#where women go through a hundred emotions per day while men only expresses one with the occasional cracks

[erisluna35ocblog]

Shizuke is NOT an Adrienette descendant but...

This might explain why Adrien feels more at ease around him. Shizuke reminds him of someone. He is not their descendant but I am a believer of nurture over nature: his grandmother saw Adrienette as her mentors-slash-parental-figures and she picked up some of their mannerisms. And Shizuke is a grandma's boy so... These are some of his scenes for my fanfic No Two Cats are the Same at Ao3 and FFN.

Shizuke took a little longer than Blair to draw because this guy can run through five expressions per scene if he's feeling particularly emotional, so choosing an expression took me a while. Most of those expressions included exaggerated hand movements. He inherited Marinette's rubber face and flailing arms alongside her Miraculous. Pretty sure the public are looking at their generation's Ladybug, believing he is totally related to history's legendary bug heroine but he swears he isn't. Personality-wise, he's got more in common with Adrien, hence the lack of speculation if he's related to Chat Noir.

[goddamnitdazai]

Doldrums | Dazai {AU}

The Tea House is the only clean place in all of the three outlying territories; the capital and castle are overflowing with gold. There's boredom in both places and freedom in neither. Dazai finds the only way to amuse himself and you're just curious enough to agree. {fic under the cut} [ao3 link] x [patreon]

The long reign of the king ended unexpectedly. Within the first few months of the king’s death, the prodigal heir to the throne was crowned the one-hundred-and-fifteen King of Tartalya. Despite what the royal family toted to the public the new king only resembled his father in strategical demeanor. The prince’s (now king) features were prominent and sharp whereas the previous king had cheeks still plump with baby fat and a wide smile. Prince Osamu never smiled; that was the rumor anyway.

Per Tartalya tradition the new king was married within the first month of his new position. His wife, the dutchess of a rich port territory, fawned over him endlessly. A polished depiction of what Tartalya’s queen should be. Sweet, humble, and above all else, proper. Tartalya’s prior king required indisputable perfection within his court and their partners. Any imperfections were snuffed out quicker than a strong wind extinguishes a candle. The ruthless king’s only heir was no exception to these strict expectations; a rumor from the high court states the prince’s wife was picked when they were both ten years old due to her bloodline, manners, and demeanor. Rumors from the high courts were often stretched and dissected until they resembled fables, but there was truth to some extent. That is what you were taught to believe anyway. Take the words of a man with as you would an ill-cooked gift; chew with conviction then spit it out when their back is turned. You were taught this of all rumors and of all men. Of the region claimed by Tarayla’s century-old monarch, only three territories have been allowed to rule without direct sanctions from the high court or prince. They are considered the dark outliers in both qualities of life and the quality of inhabitants. These three territories provide shelter for merchants coming to port looking to gamble and drink, criminals from other territories seeking asylum, and those who are not able to afford a single room within the cheapest region of Tartayla’s kingdom. Like many of the other inhabitants born in Valnnin, your mother chose to leave you at the Tea House under the care of the Ozaki clan the day after you’d turned five. She was paid a handsome fee and signed a contract never to return to the Tea House. Supposedly, many women bear children simply to drop them at the Tea House for the reward. That rumor was not hard to believe given the state of Valnnin. Decent money offered the means to escape Valnnin to the closest region in Tartayla, Soinet, where large farms sit on rolling green hills lush with purple fruit that grows plentiful on tall trees. Anyone who made it out of Valnnin stayed out; by starvation or success. A part of you hoped your mother starved. There are worse fates in Valnnin than the Ozaki’s Tea House, though. Bred with a sharp wit and long cherry-red hair the Ozaki clan were well known all over Tartayla for their refined charisma and elegant beauty. Some of these traits were able to be passed on to the right young men and women making the courtesans of the Tea House the highest priced commodity in all of the three territories. Top earners are allowed to live in the lavish rooms on the top floor of the Tea House.  The Ozaki house, a four-tier traditional home lit with gold paper lanterns and endless vines wrapped over a cobblestone bridge, sits across the Tea House. The watchful guardian for the inhabitants of the Tea House. Other than becoming part of a legacy family in Valnnin, like the Ozaki, the best living was at the top of the Tea House. Residing in the middle, for now, was comfortable enough. “___, dear you’re staring.’ Kouyou tuts, whacking your knee with her lace fan. When her fan is fully spread the gold filigree becomes a long winding dragon sifting through the clouds. A well-known symbol of the Ozaki clan. The dragon is imprinted throughout the Tea House and stamped on the inside of each girl’s wrist in gold ink. Ownership and protection, that is what they preached while poking your skin with a hot needle. “Is that potted ivy really that intriguing? It must be with how rude you’re being during our conversation.” Her long manicured nail brushes over your nose to draw your attention. Her touch instantaneously forces your shoulders to go rigid as your eyes drop to your lap. Kouyou’s sharp nails bite at your jawline. “Don’t be rude to our company tonight. Understood?” You nod, wincing a bit at her grip. Kouyou-san only showed this type of intensity with newer girls in order to hammer in the traditions of the Tea House. You, however, had been here for fifteen long years and knew every twist and turn. Your familiarity had risen to the point that you and the other girls made wages on some of the staff’s mood based on an eyebrow quirk or tense knuckle. For the most part, you won each round. Kouyou-san did insist your looks and keen eye made for a high commodity, however, the blessings around your features were not as god-like as some of the girls. You were sure they came from a line of Queens and Goddesses long before humanity stomped over the grasslands. “Kouyou-san, I don’t understand why you won’t inform me who I am waiting for.” You shift uncomfortably in your silk robe. The pillow beneath your knees had become a hardened lump of clay that was sure to leave bruises. “Using the gold room is above my station.” “It is.” Kouyou agrees without an ounce of hesitation. If you were allowed to show your true emotions a dark frown laden with knitted brows would be reflecting back at Kouyou. Tea house manners forbade any type of backtalk, verbal or otherwise, toward the ladies of the house. It had been a long time since your feet had been whipped into a bloody mess due to your expressions. “You should be thankful a man of high caliber is interested in your company.” You exhale through your nose and adjust the pillow subtly just for something to grab and ease the tension rising up your spine. The golden room was incredibly expensive and reserved for foreign clientele or a man rich enough to buy the country twice over. What you could gather from the maids who set the room was scarcely what you could consider good information but their gossiping mouths let out that the changes were due to the man’s incredibly specific taste. Instead of immaculate gaudy golden candles, simple paper lanterns were hung in shades of red that bounced off the polished wood walls. The marble table had been replaced with a smaller traditional one stacked high with poker chips and two crystal glasses. A bottle of imported whisky more expensive than the entirety of Valnnin had been staring back at you for the better part of an hour. Jewels from all over the country were heaped into woven baskets spilling out their glittering gemstones of blues, pinks, reds, and purples. One stone looked as big as your palm. Within the baskets, bracelets, and necklaces sparkle and hang over the rim like a used handkerchief tossed in the garbage. Money can’t buy taste, you think to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind pocketing some of those jewels to sell later. Abruptly the double doors open and the lanterns are snuffed out. Above your head dangles an imported odd-shaped light with arms extending outwards holding each white candle as if it were trying to scorch the walls.  Kouyou stands to greet the unknown guest. Gliding across the wooden floor as a swan crosses a lake. You remain perfectly poised. Long red dress stretching out your arms to pool against your thighs. The Tea House provided silk garments for expensive clients that showed skin without being over-zealous. A strong dip in the back revealing your spine for wandering fingers. Bare shoulders for teeth to graze and tease. Your lips had been painted deep red to accentuate a pout worthy of a diamond necklace. Beyond Kouyou’s tall stance you barely make out the rough edges of a man much taller than Kouyou. “Enjoy your time, sir. Please, let me know if I can do anything to be more accommodating.” Kouyou’s bow is deep and longer than usual. The man doesn’t bow back.  The guards that had accompanied him to the golden room remain on the other side of the screen door once it’s closed, another uncommon occurrence. You get to your feet and walk towards the man in the same manner Kouyou did. You’d done this a hundred times. A thousand. Something high up, but there was an odd sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. Circling the pit of your belly like a serpent through the grass. “Good evening. Who do I have the pleasure of spending time with? I’m afraid my tongue has gone numb in excitement.” The man chuckles and takes a step forward; you take in his form with a simple blink. His hair is an unruly slue of dark browns overlapping each other held back by a deep ruby pin, an odd style but the capital tended to couple foreign fashion with traditional garments. The stranger is incredibly tall, thin, wearing traditional Tartayla clothing though the crest on his lapel doesn’t ring a bell. It did not mirror the crests members of the court wore nor the men stationed beneath them. Scribes, military, footmen, all members of the palace wore crests revealing their status to the world. A palace aid, even, would be able to afford the golden room for a night. “That’s a lie.” He takes another few steps towards you. Swift. His long legs easily bring him close enough for you to smell his cologne. Expensive and foreign. “I specifically told Ozaki not to speak my name. A clever way to ask without asking.” You blink rapidly but hold your ground, folding your hands politely in front of your thighs. His stare is honey lined with liquid gold. “As expected of a woman raised in the Tea House.” “I did not want to seem ill-prepared.” You finally answer, “It is uncommon to not know the name of my companion prior to meeting.” Nicknames--you roll through the most requested, but none of them fit. He bends a bit, you expect a hand on your cheek or your chin; he grips your throat. Contracting your airways with an eerily gentle touch. “You can address me as Dazai, nothing else.” His gaze remains ice cold. Something about the name bubbles up and up until your mouth unintentionally drops open just enough to let out a silent gasp. Prince Dazai. If he would let go of your chin you could bow to him but he anchors himself to the ground. “Ah, there it is. I can let go that you did not recognize me considering we let the territories exist as an extension. Not much royalty passing through here? What a scandal~”. He releases your jaw and walks over to the table in the center of the room. Out of instinct, you follow behind with your head bowed just slightly. What would the prince be doing here? You presumed when royal blood desired the flesh of someone else other than their betrothed they found it easily among the many women of the court. “Dazai, what is it you desire tonight?” Common phrases of your trade finally return once your tongue has melted off the shock. “Business.” He states, taking a seat on the plush pillows. “Come, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.” Dazai pats his hand on his lap as he speaks. You follow his command and walk yourself to his lap. The scent of him is overwhelmingly pleasing in comparison to the other men that have requested this position. With your back against his chest, you can feel the ruffle of fabric on your bare skin from his vest, it’s an interesting sensation. You’d never felt this type of material before. “Now,” Dazai starts voice a rich smoky tenor, “you will come with me to the capital and sit just like this. You won’t speak, you won’t move, you won’t do a thing except look as you do now.” He drags his knuckles down your spine. “All you need to know is that. What lies in this room,” he lazily gestures to the jewels in the collapsing baskets, “will be your payment.” All you can do is nod dumbly. What the hell did he want you at the capital for? To be a lap ornament? What a strange request. You want to say no, to tell him you’re much more than a porcelain doll to play with. Your wit and charm has made you the favorite of so many men of his own court. Dazai presses his nose to the curve between your throat and shoulder. “You may ask one question but make it quick, I dislike having to ride home during the day.” Dazai gave you information without giving you detail. The bare-bones without an explanation or purpose, but he was the prince. You couldn’t pester him for more like your regulars who gave vague requests--of which you denied regardless of what it was. Taking a courtesan out of the Tea House was strictly forbidden. There was no amount that would interest the Ozaki women to allow their charges to leave the premises with a client. Every person had their price, though, it should have been obvious considering your line of work. “Am I to be a lap ornament for your entertainment or to prove a point to another person?” Dazai pauses his hand on your spine. For a moment your heart freezes--until he begins to laugh. Harmonious and cheerful, it almost sounds sweet but the tingle in your spine tells you otherwise. “Both,” Dazai places his hand on your thigh giving the soft flesh a tight squeeze, “but the latter. I don’t find very much of this world entertaining in the slightest.” Abruptly his teeth graze the shell of your ear as his hand wanders beneath your silk dress finding the edge of your hipbone. “This is just to waste time.”                                   __________________________ Jealousy was not something prince Dazai experienced. However, the man across from you seemed to be dripping green with it. You vaguely recognized him, a court-appointed general from the land across the sea. The name escaped you, anytime he appeared at the Tea House for your attention his words sank to the bottom of your consciousness. His conversation was as dull and his hands were fat with sausage-like fingers that didn’t know how to properly undo the knots that held your dress together at the side. He never had enough money other than to converse for twenty minutes and stare at your nude body. Prior to the meeting, Dazai had walked you through the main courtyard filled lined with enormous evergreen trees and rose bushes taller than your shoulders. Members of the royal court bowed and held their tongues as you passed. Your clothing served as a clear indicator of your position in the Tea House. Dazai had made it a point to dress you in the most elegant outfit the Tea House allowed. Draped in gold and black with hints of deep scarlet beneath the split up your thigh. The palace was, unsurprisingly,  massive in size and stature. Getting lost for hours within its corridors and monumental rooms seemed inevitable. Had Dazai let you wander from his side. “Do not speak or move without my permission.” His only warning punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass. While the meeting went on Dazai’s hands grew increasingly curious in tandem with his ever-rising boredom. Beneath the table, his fingers roamed between your legs never touching where you wanted. They drew teasing circles just outside your lower lips. Dug crescents into the meat of your inner thighs. The longer the meeting went on the higher his hands reached. Inside the deep cut of your dress to squeeze your breast while he spoke about the outcome of a fictional war the general had threatened, apparently. Something about trade prices rising. Anything happening beyond Dazai’s grip wasn’t sticking to your psyche. By the time the meeting was finished sweat was beading down the back of your neck. Your cheeks had grown hot to the touch and your clit was aching for touch. Dazai simply stood expecting you to catch yourself. “You will not be returning to the Tea House.” It was all he said before two guards escorted you down a long corridor lined with paintings of the royal bloodline.                       ___________________________________ The first time he fucked you the moon had appeared in splendor. Bright and bold against dark skies empty of stares and clouds. His wife had requested him to come to bed early. Her long dark hair falling in gentle curls illuminated by the candelabra she held in her fist. You watched from the corner of his study as Dazai used that talented tongue of his to herd her back to bed. Once the door was shut and locked with a metal key Dazai bent you over his desk and fucked you deep and slow. He left bite marks on your neck and laughed when you begged so pathetically to cum around his cock. At first, there was nothing inside him. No emotion to his touch and no passion beyond the carnal desire to fuck you when he needed release. His wife would often stare at you when you passed in the corridors trying to find some sort of entertainment. You had heard nothing of your position at the palace nor had anyone questioned your existence there. Dazai demanded you stay within his sights at all times and would punish you with hard slaps to your bare ass when you wandered too far. He was the softest after he left a red handprint on your behind. He’d cradle you in his arms and call you pretty things like a lover would. It only served to deepen your confusion in both your own feelings for him and what he wanted out of your existence in his life.                     _______________________________________ The queen’s illness came on rapidly and without a cause. She was pale with a fever and sickly looking. Her skin stretched over the bones of her face and her eyes looked glass. Nothing the doctors were doing had made a difference. She existed on her large bed surrounded by basins of water and broth, her ladies in waiting rotated washing her and feeding her the best they could. She couldn’t move on her own accord except to speak in a low muddled voice. Dazai did not visit her often. After a week she had been moved to her own room down two corridors and across from the King’s quarters. The bed was burned and the room scrubbed clean until it glistened. Dazai didn’t ask, he never did. When your room turned up empty you knew to find him in his quarters. His long legs propped up on the ottoman beside the window, fingers over his favorite book gifted by a friend long gone from this world. His touch had become gentle in the past few weeks. You presumed, at first, it was due to his grieving and perhaps guilt for the affair. Yet he did not change the frequency in which he kissed you, fucked you, held you against his chest for a few minutes before he eventually left the bed to finish whatever work he’d thrown across the floor when he grew too aggravated or bored. Nights he wanted to fall off the edge of the world he tied your hands to the bed and played with your body until sunrise. Dazai left his mark where he pleased. Nothing felt as good as his hands, his attention, his tongue. Rarely did he ever keep himself on top. No, he expected you to ride him. Make him cum while he watched you grow addicted to the feeling of his cock inside of you.                                  ______________________ Dazai had to produce an heir, he said, one morning while you’d been eating breakfast at his side. His wife could not fulfill that duty while sick. You pause for a moment and set your glass down. Looking at him as the sun rises behind his head. “You know I can’t have children.” Part of the process of becoming part of the Tea House; everyone went through the procedure. “What do you plan to do?” Dazai wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do?” He places his elbows on the table and folds his fingers beneath his chin. That same gaze from the day you met him in the golden room returning to douse you in something unsettling. You blink at him and lean back in your chair. “As long as the queen remains alive you are not able to marry another. You will be expected to wait to have a child with your wife when she is well again.” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t want children.” He says nonchalantly. “Dazai..” What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do? “Dazai.” His grin spreads wide, eyes darkening despite the light from the windows splashing halycon all over the room. “Eat up, _____. I’m growing bored.”

