

But that was the least of both of your concerns and he collapses on top of your sore body, allowing the afterglow of sex to gradually disappear on its own.

It was quiet, nothing but the slowing of your breaths and loud unspoken thoughts.

After what seemed like forever, he does what is needed to be done—cleaning up.

A little to your surprise, you didn’t think Seokjin was the kind of man who would wipe the congealing cum off the insides of your thighs and hastily untie you. You didn’t think he was the kind who would promise to get your stained sheets replaced as soon as possible.

Most importantly, you didn’t think he was the kind who would give you more than you asked. Much more.

The fact that you were moving into your new lavish apartment next week was already mind-blowing, and you were more than grateful enough to have the opportunity to look after a pet as adorable as Snowball. You were contented with his terms and conditions as well. So why was he offering more, more and more?

“Join my company as a receptionist. The job offers part-time and it pays well.”

Seokjin hands the chance out to you so casually, as he slid his pants back on.

“Why would you want to see your sex toy every time you leave or enter the premises?”

Blunt. That’s what you are, and it ties a knot in his tongue.

Did you really think of yourself in that way? It may be true, but you need not put it out like that, lingering in the air with a wisp of malice.

“Great question,” He attempts to lighten the mood. “Correction though, you’re my princess. Not my sex toy.” His smirk is slightly twisted into a heartbreaking smile as he pinches you on the cheek. Strange, he never dealt with such corny words before but tries to play it cool.

You were in a large white T-shirt now, and Seokjin is curious as to who it rightfully belonged to.

It was three sizes larger than your frame but you looked so perfect in it. Especially after being fucked by him.

Your lack of participation in his flirting stiffens the air between the both of you.

He stands there, breathtaking—fully dressed already and ready to go.

A tiny part of you wished you had someone to cuddle with tonight.

Crazy, unquestionably not the arrogant man towering over you.

A fraction of him admitted he loves the fragrance of the argan oil your hair sweeps his nose with, and maybe doesn’t mind smelling it for the rest of the night.

Insane, he certainly could use the shampoo for himself if he liked it.

“Yeah, whatever-”

“I think I’ll make a move-”

Both sentences paused at the mutual interruption.

Seokjin decides to let you speak first, to inspect what kind of eccentricity was going through your mind in the wee hours. He had nothing important to say anyway.

“I want to sleep. Goodnight.” You half-heartedly wave him off, not bothering to send him out.

There still wasn’t a definite answer from you on his offer.

But seeing as to how busy you were trying to make suit with the (his) cum-stained bed, he lets you be and carefully makes his way out.

“Goodnight.” He bids his farewell.

Right, he almost forgot.

Backtracking, he easily spots Snowball and sends him a flying kiss even though your dear bunny was in a deep slumber.

“Sweet dreams, Snowball.”

A groan emits from you in a kind of distaste at his voice and he tries to hold back his childish giggle.

All cheekiness subsided. He leaves for real now, and he feels more perplexed than ever about you.

731 notes · View notes

bestrenew728 · 3 years ago

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Best Cases For Mac Book Proretina 15

But, if you want to get the very best briefcase for MacBook Pro 15 Retina – Polare is the one for you. We weighed all pros and cons, and this briefcase simply came on top. We weighed all pros and cons, and this briefcase simply came on top.

Best Cases For Mac Book Pro Retina 15-inch

Laptop Cases For Mac Book Air

Best Cases For Mac Book Pro Retina 15

BestMacBook Pro CasesiMore2019

In our case - quality comes along with quantity. Best app for mac for instagram. Turbo Followers app serves over 50,000 customers daily - allow us to serve you, too!

The MacBook Pro is a heck of a machine, with slick internals and four very recent updates (a new one every year since 2016). If you've just picked up a new laptop, then you'll want to protect it or maybe even just dress it up a bit. Here are the best cases for your MacBook Pro.

Note: Always remember to select the right size and model before you check out. Also, remember that any case for the 2016 MacBook Pro will fit the 2017, 2018, and 2019 models too.

Best Buy customers often prefer the following products when searching for Cases For Macbook Pro 15. Browse the top-ranked list of Cases For Macbook Pro 15. Protect and personalize your 15' MacBook Pro Retina. Our hardshell cases, form-fitting sleeves & protective bags are designed with style in mind. Free Shipping!

The best cases and bags for the 2015 MacBook Pro. The case for the MacBook Pro 15in Retina version is also available on Amazon for. Available for both 13 and 15 inch MacBook Pro models, it. 15 inch MacBook Pro case, MacBook Pro 15 sleeve, MacBook Pro case, 15 MacBook case, MacBook Pro 15 case, laptop case--U601 Find this Pin and more on MacBook Pro Retina 15' Cases by Jennifer Kolker. This hardcover case might be the most reviewed case on Amazon, and over 70% of reviews fall in the 4- or 5-star range. This is the perfect basic case for your MacBook Pro and it comes in 13-inch and 15-inch versions, so it's great for everybody. Apple's laptops come with the best ecosystem of accessories in the business. Here are some of our favorite picks for the 12-inch MacBook and the new MacBook Pro models.

Best Overall: Mosiso plastic hard case

Mosiso's plastic hard case even comes with a screen protector and a keyboard cover so that your MacBook Pro is covered through and through. It matches whichever exterior color you choose, and just like most MacBook cases, these are made from hard plastic and feature an anti-slip rubberized coating. It's also available in a 15-inch version.

Pros:

Great value

Great color selection

Keyboard case included

Screen protector included

Best Overall

Mosiso plastic hard case

Three in one

Choose from more than two dozen colors, and get a screen protector and matching keyboard cover included as well.

InCase makes fantastic backpacks, and that craftsmanship translates to its MacBook Pro cases, which have a dot texture look and repel water. The Bayer Makrolon polycarbonate material is also abrasion-resistant, meaning extra scratch protection for your laptop.

Cons:

Pricey

Most Popular

InCase Hardshell case

Best for most

This is a great case that just about anyone will appreciate for its quality protection. It's popular amongst iMore staff.

This is the perfect basic case for your MacBook Pro, and it comes in 13-inch and 15-inch versions, so it's great for everybody. It's made from hard plastic but features a softer rubberized coating, which provides excellent grip, especially when it's sitting on your lap.

Cons:

None

Best Value

TopCase 2-in-1 ultra slim hard cover

Two for one

This great basic case includes a keyboard cover as well to keep dust and grime from gumming up your keys.

If you're looking for some rugged protection, then i-Blason's heavy-duty dual layer cover is the way to go. It's made from hard plastic and features a softer, more flexible TPU bumper around the edges for shock absorption. You have the option of black with blue, black with green, all black, or white. You can also get a 15-inch version.

Cons:

Bulkier than some

Best Heavy-Duty Case

i-Blason dual layer cover

Tough

If your MacBook Pro is subjected to more than the average bumps, you might consider a heavy-duty case like this one.

If you're looking something with a nice design but aren't partial to cats with glasses or mandalas, then check out KECC's 'out of this world' cases. They feature space scenes, as well as abstract, wavy paint designs. If you're a stargazer or just like a celestial scene, then these are the cases for you. Both the 13-inch and 15-inch are available in this listing.

Cons:

None

Most Modern

KECC hard shell cover

Stunning designs

Take your MacBook Pro's looks out of this world when you protect it with this beautiful cover.

These cases are super thin and feature a wrapped spine, which buckles at a corner to allow your MacBook Pro to open fully. The cover is made from soft linen, and your MacBook sturdily stays put thanks to 3M 'secure locking adhesive,' which leaves no residue on your laptop. It's also available in a 15-inch version.

Pros:

Handmade

Archival quality linen cover

Stunning looks

Most Luxurious

Pad & Quill Cartella Slim case

Upscale

When you need to make an elegant impression, look no further than Pad & Quill.

The SmartShell is a two-piece case with rubber feet on the bottom to stop your laptop sliding about. It's somewhat similar to other cases on this list, but it's a bit thicker, helping it stand up to bumps and travel a little bit better. There are plenty of color options to choose from, and it's available for just about every MacBook Pro under the sun including the 15-inch version. Cella has had one for eight years, and it's still as great as ever.

Cons:

None

Most Reliable

Speck SmartShell

Cella's case

Writer Cella has relied on this case for the past eight years, and it's still going strong.

Most Colors and Patterns: ProCase hard shell cover

This case is a lot like others on this list, with a matte-finished, hard plastic top and bottom. It comes in many colors, and each case comes with a black keyboard cover. The bottom is vented, so your MacBook Pro doesn't overheat, and the covers snap on and off if you ever want to just admire your laptop on its own. There is also a 15-inch version.

Pros:

Two dozen colors and patterns

Keyboard cover included

Most Colors and Patterns

ProCase hard shell cover

Super selection

Great color and pattern choices here, but note that the included keyboard cover is black or clear, not necessarily the color of the case.

The Tech21 Evo Gem case features a 'BulletShield' material, which is textured to add a bit of shock absorption. The 'gem' design has a cool effect on the MacBook's look when light hits it, and you can find it in either pink or gray. It's also available in the 15-inch version. Apple trusts this brand enough to sell it in Apple retail stores.

Cons:

Pricey

Apple-Recommended

Tech21 Evo Gem case

Apple's pick

You can buy this gem of a case online, or you can buy a Tech21 case at your local brick-and-mortar Apple Store.

If you can have a leather case for your iPhone, then why not for your 13-inch MacBook Pro? This synthetic leather case boasts the elegant and sophisticated look and feel of leather, but with an easy-to-swallow price tag. The bottom is fully vented, so there's no leather holding in heat, and the inner hard plastic shell helps protect against scratches and bumps.

Pros:

Unusual look and feel

Nice color and pattern selection

Best Faux Leather

Fintie PU leather cases

Leather look

This fun faux-leather case certainly stands out from the plastic crowd.

This case has been protecting Karen's MacBook Pro for about a year now, and both the laptop and the case are still in perfect condition. It comes tons of pretty floral patterns, as well as other fun patterns and solids. The bottom is vented to prevent overheating. Choose from either the 13-inch or 15-inch size in this listing.

Pros:

Great selection of gorgeous patterns

High-quality

Best Bargain

GMYLE Macbook Pro Case

Karen's case

Karen loves her pretty floral GMYLE case, it's protected her MacBook Pro on her travels over the past year.

Best Cases For Mac Book Pro Retina 15-inch

Bottom line

Yeah, the MacBook Pro is a nice-looking machine, but if you want to keep it looking gorgeous, then you'll want a quality case for it. For just about anyone, the Mosiso Plastic Hard case is a great pick. It's sturdy and well-fit. The bottom piece is ventilated so your MacBook Pro won't overheat. Rubber 'feet' ensure your laptop won't slip around on your desk. You can choose from 25 beautiful colors. If you can't pick just one, well, the price is so reasonable that you can pick up a couple of different colors to suit your mood or the season. Note that some colors are more translucent than others; this is important if you want your Apple logo to show through. There is no cutout for the logo.

Each Mosiso Plastic Hard case comes with a keyboard cover that matches the case. Give your MacBook screen a little extra protection with the included screen protector. Mosiso offers a one-year warranty on the case and the keyboard cover. This is a precision-fit case, so be sure to check the model number of your MacBook Pro before you purchase the case so it will fit.

So, if you are looking for a Photoshop alternative that’s easier to use or a free Photoshop alternative for your Windows PC, Mac, Linux machine or even your Android. To help you select the best software, we tested six popular photo-editing programs, all either free or under $100: Apple Photos, Corel PaintShop Pro, GIMP, Google Photos, Adobe Photoshop Elements. Best photoshop software for mac free.

Credits — The team that worked on this guide

Karen S. Freeman is a teacher, writer, social media person, and family woman. She loves to travel, play with tech stuff, drink coffee, discover amazing new restaurants, and experience new things.

Cella Lao rousseau is a writer, true crime enthusiast, bestselling horror author, lipstick collector, buzzkill, Sicilian, gamer.

We may earn a commission for purchases using our links. Learn more.

Second screen time

Take a monitor on the go with one of these options for your Mac

For work or play, consider one of these portal solutions for your favorite Mac.

