#why did he looked finer than the movie

[1v31182m5]

[lavendertales]

Hi hi hi 🥰🥰🥰 any thoughts on writing a fox on reader and Joel Miller where they have an age gap (obvs) maybe reader is a friend of Tommy’s and Joel is a bit protective over her but they end up fucking and the whole time he’s trying to shut her up from the clickers by covering her mouth, choking her but at the same time talking dirty etc etc I’ll let you live out your thotty imagination with this one xoxo

Hiii love, thank you for the request! Well this one was... phew 🥵 hope you enjoy!

Where you belong || Joel Miller x f!reader**

summary: who would've thought one of Tommy's good friends would have such an impact on Joel?

word count: 2k

WARNINGS: this is FILTH. age gap mention, teasing, some dirty talk, mutual pining, male & female masturbation, choking, unprotected piv, vaginal fingering.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @pajamasecrets

Stubborn and harsh as he may be, Joel Miller knows how to appreciate some of the finer things in life.

A good song, a fine illustration, a movie that sticks with him for a while… and then there’s you.

Tommy’s made it clear that you were a close friend of his and Maria’s, and Joel respected that. He stayed within the limits of respect, never crossing the border. But he did enjoy the occasional sneak peek at you, always when you weren’t looking.

He’s not sure why. It just always felt… easier. Just watching you from afar and keeping things cordial between the two of you was always the easy and safe option, as opposed to actually caring too much.

Caring meant loss. And Joel had enough of that. He just needed something nice for a change. Something good, something that wouldn’t be tainted by the threat of harm.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so fond and so protective of you. Being significantly older than you was certainly another reason why he preferred to keep his infatuation for you at bay, but it also gave him a reason to be your unspoken protector. You didn’t ask for it, yet he simply provided it. For that, you were beyond grateful.

And frustrated, too.

Particularly on this hot summer evening in Jacksonville, when you were out checking the perimeter for raiders or infected, and you used every excuse imaginable to establish physical contact with Joel: a light grip on his arm when you faked a potential fall, soft giggles at his dry jokes that no one else seemed to get, and being face to face with him with every single opportunity you got. Five, in total. You gazed at him, searching his face for confirmation that he understood why you were doing all that, why you were craving his touch so dearly, and still you failed to see that. Joel remained as hardened as ever, and it only grew your frustration more.

So when you got back into town, throwing your gun on the rocking chair in the corner of your living room, you were surprised to see Joel behind you, footsteps heavy, as if he was angry about something.

“What’s wrong with you?” his thick voice asks.

You turn to him, utterly dumbfounded, almost insulted at the question he just posed. Maybe you misinterpret it, too, but hell if you give a shit right now.

It’s been months since Joel’s caught your eye, months of sneaky glances and wishful thinking, and closing onto three years without the intimate touch of another human being.

It’s too much. In this moment, all feels overwhelming.

“What is wrong with me?” you emphasize the pronoun. “What is wrong with you?! Have you not noticed me around you for the past, I don’t know, two hours?”

“Sure I have, how can I not?”

You scoff, hands on your hips and licking your lips in frustration. Gesture which does not go unnoticed by Joel, who licks his own in return, awfully tempted in this moment.

“I don’t know, Joel,” you reply sarcastically. “For someone with such great hunting and surviving skills, you sure lack some basic observation skills.”

He frowns, approaching you. “What are you talking about?”

You grow even more dumbfounded, curious whether he’s playing the fool intentionally or if he’s simply playing with you.

“How long have we known each other?” you ask.

“Six, seven months.”

“Seven months. Seven months since you’ve known me, and you still don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“What don’t I know?”

You approach him too, your lips parted to make room for words that refuse to come out. Instead, you breathe through your mouth, your body nearly quivering at the simple, yet overpowering sensation of being so close to him, yet so far.

“What I like and don’t like,” you say in a near-whisper manner. “I don’t like being fooled. I don’t like being played or led astray, and I don’t like guessing. I hate guessing games. I was never any good at them.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

You nod several times, puckering your lips. “Clearly.”

“And what do you like?”

The way he says it, so rich with gruffness and tempting, it’s causing your knees to buckle and your heart to race faster. It’s the first time tonight you think he’s actually teasing you, and you feel heat spreading throughout your body, settling in your nether area.

“A lot of things, actually,” you reply, unable to look away from his full lips.

“Mhm. Like what? Tell me. Use your words.”

Yeah, he’s definitely fucking with you. But it’s all the more enticing.

You don’t tell him, though; you simply reach to press your lips onto his, only for a split second, and then you pull away. You watch his face closely, checking if you have his approval. When he wraps a faintly hesitant hand around your waist and pulls you in to kiss you properly, you melt into his arms, and realize that you do have all the approval in the goddamn world.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself writhing beneath him on the bed, splayed shamelessly by his calloused hands. Under normal circumstances, he’d be a perfect gentleman and ask you out, spend as much time with you as possible, but for the past two decades, Joel lived on the edge, strictly in survival mode. Which means that some relief is all he can allow himself to have.

Your hands hastily undress him, messy just like the kiss you are sharing with him, and your breaths get ragged, as fast and irregular as your heart.

“You don’t know—how many goddamn times I’ve—wanted this…”

Joel’s voice is trembling despite its huskiness, and it causes you to shiver with excitement. The thought of him wanting you this much, this desperately, is getting you wetter with each passing second.

“Never allowed myself to—to want you” he confesses, peppering wet kisses along your jaw while you worked against his belt and zipper.

“Why not?”

“Tommy might kill me.”

“Or Maria.”

He chuckles briefly, prompting the same reaction out of you. You help him out of his jeans and his boxers, your mouth watering upon seeing how hard he is already. It’s beyond flattering, and you’re not sure how much longer you can stay apart from him.

“Thought about you too,” you confess, spreading your legs further so that you are on full display for him.

Joel stares at you in a delirious haze. In the sunset’s gold and red light, he can see the glistening of your pussy, and he swallows harshly. He doubts he’s ever felt this parched in his whole life, the waiting tearing him apart.

“You did?” he asks cheekily, cupping your sex while you gasp in surprise.

“Yes. Oh yes…”

He’s palming you gently, eyes locked on your face and nowhere else. He’s practically working on muscle memory, but it serves him correctly it seems.

“What did you think about?” he demands, drawing circles around your clit.

“Just you… touching me.”

“Like I’m doing now?”

“Yes—I thought about you… while I was touching myself.”

Joel can’t help the grunt that escapes his lips. That sole confession awakens something primal inside of him, something big, roaring in his chest. He pushes with two fingers past your folds now that he feels you wet enough to grant him easy access, and starts pumping in and out while you whine.

“Shh,” he coos you gently. “Easy, baby girl.”

“F-Fuck—“

“From this moment forward, you’re being silent. Not quiet. Silent. Is that clear?”

You bite on your lower lip and frantically nod your head while you palm your own breasts. It feels so good just to feel his fingers inside you, you can’t even imagine more. It’s definitely been a long time for you—presumably for him too—so you are awfully sensitive and needy, but just knowing that this is Joel Miller doing this to you, causing your body to react this way, to arch under his touch and whine from his words, it’s making you hotter and wetter than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

“Be a good girl for me and shut up, will you?”

He asks too softly for you not to obey, and again you nod frantically, unable to utter any words.

Joel’s fingers keep pumping in and out of you, faster and faster, and you do everything in your willpower to not scream. You barely let out a few whimpers, but it seems they get Joel going: you catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock in the process, the sight lewd as fuck. You focus on that while you reach in between your legs to furiously rub your clit while Joel’s fingers fuck into you, and his own hand is curled around his cock. Breaths ragged and in tandem, you work on each other to climb the ladder of ecstasy.

“Fuuuuuck—“you mutter, mouth in the perfect O shape as you feel your orgasm fast approaching.

“Keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Joel reminds you, abruptly pulling out his fingers, now sticky as he takes them to your mouth, and you instantly suck on them, having a taste of yourself.

You don’t hide the disappointment on your face upon feeling empty, especially when you see that he’s not even jerking off anymore.

“There could be clickers around,” he seemingly justifies his command.

“We checked the area. There are none.”

“There are plenty of reasons for you to keep your mouth shut, darlin’. Or do you need me to find another use for it?”

You smirk. “If you want to.”

He doesn’t, though. That’s not for tonight, he thinks. Not when you’re both so worked up and needy. He wraps his hand around his weeping cock, almost ready to explode at how hard he is, and guides himself to your entrance. Muttered cuss words fill the room from both of you, said like a chant on repeat with the first roll of his hips against yours. Your pussy swallows him whole, and he watches mesmerized as you take all of his cock in, coating the hair at the base with your juices. He doesn’t waver with the pace: it’s fast and hard from the second thrust. He slams his hips into you, your wanton cries musically pleasing to his ears.

It’s only then that he wraps his hand around your throat, putting an end to any words you might’ve wanted to say. You only moan at him as he’s fucking you speedily, needy, with a fury you’ve only seen him use in combat.

“Do you fuckin’ know—what you do to me?” he grunts, the impending sensation of his release overcoming him. “Do you, hm? Look how full you are… stuffed with my cock… good girl, just like that…”

With a bit more pressure applied to the grip over your throat, you moan as you come, coating his cock with your arousal. The sensation of your walls trapping him inside you is the final click for Joel when he comes too, pulling out and painting the filthiest painting over your swollen pussy and thighs. His warm seed is all over your lower area, and there’s so much of it, you wonder how long exactly it has been for him since he’s last felt relief.

Breathless, you reach for him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him tenderly, a stark comparison to the rough way you were being handled just a few seconds before.

“Do you know what you are doing to me, Joel Miller?” you cheekily ask after a while.

“Think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

You both chuckle, the sound shared only between the two of you, in your bed.

It’s the first time in months Joel gets a good night’s sleep. And the first time in months since he’s laughed. All because of you.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Everyone is sending GIF requests, so, here is mine. Hint: Jealous John? (Though I doubt this man can ever be jealous but...whatever comes to your genius brain)

Thanks!