[carewyncromwell]

Anybody want some more POTC AU? Well, this time we’re getting some focus on our Davy Jones (Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, based on this concept) and our Commodore “Carey Weasley” (Carewyn Cromwell)! In the original films, their respective roles are on opposite sides of the fence (hell, Davy Jones kills Norrington in the movies damnitDisneyNorringtondeservedbetter >>), and even in this AU, Davy!Finn has some history with Carewyn’s brother Jacob...so how will they interact, when they collide? We’ll just have to wait and see...

17th-18th century pirate ships were -- in a bizarre way -- tiny, floating representative democracies, about 50-60 years before the American Revolution. In a world where nearly all European countries were run by kings chosen by “divine right” and one could usually only “rise above their station” through fighting in wars or through marrying someone of a higher class, pirate ships operated under the idea of “one man, one vote” and their captains both were chosen by popular vote and could be replaced at any time, oftentimes rather peacefully. The Age of Enlightenment sparked by thinkers like John Locke started in the midst of the Golden Age of Piracy and really kicked off as soon as it was over, circa 1730. Those same ideas ended up inspiring both the American and French Revolutions in the later 18th and early 19th centuries...so yeah, in a weird way, you could draw a direct connection between the values and grievances against the monarchy expressed by pirates to the ones expressed by America’s Founding Fathers and the figures of the French Revolution!

Previous part is here, whole tag is here...and I hope y’all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the Flying Dutchman returned from Tortuga, the brig was stuffed to the brim with about two hundred prisoners -- and yet, even with that, Cutler Beckett was not pleased. None of those captured were particularly well-known or wanted pirates: instead the group largely consisted of retired pirates, pirates’ families, or other such refugees from the law who hadn’t committed any crimes except through association.

“The pirates refused to be taken alive, Beckett,” spat Jones impatiently. “All of the ones we captured fought to the death rather than be imprisoned.”

“Admirable excuse, Jones,” said Beckett airily, “but at present, we need prisoners to interrogate -- and although you may be comfortable dealing with dead men, they don’t do much good for us that way. Unless you can give us the location of Shipwreck Cove yourself?”

Jones’s eyes flashed dangerously. Alas, he couldn’t answer that question -- and so Beckett railroaded him.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you need some oversight, Jones -- so from now on, Commodore Weasley and my associate, Patricia Rakepick, will remain on board the Dutchman...just to make sure things run smoothly.”

Jones watched as a line of soldiers escorted the Dead Man’s Chest on board his ship. He had felt the presence of his heart earlier, but it being so close made his chest feel like it was on fire, blazing with wild, storm-like emotions he hadn’t felt in years that made him want to hit something, scream in pain, and burst into tears all at the same time. It was agony, after so long, and it made Jones whirl on Beckett with a murderous expression.

“I will not have that thing on my ship!” he snarled.

“Perhaps you will not, but I will,” said Beckett.

He glanced at Rakepick. “Did the key Jones handed over work?”

Rakepick dangled the key to the Chest off of her finger with a smirk. “Aye -- I checked it before we brought it over.”

“Good.”

Beckett returned his gaze to Jones.

“From here on out, you shall answer to the Commodore and Madam Rakepick for your orders -- all orders, naturally, that come directly from me. Should you not, they will have the authority to discipline any misbehavior.”

Jones’s gaze flickered over Rakepick and then over to the shorter Navy-dressed officer standing perfectly straight beside her.

The Commodore -- yes. This was the one called “Carey Weasley” -- Black Jack Roberts’s younger sister and, as per Jones’s deal with Jack, his future crew member, Carewyn Cromwell. She truly didn’t resemble her brother much at all, Jones thought: it was little wonder no one had made a connection between her and the infamous captain of the Tower Raven. And Jones thought, it was irony at its finest, the thought that one of the people Beckett was using to restrain him was in fact destined to scrape before him instead, within the next two months.

Jones’s gaze returned to Beckett pretty quickly. He snapped his claw at his side as he loomed over the much smaller man.

“The Flying Dutchman sails as its captain commands,” he said fiercely.