BestHard Shell Cases for MacBook ProiMore2019

One of the best ways to protect your MacBook Pro is with a hard shell case. These cases offer scratch and drop protection, and they can often lend a touch of your personal style to your laptop. These are your best options to both protect and beautify your MacBook Pro.

Make sure you choose the correct size of your MacBook Pro (13 inches or 15 inches) before checking out.

Laptop Cases For Mac Book Air

Top pick: Mosiso hard shell case and keyboard cover

Staff Favorite

Mosiso has a huge range of great colors for you to choose from, and its hard shell MacBook Pro cases are inexpensive. Each case also comes with a matching keyboard cover to protect your keys from dirt, dust, spills, and wear. Mosiso also throws in a screen protector, so you're protected all around. Because of its huge selection and great price, it's our pick!

$16 at Amazon

Runner-up: Ueswill matte hard case

Ueswill's hard shell cases are pretty similar to Mosiso's, but if you'd rather more of a design than a solid color, this should be your choice. Ueswill offers a bunch of fun designs, including floral and marble patterns, as well as various graphics of space, nature, and more.

Best Cases For Mac Book Pro Retina 15

$17 at Amazon

Reliable protection: ProCase hard shell cover

These matte cases are pretty standard for hard shell covers. There are a number of colors to choose from, and each comes with a keyboard cover, though the keyboard cover is black — it won't match the case color.

$17 at Amazon

So. Many. Designs.: KEC laptop case

Let your personality shine through with KEC's hard shell MacBook Pro cases, which feature beautiful, bright, and colorful designs and patterns. Each has rubberized feet to hold your laptop in place while you type, and the bottom shell is vented so that it doesn't overheat.

$20 at Amazon

Mandala mania: iCasso hard shell cover

If you love beautiful geometric patterns like mandalas, then this is the case for you. Each case has a matching keyboard cover, and there are several gorgeous mandalas, as well as other designs and solid colors to choose from.

$16 at Amazon

Translucent protection: i-Blason frosted hard shell cover

iBlason's hard shell cases have a translucent surface, so you can see the beauty of your MacBook at all times. Each case is finished with a matte rubber coating for extra grip, and the bottom is vented and adorned with rubber feet.

$20 at Amazon

Much to see: iLeadon case

Protect your MacBook in style with this art print ultra slim rubberized durable plastic shell. This product is available in various styles, including Bohemia, Navy Blue Rose, and more.

$19 at Amazon

Heavy duty: i-Blason dual layer cover

If you need your MacBook Pro to survive a bit more of the rough-and-tumble, then you'll want a rugged case, like i-Blason's dual layer hard shell, which features shock-absorbent rubber edges, a hard plastic body, and precise cutouts for your ports. Comes in four colors.

$34 at Amazon

Even more designs: Mosiso case

If you still haven't found your favorite design in the above selections, then check out what Mosiso has. There are more marble patterns, wood grain options, floral prints, feathers, and mandalas.

$18 at Amazon

So many choices

These are the best hard shell cases we've found for the MacBook Pro. Each is available in multiple styles -- some traditional, others a little bit more creative or unique. Regardless, each of these cases is tough and will protect your investment against bumps and scratches. Many come with extra goodies such as keyboard covers to provide even more protection.

A hard shell case is the best and perhaps the simplest way to make sure your MacBook Pro makes it through the day in one piece. For the pragmatic folks, it doesn't get better than Mosiso's myriad options, but if you like a bit of flair, go with KEC's interesting designs. If you're looking for tougher protection, go with the i-Blason dual layer cover.

We may earn a commission for purchases using our links. Learn more.

Second screen time

Take a monitor on the go with one of these options for your Mac

For work or play, consider one of these portal solutions for your favorite Mac.

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animeraider · 3 years ago

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Of all of the strange stories in my lengthy music career, this is one of them.

In the 1980's I was the lead guitarist and occasional vocalist for a band called ASK. We were pretty good after a while. It was me, Kevin Donville (bass and lead vocals), Ed Lee (Keyboards and vocals) and a series of drummers before we finally settled win with Tim "T.J." Klassen. We started off slow but after some rough gigs, including an horrific one where we were the act that followed the famed songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland run through their biggest hits (we sounded nothing like them and the audience was there) we built up a reputation in West L.A. as a solid band and had earned the trust of the famed Esther Wong herself.

We played 20 gigs at Madame Wong's during our run.

In 1989 Kevin had to leave the band. The rest of us tried to soldier on for a bit, recruiting my brother to play bass and trying a few other guitarists to take over lead duties while I took over vocals. None of it really worked, but we did have fun with one song. Back in the ASK days we had a hard rocker called "Run To Me" that featured a riff I stole from Don Dokken. I re-worked the song as a ballad and we worked up a pretty good arrangement. Tim and my brother worked up a solid rhythm section part and we all agreed that this was pretty awesome.

The band fizzled out and that's mostly my fault. But one night Tim and I got some beers and watched a VHS tape of U2's "Rattle and Hum", and when they got to "Bullet The Blue Sky" Tim's air-drumming that slamming part and I'm pretending to be The Edge when Tim asks me if I can play that slide guitar part. I could and I can. He said, "wouldn't that be awesome in Run to Me?"

We had one more practice, jut him, me and my brother and it WAS awesome.

I then got sidetracked by the events that led me to record a song called "Favorite Partner", a dance track that was completely played on acoustic instruments. That song took off in the beach town clubs and I suddenly needed a full demo to shop around - because people were starting to ask who I was. I had two other songs ready to go in the same vein as "Favorite Partner" and I asked TJ and Alex (my brother) to come to a session and we'd record "Run to Me" like we had last practiced it, "Rattle and Hum" bits and all.

In those days I practiced and recorded at a placed called Pendragon Studios. None of us lived close to it, but their engineer - a man named Bill Krodell - was a genius.This of course means that we all have to drive there. On the day of the session Alex's car breaks down, and he can't make it. So now I have to play bass.

TJ and I record a reference track - my guitar and his drums, and then I record the bass. I had never tried to play bass on the song before, so I just copied with Alex had done. It's a pretty good bass line, and later he would be very happy that I had kept it. I record the guitars and when it comes time to do the solo I pull out the slide and do the "Bullet the Blue Sky" bit. It's only a few seconds but Bill claps his hands together and says, "Wait until you hear how I mix THAT!"

It gets time to do the vocals and it takes me a few takes to get the lead down. The harmonies were easy though (that had been my part when it was an ASK song). We're listening to a take and getting to the last chorus when TJ, who's been just sitting and listening for the past couple of hours as his part was long finished yells out, "Knock Knock Knockin' on Heaven's Door" in time with the drum part he played.

Of course, we just HAD to incorporate that. Understand, There were about a dozen version of the old Bob Dylan song making the rounds right around then, including the Guns 'N' Roses one, so it was once again part of the zeitgeist. In the space of a few minutes I came up and recorded with a blistering 4-part harmony of those six words, and then returned to the song as I had written it. It was a fun off-the-cuff moment and I love those.

We mixed the tracks and I suddenly had a 4-song demo. A friend of mine did a photo session for the cover. I'm terrible at those and to try to get me to loosen up she had me balance a small rubber shark on my shoulder. The photo that resulted led to not only the cover but the title of the demo, "Hand Feeding the Hungry Shark".

God's Teeth I'm young in that photo.

The demo got circulated around and label interest started up, but they wanted to hear more. They wanted live shows and at this point I really didn't have a band. I was getting club play though and I was selling demos, so I decided to record a full album. The result was the first album I released as Jim Christopher, "My World - Welcome To It", named after a television show I barely remembered from my childhood. It's available to this day:

https://open.spotify.com/album/0MZo7Zlk9cis5s0mcv0giy?si=RUce_ECtRH-ndKprKkx2QA&dl_branch=1

Thing is, if you listen to track Seven you will NOT hear the Bob Dylan Lyrics. You need to remember that this is 1989-90. The world wasn't then what it is now. I hadn't sampled Dylan. I had essentially just used his words, and I realized I was going to need his permission. So I asked.

It took a bit of doing, but I found his agent and sent him a letter outlining what I was doing, and sent him a copy of the demo. I figured that their publishers would want a cut and I was prepared to give it. Instead I got a letter back stating that if I were to release this version of the song with Dylan's lyrics included that they would sue me into the ground and crap on the smoldering remains.

Well, I'm this 24 year-old broke dude and this is Bob Dylan's battery of lawyers. I wasn't going to win this one, so I went to a studio and rented one of their editing consoles and spliced out most of the last chorus (I'm a VERY good editor - most people don't even realize the cut).

That was that. My little tribute to Bob Dylan was left on the cutting room floor. 20 seconds of the song just gone. End of story.

Except.

Long after I had left Los Angeles and retaken my own name as a recording artist, Dylan gives an interview about all of the covers of his songs done over the years, and how many musicians quote him. Part of the answer he gives is about how he got overly protective of his catalog at one point and wouldn't let anyone use his music without using the whole song. Guess about when this was? He goes on to say in the interview that he doesn't mind people quoting him - that he does it himself.

In essence, he was giving everyone permission to do the very thing his lawyers had told me not to do. I'm not going to go into the story of how I confirmed this, but I did learn that he actually had never even heard my song (Hugh Hefner did, but that's another story). The ultimate response I got? "We're cool."

But I had edited that chorus out of the master for the album. I went back to the original 2 inch tapes I had recorded on and remixed and remastered the song. I let it hang around bandcamp for a little while, but I never really gave any thought to releasing it.

Well, 2020 and 2021 have been such game-changers in my life. After spending years struggling with a new album the floodgates opened up for me as a writer and a recording artist. As many of you know, I've released a ton of material this year, including some of my older tracks that never saw the light of day. It took a while, but it finally got through myu thick skull that I could finally put out in wide release the original version of "Run to Me", complete with The Edge guitar solo and 6 words by Bob Dylan.

It's the opener of "Demolisten", which is mostly a random collection of songs that never saw wide release for one reason or another. Some of this work is seriously unpolished, but I figure if the big artists can release their back-catalog crap so can I. But I'm really proud of "Run to Me".

I played every instrument and sang all the vocals except for the drums, which are played by Tim "TJ" Klassen (who now lives in New York). If you listen very very carefully you can even hear TJ "singing" (screaming, really) as he plays drums, especially on some of the fills.

Every song on this "new" EP has a story behind it, but this one is the one from the very early days of my life as a solo artist. I can tell the other stories if you want. I promise to be less verbose on the others. Their stories are shorter.

#Spotify

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caveatauditor · 6 years ago

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My favorite albums, days 1-10

Friends have requested that I share my favorite albums on social media, preferably with vaguely autobiographical blurbs accompanying them, so to avoid polluting the wholesomeness of my Facebook timeline with music geekery, these are they until I change my mind. I excluded albums from this decade because the decade isn’t over, so the ten gems that follow represent an attempt to make history conform to me.

1. Lil Wayne, Da Drought 3

Two discs of Wayne freestyling, bloviating, and holding a conversation over a bunch of sampled and/or stolen and/or obscure music, arranged randomly because in theory the mixtape goes on forever in both directions, a gorgeous tapestry whose details happen to consist of delectable beats and wild free-associative blather. Wayne raps like a child in a candy store, eschewing parsable semantic content in favor of puns and stray impulses and improvised phonetic twaddle and whatever he feels like saying in the moment; likewise, the beats don’t cohere, sonically or in sequence, instead sticking as many hooks as possible wherever possible as often as possible; the overall result comes off like a transmission from the filthiest corner of the id. The ultimate triumph of mid-‘00s mixtape culture, Da Drought 3 is fabulous aural wallpaper and hardly an album at all, so of course it’s my favorite album.