@sweetwolfcupcake SWEEETS!!!!! I loved this prompt SO MUCH!!! You're such a genius. *kisses your head* I hope you like this! 💗💗💗

Bodyguard!John Wick x Shy!Curvy!Fem!Student!Reader

⚠warnings: threat of noncon (not John), mention of parental death

For the record, you didn’t mean to fall in love with John Wick. But he was nothing like the other goons your father had tasked with guarding you before.  Wick was tall, and handsome, and had the soulful eyes of a poet. You know he’s dangerous; he can kill a man 30 ways with a pencil (the men of your father’s Bratva will not shut up about it) but he seems so…gentle. And the thing that really proved your undoing?

That good looking bastard was bookish, and it did something inconceivable to your lit major brain. Ever your dark shadow, you spent countless late nights in the library together, and so many Saturday afternoons browsing the used bookshops, combing for treasures. He would rescue the books that looked better fit for the waste bin, taking them to repair. Maybe he was there to protect you, for your father had many unsavory enemies, but it was easy to forget when John discussed with you the finer points of the Bloomsbury Set or the themes of Anna Karenina.  

Maybe your father assigned John to you because he was one of the few gangsters around in his brigata one could trust to guard a relatively innocent young lady–that didn’t mean John was safe from you. You just couldn’t help yourself; you’d like to plead insanity, your honor, the night you finally broke and tried to kiss him, while he was helping you with your homework for Russian Lit 301. 

How stupid you felt, how utterly pathetic, when he’d very kindly dislodged you from his so soft mouth, looking at you with pity in his sad dark eyes. “You know…we can’t do this,” he told you.

Mortified, you’d fled to your room and cried, knowing you are the most ridiculous human being on the face of the earth.

What were you thinking?

You are nothing like the tall, ethereal creatures that populate the clubs where Wick frequents with your father. You are shy, and curvy, and frankly…a nerd. An old soul, your father would say fondly, but you know he is just being kind.

You’re not sure how you got it into your head, that you were going to make Wick sorry. You’ve never been one for going out, but you decide to give it a whirl, wanting to be anyone but yourself. You decide to go to the Red Circle, to hang out with the other Bratva brats who care way more about clubbing and clothes and who’s fucking who, than classes at NYU. 

At first you really hate it–but after a few shots of vodka, it’s not so bad. John has to hang back, keeping an eye on you but not interacting with your friends. He’s scary good at lurking in the shadows, but you know he’s keeping an eye on every move you make. Maybe that’s why you let Alexsei kiss you, the son of a semi-friendly loan shark who works in proximity with your father. You don’t really like him, if you’re being honest. But he’s not totally hideous–and he’s there–and John will have to watch it all. 

You and Alex start to have a thing. It’s no big deal. Something to do, on the summer break from your studies. You invite him over to watch a movie, knowing you’ll have the house to yourself. Your father is always at his office doing business, your idiotic brother is always out getting into trouble with his khuligan friends, and your mother…is dead, God rest her poor soul. 

You can tell Alex is a little drunk, when he shows up at your door. He’s very handsy, when you settle in on the couch to watch the latest mindless action flick, his pick. It’s ok, until he tries to unbutton your pants.

You have a secret. 

You’re 21, nearly graduated from university–and you’re still a virgin. 

This is not a thing you intend to give to Alexsei Plushenko. You don’t even really like the way he touches you.

“Stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be scared,” he tries to coax you. “This will be fun.”

“No,” you say. “Let’s just…”

He covers your mouth with his, shutting you up, his heavy body pinning you on the couch. “Don’t be such a stuck up bitch.” His groping fingers squeeze your breast clumsily, painfully, before fumbling with your jeans again. You try to push him off, but he’s heavy, and strong.

Suddenly, he is yanked from you like he weighs nothing at all. You hardly recognize what is happening at first, until you hear the sound of flesh striking flesh. John is on him, his iron fist meeting the younger man’s face. 

“John! Stop!” 

Wick looks up at you, meeting your eyes in a primal lock of stares–your heart drops and soars again, as you feel as though you’ve stumbled on a wolf over his kill, and the wildest thing?

You get the inkling that wolf is jealous. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. A beating will make some complications for your father. A death? Could mean war.

Wick punches the handsy young man one more time, his eyes never leaving yours, before hauling Alex up by the collar and frog marching him out the front door, tossing him down the concrete steps of your home.

John finds you waiting for him in the marble foyer, his eyes wild, his knuckles torn. You don’t even know what to say. 

“What did you even see in him?” he finally demands, clearly annoyed.

“He wasn’t you,” you answer without thinking.

Wick steps up to you, toe to toe, so that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. His hair has broken free from its slicked back style, tendrils in his eyes.

He’s never looked more beautiful, your savage savior.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

You shake your head, the very thought anathema to you. You are transfixed, unable to look away, unable to think. “You’re too precious to me,” you admit, and screw your eyes shut the moment you admit it, a spear of mortification piercing you from your heart to your stupid, aching, cunt.

“Milaya…” 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to you.

Your eyes drop to his knuckles, torn open in his defense of you. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” You don’t know where you get the courage, to take his hand, and lead him up to your room. You can hardly believe it, that he actually follows you. In your ensuite bathroom you dab at his knuckles with a washcloth, slather him with ointment and plaster him with bandaids. You run out of sober flesh colored ones, so the last cut gets a Disney bandage, Ariel and sea-flowers decorating this severe man’s knuckles. 

He lets you do all this, watching you intensely with those dark eyes you’re certain can see into your soul. You stand too close–and he lets you, this haunted man who watches over you day and night. Your whole life you have never wanted for anything, your father’s money buying you all your heart could possibly desire.

Until now.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, zeroing in on a spot of blood on his stark white dress shirt. 

“Y/n.” With a gentle knuckle under your chin he turns your gaze up to his again. “You are too smart, and too beautiful, to be wasting your time with a fuckboy like Alexsei Plushenko.”

The first part you already knew. The second, from this man’s lips? Your knees nearly collapse out from under you, a flood of excitement and dread coursing through your system. You almost can’t stand it–it’s like being burned alive, and your native shyness rears with a vengeance. 

You try to flee, back to the safety of your room, and your books, your imaginary lives that can’t really hurt you–but he catches your hand. His grip is not hard, but it is enough to stop you dead in your tracks. 

“Y/n…” He’s pleading with you, but you don’t understand what he’s asking you. 

“You said you don’t want me, John…” you say, still unable to meet his eyes. “So let me go.” 

He answers by pulling you against him, the solid line of his torso a brick wall beneath the hand you raise to catch yourself. But bricks are not warm, like the flesh beneath his designer clothes. You can feel the wires in your brain sizzling, the synapses simply melting down. Your heart is Chernoble waiting to happen. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said–”

“I said, ‘We can’t.’ Not, that ‘I don’t want you.’”

You almost cannot breathe, your heart attempting to beat out of your chest, a ringing in your ears that drowns out all else. There is nothing, nothing, in this world you’ve wanted more, than to hear those words from this man. But now that he’s standing before you, against you, holding you–you cannot move. You do not know what to do. 

He solves this problem by cupping your cheek in his big hand–God, how you’ve noticed those hands–and then he is pressing his mouth to yours, gentle at first, but then…hungry. As though John Wick has been starving, for you, and it’s all you can do just to stand there and take it without melting into a puddle on the floor. His arms wrap around your back, holding you, lifting you to your tiptoes as he devours you. When at last he pulls back you are left seeing stars, struck utterly speechless with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Tell me to stop,” he raggedly demands, his eyes boring down into yours. 

Finally, you find your courage, meeting his stare. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper. 

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.” He kisses you again, just as hungrily as the first time, his arm an iron band around your waist and his fingers sneaking up into your hair. That’s your kryptonite: your hair, and blithely you know he can do anything and everything he wants to you now.  

Your father is a bad man, but you have not had a bad life. You have never known hunger, or true physical pain. He has protected you from the violence of his world. He has played things smart enough that not even the FBI can touch you, even though they absolutely know what he is and where your family gets its money. Despite all this, you have been dying inside, a slow, withering demise, until John Wick’s lips touched yours. He is the life-giving rain over the desert; your heart is a field of wildflowers erupting in a superbloom. 

This time, he leads you, in between kissing you, to the loveseat at the foot of your bed. He sits, and only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you resist. “John…I’m too…much,” you insist, conscious of your generous flesh and what it would be like to set that on top of him, afraid he’ll be horrified. 

However, he just scoffs at you, grabbing you up anyway and guiding you down. For a moment you are weightless–he knows how to upset a person’s balance, how to use their weight against them to put them on the floor. This time he uses it to put you on him. You’re not exactly proud of it, but the ease with which he utterly manhandles you makes your long-neglected lady parts sing with desire. 

“You are perfect, dietka,” he insists, pulling you closer with hands on your round behind, “And I am very strong.” For the first time in you can’t remember how long–he smiles at you. That beautiful half smile with a sparkle in his dark eyes that takes your breath away–you love him so much it hurts. 

This time you don’t feel so shy, about kissing him. You feel like your bones are filled with butterflies, and you both moan and giggle as you do your best to devour each other from the mouth down. Aside from an appreciative squeeze of your thighs bracketing his hips, he doesn’t try to seduce you, even though you know you absolutely would have given him anything he asked you for. He is content, just to kiss you, for this night at least, and oh. He’s good at it too. 

You decide you would burn down the world, for one more kiss from John Wick.  

Later you find yourself snuggled in your bed with John, fully clothed, your head on his shoulder as he toys with the fine hairs at the back of your neck. His touch is heaven, and with your legs twined with his it’s hard not to squirm and writhe against his muscled thigh like a horny little gremlin. 

Later, you tell yourself. It can wait for later. 

Like maybe, tomorrow. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he warns you. “If your father…” 

If your father found out, the best thing that could happen to John is getting fired. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” you promise, kissing his bearded cheek, praying you’re telling the truth.