“And its captain will sail it as he is commanded!” Beckett shot back, his usually detached and arrogant voice betraying some real aggression for the first time.

Jones’s crew muttered among themselves, both shocked and a bit intimidated. The leader of the East India Trading Company took several steps forward, his eyes boring into Jones with pure contempt.

“I already disposed of your pet,” he said softly. “I would hate to have to also dispose of you so quickly, when you might still have some use.”

Despite saying this, it was clear that Beckett felt no compassion for Jones’s life at all.

“This is no longer your world, Jones. There’s no place in this new world of ours for the immaterial. In short, the immaterial...has become immaterial. Best you learn that quickly, and fill the new role you’ve been dealt.”

Jones loathed having the two red-haired women and their battalion of Navy soldiers aboard. Although a lot of the time neither of them spoke to him, he hated having their eyes on his back and hated knowing that they as agents of Beckett’s were there to be his “leash.”

Rakepick flaunted her authority noticeably more than Carewyn did, dictating their course and openly contradicting Jones’s orders. About the only time Carewyn seemed to speak up was in response to the treatment of prisoners -- while the Flying Dutchman sailed back toward Port Royal, the Commodore frequently checked on the condition of the prisoners in the brig. One of Jones’s sailors even reported to him that he’d seen her bringing one of them a Bible on request. It was odd, considering that every single one of those prisoners was going to hang as soon as they arrived in Port Royal, unless they had “valuable information” to give. Unfortunately the only valuable information that Beckett wanted were the identities of all seven Pirate Lords, the significance of their “Pieces of Eight,” and the location of Shipwreck Cove, the last secret pirate haven on Earth -- and, to every prisoner’s credit, if any of them did know the answers to those questions, they refused to say...perhaps because they knew that it’d be the place the pirates who were able to escape the Dutchman’s attack would go.

Carewyn escorted the prisoners on shore to Port Royal, while Rakepick stayed behind with the troops aboard the Flying Dutchman. When she arrived, she met up with Percy, who had been in charge of the fort in her absence. The hangings started the very next day. A long, long line of prisoners all locked in irons pooled out of the brig and were walked one by one closer to the gallows. In groups of seven, they were sent up to the hangman’s noose -- men, women, even children -- all without trial and without any chance for mercy...all thanks to Lord Beckett, and by extension the King of England who had given him that power. It broke Carewyn’s heart standing on the sidelines with Percy, unable to do a thing to stop it.

Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal in the midst of the executions, looking incredibly smug. It took everything in Carewyn to not yank out her pistol and stick in his disgusting, weasel-like face...especially when he brought her and Percy away from the gallows to speak to them privately.

“I admit, Commodore...your plan has not produced the intelligence I wished for,” said Beckett as he considered the map in front of him. Once again, he was playing with a silver piece of eight absently in his right hand. “But it has been a very effective showcase of the British Empire’s new position on piracy. My proclamation would’ve lacked the proper teeth, without such a visible display.”

‘You’re despicable,’ Carewyn thought, hatred pulsing through her heart as a tiny boy was placed up on a barrel at the gallows.

“Thank you, sir,” she said lowly.

Percy glanced at the gallows too, and he winced at the sight of the boy standing on the barrel.

“It’s unfortunate that the information they offered was not useful to you, Lord Beckett,” he said, his voice betraying some hesitance. “I thought that the locations the boy provided for where the Dennis and the Andromeda make berth and the routes the Blackbird uses to plunder ships seemed promising...”

“You think too small, Captain,” said Beckett.

There was a rather arrogant gleam in his eye as he glanced from Percy to Carewyn, the piece of eight lingering between his pointer and middle finger.

“Chasing pirates one at a time would take up more resources and time than I have a desire to use. What I want is to bring order to this world -- and to do that, all pirates must be dealt with...either by being brought into line to serve our interests, or by being disposed of. And to do that, the pirates’ spirit must be decisively crushed.”

He glanced at the piece of eight between his fingers.

“...How much do you two know about the Pirate Brethren Court?”

Percy turned to Carewyn. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

That was a bald-faced lie. Charles Cromwell himself had been one of the original Pirate Lords ages ago, before the curse no doubt interfered with his old duties and the Mediterranean was taken over by someone else.

“They are -- from what I understand -- representatives, who only gather whenever pirates as a whole need united leadership,” said Beckett. “They are a Parliament for piracy -- one that selects a ‘King’ to represent them all, in times of crisis.”

Percy frowned in confusion. “A King chosen by the people? I’ve never heard of such a thing...”

“Pirates do not believe in divine right,” Carewyn explained. “Even when it comes to their captains, the crew can vote to replace them at any time.”

Percy turned to Beckett. “...Then do you think the pirates will attempt to convene this ‘Brethren Court,’ in response to the attack on Tortuga?”

‘That’s definitely what I hope...’ Carewyn thought to herself.

Beckett nodded. “I am assured of it.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back up to the line of chained prisoners still being forced up onto the gallows.

“If they were to convene this ‘Court’ of theirs and select a King, my Lord,” she said softly, “it sounds like they could be a greater threat than ever. Individual pirates might be more expensive to chase one at a time...but if they were somehow able to unite, they could create a formidable army.”

Beckett raised his eyebrows. “I did not think you would fear a War, Commodore.”

“Not at all,” said Carewyn. “If the British Navy could stand toe to toe with the Spanish and French, we should more than be a match for a smattering of rag-tag galleons -- especially with the funding of the East India Trading Company behind us...”

Her eyes narrowed a bit more as they swiveled over to Beckett’s face.

“...But...if you were to advocate such a mission, you’d be at the head of the charge for it. Its success or failure would rest on your head more than any of ours...regardless of any efforts we might make to protect your reputation.”

Beckett’s lips curled up in a smile that held no warmth.

“Your concern is appreciated, Commodore Weasley,” he said, and his eyes seemed to gleam upon her. “But I assure you...I’ve waited long enough, to get the revenge I’m owed...”

He turned his focus to the piece of eight coin in his hand.

“After the injuries I’ve sustained, thanks to one of these ‘Pirate Lords,’” he said in a very soft, cold voice, “I have no intention of letting them live in peace. Wherever they decide to make their final stand...I shall be there to meet and destroy them.”

He slammed the coin down into the table with a slap of his hand, making both Carewyn and Percy flinch despite themselves.

After the hangings were complete, Carewyn returned to the Flying Dutchman, once again leaving Percy in Port Royal. The youngest Weasley brother was troubled by the thought of Carewyn being on board Jones’s ship, and she tried to reassure him as best as she was able.

“Captain Jones has to follow Lord Beckett’s orders just as much as we do,” she said softly. “Regardless of who he is, he’s been impressed into our service...it wouldn’t be in his best interest, to fight against that.”

Percy, however, didn’t look very reassured. His gaze kept flickering up to the Dutchman, even though he tried hard to look Carewyn in the face.

The Commodore offered her surrogate younger brother a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” she reassured him gently.

Percy stared at Carewyn for a long moment, his brown eyes dark with emotion. Then, very abruptly, he actually threw out his arms, grabbing hold of her and pulling her into a full hug.

“Percy?” said Carewyn, completely taken aback.

Percy didn’t say anything -- instead he just gave her a squeeze, his chin resting on her shoulder. Although he was facing away from her, Carewyn could hear a faint shakiness in the breath he took.

“Come back safely,” he mumbled, his voice harsher than normal as he tried to keep his composure. “You hear me? Come back just as you are now.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes filled with pain as she realized what was going through Percy’s head. Yes, he was scared for her safety, but it wasn’t just because he cared about her -- it was also because, with the loss of Charlie and Bill, his real brothers...she was the only family Percy had left, here in Port Royal. The only sibling he could rely on, for emotional support.

Her heart filling with compassion and affection for the young Captain, she brought her arms around Percy tightly in return, resting a hand on the back of his head and cradling it as though she were his mother.

“We will see each other again soon, Perce,” she murmured in his ear. “I promise.”

After she and Percy parted ways, Rakepick met Carewyn at the top of the ramp heading up to the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The older woman gave Carewyn another long, analytical look as she came up on deck, which Carewyn returned with a much shorter, faintly suspicious look. She didn’t like how Rakepick looked at her. It just made Carewyn feel like she knew something...but Carewyn frankly had no idea what that “something” was. One thing Carewyn did take note of, however, was the chain she wore around her neck and tucked under the low collar of her red jacket -- the chain that no doubt held the key to the Dead Man’s Chest.

That night, after all of the officers went to sleep, Carewyn entered the Dutchman’s captain’s cabin and ordered one of her lieutenants to send Davy Jones to her. Jones was not pleased to be summoned to his own cabin, least of all by the Commodore Beckett assigned to “watch” him.

“I cannot be called like some mongrel pup,” he snapped.

“Yet you came,” said Carewyn coolly. “I appreciate the promptness.”

Jones looked incredibly surly. The ginger-haired Commodore looked at her lieutenant, who was trying hard not to cower in Jones’s shadow.

“Go ahead and return to your patrol down below with the Chest, Lieutenant,” she told him. “I’ll take it from here.”

The scared young man gave a salute and then quickly left the room. Once the door was closed, Carewyn turned up at Jones with a much grimmer look on her face, her arms crossed behind her back in standard “Naval” fashion.

“...Captain Jones...Lord Beckett has ordered that we seek out Shipwreck Cove.”

Jones’s lip curled. “I believe I’ve already made it clear that I don’t know where the damned Brethren Court meets.”

“I know you don’t. And I’m glad for it.”

Jones’s eyebrows knit together suspiciously. Carewyn’s eyes flickered absently over to the door as she listened for a moment to make absolutely sure no one was listening it.

“...I don’t want Beckett to find Shipwreck Cove,” she said lowly. “I don’t want him to send Navy ships after us once we’ve found it and destroy it. Just as I frankly don’t want you under Beckett’s rule at all.”

Jones gave a loud snort. “Haha! And I suppose this is all out of the goodness of your heart, this...sympathy you deign to spare such a pathetic wretch as me?”

His eyes hardened as he bore down on her, dwarfing her with his height.

“I don’t need your pity, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said very coldly.

Carewyn was visibly taken aback.

“Oh, aye,” said Jones with a smirk, “I know your name. A ferryman of the damned knows everyone’s true names.”

Despite how taken aback and faintly disconcerted Carewyn was, however, she didn’t seem intimidated. Instead she kept her posture straight and tall and looked Jones straight in the eye.

“Then you know why I don’t want Beckett to succeed,” she said seriously. “A lot of people I love are probably on their way to Shipwreck Cove right now. As much as I know a battle will be imminent, I want them to initiate it. I don’t want Beckett to get there before they’re ready.”