2. Joni Mitchell, Hejira

Given how beloved this album is among a surprisingly large number of my friends, I almost went with the equally astonishing Hissing of Summer Lawns, but let’s be real now--Hejira is flawlessly, magnificently beautiful like nothing else I’ve ever heard. The guitar lines lap and peal over breathtakingly wide, sweeping expanses of empty space--space like the open road, like the southwestern desert in the winter, like the urge to travel and stay on the move, like the empty human heart. The lyrics use the familiar musicianly trope of going on tour as a springboard for a set of travelogue meditations on solitude and perpetual motion, a condition imposed partially by circumstance and partially by internal existential need; she’s moving before the ringing opening chords of “Coyote” and she’s moving after “Refuge of the Roads” pensively winds down. The latter song in particular contains several moments that always, always make me cry, especially during the first verse (“We laughed at how our perfection would always be denied”) and the third (“A thunderhead of judgment was gathering in my gaze”). I’ll never use “relate” as a verb, but I’ve often taken refuge in the road. I always take this album with me, though.

3. Jandek, Blue Corpse

I’m cheating here: Jandek is a relatively new discovery for me, and I’m still working through his ridiculously massive catalog, but I’ve listened to him with sufficient fascination enough over the past year and a half that he deserves a spot. Fans say that Blue Corpse is a good starting point because it’s his most accessible album, but accessibility is a relative concept when we’re talking about experimental atonal lo-fi acoustic quasi-blues fuckery, so let’s just call it his most carefully sequenced--side two builds the way a second side should, starting with an extended harmonica solo before leading into his cover of “House of the Rising Sun” and the album’s ten-minute centerpiece, the lonely, furious “Only Lover”. I love this album so much I could easily imagine a better one lurking in some dank, unexplored discographical corner.

4. Janet Jackson, The Velvet Rope

As a sophomore in high school I heard The Velvet Rope and immediately decided this was the sexiest and most sophisticated music I had ever heard. I was right! To this day I hold a special place in my heart for R&B that confounds the traditional banger/ballad distinction--there are no ballads on this album! With its swirly synthesizer and xylophonesque keyboard chords, “Empty” sounds like a conventional slow song until you notice the second layer of hyperactive drums clicking maniacally atop the core rhythm track: nervous energy disrupting and complementing preternatural spiritual calm. “Tonight’s the Night” is a great cover because the act of covering an established hit mirrors the act of initial erotic exploration, of navigating your way through a series of gestures you knew about before trying yourself; the way she sings “Cause I love you girl ain’t nobody gonna stop us now” is defiantly blunt, unshowy, matter-of-fact. Those are the lyrics! She’ll sing them. Breezy, mechanical, exquisite, The Velvet Rope captures the fragility of intimacy.

5. Fall Out Boy, From Under the Cork Tree

I first became aware of Fall Out Boy in middle school, when the girl whose locker neighbored mine put up a bunch of Pete Wentz posters on the inside of her locker door. I envied her brilliance and poise, since she was obviously way smarter and cooler than me, and I’m pleased to say she was right: this daft, idiotic, magnificent album captures a world of teenage crushes, fixations, stupid feelings poorly rationalized, awkward proclamations blurted out and immediately retracted, aftershave clumsily sprayed on to impress a special someone, the scent of cheap perfume, lipstick stains on your pillowcase and friction in your jeans. It’s so flushed and clumsy it automatically enters the realm of hormonal teenpop utopia, with the crunchy guitars mirroring the anguish in eternal adolescent Patrick Stump’s heart. Pete Wentz writes solecistic, self-aggrandizing lyrics because teenagers in love are supposed to utter howlers like “The only thing worse than not knowing is you thinking that I don’t know” and (sigh) “Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness”. It’s an ode to the enduring power of romantic absurdity, in all its most entertaining guises.

6. Duran Duran, Rio

Like From Under the Cork Tree, only glitzier. Occasionally I play a game with select friends of mine where we try to guess whether a random snippet of doggerel is a Fall Out Boy or a Duran Duran lyric. “It’s just like a scene out of Voltaire twisting out of sight”? Obviously Duran, for citing French philosophy is such a New Romantic move. “We’re well-read and poised/we’re the best boys”? Self-defeating self-objectification is Pete Wentz’s favorite rhetorical device. “The sun drips down bedding heavy behind/the front of your dress all shadowy lined/and the droning engine throbs in time with your beating heart”? Too florid; gotta be Duran. “Couldn’t cut me deeper with a knife if you tried/just take a look before you run off and hide”? No clue--blood and betrayal could go either way. “Let’s fade away together one dream at a time”? “Some people call it a one-night stand but we can call it paradise”? Well!

7. PJ Harvey, To Bring You My Love

As a senior in high school I heard To Bring You My Love and immediately decided this was the sexiest and rawest music I had ever heard. I was right! To this day I know no harsher or more beautiful approximation of what it means to yearn for the sublime. The tiny guitar figure in “Working for the Man”, half-concealed beneath the drums and muffled, thumping bass, devastates because it’s creepy and horrible; the maximalist guitar roar in “Long Snake Moan”, almost as loud and thundering as her distorted vocals, devastates because so would getting run over by a tank. On the rest of the album, she hits every mood between those two extremes, including rapture and delight in addition to all the abrasive ones.

8. Fleetwood Mac, Tusk

I almost went with Tango in the Night, given how my generation seems to have discovered and reclaimed it, with “Seven Wonders” popping up in Balearic dance mixes and American Horror Story. Tusk, however, is a giant compendium of whirring gears and rotating spokes and plinky keys and strummed acoustic guitars and tinkly music boxes and billions of other moving parts, and the totality of the sound correlates with a draining, overwhelming emotional extremity. Lindsey Buckingham fills the space with a bunch of tightly crafted miniatures, distilling his imagined ideal of the Fleetwood Mac sound into the searing anger of “What Makes You Think I’m the One” and “I Know I’m Not Wrong” (Lindsey Buckingham in a song title), but Stevie Nicks gets all the big statements: the thundering “Sisters of the Moon”, the incomparable breakup ballad “Storms” (“Never have I been a blue calm sea/I have always been a storrrrrrm” always makes me cry), “Sara”. Meanwhile, Christine McVie’s “Brown Eyes”/“Never Make Me Cry” couplet is the axis on which the album’s sequence turns. Tusk resonates because it conflates the singer-songwriter confessional urge with the band’s collaborative dynamic, creating a communal space for them all to bask in their shared hate for and exhaustion with each other.

9. Crunk Hits

I needed a compilation, and this magnificent one brings to life my favorite radio format: mainstream hip-hop in the mid-‘00s. Crunk and R&B were everywhere back then; to me this album sounds like New York in the hot, lazy summers of ’05 and ’06, when these songs confounded with their unprecedented hedonism and aggression and delight. Definitively singles-oriented, this music saturated a subsequent generation of hip-hop fans, so that album artistes in this decade like Young Thug and Playboi Carti have internalized crunk’s valuable lessons about shamelessly exposing the id. I couldn’t omit an album whose first five songs are Usher’s “Yeah”, Lil Jon & the Eastside Boyz’s “Get Low”, T.I.’s “Rubber Band Man”, Chingy’s “Right Thurr”, and Ciara’s “Goodies”--damn! It’s practically a greatest-hits album for the entire decade.

10. Steely Dan, Gaucho

When I bought this album in seventh grade, I wasn’t aware I was buying the fleetest, shallowest, most efficient howl of anguish ever set to music. Donald Fagen and Walter Becker are only ironists insofar as they’re romantics who mask their feelings in inscrutable form. The question with any of their albums, which are basically all flawless, is to what degree they’ll reveal their bleeding hearts, and on Gaucho there’s such a gash in the fabric the blood spurts out everywhere, staining the shag carpet, dripping through the singer’s sleeve onto his fancy leather shoes. The modest functionalism of their slick California studio-rock, the tasty licks and glossy keyboards and sparingly deployed saxophone and sudden sharp bursts of guitar, hardly enters into a dialectic with the desperation and horror of the songwriting--it’s the perfect musical expression for these feelings, as perfection that’s slightly disfigured is so much more devastating than total abrasion (when critics use “Bret Easton Ellis” as shorthand for the demented luxury porn we’ve enjoyed and suffered through this decade, what they really mean is “Steely Dan”). No matter how many glass tables you smash, how many ashtrays you inhale, you’ll never feel as shitty as this record.

#lists #favorites #best albums ever

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tech-battery · 4 years ago

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LENOVO THINKPAD X1 FOLD REVIEW: A FOLDING SCREEN FILLED WITH POTENTIAL

The Lenovo ThinkPad X1 Fold is awesome… as a concept.

Come on, it’s a display that folds in half. You can carry it around like a tablet. You can prop it up and use it like a Surface Pro. You can fold it halfway and use it like a clamshell laptop. You can fold it slightly and hold it like a hardcover book. And everyone who sees you whip it out of your briefcase will ask “Wow, what’s that?” And you can tell them “Oh, nothing. Just the world’s first foldable PC.” Picture it. There’s no way you won’t feel like the coolest person in your meeting.

So should you buy it?

I mean, no. Before we get into this: definitely not. It’s a whopping $2,499, not including the stylus and keyboard. (Bundles with both accessories start at $2,749 on Lenovo’s website.) That’s more than anyone needs to spend even to get a very good laptop — and there are a few too many problems with the X1 Fold for me to put it in that category.

But! I do like the idea. The folding form factor certainly makes life easier, and I have no doubt that we’ll see more devices like this in the future — assuming manufacturers can work out some of the kinks.

A TRAVEL PRO

Here’s how a day with the X1 Fold went for me. In the morning, before signing on for work, I lay on the couch and used the Fold as a mini clamshell (that is, folded at 90 degrees with the keyboard on the bottom half of the screen) to catch up on emails. Someone had sent me an interesting YouTube video overnight. I unfolded the laptop into a 13.3-inch tablet, setting the keyboard aside, and watched it fullscreen.

Then, work time. I popped out the built-in kickstand and propped the unfolded ThinkPad up on my kitchen table, laying the keyboard out in front of it. I used multiple windows in split-screen, with Slack and Spotify over top, the way I’d use any standard 13-inch laptop. In the early afternoon, I had an hour-long Zoom meeting, so I headed back over to the couch and folded the thing into a book shape, with Zoom on one side and Slack on the other. After that, back to work — but I didn’t feel like going back to the table, so I folded the ThinkPad back into mini-clamshell mode and used it that way on the couch for the rest of the day.

This is all just to illustrate how many different uses there are for this form factor. I can’t say that a folding screen has ever been at the top of my “Laptop Features I Need” list — but after using the X1 Fold for a week, I would love to own one of these.

There’s no laptop I’d rather bring on a business trip than the X1 Fold, and that’s due to a couple of design choices in addition to the versatile form factor. For one: it’s really, really nice. The device is clad in an authentic black leather cover with a sturdy kickstand integrated into it. The ThinkPad logo adds a sleek splash of red. It all looked very out of place in my drab apartment. The only parts that look a tiny bit cheap are the bezels, which are large and rubber. Those are necessary to protect the sides of the display from clinking against each other, and they also give you something to hold while you’re using the Fold as a tablet.

A folding display also makes for a great travel companion. Folded in half, this ThinkPad is about the size of a hardcover book: 9.3 x 6.23 x 1.09 inches and 2.2 pounds (299.4 x 236 x 11.5 mm and 999g). The keyboard fits inside the folded device (magnets keep it secure), and it has a snug sleeve for the stylus on its side. I easily slipped the whole affair into my purse and would have loved carrying it around a trade show or conference under my arm. Any time I brought this somewhere, I thought, “Man, I wish I’d had this in college.”

And with the leather cover, I was never worried about bumping or scratching the Fold — something that can be stressful with devices this expensive. (Lenovo says its product underwent MIL-STD 810H testing and is resistant to conditions including humidity, dust, sand, extreme temperatures, and mechanical shock. This certainly promises a much higher level of durability than we’ve seen from folding phones thus far.)

THE FOLD

With foldable devices, there’s always one big question. The answer to that question is no: you can’t see the crease while you’re using the Fold (though it’s visible when the device is turned off). The exception is when it’s partially folded like a book. The lighting in the middle and the lighting on the sides is a bit uneven in that case. But credit where credit is due: when you’re using the Fold flat, there is no crease to be seen.

The hinge itself, which Lenovo says it spent years developing, is quite sturdy and didn’t give me any problems. The ThinkPad requires two hands and a bit of a firm tug to open. But on the plus side, it always stayed exactly in the position I put it in without any slips or wobbles.