He chuckles at this; a deep sound you feel more than hear. “I thought that was my job?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know.” He looks down at you with a tenderness that curls your toes. “It would be worth it, for you.” 

Your heart has suddenly decided it would like to take up residence in your throat–permanently.

“Oh, John…”  

He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that renders you weightless. This is how you die: it’s almost too much to stand, this impossibly full feeling in your chest. Then he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You have been driving me mad, you little minx. I wanted to kill everyone who so much as looked at you in the Circle.” 

You snort at the thought–you do not understand, really, that he could absolutely do it too. 

“Not to worry. I think the library is more my speed.” He rests his head against yours with a small, contented sigh. “Mine too,” he admits. The smell of old books around you is a soothing balm to you both. 

You know small bits of his past. Morsels he has sprinkled, here and there in the conversations you have had. You know he did not have an easy childhood. You know that this life was not really his choice. Even less so than most, who move and work in the Underworld. 

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” you ask. 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “I’m liking New York, at the moment,” he tells you with an affectionate squeeze. 

“Oh come on.” 

“Fine. I like Paris a lot.” 

“Hmm,” you answer, but what you think, is: Done.  You will have the opportunity to arrange to study abroad soon, and you think a trip away from the Tarasov territory might do you both some good.

Surely Papachka wouldn’t deprive you of your most trusted bodyguard?

[prose-for-hire]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

(Part 2 to Toil and Trouble)

Pairing: Spike x Harris!reader

Request: I wanted to write a second part to this and I got few comments asking for a pt2 as well! This is the aftermath/relationship between reader and Spike after their date and the conversation that needed to be had with Xander.

As you had sensed, that date had been the first of many with Spike. It had been months since that evening where you had untied him and walked into the moonlight. If only life was like a movie, it could have stopped there. With the promise and hope of everything being okay.

Your twin, of course, couldn’t just let it rest. The tension had reached boiling point. In fact, you had been avoiding him for the past three months. That conversation you had promised him? You were never in the room long enough for him to even take a breath to start to speak.

Spike had found himself a crypt, had almost managed to help kill the slayer through Adam at the Initiative and had given you one of his rings to wear. He had turned to you, halfway through an episode of Passions and had actually managed to drag his eyes away and earnestly offered you the knotted silver band. It was a promise. You had never taken it off since.

You, although knowing Spike had been up to something, didn’t want to hear the finer details. So long as your brother wasn’t going to be hurt, you didn’t want to hear it. You just wanted to be close to Spike. Of course it would be nice to save the world and all that but, really, that ship had sailed and it was more your brother’s hobby than yours.

You were sat in his crypt, curled up on his sofa by his side. Your bodies bathed in candlelight, glowing in a silent contentment. All that could be heard was the distant buzzing of the tv. But that didn’t matter to you. Only he mattered. Your head rested on his shoulders as he wrapped an around you, pulling you in closer. The popcorn you had been sharing had long since been abandoned.

You pressed a few soft kisses against his neck, the near-silent sigh of pleasure you heard from Spike made you smile into the kisses. He used his hand to guide your head to face him, pressing your forehead against his. He savoured the moment closing his eyes at the contact, he could stay in this moment forever and be the happiest man alive.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his. He tasted like cigarette smoke and popcorn. He cupped your cheek in his hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he started to deepen the kiss, the way he always did. Knocking the breath from your body. He tilted your head back, thumb sliding to caress your neck with his strong hand, his lips hungrily-

The door to the crypt swung open with such force that it came off its hinges. You tensed and Spike pulled you in close to his side, willing to defend you against anything that came your way. He was fiercely protective and you knew he would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat (one of your heartbeats, of course).

“Can’t a vampire have one sodding moment to rest in peace with his love?”

It was your brother. Again. And his friends, Willow and Buffy. Buffy had a stake and a scary look on her face. The only real threat you had ever felt inside the crypt coming from those supposedly on the side of ‘good’.

Once, you may have sprang apart but you were too comfortable and really, you were an adult. Your brother would have to physically prize you apart if he wanted you to move away from Spike.

“Xander! What is your problem?! You’re dating a demon, I’m dating a vampire it’s not exactly much of a difference”

“Actually, love-”

“Not now, Spike!” You both said at the same time.

“I really bloody hate it when you do that” he muttered but surrendered at the look on your face. You just didn’t want him to say anything that could get a redwood in his chest. You really, really liked him.

“Anya’s different” He insisted, awarding him a glare from you.

“Oh my God, you’re such a bonehead! It’s exactly the same”

“Why don’t we all make with the calmness and take a deep-”

“No time or place for none of your spiritual-wicca bollocks now, Red” Spike warned, knowing you well by now. You didn’t like it when people told you what to do. Especially not the ‘morally superior’ group of your brothers friends.

You reached for Spike’s arm subconsciously and rubbed his arm slowly, showing him that you were right there with him. Thanking him for speaking up. You didn’t actually like arguing, you just didn’t like to back down either. Your brother didn’t exactly appreciate the display of affection, however.

“That’s it! You and me, pal, outside!” Xander said, putting his hands in a fist in a way that could only be described as a mockery of a fight.

“You and what army, Xander” You rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, Spike shrugged and walked outside, lighting up a cigarette as he went. Xander looked a little nervous but took a deep breath and followed him out.

You started to follow too, not wanting either of them to come to any harm but Buffy blocked your way. When you tried to move past, it felt like walking into a brick wall. She was incredibly strong despite her size.

“You’re, uh, strong” You offered lamely, stepping back from her.

“We should probably leave them to it”

“Did you ever think that I might be hurt when you all decided to keep this from me?” It was only because of your healthy curiosity that you had come across Buffy slaying and then researched it yourself. If you hadn’t, when you had first been faced with a vampire you may have not even had a stake on your person.

“We told Xander you should know, but we kinda didn’t wanna get in the middle of a twin-fight” Buffy explained, shuddering at the thought of the infamous twin fights she had witnessed between you and Xander. To you both, they weren’t all that serious usually but it appeared to be in front of others. This time had been different though.

“I’ve known you since I was a kid, Willow, where’s the loyalty?”

Willow opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to speak. She had always been fond of you but she was best friends with Xander and she had never really forgiven you for spreading the news that she had cheated on Oz with your brother around school. You had only told one of your friends, you just happened to have been overheard.

Meanwhile, outside…

Xander had, in a surprise to everyone involved, punched Spike and held him against the wall of the crypt. Spike took it, choking out smoke in surprise but stood there and didn’t even defend himself. Only for you. He was love’s bitch, after all. He knew how upset you would be, even though he was an idiot, you loved your brother a lot.

“Leave them alone, this is mucho evil even for you! Stop acting like you like them”

“Be easier, wouldn’t it. If it were an act” Spike shrugged, dropping his smoke and grinding it under his boot, “I love them”

“Oh yeah, love without the actual, you know, lovin’ part”

Spike gave him a look, one that was one part unamused to two parts looking like he wanted to kill the man stood before him. Xander still had Spike’s shirt balled in his fist. He raised his other fist again, as if to land another punch when you ran out from the crypt and grabbed your brother’s hand.

“That’s enough!” You pulled your brother off him. Your annoyance threatening to boil over.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/n”

“Do what exactly, Xander?!”

“You proved your point, I should’ve told you about Buffy. But rise of the evil dead here is bad news”

“You’re such a hypocrite, xander! Anya is older and has statistically killed more people than Spike and yet you stand there all high and mighty acting like I need to be saved from myself. Well, I don’t. Spike is really good to me, perhaps if you gave him a chance…”

Xander scoffed but he knew you well. Sometimes more than you knew yourself. That look in your eyes, you were deeply upset. You just wanted to be close to your brother again, but you couldn’t even consider losing Spike. You were in love. Deeply.

Spike lit up a cigarette, stepping to your side and handing it to you before lighting up for himself. His mind was always on you, he was in tune with you. You never hid anything from him, you didn’t have to. You took a drag, trying to hide the visible shaking from your hand. This could go two ways. You and Xander could make up like you usually would or the rift could widen and Xander might turn his back on you. A wash of anxiety

“All I want is to look out for you” Xander admitted, looking at the floor. He took the fact he was a minute older than you seriously, assuming the ‘older brother’ role despite there being no real grounds (but that was an argument for another time).

“And you did that by letting me discover vampires by almost getting eaten by one in high school?” You asked pointedly.

“You never said…”

“Better be bloody dust” Spike muttered, jaw tensing at the idea of any vampire wrapping their jaws around you. You were his, if there was any biting to be done, he would of course do the honours.

“How many times have you almost been killed by a vampire, Xand? I’m guessing double figures. Can’t we just call it quits? Uh, I don’t wanna… lose you” You admitted quietly, rolling your own eyes this time. You and Xander didn’t usually do the whole feelings thing. You mostly used humour to cope with your dysfunctional family and just shared knowing looks when you both felt the same way about something.

“Hey! No way, you’re stuck with me. Like glue, the glue-iest” Xander launched at you, giving you a hug, wafting the smoke away and fake coughing as he did, though when he released you from his bone crushing hug, he couldn’t help but say, “But it-it’s Spike. He’s gross, Y/n”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him lick his own nose blood” Buffy grimaced as she recounted it, joining them with Willow from within the crypt.

“He’s my boyfriend. No amount of nose blood or evil rants can change that.”

Willow and Buffy seemed to soften at this, as well as the adoring look that Spike gave you. Both knew what it was like to love people that others might not understand too. He truly did love you, he made a mental note to tell you properly as soon as you were alone. He just wished he hadn’t said it out loud for the first time to your brother rather than you.

“But-” Xander started again but Willow stood on his foot.

“Didn’t you say we would meet Riley at the Bronze at 11?” Willow changed the subject quickly. Buffy checked her watch and groaned, she had stood him up all week and I was already 11:30. Spike bit his tongue from saying ‘trouble in paradise’. Something you noticed and tried to hide your smile. You had both discussed Buffy’s love life at length.