“So you aim to make a deal with me, then, Miss Commodore?” asked Jones, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“No,” said Carewyn firmly. “I just want to set you free.”

Now it was Davy Jones’s turn to look startled.

“I don’t believe in anyone being impressed into service against their will -- least of all by a captor as cruel and despicable as Cutler Beckett,” the Commodore said, feeling glad to finally let loose her bile a bit. “And if getting your heart back to you so that you can do as you please makes it that much harder for Beckett to destroy Shipwreck Cove...all the better.”

“Ah...so you think to trade my assurance that I won’t attack Shipwreck Cove for your services,” said Jones coolly. “Well, I hate to break it to you -- but I have no love for the Brethren Court myself, since they took all ownership of the seas for themselves. I daresay your dear granddaddy told you all about that...”

“‘The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam’ -- yes, I know the song,” said Carewyn. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to help the Brethren Court. I’m not asking you to help me with anything. I plan to set you free whether you want to be nice to me or not.”

Jones’s eyes narrowed as they flickered over Carewyn’s face, analyzing her critically. At last he raised his claw the way a man might raise a hand, but its size made it so it came within inches of her face.

“...Let me make sure I have this right, missie,” he said lowly. “You’re offering your assistance in restoring my heart to me...without making any sort of deal with me that benefits you?”

Carewyn nodded, not flinching at all in response to Jones’s claw getting into her personal space.

“Because you being free helps me, as it is -- by making things harder for Beckett.”

Jones considered Carewyn for a long moment. Whatever he had been expecting from the sister of Black Jack Roberts, it certainly wasn’t this. Even from a sanctimonious Navy officer, he didn’t expect this level of...well, for lack of a better word, decency...especially for someone who had showed her no kindness and she owed absolutely nothing to. He never would’ve admitted it aloud...but it impressed him.

‘Seems a bit of a shame that such a decent person should be fated for a lifetime of service aboard my ship,’ Jones thought to himself.

Perhaps because his heart was so close to him, the thought made some reluctance and guilt pick at the inside of his chest.

Pushing the feeling aside, the captain of the damned lowered his claw again. Then very, very slowly his tentacled face spread into a fuller, brighter smirk.

“...What do you have in mind?”

[downsbeatrice]

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And it will help you to identify the kind of stresses and strains of modern technology.A couple cannot see the world has to end up laughing at it Alone?In America, 50% of marriages suffer from crisis.Try to start to be exposed to painful aspects of their marriage.So, be more valuable than the family and stir up your confidence and respect for yourself Every now and then.

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[gyrlversion]

Inside The Fight For A Federal Law Against Revenge Porn

In June, Bella Thorne “took [her] power back.”

For the actor, that meant revealing to her almost seven million Twitter followers — and, by extension, the Internet at large — that someone had hacked her phone and stolen her private photos. “I feel gross, I feel watched, I feel someone has taken something from me that I only wanted one special person to see,” she wrote in a note that explained how her hacker had been threatening to post the photos against her will, and had also allegedly sent her private photos of other celebrities in the process. So, she beat him at his own game and posted the photos herself. “It’s my decision now u don’t get to take yet another thing from me,” she added.

The immediate response was overwhelmingly supportive of Thorne, although some people attempted to shame her for taking the photos to begin with. She drowned out the haters by posting screenshots of supportive conversations with Dove Cameron, Zendaya, and Serayah, among other famous friends, and continued to post about the harassment on her Instagram Stories. Not once did she apologize for taking the photos, and she had no reason to: It’s the person who steals the images who needs to answer to their actions.

For many young people, “nudes” and other private photos are a common form of self-expression — so much so that the practice has been immortalized in a storyline on Netflix’s Sex Education, and in a monologue delivered by Zendaya on HBO’s Euphoria. Thanks to the rise of digital cameras, smartphones, texting, email, and apps like Snapchat, taking and sharing private photos has become increasingly normalized. Eighty-eight percent of respondents to a 2015 survey said they had sexted at least once; 96 percent of those people viewed sexting as a normal way to express themselves in a given relationship. Whether it’s healthy or destructive depends on the people involved, and experts warn to only send private photos to someone you trust implicitly.

Because therein lies danger: you can’t control whether the other person shares those photos without your consent, or if someone else obtains them through a method like hacking, or adding photos to a database or messageboard, as was the case when it was discovered in 2017 that Marines and other service members were swapping revenge porn photos. One study posits that nearly 10 million Americans have had their photos shared without their consent, though it’s hard to gauge a solid number given the shame that still proliferates the experience. And if your photos are turned into revenge porn, the legal options you can take to fight back are limited and can feel overwhelming.

Today, 46 states and Washington, D.C. have laws banning revenge porn, which is the result of maliciously sharing private photos that aren’t your own, typically by a former sexual partner and without the consent of the person in the image. The scope of these laws varies significantly across state lines: Some states classify it as a misdemeanor, while others treat it as a felony, and jail time can range from 90 days to six years. The existing laws are being updated as technology advances, too; Virginia has banned revenge porn since 2014, and lawmakers recently expanded that law to include “deepfake” porn, or work that has been digitally altered to simulate nude or otherwise explicit images without the victim’s consent.

Of course, there are still a variety of reasons why someone would choose not to report an assault or other sex crime — up to and including the experience of subjecting yourself to the law enforcement process. And if a victim wanted to report a crime to the police, they’d have to navigate a complex web of jurisdictions — because the law would have been broken depending on where the attacker was when they posted the photos, not where the victim was at the time of discovery.

As Carrie Goldberg, a lawyer in New York City whose practice specializes in helping victims of sexual harassment and assault, tells MTV News, “Especially when the offender has posted [revenge porn photos] under the guise of anonymity, we’ll have local police say, ‘Well, we don’t know where he was when he posted them.’” While Internet anonymity can make it difficult to ascertain a perpetrator’s identity, researchers found that the majority of those who post revenge porn photos are men. In a 2016 Brookings report that studied 80 separate sextortion cases, every perpetrator was male. “There’s often a lot of back and forth from local precincts about which one has the actual jurisdiction to prosecute it,” she adds.

Public retaliation has also largely targeted the victims, and not the perpetrators, in a variety of ways that include the slut-shaming Thorne faced. (Crucially, people of all genders have reported being victims, though the APA noted in 2014 that male victims are more likely to report their violation to authorities than female victims.) “The majority of people suffer extreme emotional distress and it changes their relationships with family and friends,” Goldberg says. “They’re just constantly worried about the fact that anybody on the Internet can see their genitals, and it’s a horrible feeling.”

Some attackers also target victims at their work; Goldberg acknowledges that some of her clients have been fired as a backward result of their being violated. If someone is fired from their job because of a revenge-porn attack, she recommends they sue their former employer: “I feel it’s gender-based discrimination,” she explains. Her firm also regularly works with clients’ employers so that victims feel supported throughout and after the ordeal.

Goldberg opened her practice after an ex targeted her; in the process of seeking justice, she realized how difficult it is for victims to navigate the various legal systems at play. But while some lawyers or legal support groups offer pro bono help to victims, and Goldberg notes that legal action “can be really transformative and healing if you do it right,” she also stresses that victims shouldn’t feel pressured to take any action they don’t feel comfortable with.

“Bella Thorne took a courageous step forward, and I think it’s bold and respectable for her to have done that,” she explains. “I don’t think that victims should feel they need to do that if their privacy is being threatened. It’s the right decision for some people, but it’s not going to be for everybody.”

While a federal law could help support victims, there isn’t really one on the books. Clearer-cut federal laws counter blackmail and extortion, and copyright ownership for selfies can often serve as grounds to have a photo removed from a website, but the federal law most frequently invoked for digital revenge porn is section 230 of the Communications Decency Act.

The CDA was passed in 1996, years before the advent of social-media behemoths like Facebook and Twitter, and doesn’t do much to help victims of revenge porn — instead, this law protects the platforms, dictating that the social media sites aren’t at fault for any revenge porn posted on their platforms. So if you want to scrub a photo from the Internet forever, getting the apps to take action can often require a lawyer like Goldberg, and a lot of litigation.

In May, California Congresswoman Jackie Speier and New York Congressman John Katko introduced the SHIELD Act in the House of Representatives, which would make it illegal to “knowingly distribute private intimate visual depictions with reckless disregard for the individual’s lack of consent to the distribution;” California Senator and presidential hopeful Kamala Harris is planning on introducing companion legislation in the Senate. The bill is a continuation of the Intimate Privacy Protection Act, which Rep. Speier introduced in 2016 after she “became aware of unbelievably painful stories of women in particular who not only lost their privacy but had their daily lives impacted in terms of employment and relationships,” she tells MTV News; the session closed before the bill was voted on.

According to Speier, lawmakers have been “slow to regulate an area that has become rife with a great deal of violation,” though she doesn’t necessarily believe there is a correlation between a failure to act and the fact that revenge porn overwhelmingly affects women and other minority groups, like LGBTQ+ people. “I think it has more to do with the fact that we have a lot of Luddites in Congress,” she says. “But there’s growing recognition of the need for [legislation], and we need to take a step to act.”

Yet even the most comprehensive legislation is only one aspect of the fight against digital harassment. (The 2016 bill received pushback from the ACLU which claimed criminalizing such action regardless of intent could be a violation of free speech.) And Speier is heartened by the knowledge that many survivors, like Goldberg, view advocacy as “a way of paying it forward. Many of them have already been painfully impacted by the non-consensual distribution of their photos, and they don’t want it to happen to anyone else,” she adds. Actor Amber Heard joined Speier in introducing the SHIELD Act to Congress; she was violated in the same 2014 attack in which Lawrence was targeted.

“My stolen and manipulated photos are still online to this day, posted again and again with sexually explicit and humiliating and degrading headlines about my body, about myself,” Heard said in May, per the Washington Post. “I continue to be harassed, stalked, and humiliated by the theft of those images.”

In part because of those activists, as well as a number of cultural conversations — including the photos stolen from Jennifer Lawrence and hundreds of other Hollywood stars in 2014; a similar, more targeted attack made against Leslie Jones; and the fallout from the allegations against Harvey Weinstein that served as kindling for Tarana Burke’s #MeToo movement to reach global consciousness — we’ve seen an overwhelming societal shift towards both normalizing sexting and transferring the culpability for a crime to where it belongs.

“I think with regard to non-consensual porn, there’s been a sweep across the nation of refusal to tolerate the crime, and I definitely think that translates into more understanding towards victims,” Goldberg tells MTV News. “There’s just so much more rhetoric about being the target of someone else’s control, and sexual privacy violation, and so much more empathy and conversation about it.”