Flat, the display is a 13.3-inch OLED with 2048 x 1536 resolution. That’s a 4:3 aspect ratio, which is unusual for a laptop but feels quite roomy compared to a traditional 16:9. I could easily stack two or even three Chrome windows side by side, often with Slack, Zoom, or another app over top, without having to zoom out. And I didn’t notice any jelly scroll (where one side of the screen is able to change pixels faster than the other side), which was a problem with some early foldable phones.

The viewing experience is a luxury. The panel reproduces 100 percent of the sRGB color gamut, 100 percent of Adobe RGB, and 95 percent of DCI-P3. It’s great for watching videos and movies; even the dock icons pop with color.

On the downside, good luck using this thing outside. Not only is it quite glossy, but it only reached 289 nits at maximum brightness. That’s not a problem for indoor work, but it’s still a bit of a letdown for the price since some premium business laptops offer 1,000-nit options for less.

PERFORMANCE AND SOFTWARE

Lenovo has come up with some neat software tricks to improve the Fold experience. There’s an app called Pen Settings where you can map the buttons on Lenovo’s stylus: they can do everything from copy / pasting to erasing, toggling music and volume, and pulling up various applications.

You can also use Lenovo’s Mode Switcher (which pops up whenever you fold or unfold the device) to split the screen in half, essentially creating two separate displays on either side of the crease. This is most useful in the mini-clamshell form if you want to have one application running up top and one on the bottom. But you can also use it when the Fold is flat, the same way you’d use the Windows split-screen feature. And if you split the screen in Mode Switcher, the Fold preserves that layout when you move between portrait and landscape orientations, whereas elaborate arrangements of tabs and apps sometimes get scattered everywhere otherwise.

These are nice touches, and they show that Lenovo has really thought through the potential this form factor has, rather than just slapping a hinge onto a Surface Pro. But when it comes to performance, there are signs that this product is still in an early stage.

There’s a lot to commend Lenovo for here. I get stressed out just thinking about the tasks this computer has. Not only does it need to know whether it’s in portrait or landscape mode (like any regular tablet), but it also has to detect whether it’s folded, how much it’s folded, and where the keyboard is — and then resize its interface accordingly. Given all that, I’m quite impressed that this thing (mostly) works.

Mostly. But it’s not seamless, and there are some areas where the Fold and Windows 10 aren’t quite seeing eye to eye yet.

For example: every so often when I had the Mini Keyboard connected, the Fold forgot it was there and sent up the on-screen keyboard anyway when I selected a textbox with the stylus. You can turn the on-screen keyboard off in Settings if this annoys you, but it’s still a glitch that’s disappointing to see. On the other hand, occasionally, the on-screen keyboard didn’t come up immediately when I wanted it to, and I’d have to prod the text box a few times before the Fold got the hint. And the little writing box, which is supposed to pop up whenever you tap a text field with the stylus, seemed to come somewhat randomly: it didn’t appear at some times when I wanted it, and it did pop up at some times when I didn’t (like if I had just highlighted something in a Google Doc).

There were two occasions, both after a restart, where the Fold didn’t realize it was in mini-laptop mode and tried to expand across the whole screen. I had to remove and replace the keyboard before the Fold detected it. (Lenovo is aware of that issue and says it’s working on a fix.)

Most annoyingly, I wasn’t able to video chat in Zoom or WebEx using mini-laptop mode because my video feed (like the tablet’s camera) was sideways. That’s not a Lenovo-specific problem — some other Windows convertibles also don’t properly rotate their cameras if you flip them around during video calls. But it’s still something I hope Zoom and WebEx are able to fix. Were it not for this issue, mini-laptop mode would be the ideal form factor for remote meetings (WebEx on the top half, notes on the bottom).

I have faith that Lenovo will iron out these kinks as time goes on. But at present, they are here.

The X1 Fold doesn’t have as heavy-duty of a processor as you’ll find in some other ThinkPads. It’s powered by the Intel Core i5-L16G7, one of Intel’s “Lakefield” CPUs. These are “hybrid” processors, efficient chips designed for small and light devices. They’re Intel’s answer to the Arm chips in phones, tablets, and now MacBooks. (Microsoft’s dual-screen Surface Neo is supposed to be getting one, too.)

Occasional glitches aside, I was pleasantly surprised by the performance here. Multitasking in a dozen apps and Chrome tabs was no problem, and I could do some scrolling and browsing during a long Zoom call without anything freezing up. Of course, that’s also true for plenty of devices you can get for a few hundred bucks.

And the Fold also dragged its feet on some tasks where other premium business laptops (not to mention high-end consumer laptops that are half this price) do better. It takes a good few seconds to boot up, for example, and I sometimes got impatient waiting for it to find things in File Explorer and send windows to fullscreen. Webpages were a bit slower than I’m used to. The ThinkPad also takes a few seconds to rearrange itself between modes — and mini-clamshell mode, in particular — but I’m willing to forgive that since it’s a brand-new use case for Windows 10.

Battery life, though, was quite disappointing. Running the X1 Fold through my sustained workload (around 12 Chrome tabs and apps, occasional Spotify and YouTube streaming and Zoom calls, 200 nits of brightness), I averaged four hours and 50 minutes on the Better Battery profile and five hours and 35 minutes on the Battery Saver profile (with Intel’s battery-saving features enabled). That’s not necessarily unexpected for a laptop with an OLED display and only a 50Whr battery. But it’s not good for a $2,500 device, especially one that’s meant to be used on the go. The Surface Pro 7, which has a higher-resolution screen, got seven to eight hours in our testing.

The final thing worth mentioning here is that Windows 10 is still a “meh” operating system for tablets. If you’ve never used a Windows tablet before, it’s quite different from using an iPad. Gesture controls are still fairly basic, especially compared to Apple’s shortcut offerings. Moreover, most Microsoft apps aren’t designed to be used on a tablet the way that iPad apps are, so you’ll be doing a lot of struggling to tap boxes and icons that are much smaller than your fingertip. And actions like rearranging tabs and dragging / dropping windows that are second-nature with a touchpad are difficult to do with your fingers.

Switching to Windows Tablet Mode helps with this a bit, but you have to dig into the Action Center to turn that on manually. The Fold doesn’t swap to it automatically when you disconnect the keyboard the way Surface Books do. (Again, it’s not a Fold-specific problem — in general, disconnecting Bluetooth keyboards from Windows convertibles doesn’t trigger Tablet Mode — but it’s inconvenient nonetheless.) And of course, Windows 10 doesn’t have any unique features that take advantage of the dual-screen setup; Microsoft is working on an operating system optimized for dual-screen hardware (including its own Surface Neo), but we don’t expect that to arrive until next spring.

The running theme here is that most of these issues are Microsoft’s fault, not Lenovo’s. The convertible laptops Microsoft makes use the same operating system. But the lack of tablet functionality makes more sense on Surface Books and Surface Pros, which can serve as tablets where needed but are still meant to function primarily as computers. The problem with the Fold is that it’s at its best as a tablet. The ideal X1 Fold customer will be using it as a tablet most of the time. Because there are two major reasons I don’t recommend this device as a primary laptop. Those reasons are...

THE KEYBOARD AND TOUCHPAD

The X1 Fold is beautiful to look at and, as a tablet, a marvel to use. But I still dreaded having to drive it for my actual work every day. That’s because the keyboard and touchpad are tiny.

Now, I understand why they’re tiny. Lenovo wanted to make a keyboard small enough to fit inside the folded device so it wouldn’t be an extra thing to carry around. And it certainly succeeded in making a keyboard that fits perfectly into the folded-up tablet. I was never concerned that it would fall out.

But I hate typing on it. The keys actually feel quite sturdy and have a satisfying click to them, but Lenovo essentially had to combine a number of keys to achieve its desired size. For example: the apostrophe / quotation key, usually to the left of Enter on a US keyboard, has been moved to the far right side of the keyboard above Enter. (It’s a half key, sharing a slot with colon / semicolon). Every time I needed to type an apostrophe, I had to consciously stretch my hand far to the right. Approximately 50 percent of my apostrophe attempts resulted in instinctively slamming Enter instead (as my colleagues who received numerous incomplete Slack messages can attest). I assume you’ll adjust to this after a while of using the Fold, but boy is there a learning curve.

It gets worse: Lenovo had to cram some keys that were already dual-purpose together, meaning that some buttons accommodate as many as four different symbols. Question mark / forward slash has been combined with period / greater than, so typing a question mark requires hitting all three of Shift, Fn, and period at the same time. Dash has been relegated to Fn+9, which also tripped me up. I had to go through this review and delete a bunch of accidental 9s I’d typed before I filed it. And backslash requires Fn+8, which would make the X1 Fold a huge pain for people in STEM fields who needs to use LaTeX and some other programming languages.

Again, I understand why the keyboard needed to be small. But I would rather carry the keyboard separately than have to press three keys to make a question mark. Lenovo could make a nice carrying case that fits the Fold, the keyboard, and the stylus, and I would be totally fine with that. The company could also create some more space by removing the touchpad — which it might as well because the touchpad is basically useless.

To put in context how tiny this thing is: if I place two fingers on it (and my fingers are quite small) there is almost no room above or below them. So as you can probably imagine, scrolling is a pain (you hit the plastic frame immediately) as is clicking / dragging, highlighting, and anything else that requires two moving fingers. (There’s nowhere close to enough room.) Laying out a big article, which involves copy-pasting text and moving a bunch of images around, was quite a struggle.

The touchpad also didn’t do what I needed it to as often as I wanted. It sometimes thought I was holding it down when I had let go, meaning I’d unintentionally move tabs around. And highlighting a segment of text or getting my cursor to land in an exact spot was often a trial-and-error process. Even with the touchpad on its lowest sensitivity, I rarely got the right location on the first go.

I don’t use third-party peripherals with laptops I review, but this touchpad pushed that principle to its limit: I have never been closer to saying “Screw it” and plugging in a mouse to give myself a break. I ended up using the stylus for most of my navigation, but that’s suboptimal for some actions (rearranging tabs, doing anything in Google Docs).

Overall, the X1 Fold is a spectacular device in a lot of ways. It’s good at the one thing it’s advertised for (folding). It’s beautiful, both to look at and to use. It’s sturdy. And the form factor is useful. It’s not a gimmick. I would love to own a tablet like this.

The key word there is “tablet.” The X1 Fold isn’t a tablet. It has a laptop operating system and — more importantly — it’s priced like a laptop. It’s priced like a very expensive laptop.

And it’s not ready to fill that role yet. The battery life isn’t there yet. The keyboard and touchpad aren’t there yet. The software integration, while commendable, isn’t there yet.

The key word there is “yet.” Because with all that being said, I can’t wait for the second generation. Samsung’s first foldable phones were riddled with issues — but just over a year and several iterations later, the company is selling a folding device that’s very usable (albeit pretty expensive). I’m sure that’s going to be the case with foldable laptops as well. Lenovo has a groundbreaking idea, with a strong foundation to build on. I really hope it’s able to patch the Fold’s glitches without compromising on the components that are already exceptional. That would be a breathtaking device, one that would earn my unambiguous recommendation.

AGREE TO CONTINUE: LENOVO THINKPAD X1 FOLD

Every smart device now requires you to agree to a series of terms and conditions before you can use it — contracts that no one actually reads. It’s impossible for us to read and analyze every single one of these agreements. But we started counting exactly how many times you have to hit “agree” to use devices when we review them since these are agreements most people don’t read and definitely can’t negotiate.

To start using the Lenovo ThinkPad X1 Fold, you’ll need to agree to the following:

A request for your region and keyboard layout

Windows 10 license agreement, Lenovo privacy statement, and Lenovo limited warranty

You can also say yes or no to the following:

Wi-Fi

Microsoft account (can be bypassed if you stay offline)

Privacy settings (speech recognition, location, Find My Device, sharing diagnostic data, inking and typing, tailored experience, advertising ID)

Customize your device for gaming, schoolwork, entertainment, creativity, family, or business

Sync an Android phone

OneDrive backup

Office 365

Allow Microsoft to collect personal information for Cortana, including location and location history, contacts, voice input, speech and handwriting patterns, typing history, search history, calendar details, content and communication history from Microsoft services, messages, and apps.