“Why don’t you guys come? Merry merriment for all, right Xand?” Willow asked kindly, echoing Xander’s earlier phrasing.

“Oh, right, yeah, family bonding and all that” You offered, knowing more than anything that danger followed Buffy around and that Spike enjoyed picking a fight with any demons that you came across.

“Watch it” Spike murmured from your side. No matter how much he loved you, he didn’t love the idea of Xander being family. But he did nod his head to agree he would go.

As you and your strange group walked together through the streets, with Spike muttering something about charging the slayer for the damage done to his crypt’s door. Spike didn’t like your brother and he certainly didn’t like the slayer, but he liked you very much and he had decided he would have to live with seeing them a lot more often.

“Huh, maybe it runs in the family”

“What?”

“The demon-y magnetism” Willow laughed and Xander kicked a rock at her words but didn’t say anything. He was just getting you back, maybe he could live with you and Spike being together. Well, maybe he would give it three strikes and then he would try and bring up the idea of you leaving him again.

Spike rolled his eyes at Willow’s words but you smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his pale cheek. You slid your hand into his and he squeezed tightly.

“I love you too, by the way” You whispered softly in his ear. You had heard him. He glowed, a smile spread across his face, you always loved it when he smiled. It lit up his entire face, brightening all of his features.

The moonlight caressed his face, his eyes glistening at your words. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against your forehead as you trailed behind your brother and his friends. He would sit through this, for you. Because he loved you, more than he had ever loved another before.

[mickyaltierisgf]

Could you write Mickey Altieri x reader and they are watching stab and he won’t shut up about how it’s so basic and that he’d do a much better job. But reader thinks he is joking. ♥️♥️

mickey altieri x gn reader - warning: mentions of violence and slight gore.

You tugged the tub of popcorn away as Mickey reached for it. He’d already pelted the screen with a handful of the kernels, and you were sure he would do it again. He gave you an exaggerated pout, and you compromised by hand-feeding him some of the buttery snack. He nipped your palm on purpose, causing you to let out a small yelp and wipe it on his shirt. You were glad the screening room was practically empty aside from you, Mickey, and maybe three or four other people. Most had already seen the movie, and this was a tiny, old cinema that you’d bet probably didn’t get many visitors anyway.

The movie was more than halfway through now, and Mickey hadn’t shut up since it started. You were used to it and mostly found it amusing, but you doubted other moviegoers would feel the same.

"It’s just so repetitive," he complained, thankfully not too loudly. "A stab to the chest or gut. Maybe a throat slash. There’s no innovation. Why not hang Casey or Himbry first and then cut them open? Let them see their own insides fall out. Better yet, why not hang them with their own intestines?” he suggested, making you gag. You coughed up a piece of popcorn and glared at him.

"Sorry," he snickered, patting you on the back. “Say what you want about the 80’s slashers like Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13th, but there were almost never any boring kills."

"Yeah, but those are like super-powered demons and undead zombies,” You replied, eyes glued to the screen. "Ghostface is just some clumsy guy in a dumb mask," you added with a shrug. The arm around you tensed a bit, and his hand stopped twirling the ends of your hair absentmindedly. You glanced sideways at him, surprised to see the frown on his face.

"Ghostface is not just some guy," he said, his hand leaving your hair and resting sedately on your shoulder.

"Technically, he’s two guys." You agreed. He merely snorted in response, his face still serious.

You chuckled as you turned back to the screen, seeing the girl in the garage pelt the killer with beer bottles. Mickey shook his head but smirked when you reached over to feed him more popcorn. "I would have thrown the knife right between her eyes. Maybe used a power saw or somethin'." he said around his mouthful.

"That’s a kill you don’t see everyday," you remarked, wincing a bit as the girl got crushed by the garage door.

"She practically did that to herself," Mickey said boredly. "I mean, who’s dumb enough to try to escape through a cat flap?"

"She was desperate," you defended. "This is based on a real story, you know. This really happened to that poor girl. And she was Sidney’s best friend." You frowned. "I can’t imagine how horrifying it must’ve been for her and Randy to go through this. And now they’re having to relive it all cause of this shitty movie. They’ll probably hate us if they find out we came here to watch it," you added guiltily.

"They won’t find out," Mickey assured, taking the tub from your hands and scraping up the last bit of popcorn before putting the container aside. His other hand played with your hair again and caressed your neck as if to soothe you.

He fell quiet for a bit, occasionally muttering about how stupid the killers were for stabbing each other. You nudged him lightly as you watched the big box TV fall over to crush one of the killers. "Okay, that one was good," you insisted.

"Yeah, but Sid did that," he argued, his face looking a bit impressed despite himself. "It doesn’t count."

"Well, the killers were just two stupid high school jerks after all. No doubt, you would have done a much finer job," you said with a slight posh accent, betraying your sarcasm.

"Oh definitely. Stab Two would be a way better film. Higher body count, bigger kills." He said cocksure, and you looked over at him again, noting the small grin as he said so. He leaned over, pulling you closer to purr into your ear. "No kiddie jump scares, but real tension. Toe-curling suspense," You shivered the tiniest bit as his lips tickled your ear and looked down as his other hand came to rest on your thigh, stroking it. "Fear and adrenaline to really get your heart pumping. Building higher and higher until you think you’re gonna pass out. And a whole lot of blood. The warm, gushing kind. Sweeter than corn syrup."

You blinked as the dim lights turned on overhead and stared at the scrolling credits on the screen. You hadn’t even noticed when the movie ended; you were too enthralled by Mickey’s low voice and the way his touch sent heat through your body. His hand was gone now, and he was making a show of stretching and yawning at the screen, as if he’d just woken up. You smiled kind of awkwardly, still a bit shaken by the almost gleeful expression he could hardly contain and the words he'd whispered to you. But the lights chased away the shadows on his face, making his eyes look brighter, and the odd grin, which had been almost intimidating before, became sweet and boyish.

He was just teasing you, and the movie had made your nerves act up. You stood from your seat, retrieving the popcorn tub and standing on your toes to tip it over his head. He made what sounded like a gasp and pulled the tub up to glare at you in mock outrage. You giggled and snaked an arm around his waist as you walked out of the theatre.

"It could have been better," you conceded, tossing the ticket stubs away.

Mickey smirked unseen.

[sneezemonster15]

what do you think of yuuta and rika?

Obsessive love turned obsessive cursed spirit. In the JJK film, their relationship while Rika is still alive, is a very close and innocent one, as in the kind that one would expect two shy and introverted kids to have. Like two lonely kids finding solace in each other. But while Yuuta treats the relationship like a child would, Rika seems way more obsessive. I felt like it turned from 'sweetly childlike' to 'obsessive' pretty fast. Rika always looked a little odd to me, the first time when she meets Yuuta, she is alone sitting on a hospital bed with a dreamy faraway look in her eyes, and then she sees Yuuta and smiles as if she has known him forever, her love for Yuuta seemed more adult as compared to Yuuta's love for her, which even though strong, is innocent and childlike, not romantic. To see them playing childish games, which Yuuta takes in good innocent spirit, just like a kid would, Rika seems more resolute and serious, even though she is also a kid, it created an unsettling feeling and it was justified later. And it made one anticipate that this relationship will be the precursor to something drastic. It made more sense when I checked out Gege's interview about the same.

Like you can tell Gege didn't intend to write Rika as a 'normal' person. Like a bomb that will potentially explode and will be destructive as hell. Rika was jealous of Maki in the film, given the attention Yuuta gave to her, and the idea of being with Yuuta as one at the end of the film, the idea of symbolically marrying him ends up drawing her to her full power.

However, Yuuta came of age in the film, after he realizes that it was him that cursed Rika unconsciously, and makes a pact with her, his relationship with Rika also evolves. Although I do think that even though it was Okkotsu that cursed Rika, had it been anyone else than Rika, it would probably not have resulted in a curse, and definitely not such a strong curse.

Anyway, after that, he takes accountability for what he accidentally did to Rika. And now they are a unit, she works more like a subjugated shikigami from ten shadows technique than a wayward cursed spirit. They definitely have a strong bond. But I don't think it is romantic.

However, what is certainly potentially romantic is the relationship between Yuuta and Maki, like it was portrayed in the movie. Yuuta is not a kid anymore, he understands the finer nuances of love, an equal kind of love.

Maki is no nonsense, revolutionary and resolute type of person with a specific goal, who has had a lot of exposure to toxic, inhuman and entirely misogynistic men like Naoya and the entire Ze'nin family tbh. Yuuta certainly breaks that stereotype. He is not afraid to take the more humble position in the relationship, his humility, modesty and sweet humor kind of 'melts' her defences, makes her softer around the edges. She opens up to him even though initially, she did not have the best impression of him and generally was a little prickly towards him. But it evolves. Their relationship is given credible development in the film.

Finally, it's this cover art that I find symbolic of Yuuta and Rika's relationship.

Looks like she is lovingly cuddling with a Yuuta doll. Like a little girl. A doll typically symbolises a plaything, it has no power, to be controlled by someone else. Love can be obsessive like that, but when it's one sided, it makes one anxious, raises red flags. Which is why it made sense that she was drawn to her full power only after Yuuta gave himself to her body, heart and mind. It's clear that Yuuta's guilt about cursing Rika played a big part in him bonding himself to Rika. It doesn't seem like an equal sort of love, it more than borders on obsessive and a bit insane. But it is a very strong bond nonetheless. Rika also reaches some kind of resolution at the end of the film about Yuuta, so I think Yuuta can go ahead and find love someplace else.

[spookyshipperfics]

The Finer Things (Chapter 1)

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Explicit

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Scully and Mulder are sent undercover onboard a luxury train to investigate the presence of a suspicious and undocumented train car. Playing a wealthy married couple is tricky, but they run into even bigger issues when an unwelcomed agent gets sent in for backup.

Read a Sample: You’ll want to pack predominantly dressy casual, but formal wear will also be required.