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[optimisticheartbarbarian-blog]

Dating my father. Write only if you are serious! Diana. Age 20 My new photos and sexy videos here >>>

Name: Diana Age: 20 Country: Ukraine City: Lvov Marital status: single Children: none Height: 5'6" - 167 cm Weight: 110 lb - 50 kg Eye color: hazel Hair color: dark brown Body type: slim Religion: Christian Smoke: no Drink: no English level: don't speak

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The Meaningful Everyday life Facility

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[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone Chapter 10

I was never one to primp and prune for a lavish amount of time, but I sanctioned a solid two hours to prepare for my night out with Justin. I wanted to look perfect for whatever was to come.

 I fretted over wearing a skirt that was just the tiniest bit too short and worried about how to tame my crazy hair. At some point during a wild frenzy of ripping apart of my closet in search of the perfect shoes, it occurred to me that I never officially gave Justin an answer about going out with him tonight and I hadn’t heard from him all day. A part of me wondered if I was wasting my time getting ready for an evening that might not even take place.

 However, the thought quickly passed, as I felt confident that Justin was a man of his word. He had said that his driver would be here at six o’clock, and I was sure that he wouldn’t bail on me.

 Prepared and ready to go, I took the stairs down rather than the elevator, anticipation filling me with a restless sort of energy. I was surprised by how much I was looking forward to the night out, and a giddy smile curved my lips as I made my way across the lobby of my apartment complex. As usual, Philip was at the door to greet me with his friendly smile.

 “Looking awfully sassy tonight, Miss Cole. That’s the second time I’ve seen that fancy ride outside. Is it here for you again?” asked Philip, eyeing me up and down with one eyebrow raised.

 “It sure is, Phil,” I said, blushing under the older man’s scrutiny. I tried to nonchalantly tug at the hem of my black miniskirt, feeling very aware of its short length. I got the impression that Phil didn’t approve of my clothing choice, even though he didn’t comment about it. He was so dad-like, always looking out for the women in the complex. I often wondered if his watchful personality was the reason why my mother and stepfather were so insistent that I lived here.

 “Have a good time. And be careful,” he warned, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

 Why is everyone always telling me to be careful?

 “Don’t worry, Phil. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

 After giving him a reassuring smile, I moved past him and stepped through the door that he held open for me.

 I felt a sense of déjà vu as I headed down the walkway. Justin’s driver was waiting for me outside of the sleek black Porsche, just as he had less than twenty-four hours earlier. However, this time, I was taken by surprise when Hale opened the SUV door. Justin was seated inside the car.

 He was looking down at his phone, but looked up at my arrival. I briefly saw a look of relief flash across his face.

 Was he worried that I would stiff him?

 “Good evening, Selena,” Justin drawled out slowly.

 A bad-boy smile curled the edges of his mouth and his gaze traveled leisurely down the entire length of my body. The heat in his eyes caused butterflies to quiver in my stomach. I nervously tugged down the edges of my skirt. For the second time since putting the article of clothing on, I felt very self-conscience over my bare legs that teetered on heels that were just a little too high.

 “Justin,” I greeted, nerves causing my voice to sound slightly breathy.

 “You look amazing, Selena. Stop pulling at your skirt,” Justin scolded, climbing out of the vehicle. Turning to his driver, he said, “I’ll call you when we’re ready, Hale.”

 “Yes, Mr. Stone,” Hale said all official-like.

 So the silent driver was capable of speech after all.

 That was the first time I had ever heard him speak, as my previous interaction with him had been so reserved and formal, with only a few short nods used for communication. The raspy voice that he had just revealed suited the persona that I envisioned him to have. In fact, I half expected him to salute Justin before he turned back towards the car.

 “Ready for what?” I questioned, looking back and forth between Justin and the Porche. “I thought we were going to your place.”

 “We will eventually. It’s a nice night and I thought we would walk for a bit. Although, you should go back up and change your shoes first,” he advised, looking down at my feet and frowning.

 “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

 “You won’t be comfortable walking more than a short distance in heels that high.”

 “I’ll be fine,” I said, albeit stubbornly. But in all honesty, I was secretly wishing for a pair of sneakers. My stylish four-inchers were definitely not made for an evening stroll.

 “If you think so.” He looked skeptical, but didn’t push the issue any further. Instead, he set his hand on the small of my back and we began to walk.

 “That’s quite an impressive ride that you have there,” I observed, pointing to the SUV as Hale pulled it away from the curb and merged into traffic. “Is that a Turbo or a Turbo S?”

 “Cayenne Turbo S,” he said proudly. But I noticed his slight hesitation before he continued. “Expensive cars are a weakness of mine.”

 I glanced up at him and was able to detect a cautious smile on his face through the dim lighting of the street lamps. I was surprised by his hesitancy. He was normally so sure of himself.

 “No need to be shy about that guilty pleasure with me. I’m used to the car obsession. Frank, my stepfather, is fascinated with anything that has four wheels.”

 “I’m not shy. I’m just being careful – I don’t want to be accused of flaunting my money,” he teased, poking me lightly in the side and causing me to jump.

 Hmm, this is interesting…the playful side of Justin.

 “I could probably tell you something about every make and model of car out there because of him. Everything I know is because of his non-stop chatter at the dinner table growing up.”

 “What do you know about the Turbo S?” he asked somewhat dubiously. If he was trying to test me, this was one test that I’d be sure to ace.

 “Well, where should I begin? I know that the hefty price tag packs five hundred fifty horsepower and is powered by a four point eight liter twin turbo V8 engine. It can go from zero to sixty miles per hour in only four point three seconds, maxing out at one hundred seventy-five miles per hour. It has – ,” I stopped short when I saw that Justin was staring open-mouthed at me.

 “You sound like you’re reading from a spec sheet. Even I don’t know those specifics off the top of my head! You got all of that from dinner conversation?” he asked incredulously.

 “Yeah, sort of. Plus I’ve had a car crush on anything with a Porsche logo since I was thirteen years old,” I confessed with a small shrug.

 “You continue to surprise me, Miss Cole,” he murmured. “It makes me wonder about what else you may be hiding from me.”

 “Frank owns a bunch of car dealerships back home. Car stats were sort of engrained into me. It’s really no big secret.”

 “It seems like you’re fond of your stepfather. Do you have a good relationship with him?” he asked, guiding me around the corner onto Fifth Avenue.

 “Oh, yeah – I don’t have any issues with Frank. He has always been very good to me. It’s my mother that I’m always battling with. She can be rather difficult at times, and that’s putting it mildly.”

 “How so?”

 I took a deep breath and tried to think of the easiest way to describe my mom.

 “She’s just bitter all the time. Really negative, you know? It’s almost like she has something to prove. It’s hard to explain if you don’t know her.”

 “Maybe I’ll meet her one day,” he said easily.

 “Oh, no. You don’t want to meet my mother. She’s stubborn and overbearing to say the least. A part of me would swear that she hates men. Her past is somewhat…well, tainted. You know that expression about a woman who’s been scorned? That’s her. I almost feel bad for Frank sometimes. It’s a small wonder that he’s put up with her for so long.”

 “Oh, I don’t know. She sounds like someone that I’d find interesting,” he said with a wink.

 I watched him for a moment before realizing the hidden meaning behind his teasing. I was, in a sense, describing myself.

 I felt the blood drain from my face as the comprehension dawned. It was like taking a blow to the head. Justin probably didn’t realize how close to the mark he had hit. At some point in time, I had become like my mother – untrusting, bitter, and resentful towards the entire male species. And while I loved my mother dearly, I did not want to spend the rest of my life sharing her negativities.

 How could I have not seen it before? I’m miserable – just like her.

 “Selena, are you okay?” I looked up to see Justin searching my face imploringly.

 “I’m fine. Why do you ask?” I questioned innocently, trying to shake off the unsettling emotions that were reigning down on me.

 “You just got really quiet all of a sudden.”

 I didn’t offer him a reply, as I was unable to formulate any sort of response at that moment. No words could describe what I was feeling. I could only shrug and act unconcerned, and I was glad when Justin didn’t press the issue. This was a whole subject that I needed to evaluate for myself – alone, without his speculative gaze.

 “I haven’t been here in ages,” he said, as we passed under the Washington Square Arch.

 “This park is one of my favorite places. It’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with New York – it’s so full of life. There’s always something going on in Washington Square,” I said wistfully, taking in the activity around us.

 “Yep, the place sure has character all right. I’m pretty sure that the guy sitting over there feeding the birds is in the exact same place that he was when I was here last,” Justin said with an air of distain, nodding his head towards a man that was sitting on a bench, pigeons dancing all around him.

 “Oh, come on! The pigeon man gives this place charm! Besides, he’s better than the lady that feeds the squirrels out of her purse.”

 “A woman who feeds squirrels?” he asked, features pinched in disgust. I started laughing at his repulsed expression.

 “You don’t get out much do you?” I joked, and then laughed again when he scowled. I tugged at his hand and led him towards a park bench. “Come over here. We can sit and people watch.”

 “What’s to watch?” he asked, taking a seat beside me.

 “Have you always lived in New York City?” I answered back with my own question.

 “Yeah, why do you ask?”

 “Because people who have lived here their entire life tend to be immune to the charm around them. See that kid over there?” I asked, pointing towards a young boy strumming a guitar under a tree. “Or that man just down the way with the puppets? You never know what you’re going to see here. That’s why it’s fun. You can just sit back and enjoy the show.”

 We sat quietly and watched people come and go, a distant harmonica and the splash of the water fountain adding sound to the quiet evening.

 After a while, a damp chill settled in the air, as the sun had completely set for the night. I reached down to rub my hands up and down my legs.

 “You’re getting cold,” he observed. “Let’s get going.”

 I nodded my agreement. Walking hand in hand, we started making our way back through the park.

 I glanced down at our entwined fingers.

 This is strange. He’s acting like we’re a couple.

 Keeping in mind that we were very much not a couple, I removed my hand from his. I put my hands in my sweater pockets and made a show of feigning a chill. Justin didn’t seem to notice my withdrawal, but rather wrapped his arm around my shoulder as if he were trying to warm me. My attempt at keeping a bit of distance between us had clearly failed.

 When we reached the Arch, he pulled his phone his from his pocket.

 “Washington Square. Near the Arch,” he barked into the mouthpiece before pocketing the phone again.

 “You should probably be a little nicer to Hale. If I end up working for you, I certainly wouldn’t want you to talk like that to me.”

 “Not if, Selena. When would be more accurate,” he corrected.

 “Confident, are we?”

 “You start on Monday.”