Add a Lenovo ID profile

That’s six mandatory agreements and 15 optional agreements to use the ThinkPad X1 Fold.

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anamorales · 4 years ago

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Warm Up Properly: The 15 Best Dynamic Warm Up Exercises & Routines To Prevent Injury

Today, you’re gonna learn all about the importance of warming up, and how to warm up with specific video routines!

In this guide we’ll cover the following (click to go to that section):

Stretch before working out? No. Warm up instead.

Beginner Dynamic Warm-up Exercises and Video

3 Advanced Dynamic Warm-up Exercises and Videos

15 Quick Dynamic Warm-Up Exercises to Prevent Injury

This stuff is so important because getting injured sucks.

And every single day I watch people wander into the gym, immediately lie down on a bench, and start cranking out their workout with a heavy weight within seconds.

This makes me weep for humanity.

These people are just WAITING to get injured. They’re essentially playing with dynamite (also not recommended).

So you’re reading the right article.

If you have questions about how to warm up, I bet you have a lot of other questions about how to train correctly!

Wouldn’t it be cool if you had a tiny Yoda who travels with you anywhere in the world to answer questions on warming up, lifting correctly, and proper nutrition?

If so, check out our uber popular 1-on-1 Coaching Program!

Our certified instructors help busy people like you lose weight, gain muscle, and level up their lives, and we’d love to have you if you’re interested!

Get in shape safely and actually reach your goals! Learn more about our Online Coaching Program

Should I stretch Before A Workout? No. Warm Up Instead

Above all else, the most important thing you can do when working out is warming up properly.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, “Come on. Surely it’s not the MOST important thing…”

To which I’d reply: “First, don’t call me Shirley. Secondly, if you don’t have enough time to warm up, then you don’t have enough time to work out.”

Boom!

So WHY is it so important?

Think of your muscles like rubber bands.

If you spend all day sitting at a desk, hunched over a keyboard, those rubber bands have gone almost completely unused.

Then, if you go to a gym and immediately start lifting heavy weights or sprinting really fast, those cold, unstretched rubber bands get pulled apart very quickly and can get snapped or pulled out of shape.

#Fail.

So, what about just regular, static stretching before working out?

Nope.

As we point out in “Should you stretch before or after your workout?“:

“A consolidation of studies showed there aren’t many benefits to static stretching before workouts.

For starters, static stretching will not result in the reduction of the chance of injury.

Also, static stretching can actually decrease your potential for strength gains and performance.”

However, dynamic warm-ups – what you’ll learn in this article and what we focus on with our 1-on-1 coaching clients – are AWESOME for prepping you to get ready to strength train:

Think of it like a pregaming for your muscles – except replace “alcohol” with “awesome.” By jumping around and getting your muscles loose, active, warm, and ready for action, you are putting your muscles through their full range of motion and getting them ready to start handling heavier loads (strength training).

As pointed out in this study, “warming up” can also help reduce soreness after a workout.

On top of that, doing a dynamic warm-up can help activate your central nervous system, priming your muscles for a great workout that produces your best effort.

Add “improved blood circulation” to the list of benefits of warming up, which will help you perform well in each exercise.

Need another reason? When your body is properly warmed up, your muscles and joints are ready for maximum flexibility, which means you can perform each exercise with PROPER form (like deep barbell squats, for example) that maximize results and minimize the risk of injury.

So, whether you are running or strength training…a proper warm-up is probably the most important 5-10 minutes of your day.

Still with me?

Great. If you have been injured in the past, and you’re learning to warm up so you can stop stalling out on your progress, let us help!

We create custom workout solutions with nutritional guidance for busy people like you.

In other words, we help you get strong and eat better, every step of the way.

Learn more about our amazing Coaching App and how it’ll change your life:

Beginner Dynamic Warm-Up Video And Exercises

youtube

The above video comes from Senior Coach Staci Ardison, whose success story is here (and she’s now a lead trainer in our NF Coaching Program)

Don’t overthink this: Your goal is to elevate your heart rate, put your muscles and joints through their range of motion to warm them up and make sure everything is functioning properly, and preparing your body to strength train!

This will get you prepped for a day of getting stronger.

If you read the above paragraph and thought: “Yes I am doing strength training, please tell me more Steve! More!”

Firstly, thanks for saying please – your mom taught you well.

Next: let us help get you strong, safely! We help busy people go from strength-training-newbie to strength training badasses.

Whether you’re doing bodyweight or new to weight training, we create a workout program and provide food guidance that’s specific to YOUR life.

Our coaching program will change your life (I promise). Learn more here:

3 Advanced Dynamic Warm-Ups And Videos

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#1) Here is an Advanced Warm-up Circuit you can do anywhere:

Jump rope: 2-3 minutes (optional)

Jumping jacks: 50 reps(pull your shoulder blades back, extend arms and really focus on the movement)

Bodyweight Squats: 20 reps

Lunges: 5 reps each leg

Hip extensions: 10 reps

Hip rotations: 10 reps each leg (like you’re stepping over a fence)

Forward leg swings: 10 reps each leg.

Side leg swings: 10 reps each leg

Push-ups: 10-20 reps

Spider-man steps: 5 each leg

This particular warm-up might be more difficult than your actual workout, especially if you’re following something like The Beginner Bodyweight Workout.

Yes, there is a lot of work put on your hips, butt, legs, and core. As nerds/desk jockeys, these tend to be the muscles that are the tighest and least active, and thus most susceptible to an injury.

If your arms and chest are particularly tight or sore, you can throw two more movements as well:

Arm swings (holding your arms straight out to the side, and then swing them and cross them in front of your chest)

Shoulder rotations (holding your arms straight out to the side, and move your arms in a circular motion, making bigger circles each time)

Are you a runner?

#2) Check out our warm-up routine specifically designed for runners:

youtube

You can also check out our Beginner’s Guide to Running for more tips on how to run safely.

#3) Here’s another advanced dynamic warm-up video from my coach, Anthony, which also covers a lot of Mobility:

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When it comes time for your workout, if you are doing heavy strength training (with barbells or dumbbells), make sure you do some warm-up sets before jumping into the weight you’ll be training with for EACH EXERCISE.

Always start with a set using just the bar to work on your form and get your body used to the movement.

Then, do a few sets of just a few reps with increasing weight (but won’t tire you out) and THEN start your workout.

If you have injuries or specific goals you’re working on, work with one of our coaches and start getting strong safely!

Let us help you reach your goals quickly and safely!

15 Best Dynamic Warm-Up Exercises To Prevent Injury

These are our favorite quick warm-up exercises that can help you prevent an injury during your workout!

Marching in place while swinging your arms.

Jumping jacks

Walking jacks

Arm circles and shoulder shrugs.

Mountain Climbers

Swinging toe touches.

Leg swings (forward and side to side).

Hip rotations (like stepping over a fence)

Hip circles (like you’re hula hooping)

Bodyweight squats.

Push-ups.

Lunges.

Hip extensions.

Get into the habit of doing these exercises before doing any workout. They’ll help keep you mobile and limber and injury free. If you’re not sure how to do any of these movements, watch the videos for them below.

1. MARCHING IN PLACE WHILE SWINGING ARMS

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2. WALKING JACKS (If You Can’t Do Jumping Jacks)

3. JUMPING JACKS

4. ARM CIRCLES AND SHOULDER SHRUGS

5. MOUNTAIN CLIMBERS

youtube

6. SWINGING TOE TOUCHES

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7. LEG SWINGS (FORWARD AND SIDE)

youtube

8. HIP ROTATIONS

youtube

9. HIP CIRCLES

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10. BODYWEIGHT SQUATS

11: KNEE PUSH-UPS

12: REGULAR PUSH-UPS

13. SUPPORTED LUNGES

14. REGULAR LUNGES

15. HIP RAISES

These exercises are the PERFECT movements you should be doing before any strength training program.

Oh, what’s that? You’re new to strength training and not sure what you’re doing? No problem!

We help people exactly like you.

Well, not exactly. You’re a unique snowflake, your mom loves you, etc.

What I mean is we help people like you to start strength training.

We do form checks, create custom workouts based on your equipment and time commitment, and more.

Our 1-on-1 Coaching App can change your life! Learn how to get strong safely:

To answer your first few questions…

“Steve, I can’t do jumping jacks/I live on the second floor.”

That’s okay – the reason I love jumping jacks is that they work out all four of your limbs at once and get you bouncing around.

Instead, channel your inner Chuck Norris and do punches and kicks with each leg. I don’t care if you can’t kick higher than your shins and your punch wouldn’t kill a fly…just get those limbs flailing and warmed up!

You could also just do “Walking Jacks.”

“Um, your warm-up is tougher than my actual workout!”

The dynamic warm-up above is designed for people who are doing serious training.

If you are doing heavy deadlifts and squats and overhead presses, a proper warm-up could keep you out of a career-ending injury.

However, if you are just getting started with exercise and you’re only doing bodyweight exercises, obviously 20 real push-ups during your workout isn’t possible…

THAT’S OKAY. Think of the above as the warm-up you aspire to complete. In the meantime, do the best you can. Let’s say:

Jump rope for 30 seconds

Leg swings and arm circles: 20 reps

Squats: 10 reps

Lunges: 5 each leg

Eelevated push-ups wall push-ups: 5 reps

Follow the rest of the routine as planned if possible.

In this routine, your warm-up will act as part of your workout, as you’ll be doing the same functional movements.

Do the BEST you can, keep track of your results for your warm up too, and improve with each workout.

With enough consistency and persistency (not a word, but rhymed better and sounded way better than persistence), you’ll be busting out the full warm-up routine before kicking ass at your actual workout!

Don’t have a program to follow? Or tired of following a random plan online that’s not getting you results?

Check out our Online Coaching Program – we’ll take care of all the heavy lifting (except the actual “heavy lifting,” that’s your job).

Our coaching program changes lives. Let me show you how we can change yours:

Warm Up Properly And Avoid Injury!

Hopefully, this is a post you bookmark, as it’s probably one of the more important ones I’ve ever written.

If you want to stay injury-free, put your body through a dynamic warm-up before you start your exercise.

If you are somebody that wants to follow a program that is tailor-made for their life and situation and goals, check out our popular 1-on-1 Coaching program.

You’ll work with our certified NF instructors who will get to know you better than you know yourself, answer any and all fitness questions you have, and program your workouts and nutrition for you.

Our Online Coaching Program is like having Yoda in your pocket (not literally, that would be awesome though). Learn more here:

What other questions can I answer for you about warming up properly?

I’m here to help!

-Steve

PS: What should you do after your workout? Stretch!

###

All photo sources can be found right here.[1]

Footnotes ( returns to text)

Hook, Resolutions, fourbrickstall Scenes from an empty lot in Brooklyn, vol 1. Happytrooper, Sunday, Decathlon.

Warm Up Properly: The 15 Best Dynamic Warm Up Exercises & Routines To Prevent Injury published first on https://immigrationways.tumblr.com/

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ratherhavetheblues · 5 years ago

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CLAIRE DENIS’ TROUBLE EVERY DAY “It doesn’t fit”

The films of Claire Denis tend to elicit a tribute to her audacity. On the heels of that given, there is the thrill of a supposed pronounced modernity. Viewers and reviewers directly understand that narrative means virtually nothing to her, because her forte is “mood” and “texture,” being apparently applied in such a way as to constitute a new and superior logic.

A film like, Trouble Every Day (2001), our challenge today—and quite widely thought to be her breakaway magnum opus—happens to be suffused with not only the narrative of Ingmar Bergman’s film, Scenes from a Marriage (1973), but also Bergman’s, The Passion of Anna (1969); and more Bergman to come. Those infrastructural crises therewith, which Denis handles—as always, with sophistication and delicacy—do not, in fact, countenance cannibalism as a cosmological method. Nor do they countenance a mobilization of neuroscience to develop a medicine to curb sadistic murder by which the gratification remains, but free of messy bloodshed and messy law.