Skinner’s advice still bounced around Mulder’s skull. What did dressy casual even mean? For a man who wore a suit and tie nearly every day, he worried the slacks and collared shirts shoved in his suitcase weren’t up to code. The rental car suddenly felt hot, and he cracked the window.

Mulder had been told a lot over the last two days. He and Scully would be riding the Dusty Mountaineer, a train that twisted and wound through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before opening to the deserts of Utah and, finally, Nevada. It was five days of luxury meets majesty, or at least that’s what the brochure promised. And while that all sounded fine and dandy, they weren’t going for leisure.

The Dusty Mountaineer’s last few trips had included a mysterious train car unaccounted for in any brochures or official travel documents. The FBI suspected some sort of smuggling operation—firearms, drugs, chemicals—but whispers of strange creatures being transported to a testing site in Nevada warranted a knock on the Spookys’ basement door. After all, Mulder had recklessly jumped onto a train only a few years ago for similar reasons.

This train ride would be different, though. For starters, he and Scully would be going undercover as a married couple… again. Goodbye, Rob and Laura Petrie. Hello, Pete and Chrissy Curtis. Who would’ve thought that with all this chaos, the contents of his wardrobe would be what broke him?

“Scully,” he said, glancing at her in the passenger’s seat, where she leafed through documents containing information about their cover stories. “What do you consider dressy casual?”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. The sigh of annoyance confirmed it. “Mulder, if the items you brought are anything like what you’re wearing now, you’ll be just fine.”

His shoulders relaxed in his sports coat. He felt considerably better about the fitted white T-shirt and khakis beneath it. “You think?”

“I do,” she responded dryly, and Mulder couldn’t help but sneak another peek at her. Outfitted in a light blue dress that was much more form-fitting than anything he’d ever seen her in, it was difficult to bring his attention back to the road. He did, though, trying to ignore the memory of her smooth thighs peaking from beneath the fabric.

“What do you do for work?” Scully’s voice drifted into his ear, jolting him back to reality.

“What?”

“What do you do for work?” she repeated.

The fluttering papers in her hand reminded him why they were here in Colorado. He had more important things to worry about than how soft Scully’s thighs looked. He was a goddamn FBI agent about to go undercover for five days. Maybe that’s what was really making him nervous. It wasn’t the definition of dressy casual; it was pretending to be married to Scully. It had been easier in Arcadia. He hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy touching her or calling her pet names.

“Well, dear,” he began, “I’m a community college professor specializing in conspiracy literature and theories, but I also teach history because that’s what pays the bills.”

“Good,” she remarked.

Deciding to go for the extra credit, he continued, “You teach pre-med at the same college. That’s, of course, how we met. What was it now? Seven years ago?”

“Six,” she corrected. “Just like in real life.”

“I know. I know,” Mulder assured her. He knew exactly how long ago they’d met. Scully had changed his life when she’d walked through his basement door. Something like that you didn’t forget. “I’m thinking of making that part of my schtick. You know, the whole forgetful husband trope. I’m bad with anniversary dates. I forget to pick up milk on the way home.”

“That tracks,” she said, and this time, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Birthdays aren’t a strong suit of yours, either.”

“Not a strong suit of Pete Curtis,” he countered. “I want to be clear that this is strictly a character choice.”

Any snarky rebuttal Scully might have tossed back at him was left unsaid. Instead, she let out an excited “wow.” After rounding the last bend, the Dusty Mountaineer came into view. The fifteen-car train was a shiny black and decorated with elaborate gold accents and lettering.

“It looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Scully remarked.

Mulder nodded. “Let’s just hope this story doesn’t play out like one of hers. I could do with a little less murder.”

The Dusty Mountaineer’s narrow hallways were wood paneled, the floors a floral carpet. It was a bit like stepping into a time capsule. There were no TVs or other technological entertainment, and even the staff were outfitted in clothes of a different era.

“Dinner is served at six. Our dress code requires passengers to dress appropriately when not in their rooms. Formal attire is required for the cocktail party on Friday night.” Jamie, the crew member assigned to walk them to their lodging, continued rattling off rules and detailing the agenda before stopping at a cabin on the far end of the first sleeper car. “This is you, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

Despite everything Mulder had seen thus far, he still wasn’t quite prepared when Jamie pulled open the door. His eyes swept across the cabin and widened. The wood paneling continued inside their room, which contained a full-sized bed, a small table for two, and a sofa. Cubbies and hidden closets allowed for tidy storage. A shelf holding complimentary champagne and glasses hovered above the table.

It was a far cry from the derelict accommodations they were used to. The Bureau had splurged only because people thinking they had money could work in their favor. If the stupid rich couple was caught in an area of the train they shouldn’t be, they could chalk it up to entitlement. Money clogging their brains.

Still, being allowed to even exist in this old-timey glamour sent a secret thrill up Mulder’s spine. He automatically reached for Scully’s hand. The need to conceal the action as part of their cover had him practically shouting over Jamie, who had barely finished explaining how to convert the sofa into a cot. “This is great, isn’t it, honey?”

“It’s beautiful,” Scully responded, and he could tell by the way her eyes glistened that she meant it.

Running on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline, they took advantage of the three-course dinner and complimentary champagne. Upon returning to their cabin, Mulder offered Scully the en suite bathroom first. He took the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Scully emerged in silk pajamas a few minutes later, a cloud of minty toothpaste and something floral—lotion maybe—trailing behind her. Mulder followed her gaze to the far end of the cabin, where the full-sized bed loomed. He realized then that this wasn’t like Arcadia at all. There was no downstairs couch to retreat to at night.

Find the rest on a03

[blurredcolour]

Nom De Plume | Part Two

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The first month of filming brings many surprises – Cloé’s behaviour, Austin’s kindness, and your reaction to it all.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Mean Girl Trope, Medium Reader Injury, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes [Dream Sex, Oral – M/F Receiving, Penetration, Unprotected Sex] – 18+ Only

GIF credit: @carriediariesedits

Word Count: 5987

»» ────── ஓ ๑ ✧ ๑ ஓ ────── ««

Filming was a marathon.

Greta knew exactly what she was looking for in each scene. Each shot. And she was happy to film whatever number of takes required to achieve her vision. You were truly in awe of Austin and Cloé’s ability to reset – shifting back in the exact position they started from, delivering their lines with the same emotion and energy as the first eight times.

You wondered if this is what writing looked like to others…only a much more internal process, naturally. Greta had chosen to start production with a few scenes of Antoine and Yvette getting to know one another in the barn, and it felt like a very natural place for everyone to ease their way into the story. You found that the burden on yourself and Pearce during filming was minimal – supplying lines, answering questions, assisting Continuity.

When Greta called cut, Austin would usually make his way over to check in with Pearce and yourself. He would clarify finer points of his character, motivations, and how each line fit into the bigger picture. The degree to which he was invested in the story made your heart ache fondly.

You had let Austin know that ‘Sloan’ would be fine with answering any questions he might have, he just needed to pass them along through you. Over the past two weeks, however, he had not once taken you up on that offer. He seemed more than satisfied with the answers that Pearce and you were able to supply on the spot.

Cloé…. well, she was fantastic on screen. Off? You did not have many kind things to say. She would lay helplessly as her team rushed over to her to ensure her every comfort. You expected a certain amount of swarming by hair, make-up, and wardrobe. But they would literally hand feed her and hold the straw on her Perrier which was chilled to her specified temperature. She basked in the attention, and actively called more to herself when her team weren’t satisfying her. Needily fishing for compliments from any crew member she could make eye contact with.

Her most annoying behaviour, by far, was born of her constant desire to have Austin at her side. She would croon his name and, being a gentleman, he would return to her even though you could tell he had more questions for Pearce and yourself. She fussed and cooed and petted at him constantly. The man deserved a medal for his patience with her. ‘Or maybe he likes it…’ the nastier part of your brain stabbed at the fragile blossom of feelings budding beneath your breastbone.

You huffed quietly at yourself and took Pearce’s coffee order, refreshing your mind with a walk to the craft services trailer just outside the studio. You were reaching for the door, two hot beverages balanced in one hand and a snack in your pocket, when it suddenly swung open toward you, making you jump with a squeak. You were fumbling with the drinks in an almost comical fashion when Austin’s large, steady hands seized a cup in each, smoothly avoiding disaster. You pressed your hand to your heart and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry there, makin’ ya jump yet again…” He grimaced.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m sorry for basically shouting in your face. And very, very grateful for your drink rescue.” You smiled warmly and offered your hands to take them.

“Why don’ we getcha a tray?” He winked teasingly and held the drinks hostage, heading over to the cart to get a coffee for himself and requesting a tray.

You quickly packed his drink into it with the other beverages and he looked to you startled. You smirked back up at him triumphantly, the chuckle that he emitted sending a thrill through you. He grabbed the drinks before turning with you to head back inside.

“So…is it as borin’ as ya thought it woul’ be?” He smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You could not help the laugh that shot out of your throat.

“Is it that obvious? Gosh I need to work on my poker face.” You joked but shook your head. “It’s…quite analogous to the process of writing. I just…didn’t expect it? But it makes a lot of sense that…getting it to the point that the creator is looking for takes trial and error.” You opened and held the door for him, gesturing him through.

“My, whatta generous answer. Most people are simply bore’ ta tears.” He laughed cheekily and you couldn’t help but join in.

You looked up to see Cloé’s eyes trained on the two of you, a frightening coldness in her expression. It was not one you had ever seen from her before, and it was extremely unsettling.

“Well, it’ll be a nice change o’ pace ta break outta this bar’ tomorro’ ‘n’ shoot on tha back lot.” Austin continued, resecuring your attention.

“Yes! Male bonding.” You grinned as you looked back to him and he laughed again, removing his cup before handing you the tray. “After two weeks in this barn, I can honestly say I’m excited.”

You watched as he took a deep sip, savouring the warmth with closed eyes. You stood there, spellbound by his presence. His mannerisms. Pearce broke your focus by reaching in between the two of you to snag his cup from the tray.