 “Monday? I can’t start that soon! I have to give Wally’s at least two weeks notice and –.”

 “A week from Monday then. That’s more than sufficient,” he stated, as if what he was saying was completely sensible. When we reached the Arch, I stopped walking and turned to face him.

 “Justin, I haven’t even accepted your offer yet!” I said, my exasperation clear. I all but stomped my foot like a two year old.

 “There’s no need to keep going around and around about this, Selena. I’ve already spoken to Walter Roberts. It’s a done deal. Now, are you going to ruin the night or are you going to get into the car.”

 Speechless, I could only stare in shock at him for a moment before realizing that Hale had pulled up to the curb with our ride.

 Rather than argue about it on the sidewalk, I conceded to Justin’s point and begrudgingly turned to climb into the SUV.

 The ride to Justin’s was short, but the silent trip felt like forever. I could feel the waves of tension rolling off me. I didn’t want to fight, yet I couldn’t help but to be more than just a little bit vexed over the situation. I had planned to accept the job at Turning Stone, but would have preferred the opportunity to accept it on my own terms, rather than have it assumed for me.

 I need to get over it. There’s no sense in letting a technicality spoil the evening. The end result is the same.

 I focused my attention on my hurting feet instead, sore from walking too far in heels. Partially slipping off a shoe, I reached down to rub the ball of my foot. Comfort before fashion had always been my rule, and I was paying the price for my stupidity tonight.

 “Dammit, Selena. I knew I should have made you change your shoes,” Justin swore, lips pursed in annoyance.

 “Sorry, Jimmy Choo’s got the best of me today,” I said wryly. “Normally I know better, but I didn’t think we’d walk so much. I’m fine, really.”

 “We’re almost to my place. You can put your feet up once we get inside,” he said irritably. He was evidently unhappy with my lack of practicality.

 I only wore them for your benefit!

 I rolled my eyes and almost said the words aloud, but the car came to a halt just then, signaling our arrival.

 I glanced out the window to see a towering condominium complex. Hale came around to the side of the car and opened the door for Justin and me. When we stepped out of the vehicle, a brisk wind slapped me in the face and I shivered from the assault. I could smell rain in the air and I knew it wouldn’t be long before Mother Nature replaced her generously warm October temperatures with harsh winter winds. Justin and I hurried into the building.

 The lobby of the building was very swank looking, with its marble floors and gold embellishments throughout. A young man, wearing what looked like a bellhop uniform, was changing the trash bag of a garbage can in a nearby corner. When he glanced up and saw us approaching, he immediately dropped the bag and scrambled over.

 “Mr. Stone! I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t know that you pulled up or else I would have –,” he started.

 “Don’t worry, Jeffrey. Finish what you were doing,” Justin assured and waved him away. Jeffrey anxiously began fumbling in his pockets.

 “At least let me get the elevator for you and your guest! I have your key card somewhere…” he trailed off, still frantically searching. Justin watched him patiently for a moment or two, before flashing his own keycard for Jeffrey to see. The frazzled young man paled. “Oh, no. If my boss finds out about this, he’ll kill me!”

 “Your boss is on my payroll. I assure you, your secret is safe with me.”

 “Thank you, Mr. Stone,” Jeffrey said, seeming somewhat doubtful. He hesitantly nodded his appreciation and then returned to his task of taking out the trash.

 Justin led me over to a bank of elevators. I raised my eyebrows in surprise when he swiped his keycard through a slot labeled “PENTHOUSE”. Although, I shouldn’t have been shocked in the least bit.

 Like he would actually live in anything other a penthouse…

 “You’re not going to tell his boss, are you?” I asked, glancing back at the still very distraught Jeffrey. From the way he had panicked, it was quite apparent that Justin was a force to be reckoned with around here.

 “Of course not. Jeffrey’s a little overzealous sometimes, but he means well.” Justin paused then and gestured me into the elevator to his private residence. “After you.”

 When the doors closed quietly behind us, all thoughts of the eager Jeffrey left me and I was immediately overcome with tension once again. However, this time, it was for an entirely different reason than in the car ride over. In the enclosed space with Justin, I could almost see little molecules of sexual tension colliding and rupturing in the air between us.

 I clasped my hands together to stop them from fidgeting, but the effort only seemed to increase my awareness. My breathing became irregular, coming out in short bursts. Vivid images of our kiss last night in the restaurant filled my head, causing my imagination to run rampant. To my mortification, my panties began to feel damp, clinging to the sensitive flesh between my legs, heightening the completely unexpected burst of arousal.

 We’re only two people in an elevator for Christ’s sake!

 I wanted to reach out to him so badly, to run my hands up his torso, over his shoulders and into his hair. All I had to do was step slightly to my left and he would be within my reach.

 Just do it.

 The devil on my shoulder was taunting me, pushing me to take what I wanted without regard.

 I looked up at Justin. His heated gaze bore into me, causing my face to turn ten different shades of magenta. I could swear that he knew what I was thinking.

 He reached over and pressed a button on the panel in the elevator. The lift suddenly came to a halt.

 “Justin, what are you –.”

 I was abruptly silenced as he pushed me roughly against the back wall. He pinned me there with his powerful arms, his hard body pressed against mine. There was a fierce look in his eyes, almost dangerous. I began to panic over the lack of mobility. I couldn’t move if I tried.

 And I was terrified.

     ****

     I crushed my mouth onto hers. Fueled by absolute lust, I devoured Selena with the intent of kissing her senseless. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was her cheeks that flushed scarlet when I looked at her. Perhaps it was those fidgeting hands. Or maybe it was the way she rolled her eyes at me when I lectured her about the insensible fuck me shoes – shoes that I wanted to see her wearing without any other stitch of clothing.

 She thought that I didn’t notice when she pulled her hand from mine in the park. But I knew what she was doing, and I wasn’t going to let her push me away again. I shoved my tongue passed her lips, my urgency to taste her completely unleashed. I didn’t allow for a slow build up like I had the night before. Instead, I refused her any sort of finesse and took her mouth fully. Like an assault. Hard. Powerful. Needy.

 I allowed my teeth to graze over her lips, nipping at her pouty lower lip, before moving down her jawline to her neck. I breathed in her scent.

 Mother of god, she smells devine…

 She was a sultry combination of red plums and jasmine, making her ripe for the picking. I tugged on her earlobe, and she let out a small gasp. I groaned from her sudden intake of breath, her response like a lighting bolt to my groin. Gathering her mass of curls in my hand, I kept her pinned against the wall and attacked her mouth again. I pressed the full force of my weight against her, holding her firmly in place, making her boneless in my grasp.

 I knew that I could probably take her right then and there. By the way she pushed her hips up against me, I could tell that her need was hot. It was all I could do not to hike up that little excuse for a skirt and bury my cock in her heat. To be lost in her. In everything that was Selena.

 But it wasn’t the right time. Not like this. I wanted her to feel the way that I did first, to have her endure some of the same hell that I had experienced day in and day out since our first meeting. She drove me to the point of madness, and I wanted her to suffer right along with me.

 Summoning all of the willpower that I could attain, I tore my mouth away from hers.

 “If the elevator stays immobile for too long, security will be called and I don’t want the hassle,” I excused. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded hoarse. Raspy. Like I was a dying man struggling for his last breath.

 Who was supposed to be punishing whom here?

 I stepped away from her and moved over to the elevator panel. I pressed a few buttons and the elevator resumed its ascent. Selena, on the other hand, remained unusually silent, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with shock. She had a slight tremble about her, and I had to suppress a satisfied smile. She was most definitely turned on.

 When the double doors opened, I led her through the spacious main foyer of the penthouse and into the dining area.

 “You have a great place,” she finally spoke. I watched her as she took in the details of my residence. She was smiling, and her eyes were wide with fascination. Personally, I had begun to get tired of the penthouse, although I didn’t tell her that. She was too much of a joy to watch, eagerly absorbing every detail like a sponge, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Like she had in the park, she was able to see things that I had stopped appreciating long ago.

 “Have a seat,” I told her, and pulled out a chair at the dining room table for her to sit.

 Once she settled in comfortably, I pulled another chair over towards her. Bending to lift her right leg, I removed one of her shoes, and placed her bare foot on the opposite chair.

 “Justin –,” she started in protest, but I cut her off.

 “You need to elevate your feet or else they’ll swell and you’ll never get your shoes back on later.”

 “My feet are fine!” she said, seeming embarrassed. I ignored her quick tongue that could never stay silent for long, and lifted her other leg to repeat the process. “No really. I insist.”

 She leaned forward, attempting to stop my progress with the left foot, but I swatted her hands away and continued.

 “Do you have to argue with everything I say? Just keep your feet up, Selena,” I ordered, placing her foot on the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

 I left her gaping after me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and went into the kitchen.

 I pressed my lips together in a tight line. I had thought a little evening stroll would soften her. Evidently, I was wrong. I was quickly learning how much Selena despised being told what to do.

 Every time I thought of a new approach, she would pose questions. Or Argue. Or just be Selena. It didn’t matter what I did – she thwarted my every move. I knew she’d be a problem since day one. I knew she would be work. But her disobedience was a rather large obstacle that we’d have to overcome. And soon.

 I grabbed the handle of the refrigerator and yanked it open, the force causing the bottles in the door to clank together dangerously.

 Easy now...

 I was too worked up. It was that sassy mouth of hers…so damn sexy, but it never shut up. I never knew if I wanted to gag her or kiss her. Knowing that, I should have held back in the elevator. By kissing her, I only succeeded in frustrating myself, and I was still hard like a fucking rock because of it. I had to think sensibly and maintain control, which is something that I found myself grappling with whenever I was with her. She made it too damned difficult.

 I pulled a platter of cheese and fruit from the fridge and set it carefully on the counter. There was no point in slamming things around the kitchen. I’d most likely end up scaring Selena, if she wasn’t already terrified after my revelation last night.

 Candida.

 Matteo’s advice was still a warning in my head, a troublesome reminder that she was innocent. How innocent still remained to be seen, as she wasn’t an easy one to read. Finding out the answer to that question was imperative before things went any further.

 After unwrapping the cellophane from the platter, I moved over to the minibar to choose a bottle of white from the wine cooler. I perused the selections, trying to decide what would pair best with the cheeses.

 Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay? Both will go nicely, but which would she prefer?

 I glanced over at Selena, intending to ask her if she had a particular wine preference. However, she had a look about her that made me pause, and I didn’t want to interrupt the picture that she painted before me.

 She was running one delicate hand over the wooden top of my dining room table. She wore a soft smile on her lips, appreciating the craftsmanship of the design. She looked beautiful sitting there, feet up on the chair, seeming completely at ease. And in that moment, I realized that she had never before looked quite like that in my presence. She had never appeared so completely relaxed.