It must be made clear from the outset that Denis has no time, per se, for the infantile fantasy-pastime of vampires. Two broad hints concerning that matter should suffice. In connection with the stately Japanese filmmaker, Yasujiro Ozu, she shuts the door in this way: “I dislike cinephilia and the cult of auteurism” [which is to say, genre, tried and true entertainments, like horror movies]. A second distancing, from a BBC broadcast on the subject of violence in, Trouble Every Day, says a mouthful: “This film concerns what happens when you tangle with something that is stronger than you are.”

Moreover, the gauntlet she tosses down comprises a showdown—involving a Shane being a shame far from well-known and far from readily resolved. We will have many opportunities here, to ponder its features. But its amazing overture should come first.

On a black screen, we hear a keyboard placing three beats, for a baseline, a calm baseline. A slight lift of intensity in that poise discloses a couple parked in the night. The woman’s presence is a sketch of blackness with a touch of her white shoulders and face. She is in her forties as is he. She is a blonde, and she’s smiling. Slowly they kiss. The musical motif spreads unhurriedly. He strokes her throat. A more earthy kiss ensues. A singer with a low voice covers the rest of this vignette, in voice-over.

Look into my eyes.

You see trouble every day.

It’s on the inside,

So don’t try to understand.

(The kiss endures.)

I get on the inside of you.

You can blow it all away,

Such a slight breath.

And I know who I am.

(The screen becomes black. A refrain in strings intensifies the mood.)

Look into my eyes…

Hear the words I can’t say…

Words that defy…

And they scream out loud.

(A Gallic air takes form, in the key of Marianne, having been released from the days of eighteenth-century revolution and reason. [A protagonist, in Scenes from a Marriage, is named Marianne—ironically!] And here the ancient stones, defining the riverbank of the Seine, solidify with a warm golden glow. Upon that stage, two golden pillars and a silver to their right describe the makings of an interplay, an interplay crucial to the work of Ingmar Bergman.)

I get on the inside of you.

You can wave it all away,

Such a slight thing,

It’s just the raise of your hand…

(Two reddish statements, and a golden between, followed by the morning sky with pink and purple clouds racing across the firmament.)

And there’s trouble every day,

There’s trouble every day,

There’s trouble every day.

(The luminous blue, carrying the title upon black, becomes sliced, rippling on the Seine, a reminder that trouble every day stems from a horde of resentment that life is harder than most want to engage.)

The penultimate coda of this dazzling lightshow involves apparitions in the sky and reverberance down low. Two down beats, and a cut to an appalling love. However, it’s probably advisable to go slowly from the highs to the lows. At the outset of Bergman’s The Passion of Anna, Andreas, a farmer/ artisan smiles when noticing a lovely, unusual color in the sky while trying to repair his broken roof. He becoming a disgrace, unable to counter Anna’s evil; and also Marianne, proving to be deviously rational and frivolously rebellious—they marshaling their incompetence in the twentieth century. But we encounter here a toehold of another, new century which finds “real security” [Anna’s mantra] to inhere in a huge and remarkably homogeneous gratification free from ever having to engage in bona fide grown-up reflection. We begin our conundrum back in the skies with a commercial jet in flight, focused upon the “First Class” area, where a couple of newlyweds toast their honeymoon to Paris with champagne. June, the glowing bride, is about to join the other’s mentioned as being a great disappointment, and even so far as being Gallic. But the disappointments here require innovation to fathom, due to the glue sticking to so many souls. Her first presentation is to refer to the map on the screen confronting her at the seat ahead of her. The schematic diagram resembles the features of a video game, but she discloses, “That must be Denver” [airport]. Denver or not, the payoff, identifying them as very likely Californians, is valuable orientation. Its irony goes a long way, to Marianne’s estranged husband, Johan, a neuroscientist (in Stockholm, in the twentieth century), who was slated to be the new Chair at a university in Cleveland—Cleveland, in the parlance of Bergman, and latterly Jim Jarmusch and his friend, Claire Denis, standing for very poor grades. As it happens, Johan is found to be lacking, and he doesn’t get to enjoy Cleveland. But here—with a kind of behind-the-back-basketball-move—he becomes known to one, Shane, the new groom, also a neuroscientist. And though they occupy discrete centuries, a cinematic current has sprung up (as deft as a Bergman drama), because all these folks carry troubling, though variant, traits, by which one might sharpen a keener sense of present dilemmas and promising delights.

Shane’s namesake, a film figure from the previous century, and a generous loner, in fact, quickly becomes an obverse in the new century. Later that night, he visits the bathroom. His mission, though, is very odd, namely, a protracted fantasy of June, nude, covered in blood. He savors that shock; and now we have to get down to brass tacks about lovemaking in this groom’s perspective. To convey what transpires here in all its baffling flight, we’ll complete that down beat, snubbing all the vivacity having been put on display at that remarkable overture, a gift including a down beat of its very own, whereby a touch of motion reveals a very different world—a world of quiet, infinite ecstasy having been instrumentally joined by a finite sensibility deriving its gifts of action from a matrix of paradoxical love. (The musical opening, by an agency called “Tindersticks,” will have bid to bring us to that love.) That it is vastly bound to a process which “can wave it all away,” becomes the core of this crisis and the introduction of one of the masters of bloodshed, namely, “Core,” on tap by way of that wayward down beat.

There is much about her that is a common hooker, preening that day by her ugly van in a part of the outskirts never having been graced by a serious thought. A truck driver, with his windows decorated with hanging toys, perhaps prizes from festivities of “games of skill,” bites on the lure. (Neither of them can compare with the huge vehicle, particularly its slats of rubber on its side, bringing to mind an elephant.) We see close-up her hyena-eyes; and we link them to the pink clouds there, above a hodge-podge of electrical towers, charmless of course, as is its worn-out golden patina up there. We’re spared the transaction itself; but the kill on the ground tells what has occurred. From out of a pretext of pleasurable coitus, her intensities slide, in a one-track race (where tempering is there to show discipline) to punishment and its dominance, its advantage over others. The grotesque corpse has been not only beaten, but eaten as would a wild beast. The ambiguities of that phenomenon lead us to vast intricacies of contemporary struggle and delight.

We should consider the year—2001—when this film was produced. In Denis’ France, religious fanatics had had a decade-long field day butchering “infidels.” Then there was 9/11, and more of the same. Then a blizzard of school shootings. Then Trump. All of whom fatally lacking intrinsic nuance. This was, then, a world history Bergman never encountered in the form of undeclared wars. That violence, however, as Denis well knows, intersects with a rage of blind self-esteem and a leveraging of effete affluence to dispense with the demands of nature itself. Anna’s rampage could identify a cause—“Security,” however puerile. What our guide is engaging in this film is a tidal wave of energy for the sake of destroying depths, those depths seen in the overture.

The immediate sequel to that slaughter at the highway tends to sprout parody. Core is braced with a former neuroscientist whom everyone calls, “Leo.” (He being in the footsteps of Johan, the self-styled, “sexy-guy”/ psychologist, and whom Shane has far more interest in than with June. That would leave Core, the new Marianne, as a kind of lawyer shark, always on the go.) Leo’s a bust as an inventor of a panacea for cannibalism—Shane’s only interest; but he’s a kind of sheep dog in rounding up wayward, Core. (Though just as basely naïve as the other members of that scientistic cult, Leo is the only one having been visited—slightly—about the farce of his “researches.” [His pratfall falls in line with the sterility of Johan’s embarrassments in the rat-race to bring cogency where, in fact, another range of cognition beckons while at the same time the straitjacket of “hard” science prevails. His dashing optics on his chic motorcycle to finesse his partner’s indiscretion involves his cleaning up the blood and flesh lingering upon her face and body. The gentleness of this concern places him [in fact much older than the other protagonists] as making a hapless equilibrium while the callow pipsqueaks of his sad mistake consult their inner child.) Whereas Johan and Marianne were regarded—by a socialite magazine—to be perpetually honeymooners, the this-century honeymooners sport all woolen apparel, in the spirit of Bergman’s, The Serpent’s Egg (1977); but very much also bringing to the table the rigor of Anna, the slasher of flocks of sheep. (Abel, in The Serpent’s Egg, having also been a blue-blood, and even more dysfunctional than the protagonists in Scenes from a Marriage. Shane and June’s plane, about to land, cruises over Leo and Core’s dead-end. Along a spiral staircase there, we notice a stained-glass window, reminding us of the skillful, bemusing and feckless artisan, Andreas, in Anna’s blistering saga, where an outrage would be a one-person idiocy, not a generational idiocy.

As such, the arrival of the Californian lovebirds at their five-star hotel involves a woman taxi driver dressed like a polite apache—exactly what an LA up-and-coming would like to see through his ridiculously stunted vision. The two of them in their woolen garb (he in baby-blue) create a little buzz when the desk clerk sees that the establishment has been chosen by a “Doctor” Brown. (Blue on the outside, shit on the inside.) Before that, the rather morose visitor rubs his eyes continually, leaving the servant behind the desk ill at ease. Shane, the name being a non-stop joke, demands someone handle the bags, which elicits from the staffer, “Quite so, Mr. Brown!” The porter chosen is a young girl, Christelle, one of the chambermaids on their floor. From out of his adolescent reflexes, he treads closely behind the girl, intent on her nape, and once into their room, with Christelle beginning to make the bed (June helping her), he flops upon it, as so many snotnoses would find to be part of his supposed mystique. (This bit of distemper had been preceded by his formulated carrying of June across the threshold to be deposited on the bed. The threshold included the room’s number, 321—a backward slapdash, failing totally to attain to the sublime.) The unflappable, deadpan maneuvering by Christelle in face of the ugly American, is right out of Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot (1953). (Real surreal France, by way of an Irishman.)

Before the full-scale damage gets underway, we want to savor another instance, this time in the old century, of that rugged individualism evincing from Christelle. In her capacity of divorce lawyer, Marianne comes across what she would tend to refer to as an unskilled laborer—the middle-aged client using the term, “housewife.” The latter, otherwise comfortable with an attentive husband, insists that her marriage lacks cogent love, and that she’s determined to attempt to discover the real thing. Marianne, the daughter of a lawyer and looking down her nose at the audacity of small cash-flow, finding something her sainted family wouldn’t touch, concludes the interview with candid frostiness. Shane—a mid-century name for courage—will eventually butcher the young laborer, being a measure of how Bergman’s troubled souls had it relatively easy.

The honeymooners choose Notre Dame Cathedral to extend their questionable tour of the City of Light. Instead of pondering the structure itself, and its functions, Shane, beyond redneck, regards the ancient recipient of intense reflection to be a pretext for recalling a Hollywood melodrama. On an exterior height he thinks to be funny by igniting the Hunchback of Notre Dame and Phantom of the Opera. There also he plays a stiff-corpse vampire. June proves to be only too polite here, showing that (as we’ll discover), whatever her French life before the rich Californian came into it, it has capitulated to an ugly know-nothing. And then a turnaround—not for them, of course—brings to the melancholy trek a sign of deep joy. Up there pissing around, her green headscarf catches a welcome gust, and both of them gaze as it soars above the ancient buildings and bridges. The limestone-white baseline of the City becomes touched by that verdancy. In another Bergman film, namely, Summer Interlude (1951), many such vivacious happenings occur, as if drawing a self-important figure to get real. There it’s called a “glitch.” And the ballerina being summoned to no avail stays mediocre. (Just before Christelle is attacked by the American—June’s aunt having referred to him as “like a church mouse”—the chambermaid soaks her aching feet in a sink, in the nether part of the palace. The supple motions of her simple bath links her to the disappointing ballerina. Christelle [and also Marianne’s annoying client] had lived in a vague but viable terrain of the “glitch,” which appears in spades at that glorious overture. Cadging goodies from the carts, when the coast is clear; lying back on Shane and June’s bed, smoking one of their cigarettes, when the coast is clear; and, when approached by Shane in the deserted changing room, she grabs on to some social climbing by way of the rude rich boy, Christelle has a way to go. But, in a population running on empty, nothing but deep lucidity works. The lady eclipsing Marianne, in the old century, would have had room to slip. The prima ballerina therein could fool herself that a little gust of whimsy amounts to, “I’m actually happy!” Christelle, we realize, doesn’t have the luxury of not knowing how to beat the odds. There is as much metaphor as gore in this film’s disclosure. Cannibalism spreads a wide net, never more lethal than when being “inspirational.”)