“Thanks for this.” He murmured tiredly and patted your head.

You felt for Pearce, not only was he attending filming all day, but he was also reviewing the daily footage with Greta well into the evening.

“All right folks, break is over, places please!” The assistant director called, and Austin tensed, looking around for something to do with his coffee.

“I’ll take care of it for you, go ahead.” You smiled, holding out the tray and he mouthed ‘thank you’ before hurrying back to his place amongst the straw.

You took your seat behind Pearce and looked up to set, almost choking on the sip you’d just taken. Cloé was sending you that fiercely cold look once again, her hand splayed on Austin’s chest as makeup touched up his lips. You looked down to the script in your lap quickly, as though that gaze physically hurt you. As far as you knew they were simply co-stars, but her behaviour spoke of something more. Or, at least the desire for something more?

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, the perfect weather for shooting the tarmac scene. You had opted to walk to the backlot, soaking in the smell of the damp earth coming back to life with spring. Pearce had offered to take your bag with him on the golf cart, but with all of its occupants it was quite packed, so you’d waved him off as they went ahead of you to the outdoor set. You were about halfway there when yet another golfcart passed you. You looked up and furrowed your brow in confusion as Cloé was riding on the back. She was not on the call sheet for today, so you found her presence surprising. Seeing you, she loosened her grip on the papers in her hand, sending them fluttering into the trees.

“Can you…Thanks!” Was all you heard of her shouted statement, but the meaning was clear enough.

Clean up after me.

Sighing heavily, you set your heavy bag down on the side of the road and began picking up the sheets of loose paper, frowning to see it was script pages. Your hard work, carelessly tossed into the woods to put you back in the place she felt you ought to be in. Beneath her. You followed the trail of pages further into the long grass, under the trees, until you suddenly came across a rather steep hollowing running through the wooded area.

There were just four more pages down there, and you were not about to give up now. The slope was unfortunately not as stable as it appeared, and your feet slid down the turf as you plummeted to the bottom of the hollow. You had thankfully not landed in the water; however, your right ankle had definitely folded up under you and was not wanting any weight to be put on it. Stubbornly, you hopped and limped to gather the last of the pages, hissing and wincing at the hot lances of pain that seared up your leg when you tried to use the injured ankle.

“Fuck me…” You growled to yourself bitterly, looking up the steep wall of the hollow. You folded up the script pages and stuck them into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, pulling your shirt down over them before trying to pull yourself out. Your yelp was uncontrollable and pathetic to your own ears. You turned to look down the length of the hollow, considering walking along it back toward the office. There must be flat ground somewhere. But a persistent ache had started in your joint, and you truly doubted your ability to get far.

 Footsteps sounded in the grass above you, and you gasped, looking up to see Austin staring down at you wide-eyed.

“Whatcha doin’ down here in tha grass, cricke’?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Saw yer bag back there. Pretty sure we’re filmin’ up tha road, no?” His eyes narrowed as he saw you holding your foot off the ground, only the tips of your toes on your right foot touching the turf. “Yer hur’…”

He slid down quickly to stand beside you, crouching down to assess your ankle. He barely touched it and you yelped again, immediately following it up with an apology. He straightened and frowned softly, taking a deep breath and turning to yell back up to the road.

“ME-” The rest of the word ‘medic’ was cut off by your palm sealing over his mouth with a little more force than you intended, but your reaction was filled with urgency.

“Please don’t make a fuss, please don’t…” Huge, hot tears of humiliation mingled with pain rolled down your cheeks. “I’m not even supposed to be here, please don’t make a fuss, I’m not, I don’t, please…” You rambled, leaning against the bank of the hollow in defeat.

He gently gripped your wrist and peeled your hand from his notably soft lips before gathering you to his chest in a reassuring hug.

“Hey, hey shhh…I gotcha, ok? We’ll getcha outta here…” He looked over the terrain thoughtfully before pulling his head back and craning his neck to catch your eyes with his. “Ok I got ‘n idea, ya trus’ me?”

You sniffled and nodded pathetically, leaning on him a little. He squeezed you once more before stepping back and turning around.

“Hop on my back.” He said, looking back at you over his shoulder as he bent his knees and your eyes widened in shock. “I mean it, we’ll climb out together.”

You wiped your eyes and bit your lip before hobbling forward and pushing up onto his back. His hands found the backs of your knees and hoisted you higher. You slid your arms under his to reach up through his armpits and grab at the fabric of the uniform covering the front of his shoulders, not wanting to choke him.

“Thank ya, cricke’. I do like breathin’.” He smiled and wrapped your legs around his slender waist. “Hold on tigh’ now, I need both han’s.” You tensed your leg muscles to hold on, pressing a whimper into the back of his neck at the pain. He lurched forward and scrambled his way out of the hollow before standing on flat ground. His hands quickly slid under your knees once more, releasing the pressure on your ankle as he carefully but quickly worked his way back to the road. “Yer doin’ so grea’, cricke’, almos’ there.”

You didn’t dare look over his shoulder, not wanting to see the faces of the people waiting on the golf cart. Didn’t even look up as he turned to deposit you in his empty spot on the backward facing bench. He knelt before you, looking up at you as you refused to look up at him.

“Can we getcha some help now, cricke’?” He tilted his head and you finally relented, nodding softly. He smiled warmly and it was not five minutes from the time the driver radioed the medical team to when their van showed up.

“Go on, I’ve taken enough of your time.” You looked to him firmly as the medics moved you to sit on the tailgate of their van.

“Ya sure?” He hesitated and you shooed him away with a gesture of your hand, offering him a brave smile which he returned before heading off to set.

Two hours, and a trip to the Accident & Emergency department, later, you knew it was not broken. It was, however, a nasty high ankle sprain. You were not allowed to bear weight on it for at least three days, so you were settled into the office with your leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice wrap around your ankle, and your shiny new set of crutches leaning against the wing of your armchair. That was how Austin found you near three o’clock that afternoon, carrying a cup of the same drink you’d enjoyed after your trip to craft services with him yesterday.

You looked up from your laptop where you were working on something for Pearce and scrunched your nose at his expression of sympathy.

“I really did it this time…” You sighed dejectedly, saving your document and closing the lid on the laptop. He set the warm drink in your hands and settled across from you in Pearce’s chair. It was then that you noticed he was in his own clothes, jeans and a light knit black sweater.

“Not broken, though?” He asked hopefully and you shook your head.

“Just a sprain. Thank you. Thank you very much for helping me at my most pathetic.” You looked down, slightly ashamed, in retrospect, at your overly dramatic behaviour.

His warm hand pressed against your left knee and squeezed gently.

“Be kind ta yerself there, cricke’. You were hur’. I’m jus’ glad I saw yer bag…” He smiled gently and you looked up to him slowly.

“I was wondering that…how you knew when to show up. Thank you.” You repeated again.

“Yer verra welcome. So, what are yer orders?” He glanced at your foot and then to your crutches before his eyes returned to yours.

“I’m working from home for the next few days, just came back to get my laptop then I’ll catch a cab. No walking on it at all for three days, then slowly add weight back on it over the next few weeks.” You leaned down to snag your laptop back from where it rested against your chair and packed up your laptop.

“Lemme drive ya again? We know tha way…” he offered hopefully, and you hesitated but found you did not have the strength to argue.

“I’m going to owe you a lot more than a conduit to a reclusive author...” You sighed in defeat, and he shook his head, standing to unplug and reel in your charging cord.

“Consider us even if I can cook yer dinner tonigh’.” He collected your things, sliding your bag over his own shoulder before holding out the crutches for you to help yourself to your feet.

It was awkward but he was patient and made sure you were steady.

“That does not compute.” You finally replied to his offer. “That puts me further in your debt.”

You slowly progressed along the hallway with him, swinging the crutches forward before swinging your left leg forward, alternating between the two as your right foot stayed bent at the knee behind you to keep it off the ground.

“Ah, but you’ve neglecte’ ta include tha coefficien’ where it makes me really happy ta cook fer people.” He countered and you laughed despite your struggle.

“Coefficient, hmmm?” You teased and breathed a sigh of relief to see his car and driver waiting outside the studio. Not much further now.

“ ‘xactly.” He replied firmly and took the crutches from you once you’d sunk down into the backseat. The driver then took the crutches from him, tucking them into the trunk as you carefully swung into the car completely and buckled in.

He slid in beside you and looked to you expectantly before you sighed fondly.

“I really don’t have the wherewithal to deny you, so do your worst.” You smiled wearily and leaned back in the seat.

“Perfect. D’ya need groceries?” He asked as the driver headed off toward Slough.

“No, thankfully I went to the store yesterday. Fully stocked.” You looked to him with a nod before giving the driver your precise address. He parked in the lot in front of your building. As you were working your way out of the car, the two men arranged for Austin to get home later that evening without the driver needing to just wait around for him.

You had never been more grateful for an elevator as you rode quietly up to the fourth floor, leading Austin down the hall to your simple one bedroom. You headed straight for the couch, needing a rest from the crutches, and Austin set your things down beside you before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, propping up your leg as you watched him assess the ingredients before preparing dinner for you. He also found time to deliver a fresh ice pack to ensure you were as comfortable as possible.

The kitchen, dining, and living room were all one open space in the apartment, and your view of him was unimpeded. He seemed confident in the kitchen, his knife skills were top calibre, and in what felt like no time he was presenting you with a bowl of pasta. The enticing aroma of it made your eyes water in gratitude.

“Thank you, Austin, this smells amazing…” You murmured in awe, blinking as he took a seat on the floor in front of the couch with his back propped against the coffee table, cradling his own bowl. “Wait, no I can move…”

He shook his head, looking up at you as he chewed his generous mouthful before swallowing.

“This is fine, cricke’. Eat up.” He took a smaller bite, eyes never leaving your face as you did the same, his lips flickering up into a smile at the happy sigh you emitted.

“So yummy…” You exclaimed softly and barely uttered another word as you ate every last bite, the fact that you had missed lunch only registering in that moment.