 So unguarded.

 I stood there studying every beautiful line of her captivating face. Seeing her that way, it was almost hard to believe she was capable of so many smart remarks and witty comebacks. Perhaps her sharp tongue and contentious behavior was a defense mechanism, one that she relied on when she was uncomfortable. If that were truly the case, then I would need to take corrective actions to remedy that problem. I had to calm her, or else I’d never get through the weeks ahead.

 Weeks?

 Since when do I think long term about these things?

 The idea was novel for me and I was stunned to discover that I liked the idea of her being here more regularly. In my space. With me. It was a distressing sort of feeling.

 This can all go to shit at a moments notice. Take it one step at a time.

 A change of tactics was needed, for Selena’s sake as well as my own. My normal methods of operation would have to be thrown out the window. Attempting to take control by laying down the law would only backfire, so I began to construct a new plan – one that would make Selena feel more at ease. Once she was relaxed, I would begin to work on her trust by giving her what she’s been asking for.

 Full disclosure.

 Selena would have no doubts about what I wanted from her after tonight. She would know exactly who and what I was. She would either run, or she would stay. If she stayed, then that’s when the true test would come into play – tonight I would discover if Selena could put away that independent mind of hers long enough to pass her first lesson in submission.

 Finally feeling like I had somewhat of a solution to Selena’s argumentative nature, I turned my attention back to the wine selection. Smiling to myself, I settled on a bottle of Joh. Jos. Prüm Riesling.

 Sweet. Like her.

 I grabbed two crystal wine goblets and went back to the dining room, focused on the mission ahead. I could only hope that Selena would keep herself open to what I had in mind.

My head was still reeling from our kiss in the elevator. Justin, however, acted like nothing was amiss, and went about his business in the kitchen. Even though the kiss had only lasted a few moments, it was long enough to cause an electric charge to shoot straight to my tightened nipples. For when he had pulled away, I was left panting and yearning for more. Even at that moment, I suffered from a tremble of sexual desire and my lips still felt swollen from his assault.

 Now, finally having more than five feet of space between us, I was able to focus on settling my wild hormones. It was quite obvious that two years without sex was working against me. I inhaled a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, and counted to ten.

 When I opened them, I felt considerably calmer, and much less like a horny teenager in anticipation of the after prom party.

 Having a clearer head, I took a moment to get a better look at the penthouse. The layout of the impressive space was wide open, and I was able to see most of the living areas from my seat at table. The kitchen layout was catalogue perfect, with its black marble counters and appliances that any top chef would drool over. I was able to see Justin as he gracefully moved around the resplendent kitchen, collecting items from the refrigerator and rummaging though the drawers of the sleek maple cabinetry.

 From the kitchen, the living room flowed almost seamlessly, opening up to a vast space that was outfitted with black leather furniture, elegant cream-colored area rugs, and hammered bronze metal artwork for the walls. Each piece looked as if it were custom made for the room. The entire place screamed luxury with its expansive wall-to-wall windows, revealing remarkable views of the Hudson.

 The dining set that I was sitting at was made of polished tigerwood with an intricately designed wrought iron pedestal. I ran my hand over the tabletop, appreciating its beauty.

 This piece alone must have cost a small fortune.

 To say that the penthouse was grand would be a complete understatement. But despite it’s obvious luxuries, it seemed to lack something. It was cold almost, and just a little too perfect.

 Justin came back to the table, a large tray in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other.

 “What’s all of this? I thought you said no frills, Justin.”

 “It’s wine and a cheese platter that I picked up earlier today. I’d hardly call this anything fancy,” Justin said dryly, placing the tray on the table.

 “You bought it? Don’t you have a maid or someone to do that for you?” I hoped that the question didn’t come off as rude or assuming, but I couldn’t help it. I felt intimidated and small in this imposing surrounding.

 “I do, but it’s her day off. I’m not much of a cook, so if you want more than this, we’ll have to order takeout. It’s just you and me tonight, baby,” he said with a wink.

 My stomach tightened upon hearing that we were completely and utterly alone. As absurd as it might sound, I had assumed that someone as rich as Justin would have had a twenty-four hour staff at his fingertips.

 “We’re the only ones here?” I asked, unable to hide the nervousness in my voice.

 “Don’t be afraid, Selena. I won’t bite – at least not tonight,” he joked.

 I looked up at him in surprise. I wasn’t so sure if he was just yanking my chain.

 After pouring us each a drink, Justin lifted my feet from the chair, sat down, and then rested my ankles on his thighs. He began a slow circular massage on the ball of one foot. I practically sighed from the pleasure of it.

 “You don’t have to do that, you know,” I told him halfheartedly. I really didn’t want him to stop.

 “I want to,” he said casually and continued to rub.

 I certainly wasn’t about to argue with him and his magical hands, so I relaxed into the chair, sipped a bit of wine, and nibbled on some cheese.

 Ahh…a girl could get used to this.

 I watched Justin, so careful and concentrated, fingers working mini miracles over my aching feet. So far, the night had gone off without much of a hitch. And while things seemed to be going smoothly, it was somewhat bizarre at the same time. He said last night that he didn’t date, yet last night and tonight were exactly that – a date, at least in every sense of the word.

 “I’ve put some thought into the conversation that we had last night,” I said. “I’ve decided that I’m not looking to date anyone any more than you are. I don’t know why you’re putting on this false charade. The only things missing are a few candles for ambiance.”

 I was careful to keep my tone light as I gestured to the room around us.

 “There’s nothing false about this whatsoever. I mean, we could just fuck now and get it over with, but I don’t think that would work for you. I can see the questions that constantly circle in your head. You’re curious about me. Because of that, I’ve been giving you space to think about what you want – at least for the time being. You shouldn’t read too much into this, Selena. I truly meant what I said. I’m not the dating kind,” he reaffirmed. “To classify last night and this evening as a date would only result in certain obligations that I cannot meet.”

 “No strings attached sounds good to me,” I said, somewhat hesitant in these unchartered waters. “Although, I’ll have to admit that I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Let’s just pretend that I’m willing to agree to what you want. How do you want this to work?”

 “It’s simple. You work for Turning Stone during the day, and your evenings and weekends are reserved for me,” he stated pragmatically, as if he were proposing something that was so very normal.

 He might as well have said that he wants to control my entire life.

 Trevor and his ridiculous schedules stood out front and center in my mind. The similarities between my past and the current situation were not lost on me for one minute. Sex was one thing, but allowing him to control every minute of my day was a whole different beast. Reclaiming my independence was a hard fought, uphill battle. I was proud of what I overcame. Agreeing to what he was suggesting would be a giant step backwards and risked everything that I tried so hard to protect.

 “I have a life, Justin. You can’t possibly expect me to give it up in order to be at your beck and call.”

 “I know that and I won’t be unreasonable. I understand that you have friends and family that need your attention as well. I didn’t mean every night in the literal sense. But trust me, sweetheart. When I call, I’ll make it worth your while,” he said temptingly. He flashed me another one of those to-die-for smiles as his hands continued to massage the joints in my feet.

 His sexy James Dean maneuvers were making my head spin.

 Stay focused!

 “So let me get this straight. I work with you during the day, you sign my paycheck, and then I become your kinky concubine at night.”

 He grinned and cocked his head to one side. Eventually, that grin turned into to an easy laugh.

 “You could simplify it like that if you want.”

 “I never thought that going to bed with someone could make me sound like a hooker,” I laughed in return, forcing myself to dismiss the angel that was waving the scarlet letter in front of my face. She wasn’t finding this conversation even remotely funny.

 “Don’t cheapen it that way. I’m asking you to willingly submit yourself to me,” he said guilefully, sapphire eyes gleaming with mischief. “And you will agree to it because it will please me.”

 “I suppose that next you’re going to tell me that women agree to this arrangement all the time?” I asked, still slightly guarded and somewhat skeptical.

 “I typically don’t have trouble working it out. Although some women make it more difficult than others.”

 “I can certainly see why some might have a problem with giving up every spare moment of their time for you,” I said dryly.

 “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. I meant that some women prefer to secure non-disclosure agreements first, which I find completely pointless, but will agree to when I have to,” he explained.

 “Non-disclosure agreements? Wait – forget it. I don’t want to know. In fact, the whole idea of us working together, sleeping together – it’s all crazy. I don’t see how we can mix the two,” I told him, feeling completely disconcerted over the situation that I had landed myself in.

 Maybe it’s time I take heed of the angel’s warnings.

 “If you are worried about us being able to work together during the day, I assure you, our paths will seldom cross. I am a very busy man.”

 My head snapped up to look him in the face.

 “Don’t worry, Justin. Facing you at work is the least of my concerns.”

 “It should be,” he said, eyes burning into me with unspoken secrets. “The things that I will do to you are not things that civilized people talk about during the light of day.”

 Why couldn’t I have chosen to take a crack at a normal guy?

 There had plenty of opportunities over the past couple of years, yet I had chosen to get back in the game with a man that was anything but ordinary.

 Only I would choose Mr. Danger-licious.

 But, despite the many uncertainties that I felt, the sheer idea of submitting myself to Justin sparked a dark edge of desire that I didn’t know I possessed. It stirred in the depths of my belly, diffusing a warm tingle throughout my body whenever I was near him. There was no denying how much I desperately wanted him and my little devil friend began to construct a red and white striped tent around the disapproving angel in preparation for a full-blown circus.

 However, before I became a showgirl for Barnum and Bailey, I needed to find out exactly what he wanted me to submit to.

 What things did he want to do to me? Why couldn’t civilized people talk about them?

 But I was afraid to voice my questions. Instead, I evaded.

 “It’s only sex, Justin. People talk about it all the time,” I said weakly.

 He lowered my feet to the floor, shifted his chair closer to mine and rested his hand on my knee. He looked down and shook his head, like he was frustrated with me for some reason.

 “Look, I’m sorry. This is a lot to process,” I said, feeling defensive. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Casual sex isn’t something I normally do, which makes me worry about what I’m getting myself into. My experiences are pretty limited.”

 “Exactly how limited, Selena?” he asked, lifting his head to reveal troubled eyes.

 I tried to decide how much to tell him. My only real partner had been Trevor. The sex was good, but nothing kinky. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I experienced a true orgasm with him. From the way I’ve heard Allyson talk, an orgasm was the most mind-blowing thing ever. I suddenly felt like a babe in the woods.

 “Well, there was Trevor. I dated him for a couple of years. But then he cheated on me, and well…let’s just say that it ended bad. Really bad.”