Shane, seldom asleep and seldom with June—“I like you June,” is his flaming—has come to the honeymoon capital to reboot a last-ditch effort to find merit in Leo’s hapless cure for going too far. He arranges a visit to Leo’s former high watermark, where the scientist now in control rains on his millennial binge. “So as far as what he discovered, don’t make me laugh! I hope you haven’t come all this way for that nonsense…” Shane, incorrigible, latches on to a maternal colleague of the skeptic—who, were he truly bright, would not be wasting his on time, in that lab, with a daft green liquid on an endless mechanical revolution, in the service of plumbing the human sensibility—who surreptitiously arranges a meeting by which the elusive Leo can be found. (The harsh treatment [scientific advantage] spins Shane into a reverie of another embarrassing disadvantage he had endured at the hands of someone who at least would not be a fan of vaping. [Very much now being a case of choose your poison. Prior to that retreat, we see June in a black, woolen hijab.] The plunge to that painful memory involves the deflated, so-called investigator, covering himself into bed, fully clothed. As with the lab of hard knocks, the flash-back displays human brains and PhDs hoping to confirm the dynamic of consciousness there. But unlike the first critic, sneering at Leo as a feeble theoretical innovator, this apparition, and its flaming redhead boss, shows contempt to Shane, for stealing the possible revenues of Leo’s long and sad foolishness. “You like money, don’t you Shane?”/ “So what? I convinced my boss to take an interest of a Frenchman working on a shoestring budget. That’s all…” The questioner turns to his affair with Core. He, church mouse style, emotes, “Love is not the word for it.” Openly hating this little creep, she asks, “You believed the lawyers, Brown? What about betrayal? What’s your stance about betrayal, Mr. Brown?… Semenal was the game, and you knew it… Huge profits were to be made… You stole Leo’s work and wife. Now get out of here…Get out!”)

The sympathetic lab lady does show the way to Leo (Shane predictably rude). But the real gift from that transaction is another of the ladies in lab coats at the former lair of Leo wishing she could have a six-month vacation. Overhearing that impossibility, the one who fired Leo has going through his mind, and giving us a flash-back, the permanent vacation of the accident-prone mediocrity. (This extended tapestry of despair lives up to Bergman’s theatrical incisiveness.) Leo tells the power that be, “You know that I don’t ask for much. Just a favor. I need a little time. You can help me…” But getting things right may take initiative first, and then a “favor.” The response to Leo seems to corroborate that action. “It doesn’t fit!…It does not fit!” [a stupid, essentially cowardly gesture, goes nowhere but disaster].

Shane arrives in time for the auto-de-fe which Core choreographs after another kill, this time in their own abode. Leo had arrived, to stand in that conflagration, relieved, at last, from a disaster of smarts, beyond his vision, and, moreover, a failure of courage on the scale of an epidemic. (Shane, too, had arrived after the blaze had begun, where he felt necessary to both attempt to rape her, and, facing her teeth, kill her—making his getaway, as would Anna.) Two compensatory moments have been brought to bear. Although the death toll includes the odd couple and their worm-worn exterior—a grateful dead on top of a perverse career—the lovely collie dog included from out of a “glitch”-prone taxi culture our protagonist uses, puts the cold American freak to shame; as does the tapestry of blood by Core (not unlike the work of Jean-Michel Basquiat).

But, come to think of it, there’s a third lift, this time wafting into the horror from a long time ago, namely, the Alfred Hitchcock “mystery,” The Lady Vanishes (1938), also on a cusp where the planet teeters toward utter nullity. Across the way from Leo and Core’s, there are two young men presenting many surprises. The first being, that though they speak French, they are as British blokes as the British blokes in the Hitchcock film, rushing across the Continent, by train, to catch the last days of the cricket Test Match. Their crowning indiscretion is curious concupiscence about the bizarre fortress and the glimpses of Core at her upper windows’ prison. After some false starts, they breach the barricades (Leo now at work as a mild-mannered general physician, in lieu of Superman), and one of them falls prey to Core’s predilection for shock and awe. That would be the risk-taker of the pair, hungry for perhaps going viral on Twitter and Facebook. (This recalls the puerile ballerina, in Summer Interlude, after her first bout of lovemaking, claiming that the boy, far more capable of love than she, will now brag about it to his friends.) His avuncular buddy proves that he is more than a one-track mind, warning often that the break and entry should be rapidly abandoned. Eventually, this other disturbing pair of love birds leaves Core drenched in the bloke’s blood and with shards of the boy’s chin sticking on her cheeks, at which time the petrified friend retreats to the house across the street. In the Hitchcock, both cricket crazies claim that they had never noticed that there was an elderly lady, across the aisle from them, not to mention that she had now become missing. Missing links being an epidemic.

We’ll catch Shane up, in the aftermath of dragging a bloody Christelle to a less used area, as if she were a victim of the bull ring. He buys a sweet puppy, in hopes of compensating June’s being largely abandoned in the Love Capital. (On the way home, standing in the Metro, he sandwiches the little innocent between him and a woman. A young woman glares at the jerk, but glaring is all she does.) June has found the pup, and also she has located her husband, in the shower. She calls out several times, with some asperity. He ignores her calls, concerned with giving himself a much-needed clean-up, where blood overtly streams on the shower curtain. The shower eventually ends, and he’s seen in close-up, as if all is well. Pan to June, giving him a stressful look. Then close-up to him and his patented dead eyes. She again is seen, with the scab of her cut lip. “Thanks for the dog,” she says, knowing it won’t be theirs for long. He flashes a facile grin, and says, “I feel good… C’mon…” They kiss. She notices a little flow of blood coming down the shower curtain. [More Hitchcock.] “I wanna go home,” he mumbles. “OK,” she woodenly tells. And the blood-red leather gloves she’s wearing holds the disinterested creature. A muffled roar. A close-up of her eyes discloses a puzzle. Her eyes suddenly open wide. Another stream of Christelle’s blood occurs on the curtain; it might have proved embarrassing, if anyone there had cared a damn. Losing her evocative green scarf, she ends up with a Notre Dame tourist scarf with four views of Jesus.

The partnership between Denis and Tindersticks represents a unique inroad of the history of cinema. (Compare this innovation with Bergman’s standing pat with mainstream classical composition, perhaps measuring the distance from old to new). From out of the recent disc, “No Treasure but Hope,” here’s a bit of lightning readily readable. Whereas the soundtrack of “Trouble Every Day” comprises a melancholy tone poem, the tune here uses its pregnant thrum to make merry with irony and gentle love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7q9MY-tQbpw

#claire denis

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toldnews-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/technology/tech-were-using-from-bubble-memory-to-hot-spots-and-a-fly-rod/

Tech We’re Using: From Bubble Memory to Hot Spots and a Fly Rod

How do New York Times journalists use technology in their jobs and in their personal lives? David E. Sanger, a national security correspondent based in Washington, discussed the tech he’s using.

You previously were a bureau chief for The Times in Japan, one of your many roles for the newspaper. When you arrived in Tokyo in the late 1980s, what tech were you equipped with?

In retrospect, nothing very impressive. Our “portable” computers weighed about the same as an electric typewriter, had a tiny cathode-ray tube screen that showed a paragraph or two at most and stored stories on magnetic bubble memory, which in the 1980s was supposed to replace hard drives.

Needless to say, it was a technology whose time never arrived. Oh, and the computer had two black rubber cups on the top. You put the handset of a hard-line phone into them and dialed up a computer in New York to transmit at the astoundingly slow speed of 300 bits per second. Half the time we had to give up and call the dictation room, where someone would type out the story that you read to them.

When we gave up on bubble memory computers and moved to the first laptops, I sent a note to New York asking what to do with these dinosaurs. The answer I got back was: Your office looks out over Tokyo Bay. Figure it out.

So today the technology is lots faster, but perhaps not a lot more reliable. What’s the worst tech failure you’ve suffered?

Naturally, things die when deadlines are tightest. There was the time I was rushing off the back stairs of Air Force One in the Middle East with an open laptop, story half-written and late to the editing desk, and managed to drop my computer 20 feet on the tarmac. (Not good.) I’ve had modems die in Egypt, and the blue screen of death crawl across my laptop in India. Power supplies don’t like variable current — I’ve melted my share.

This has all made me focus intently on what NASA calls “mission-critical components.” If you can’t file your story — or record video, or connect up with “The Daily’’ — you might as well not be there.

So I travel with a laptop and a backup iPad with a keyboard, so there is always a way to write. I take two phones — and two booster battery packs. I carry an AT&T portable hot spot, and still I’ve had to fall back at times on the built-in Wi-Fi hot spot on my iPhone. Oh, and a Logitech camera that allows me to do TV hits over a Skype connection without using the built-in pinhole camera in the laptop.

So my backpack weighs plenty — and my wife and our sons think carrying it everywhere is faintly ridiculous. Until they run out of cellphone power.

You’d think that belt-and-suspenders approach would cover everything. It doesn’t. In Hanoi, Vietnam, this year for a summit meeting between President Trump and Kim Jong-un, we were, as my colleague Edward Wong put it, “comms cursed.”

Lots of things failed. It didn’t help that I was staying in the Metropole hotel, where the meeting was being held, and security personnel blanketed the lobby with a cellphone suppression technology that keeps terrorists from detonating bombs remotely. Turns out it also keeps reporters from updating their stories on the web.

You published your third book, “The Perfect Weapon: War, Sabotage and Fear in the Cyber Age,” last year. It’s a geopolitical look at how nations are using cyberweapons, and not just for espionage. Ever been a target?

I’m afraid that if you are in my line of work — writing about the intersection of technology, spying, cybersabotage and national power — you attract attention from intelligence services.

In Beijing in 2017 with Secretary of State Rex Tillerson, I made the mistake of looking up something about the Tiananmen Square massacre from my hotel room, over a portable hot spot. Big mistake. The hot spot stopped working. I couldn’t revive it in Japan, or back at home. We later determined that Chinese intelligence had fried the firmware.

A few years ago I began seeing that big red banner over my email account that declared: “We have detected a state-sponsored attacker seeking to obtain your data.” That could be anyone: Russians who didn’t like our investigations into the 2016 presidential election and subsequent hacks; Chinese People’s Liberation Army officers who didn’t care for our work exposing Unit 61398, which stole intellectual property; North Koreans who didn’t like our coverage of the Sony hack, the Bangladeshi central bank cyberheist or the cyberattacks on their missiles.

And I’ve survived enough F.B.I. leak investigations to become mildly paranoid about our own government.

So what do you use to protect yourself?

There is no permanent technological solution to hacking, data manipulation and, soon, deep fakes — like climate change, this is a problem we have to manage. Ultimately, we will need a mix of technology, political agreements and retaliatory responses that establish that attacks are not cost-free.

That said, I’m a big fan of Google’s Advanced Protection program. It uses a combination of a key that fits in a USB slot (with a button that must be pressed) and a Bluetooth dongle, each registered to your computer or cellphone. Try to get access to someone’s accounts on a computer without that hardware present and you don’t get in.

If you were cyber king for a day, what mandates would you issue?

First, I’d ban the use of any voting machine that doesn’t rely on a hand-marked paper ballot, so there is something to count later. I’d require encryption for all personal information that you are asked turn over, including when I hand my passport to a hotel clerk. (Hear that, Marriott? It’s time.)

And I’d make it illegal to have Social Security numbers used as an identifier on any electronic document, site, app or password combination. It’s the one number in your life you simply cannot change, without extraordinary effort. It was never intended to be used as a secure identifier. So let’s not try.

What favorite cool technology do you always take with you?

Sanity-preservation devices that cut me off from the world, from editors and from the complaints of presidents, secretaries of state and national security officials. The three most vital: Bose noise-canceling headphones, a small shortwave radio and a seven-piece, four-weight fly rod that breaks down to fit in a tube under a foot long.