He beamed as he took the empty bowl from you.

“There’re two more servins’, I’ll put ‘em in tha fridge fer ya.”

He took the dishes to the kitchen and washed up, leaving things to dry in the drain tray. He came back and took the ice pack off your ankle.

“Don’t wan’ tha’ ta give ya frostbite. Now…” He crouched down in front of you, eyes level with yours. “Anythin’ else ya need afore I leave?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks at his proximity.

“Then may I reques’ somethin’ selfish?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would ya be willin’ ta share yer numbe’? I…Pearce is so helpful, but I really ‘preciate yer input, too.”

Heat splotched down your neck and across your chest, but you managed a nod, pulling out your own phone and switching details with him.

“I will, quite literally, be right here on this couch so text whenever I can be of assistance.” You spoke once you were capable of coherent thought, eager to repay him for all his help today.

“It’ll be strange withoutcha on set…but ya rest up, ‘kay?” He unfolded his body to stand to his full, lanky height and you swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Austin…” You replied earnestly, watching him give a small wave before heading down to meet his driver.

You felt banished. Useless. There was only so much work to do remotely, so when the first text arrived from Austin the next day you practically dropped your phone in your haste to read it. To help him.

– Cloé is asking why Antoine doesn’t speak more fluent French, and I think I have the answer, but would you be able to confirm the reason for me? –

Seeing her name made you frown a little, but you were happy to provide the answer to him.

– Of course! The state of Louisiana removed Cajun French from the school curriculum in 1921, five years before Antoine was born. He understands more than he speaks, due to spending time with his parents and grandparents, but there was no formal Cajun French education for him. Hope that helps. –

His flood of grateful replies made you smile brightly and feel a little more purposeful. Later that afternoon, he informed you that he had written letters to Yvette for the hospital scene in Calais and asked if you would be open to reading them over for him. You happily agreed, at which point he informed you they were handwritten, and he would arrive with them in a few hours. Oh, and he was making dinner again.

Somehow, you managed to shower and change out of your sweats into jeans and a sweater, but your hair was still wet when he knocked on the door. You made your way to answer it on your crutches and opened it carefully.

“Hey there, cricke’.” He grinned and stepped in careful not to kick your crutches as he took his shopping bag to the kitchen counter before turning back to you. “How’s yer day been?” He walked with you to the living room where you settled into the comfy nook you had built on the couch with pillows and a blanket.

“Boring. I felt kind of useless until you came up with a question to amuse me.” You smirked fondly and he chuckled as he undid his jacket, lifting the right side to reach into the inner pocket to pull out a stack of five handwritten letters.

“It was a genuin’ question, but I’m glad it served a secondary purpose. Thank ya verra much fer lookin’ these over fer me. I know…they’ll only be set pieces but…” He held them out to you, and you took them carefully, cradling them between your hands.

“My pleasure I…get the impression it helps with your character development?” You tilted your head curiously and bit your lip as he rewarded you with a brilliant smile.

“ ‘xactly. Cloé won’ be writin’ hers, someone from props will, I guess. But it really does help me ta think like him…I brought ingredients for rice bowls this time, soun’ good?”

“I…are you sure? You worked all day…” You protested hesitantly.

“Completely sure. Thank ya for lettin’ me do this for ya, remin’s me that I’m a fully functional adul’.” He squeezed your shoulder in his lengthy grip before heading over to the kitchen.

You carefully unfolded the letters, smiling as they were written in historically accurate pencil. The pencil was the preferred writing tool for soldiers of Antoine’s financial means. They could be sharpened with a knife, were not affected by the cold, and did not require refills of ink.

Putting them in order, you read through the first one carefully, chewing on your own trusty pencil ruthlessly. It was shockingly good. Not to say that you doubted Austin’s abilities, just that…you could not have written the letter any better yourself and you had created the damn character. You devoured all five of the letters ravenously, vaguely aware of the sounds of him working in the kitchen, humming something to himself. The apartment was starting to smell very good, but you were completely absorbed.

You found your fingers itching before you reached for the laptop, opening up a word processing document to start typing up a reply from Yvette. She would have been too injured to reply until all five letters were received, so she would only have sent one reply. You continually referred back to the letters, wanting to tie it into the sequence. You played around a little with a few words, knowing it would have to be translated, but you wanted to capture the era, as well as Yvette’s feelings, correctly.

His warmth and the scent of cedar behind you soaked into your consciousness. You turned your head to look back at him. He had perched on the arm of the sofa, knee resting against your side as he faced the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“O…obviously, your letters are very good. Might be nice to put her reply in your kit for the later scenes as your unit closes in on Germany.” You bit your lip as it felt terribly personal to let him read it, but you scrolled up and held your breath as he leaned in to read through it. His arm reached around you to scroll down until he’d read the entire thing.

“God ya really get these characters don’cha…” He breathed against your ear, making you shiver slightly, before he sat up.

“I…” You shook your head, at a loss for words. “I’ll get it translated and sent to someone with pretty handwriting.”

“Antoine would put that in his breas’ pocke’…nex’ ta his heart.” He intoned thoughtfully, hand moving to press against his chest over his own heart.

His romanticism might just be the death of you, your own heart thumping loudly in beneath your ribs. You tried to focus on carefully folding up his letters and offered them back to him. He tucked them into his jacket again before standing to serving two rice bowls and returning to sit with you.

“So, when ya come back, day after next, I’ll drive ya.”

“Austin, please, you’ve done so much already. The cab won’t be that much from here…”

“Nah, selfish reasons. I get ta ask ya so many questions when yer ma captive audience.” He grinned and you managed a laugh despite the acrobatics your heart was performing inside your chest.

Was he flirting? Was he working? Lord only knew; you certainly did not. But you could hardly deny him anything at this point.

“Don’t get too excite’, ma call times are murder…” He teased.

“A small price to pay.” You shrugged in reply, digging into your dinner. “Especially because I got to eat your food. Damn you can cook.” You ate happily, savouring every bite.

He watched you for a few moments before starting to eat his own quietly. He didn’t stay late, just long enough to clean up after himself, wishing you a goodnight. He texted you a few more questions the next day before letting you know he’d be picking you up the next morning at six. You were dressed and downstairs, waiting for him. You were determined to be as little an imposition as possible.

The two of you fell into quite a tidy routine over the next two weeks, travelling to and from the studio together, eating the occasional meal together, digging deeper into his character to really capture Antoine’s essence for the film. Your ankle was getting stronger, too. By day eleven, you no longer needed the crutches at all, just patience and your ankle brace.

As the car pulled away from the studio at the end of the second week, Austin was shifting and fidgeting nervously next to you. His long fingers were pulling at one another, front teeth vicious against his lower lip. You took a breath before reaching out to set your hand on his forearm, gently squeezing.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, quiet enough that the driver would not overhear.

He looked to you quickly and exhaled deeply, pausing a moment before he shook his head.

“I…we tried a pre-read o’ tha scene fer nex’ week ‘n’ I’m jus’…nah…”

You swallowed tightly as you knew what scenes were being filmed next week. The first time Yvette and Antoine made love, followed by a montage of their passionate love life.

“Is there anything I can do?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your mind went to some of your more descriptive lines in the book.

His brilliant blue eyes sought yours in the intermittent glow of the streetlights.

“Would ya be comfortable readin’ it through with me? Talkin’ it through with me?” His thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, tugging at it absentmindedly.

All the moisture seemed to evaporate from your mouth in that instant. As though you had swallowed a fistful of sand. Your tongue was not responding to the neurological signals from your brain, and it felt like a thick, dead weight.

The hesitant optimism melted from his face, expression returning to one of anxious dread. He may as well have driven your pencil through your heart, that look hurt so much. You forced a painful cough and squeezed his forearm again.

“Of course. I want to help you.” You rasped out and cleared your throat again. “I was just a little stunned but, yes of course.” You finished with a nod and exhaled in relief as he smiled softly.

“Thank ya so much, cricke’…We can do it in yer office? Neutral territory?” He offered and you swallowed tightly at the image of discussing sex with him in your living room. You nodded rapidly.

“Sounds good…But you should sleep in tomorrow. Like…ten o’clock?”

He chuckled fondly. “Deal…nigh’ cricke’.” He touched your cheek briefly, fingers running along your skin, as the car pulled up at your building.

Despite choosing neutral territory, you were nothing but an anxious wreck the next morning. You changed clothes four times. It was difficult to pick the best I’m-here-to-discuss-sex-with-you-in-a-totally-chill-way outfit. He greeted you in the car with your favourite Starbucks order and the pair of you sipped your beverages in mutual silence as the driver pulled up to the studio. It was still as busy as ever; other scenes being filmed in his absence. You led him up to the office, the two of you settling into the armchairs and opening your scripts.

“So…did you want to start by just…reading it through?” You asked quietly and he nodded quickly. “Full disclosure, I can’t act or read French that well…” You laughed self-deprecatingly and he shook his head.

“It’s gonna be so helpful, thank ya.” He nodded and started reading Antoine’s dialogue.

You replied with Yvette’s, reading aloud the stage directions as well. Every so often he would break out of character to ask questions, which you were happy to share your thoughts on. As always, you were careful to phrase your responses as though they were third-hand opinions rather than direct answers from the author. You may not be able to act, but apparently you were getting quite good at lying.

“Oh cherie ya have no idea what ya do ta me.” He purred from the chair opposite you, and you fumbled with your binder for a moment before supplying Yvette’s response.

“Oui, Antoine, toi aussi.” Your voice was tellingly thick.

You risked a glance at him as he read his next line and clenched your thighs together at the intense look in his notably darker eyes. You quickly dove back into the script, trying to breathe normally as you kept your eyes glued to the page. So close…almost there…The word choices did not help your current situation. You gripped the corners of the binder, hoping the feeling of plastic digging into your palms would give you the strength to make it through this scene.