 Justin leaned forward in his chair, eyes dark and narrowed into slits.

 Well, that’s interesting…does that bother him?

 “Is that why you don’t trust me?”

 “I don’t know you, Justin.”

 “Okay, fair enough. But tell me this, how was the sex between you and your…ex?” he asked, obviously choosing not to say Trevor’s name. I felt color surge into my cheeks at his forwardness.

 “It was okay,” I answered shyly, with a little shrug of my shoulders.

 “You say it so casually. Was the sex good, or wasn’t it?” he pushed further.

 “I don’t know how you expect me to answer that. I don’t know – it was sex. What else can I say about it?” I said meekly.

 “Selena, don’t be daft. Did you orgasm with him or not?”

 Again, his brusqueness threw me off guard. My cheeks flushed a deeper crimson, the heat spreading to the tips of my ears, and I was embarrassed to say that I didn’t know.

 “These are really personal questions and the answers are none of your business,” I responded quietly.

 “Last night we agreed to no games, remember? I’m giving you brutal honesty and I expect the same in return. Like you, I also need to know what I’m getting myself into. Talk to me, Selena,” he demanded.

 “I don’t know, okay! I don’t know!” I exclaimed, my embarrassment reaching an unparalleled level.

 “That’s typical,” he frowned and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in a display of obvious disgust. “Most college boys don’t know what to do with a woman. What about your other experiences?”

 “There was this other guy, but that was nothing,” I dismissed.

 “What other guy?”

 “Nobody, just a guy.”

 “Selena…” he warned.

 “Geez, you’re pushy! It was a one-night stand, all right? Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Not something I like to brag about. Are you happy?”

 “That’s it then? Two guys?” he asked in astonishment.

 “Is there something wrong with that?” I shrunk under his confounded look. He was making feel like some sort of prude.

 “Well, it’s just that…I knew that you were probably inexperienced, but I didn’t realize that I misjudged you by so much. That day in the grocery store…the cinnamon gum…” His voice trailed off. He raked his hands through his hair in obvious frustration.

 Hmm…the gum thing did throw him for a loop after all.

 I felt a little smug, but not enough to cover the embarrassment over my lack of sexual expertise. I automatically jumped on the defense.

 “Well, excuse me Mr. Lets-fuck-and-get-it-over-with! I’m sorry that I don’t have enough notches in my bedpost for you, but that’s me. Take it or leave it.”

 “Damn it, Selena! What am I supposed to think? Of all the flavors of gum on the shelf – peppermint, spearmint! You chose cinnamon.”

 “So what?” I asked, confused by his outburst.

 “Cinnamon is an aphrodisiac! I thought you were trying to imply something when you tossed it in my cart,” he said as justification for his apparent bafflement.

 “It is?” I asked in surprise.

 That’s an interesting little fact.

 I almost laughed at the irony of our situation.

 “Why else would you have done it?”

 “I, um…” I trailed off.

 Because the way you chew a piece of gum is hotter than hell.

 “Forget it. I guess that’s what I get for assuming and thinking with my dick. Fuck,” he swore, shaking his head.

 He stood up and began pacing the room.

 I just sat there completely mystified by his behavior. He was normally so composed, only giving me the occasional glimmer as to what he might be thinking. Never had I seen him so conflicted.

 And all because of a gum flavor?

 “It’s no big deal – just a misunderstanding, Justin,” I reassured. He stopped pacing to look at me.

 “You really have no idea what I am asking of you, do you?”

 “Of course I do. I’m not that naïve.”

 At least I didn’t think I was.

 “What do you know about BDSM?”

 His question took me by surprise. I raised one eyebrow at him, racking my brain to try and recall any knowledge on the subject.

 BDSM was that kinky shit, right? When a guy liked to dress a girl in a costume and give her a spanking? But what does that have to do with chewing gum?

 I made a mental note to start reading sleazy romance novels instead of crime and mystery.

 “I know enough,” I said, raising my chin with false confidence. I was trying to hide how much of an amateur I really was, all while attempting to wrap my head around the fact that he wanted me to play the starring role some twisted sexual fantasy.

 The simple fact was that I knew some stuff, but not a lot. And the more I thought about the subject, the more I realized how limited my knowledge was. Either way, if Justin thought I was going to parade around looking like the English interpretation of a French housecleaner, he had another thing coming to him.

 He eyed me up and down. His gaze was heated with desire, although I saw a flicker of uncertainty in the depths of his eyes as well.

 “You think you know what I’m talking about?” he challenged. “We’ll see about that.”

[nicolecaastillo]

Principles of Editing

Editing is part of the creative post production process of film making, it is used to give a meaning to a  scene for example the way a series of shots are edited in scene can give a different meaning every time you change the editing of the shots.

It all started with the Lumière Brothers Auguste and Louis who worked in a Lyons factory that manufactured photographic equipment  and supplies which were inspired  by Edison’s work, which then they created their own Movie camera and projector a more portable hand held and lightweight device, they used a film speed of 16 frames per second. The first screenings happened on the 22nd of March 1895 at 44 rue de Rennes in Paris at an industrial meeting, called workers leaving the lumiere factory was shown, even though it was composed of an everyday outdoor image, of factory workers leaving the Lumiere factory gate. The Lumiere brothers were credited for being the first to achieve theatrical projection to an audience, most of the early films consisted of unedited continuous footage of actual events, the first time an audience paid to see a film screening was for  Arrival of a train at a station in 1896, this was referred as the first horror movie because of the reaction of the audience of the image of the train moving towards the camera by running away in terror, the title states a single shot lasting approximately 42 seconds, the dramatic contrast of the black and white cinematography with a couple of diagonal perspective shots giving this reaction.

Georges Méliès was a was part of the audience  when the lumiere brothers unveiled their cinématographe on the 28th December  1895 which had a great effect on him giving him a fascination with moving pictures and the art of film, directing 531 films between 1896-1914 and started a studio, where many of his films, actors performed in front of pained sets, the films ranged between one to forty minutes in length, he claimed that the effect which was to be so basic to his work, was discovered one day when the camera jammed briefly while filming, when the film was printed and screened, Méliès was thrilled to find that a motor bus had changed into a hearse which then became his signature with effects and illusions. This is shown in the film Le Diable Noir (1905) where it demonstrates the Méliès signature of having a character disappear and then when the dresser and table begin to move around the room in an instant, Méliès doesn’t only add fun to the film but depth and complexity by the visuals of the film. Méliès created the notion of narrative film, because he was one of the earliest to create fictional dramas rather than actualities like the lumiere brothers, for example A trip to the moon using only effects and early Sci-fi and fantasy film, which had a new perspective in the entertainment and art, with visual techniques.

D.W. Griffith entered the world of Film making where he did an acting job for the New York City companies and then became a director of hundreds of short films, he was very innovative with his filmmaking techniques by using cross-cutting, close-ups and fade outs to distinctive effect, cultivating a deeper emotional social environment. In 1914 Griffith had left the company and worked as a director and head of production with Reliance-Majestic. He independently directed Birth of a Nation, released in 1915 and telling the story of the Civil War and Reconstruction era, the work was seen as the first U.S. blockbuster it was greatly influencing modern moviemaking and shaping ideas around audience cultivation. Griffith did more than anyone else to advance the storytelling tools he invented in popularized techniques that established grammar of film, his dramas were the first to captivate the emotions from the camera to the audience he was the first man to use the close up, Flashback, parallel action in the birth of a nation making the cut very smooth most calling it the invisible art

Sergei Eisenstein saw editing like history with the clash of images and ideas. The meaning of the film was not the shots themselves but in their collision, the collision sparks a meaning of higher order compared to Griffith where he smoothly would hide his cuts, Sergei wanted the audience to feel the frame to impose the feeling that its fictional, it’s a movie and not real life giving the editors as much credit as the director now it’s used in action films wanting to use sharp cuts to create suspension.

The cutting room floor is used in the film industry referring to unused footage not included in the finished film, the editing jobs started with women who had to assemble thousands of feet of film so that I tells a story in the most straightforward manner having to assemble film and cut some film out, the jobs consisted of young working class women, however when the sound came in the men took over the job of editing as it was more technical and mechanical having to play with the sound and making it match the image , with the sound introduced to film it expanded the role of an editor in a film as if they were the crucial key to making the film which they are now but in the early 30’s and 40’s the editing was controlled by the studios and was supervised by other editors and the directors rarely came into the cutting room.

in the 60s and 70s a new style of editing emerged  by breaking the rules , the rules were having pans in shots, using dissolve from one scene to the other, not having close ups but an establishing shot of the conversation, an example of breaking the rules was in Bonnie and Clyde where they are having a conversation in the street corner and the character says  I don’t believe you rob banks and he says yes I do and he pulls it out, the way that this scene is edited they have used a close up to her face to the close-up of the gun back to the close up of her if they were going by the rules they could’ve used a shot of her expression then a pan to the gun and a tilt up to her expression which wouldn’t of  had the same impact

There are a lot of techniques used when filming and they each have their own effect on the audience and make it look better the more variety that is uses a film which will usually have multiple techniques to meet the conventions of the production but there are some that don’t live up to the conventions to be different.

For example parallel editing is a very effective technique because its where two situations are being filmed at the same time and they interact with each other or in some way affect each other so you can see the point of view from both sides giving the audience the two side of the story a good example of parallel editing is Silence of the lambs where he is talking to the trapped girl whilst the police surround the house and the female agent knocks down the door, also when the officer is ringing the doorbell how it links with the sound of the basement in two different scenes even the sound connects which all happens at the same time.

Similar to parallel editing cross cutting is a different technique of editing which is used mostly in action films, this is used to establish the action that is occurring at the same time in two different location, in a cross-cut the camera will cut away  from one action to another action, which can suggest the simultaneity of these two action an example of this is in ‘Quantum of Solace’ where 007 and M are questioning a guy and whilst the dialogue goes on there is other action with the a car chase and also anther action where there is a fight and an escape  showing the cross cut of three different scenes happening at the same time

A Montage is a technique in film editing in which a series of short shots are edited into a sequence to condense space time and information an example of this editing is  in Rocky when he is training where its start with him running through the streets of Philadelphia then it goes to the market , then to the river side where he is still running but they cut the time so it doesn’t get boring by just watching him run through all these setting in real time which in the end he gets to the end of the run where he gets faster and runs up the stairs of the Philadelphia museum of art.

An editor has the most objective eye, because they are not in the pre-production process or in filming so they have a fresh look to the film seeing every detail, editing is manipulation, editing reality because they want the audience to react to it every single close-up which might give out a particular emotion.