When the weather warms up, I carry the rod in that overloaded backpack along with a reel and a box of flies. No batteries required. I’ve been known to sneak out of hotels in early-morning hours to cast into rivers, harbors, ponds, you name it. I don’t even care if nothing’s biting — the casting is therapeutic.

Don’t tell the bosses, O.K.?

#technology news articles #technology news ethical #technology news feed #technology news gadgets #technology news games #technology news gujarati #technology news nigeria #technology news wall street journal #technology news websites in india #the news technology articles

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nomadstevergxrs · 8 years ago

Text

Bones (A Marvel AU)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Female Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings: Language, Dead bodies

Pairings: None. (Eventual Steve Rogers x Female Reader)

Summary: You are a forensic anthropologist working for the Smithsonian Institute in Washington D.C. when you and your team get recruited by the FBI to aid one of their top field agents, Special Agent Steve Rogers. Together, along with your colleagues/friends you put faces on the voiceless and throw the bad guys where they belong.

Author’s Note: So this is my first Marvel AU series and I’m quite nervous on how this is going to turn out. The series is going to be based on the TV show Bones and since the show is 12 seasons long I’m just going to base the series on some of my favorite episodes including the series finale coming out in the upcoming weeks. I only hope I do it justice. I want to thank @mrs-squirrel-chester for convincing me into writing this and for not only being as awesome beta but because she also made this kick-ass edit above.

Catch up here!

Chapter Two (Part One): The Woman in the Sand

“What do you mean you've never played Blackjack?” Rogers asked you as he drove you both down the dirt road.

Ever since the Cleo Eller fiasco, Director Fury decided to make you Rogers’ permanent partner. Turns out that even though “you royally fucked up the investigation by fishing for evidence to pin against Senator Bethlehem” you still managed to catch the actual killer; courtesy of your unorthodox techniques.

“I mean that it wasn't something that I was interested in,” you replied simply, looking out the dust-covered window.

“And what did you expect?” He chuckled, interested in what your idea of coming to Vegas would be.

“Well?” he asked, the curiosity getting the best of him. “What were you interested in?”

You gave him a small smile and put down the sun visor to cover your eyes. “Same thing I've always been interested. Science.”

After driving in silence for a few minutes, you decided to make some conversation with your new partner, “So who do they think the body is?”

“Federal prosecutor who disappeared five years ago, a day before he was starred at a mob trial,” Steve replied, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Ya know,” you said looking back at him, “when you told me that I would be going to Vegas, this was not what I had in mind.”

“And what did you expect?” He chuckled, interested in what your idea of coming to Vegas would be.

There wasn't time to give him a smart ass answer. He rolled the car to a stop just outside some tents and the pair of you got out of the SUV, climbing up the small hill where you were greeted by agents placing markers around what appeared to be a cadaver buried in the sand.

“Five years you say?” you asked Steve, looking at the scene in front of you. “There's not much left of him.”

“Yup, that's why they flew you to Sin City, Bones.” Steve chuckled, grabbing a notepad and a pen from a nearby table. “Well, technically speaking, We're fifteen miles outside Vegas. This is America's frying pan.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you snarked, wiping away the sweat that was already. “A person can melt before finding a body anywhere near here.”

He chuckled. “Once the mob makes a federal prosecutor disappear, they kind of want him staying that way.”

“Agent Rogers!” shouted a voice, interrupted your banter. You both turned to find a man wearing a light blue suit and yellow tie walking up to you both. “Agent Rogers” said the man as he jogged over to your partner and shook his hand. “I’m Agent Eric Zhang, we spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Steve as he let go of Agent Zhang’s hand. “This here is Dr. Y/-”

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a big fan of your work,” the agent praised as he took hold of your hand and shook it. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you.” Smiling, you let go of his hand. “What can you tell me about the prosecutor?”

“Okay,” started Agent Zhang as he motioned for you and Steve to follow him. “May 20, 2012, Mason Roberts was supposed to deliver a keynote address at University of Las Vegas but he never showed. Found his car 3 blocks from his office, engine still running.”

“Wait. No leads until now?” Steve asked in an unsettling tone.

“The police don't mean much without a body.” Agent Zhang shrugged. “Until yesterday, when we get a tip from this call girl working at the Tangiers Hotel.”

“Whoa.” Steve stopped making you and the other agent stop as well. “So, I dragged one of the top Forensic Anthropologists across the country on the word of a prostitute?”

Immediately, you elbowed your partner in the ribs. “What difference does her profession make?” you chastised Steve.

“Shoo!” you shouted at the vultures running towards them, managing to make them fly away. “Oh no,” you said under your breath as both Steve and Zhang joined behind you.

“Hey I'm backing you up here.” Steve winced at the pain he now felt.

“You didn’t have to be so judgmental about it Rogers,” you answered back as you both continued to follow Agent Zhang down the dirt road.

“Anyway,” Zhang continued, “the body was right where she said it would be, mile marker 15.”

You pulled out a pair of rubber gloves from your bag and handed it over to Rogers, crouching down and putting on your own gloves before beginning to examine the remains.

“Confirmed victim is male, late thirties. No clothing, no personal artifacts,” you announced.

“This informant of yours, any chance I can talk to her?” Steve asked as he scribbled what you were calling out on paper.

“As long as you don't expect her to talk back,” Zhang answered back. Steve looked at him with a confused look in his bright blue eyes. “She died this morning,” the agent clarified. “Cancer. It was a deathbed confession, but she was still scared as hell.”

“Multiple fractures to the skull and upper extremities, caused by something cylindrical, like a pipe or a bat,” you interrupted Steve before he could open his mouth.

“Straight out of Capone's play book,” Steve muttered to himself.

You stood upright. “I'll know more once I compare dental records but-” you lost your train of thought as you noticed something out of the corner of your eye.

“What? Bones-” Steve never got to finish as you sprinted past him and Agent Zhang. They turned around and ran, following you, and watched as three big vultures started their circling descent.

“Shoo!” you shouted at the vultures running towards them, managing to make them fly away. “Oh no,” you said under your breath as both Steve and Zhang joined behind you.

“Right,” Steve said, placing his hands on his hips. “It's the sun baked, rotting corpses the vultures are into.”

Without saying a word, you grabbed another pair of rubber gloves and headed over to the decaying remains, looking over them gently. “Female, mid-twenties,” you called out. “Similar injuries to the male victim but this is a fresh kill. A week to ten days.”

“Popular dumping ground for these guys, eh?” Steve asked.

“You don't mean the same guys, five years later?” Agent Zhang asked, scratching his head.

“Well, you know, if they're not connected it would be one hell of a coincidence,” Steve answered, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Well, I'd have to compare them side by side, but from what I see here, whoever buried that victim buried this one, too,” you answered, getting up and taking off the gloves.

Zhang knitted his eyebrows in confusion.“So, two deaths for the price of one?”

Looking at an x-ray inside the makeshift lab the Las Vegas division of the FBI provided for you, you confirmed that the first victim was in fact Mason Roberts. “He was bludgeoned to death, presumably with a baseball bat.” You looked up at Steve.

Steve nodded and noticed a picture on the bulletin board. He walked towards it, taking a closer look at it. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked Agent Zhang.

“Yep. Wilson “Kingpin” Fisk,” Zhang answered, confirming Rogers’ suspicions. “He is a gaming exec at the Tangiers. He and the other two there - They were Roberts immediate 'to do' list when he disappeared.”

The sound of an incoming skype call alerted the three of you. Turning on your heel, you hit a button on the keyboard and Natasha’s face popped up on your screen.

“Dr. Romanoff,” you acknowledged simply.

“Dr. Y/LN,” she greeted you with the same animosity.

To say that there was tension between the two of you would be an understatement. Ever since Natasha took over as Director of the Smithsonian Medico-Legal Department, the two of you have been butting heads on how you would conduct investigations on the remains. You believed that evidence would be found in the bones while she thought that more evidence would be stored in the tissue.

“Steven,” Dr. Romanoff greeted your partner by his first name, catching him a bit off guard, his cheeks flushed pink, but he caught himself.

“Natasha,” he shot back with a smirk.

She gave him a sultry grin. “Don’t call me Natasha.”

“Don’t call me Steven,” replied your partner with a gleam in his eye.

You cleared your throat. “Dr. Romanoff is there a reason you’re calling, or are you here to eye-fuck my partner,” you said bluntly, making Agent Zhang almost choke on the water he was drinking.

“Right,” Natasha said, after letting your remark set in. “Are there any specs on the female victim yet?”

“Only preliminary. Blows to the cranium, torso, and upper extremities,” you answered coolly.

“All similar injuries to Roberts?” She asked.

“Yes, but from the likely result of domestic abuse,” you answered truthfully.

“Likely Result?” Steve said in surprise. “Bones there is nothing domestic about a mob hit.”

“I beg to differ, Rogers,” you countered, pulling an x-ray of the female victim. “Notice the shape of her injuries,” you pointed at the victim’s ribs. “The pattern of healing and re-breaking. There's a long history of assault here, and not from any baseball bat. Plus, I found this embedded in her skull.” You grabbed a pair of prongs to pick up a piece of hard plastic and telecoil.

“Is that a hearing aid?” Asked Agent Zhang.

Your answer was a soft hum as you set the hearing aid back down on the table. “They're common with abuse victims. Repeated blows to the head can damage the bones of the inner ear.”

“Ah, sorry to butt in,” you heard the thick Sokovian accent of your best friend. You looked over at your computer screen and saw Wanda pop up behind Natasha. “Y/N, I got a name from the serial number. The hearing aid is registered to Wilhelmina Morgan, out of Mount Charleston, Nevada,” she said reading off her tablet.

“Oh, that's not too far from here,” Steve mused.

“She goes by the name Billie.” Agent Zhang walked up to the both of you holding a notepad of his own,.“List here's Billie Morgan, 26 years old, reported missing 2 weeks ago by her husband, Donald.”

“Abusive husband covering his tracks,” you quickly deduced.

“That’s possible,” Steve replied. “Okay, he might know how his wife and Roberts ended up here. “He may even know your friends here.” Rogers said to Zhang, pointing at the photo from earlier.

“Well, you get on that and I'll fly these remains back to the Smithsonian,” you said as you quickly packed your bag. As you turned to head out of the tent, there was a large hand grabbing your elbow.

“Okay, whoa. We can't leave,” Steve pleaded.

You yanked your arm away from him and shot an eyebrow at him. “We can't?”

“I mean we came for one body and suddenly there's two,” He began before you immediately rolled your eyes at him. “Hey look, what if there's more?”

“Just ship both sets of remains. Along with bugs, dirt, the works. If there's a forensic link to those murders we'll find it.” You forgot that Nat was still on the call.

“Just as long as you keep me in the loop,” you added quickly.

You heard Nat mutter something under her breath along the lines of, “As if we could actually keep you out,” making you shut your laptop, ending the call.

“Well then,” Steve let out a breath after the intense and yet awkward encounter. “Why don’t we pay Don a visit and break the news.”

TAGGING: @always-an-evans-addict @ariallane @heather-lynn @mrs-squirrel-chester @lilasiannerd @motleymoose @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt @notateenbeachmovie @hellkat2 @kirmt15 @shamvictoria11 @yourtropegirl @basicallybucky @jonsnowisnotdeadthough @animexchocolate @westoftheglass @feelmyroarrrr @maris-astrum @heir-of-light-33 @labyrinth-of-storylines @dirajunara @danijimenezv @elfwriter1088 @sebbytrash @crazyliraz @onebigfangirlworld @erinvanlyssel @buckys-other-punk @musichowler @lady-thor-foster @meatballevan @bionic-buckyb @therealsabalicious @fly-little-butterfly @deanmon-winchester-666 @madhattervanessa @the-most-handsome-ginger @luckygrahams @goodtanaba @angel-starbeam @queen--valeskaxx @beccaheartschrisevans @daisykane535

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#Bones #Marvel AU #Steve Rogers #Female Reader #Wanda Maximoff #Natasha Romanoff #Steve Rogers x Female Reader

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