You were barely mumbling the lines by the end, but somehow you made it through alive. Albeit completely flushed and aroused. You were extremely grateful Austin had suggested neutral territory. Until Cloé knocked on the door.

“Baaaaabe!” She squealed and hustled into the room without waiting for an invitation, plonking down on his lap.

He winced with a grunt, and you could not help but wonder if he too had found himself affected by the last two hours.

“Heya Clo, how’re yer scenes goin’ today?” He smiled to her politely and you immediately felt the sour taste of jealousy in your mouth.

Closing your script, you collected the empty takeout cups and deposited them in the garbage as she chatted idly about what she was filming that day, playing with his hair in what smacked of territoriality.

“So, you’re coming to my party tomorrow afternoon, right? Everybody’s gonna be there.”

There was silence and you looked over, startled to see her looking right at you.

“I … I, sure that sounds fun? What time and where?” You felt like a deer caught in headlights, committing yourself to be run over by this sudden party invite without time to think. She scribbled down her address on a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and held it out to you.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you there! I’m sure Austin does, too.” She giggled and continued petting his hair. “So, Aus, I have a break now, can you come run lines with me? Pretty please?”

He blinked up at her helplessly before looking to you.

“I’ve got lots of work here, don’t worry about me. You should practice it until you feel ready.” You smiled encouragingly even as the sour taste intensified on your tongue.

He smiled at you sweetly before following Cloé out of your office. You puttered for a few hours before texting him that you were catching the shuttle home. He replied with an apology but, despite your dislike of the woman, it was good they were working on the scene.

You did some chores around the house before turning in early, hoping to catch up on some of your sleep deficit from adjusting to Austin’s hours. Your mind had other ideas. Your exhaustion allowed you to fall asleep quickly, but your mind…

The scent of straw is all around you. The stalks of it poking and scratching at the bare skin of your back. Contrasted by the slick, wet feel of Austin’s tongue on your neck. Reaching out you feel the rippling of muscle under the soft, tanned skin of his shoulders as he hovers above you. His golden curls fill your view, a haze of bright white light surrounding the two of you.

And his mouth is on you, between your thighs. Pillowy soft lips are pursed around your clit, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your head is thrashing, his fingers are plunging in and out of you, your arousal squelching with the motion.

Your lips are stretching wide around the girth of his cock as your head bobs along his length, cheeks hollowing, the salty taste and velvety feeling of skin on your tongue. His sweet, desperate moans sounding above you. His fingers cupping your jaw, guiding your mouth.

The rough bite of weathered wood against your palms, your cheek. The ache in your lower abdomen as his deep thrusts nudge the tip of his cock against your cervix. The shudder that runs through you as you clench around him. The bite of his teeth on the soft skin connecting your shoulder to your neck. The splash of warm, explosive release inside you.

…You inhaled sharply, raising your head from where it was pressing face-first into your pillow. You found yourself laying on your stomach, you hand between your legs inside your sleep shorts. The tell-tale spasms of a recent orgasm fluttered low in your belly, slick covering your hand. The realization of what had just happened jolted you completely awake, and you nearly flung yourself out of the bed, yanking at the sheets tangled around your legs.

This was a mistake.

»» ────── ஓ ๑ ✧ ๑ ஓ ────── ««

Read Part Three

Nom De Plume Masterlist

[headstrongblake]

❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞ / bell & o / @thewholecrew

despite being nearly four hours late, pushing her movie plans with her big brother much further into the night than she meant to, octavia still managed to make it to the old apartment building. she shook her head and teased her brother nearly instantly upon entry about how not a single thing in the apartment looked any different than it had before she moved out and into her loft. though oddly enough, it was comforting. after all the things that had changed this year, it was relieving to come home to her brother. to feel at home still as she settled on the couch with a blanket. anything you want to tell me? her brother asked, with that i already know, so you might as well spit it out look, he's gotten her whole life.

emerald hues rolled as she popped a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth, offering her brother a shrug he couldn't see as he put the DVD into the player. "not really, i told you, i was working." octavia said, munching on more popcorn as he settled beside her, his eyes burrowing into her for details. just because he'd rather she find some normal boring job somewhere or only work behind the bar at his nightclub, didn't mean she was hiding her growing business. but, for his own sake, he didn't need to know the finer details. that's what people like nate, and her bestie were for.

"c'mon, it's laaaate, i don't wanna fight with you," octavia playfully whined, nudging her brother with her body as she leaned into him despite his mutter of who's fault that was. "lets just watch..." her sentence trailed off with a large yawn as the back of her hand lifted to cover her mouth, "lemme watch some hunger games before i have to drive across town okaaay?" octavia asked, sitting up straight to shake her body a little in hopes of waking herself up a bit. even though her stake out had run late, she really did want to spend this quality time with bellamy. since she moved, they didn't get nearly enough of it. ❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞

brows lifted a little as octavia looked at her brother, mulling over the idea of crashing on the couch before she nodded and shrugged, "yeah why not, it's not as nice as my couch, but i can manage a night," she teased with a smirk spreading across her lips. after the movie, she could shoot nate a text to let him know she was staying the night with her brother. or, you could sleep in your bed.

"my...what?" octavia asked, turning on the couch to face her brother as she leaned over him to snatch the remote. clearly she heard him wrong. it's been over four months since she moved out. by now, she had expected him to do...something with the space. anything even. "you kept my bed?" she asked, confusion leaking into her features as she paused the movie's intro. i kept everything you left the same, it's still your room. briefly, all octavia could do was stare, overwhelmed by her brother's subtle show of love. there'd been a time she'd done the same thing for him. "oh." she said quietly, her smile softening as she settled against her brother's side, unpausing the movie before them. silence fell between them as the movie played, but eventually, green eyes lifted, watching her big brother with adoration in the dark.

[schmergo]

My informal review of Beauty and the Beast at Olney Theatre in Maryland!

I had to write a casual, rambling review of Beauty and the Beast at Olney Theatre Center for you because that was a fun and memorable theatre experience if there ever was one, and certainly the most maximalist show I've seen since the world shut down in 2020! The production runs through January 1, so there are still plenty of chances to catch it! This production is best known for its inclusive casting of the title characters, and it's so enjoyable in every other possible way, too.

Full disclosure: I love Beauty and the Beast. I've also seen at least 8 different live productions of it, half of them professional. I can be equally overly critical and overly effusive when it comes to this show. It's one of those movies that feels like it's made for theatre (that score!), but translating living household objects, an enchanted castle, and a monstrous but strangely appealing Beast from cartoon format to live action is much easier said than done. Because of that, I've never NOT enjoyed a production of Beauty and the Beast before, but I've also never seen one that felt like they got it perfectly right. (And there's always at least one super distractingly janky costume!) This production was not totally perfect, but it was certainly my favorite mounting of Beauty and the Beast I've seen so far!

I think a lot of girls in my demographic grew up seeing themselves in Belle, but I actually always related more to the Beast. I guess I felt like Belle was always a little too perfect to be especially interesting-- beautiful, kind, elegant, graceful, brave, AND smart?-- and the Beast was the character with the real arc. Despite Belle's big solo in the second act, "A Change in Me," I never felt like Belle changes very much as a character at all, nor does she have anywhere to grow. Jade Jones and director Marcia Milgrom Dodge gave Belle more of a complete journey than I've previously seen. I also appreciated that this production proved there’s no one way a beautiful Princess has to look. Jade Jones is a plus-size, Black, LGBTQ+ performer and she killed it as Belle.

Why do the villagers see Belle as 'odd?' The script implies that it's simply because she... READS. (Gasp!) But in this production, I felt like Belle had a charming, refreshing awkwardness to her in the first half. When she rambles about how much she loves her books, she starts obliviously gushing. When she tries to turn down the ridiculous Gaston, she looks uncomfortable and frozen, unable to clearly communicate with him. And when she's with her eccentric father, Maurice, we see her goofy inner child come out. Oh yes-- and unlike the other women in the village, she wears PANTS!

This slight unconventionality turns out to serve her well in the unfamiliar milieu of the Beast's castle. The Beast, too, does not navigate social norms well. But where Belle's slight awkwardness is adorable, the Beast's lack of social skills is dangerous. But Belle's not afraid of him, and she doesn't even mind when he's rude-- putting his leg up on the table and slurping his soup (heck, she slurps her soup alongside him!)-- as long as he's being respectful to her. When he's not, she calls him out. And when he gushes over the story they're reading together just as much as she does, her eyes light up. That felt very familiar to me. I think some versions of this story feel like, “Belle teaches the Beast how to act normal,” dwelling on finer points of etiquette, but this one felt like, “Two people find someone they can be a little weird with.”

Jade Jones approaches Belle with a commendable playfulness and a groundedness and has the most raw, powerful voice I’ve heard in this role. The song "A Change in Me" has never hit me so hard before. I did feel like some of the impressive vocal gymnastics she displayed detracted a tiny bit from the character's sincerity, but really enjoyed them nonetheless. I'd previously enjoyed Jones as Little Red in Into the Woods at Ford's Theatre, but was even more impressed by her nuanced work here.

Evan Ruggiero made a wonderfully versatile Beast and a fantastic match for Jade Jones' Belle. Their dynamic was a joy to behold-- 'joy' really is the word, because watching the depressed and self-destructive Beast discover a new sense of joy in life was beautiful. I knew he is an acclaimed dancer, but Ruggiero's vocal work shocked me. I don't know how he sustained the Beast's incredibly deep, growly, harsh voice (I wonder if he was speaking through a voice modulator?) when his own natural voice, heard in interviews, has a much lighter timbre.

His singing voice is beautiful, both rich and delicate. I saw a mixed review disparage that he sounds scary when he speaks but sings "like someone from Les Miserables," but that cracked me up-- the role of the Beast on Broadway was originally played by Terrence Mann, indeed "someone from Les Miserables" (the original Broadway Javert). I personally think a Beast with a lovely singing voice isn't incongruous; the songs express his inner feelings with an elegance he cannot convey out loud.

If there's one slight downside to his performance, it's that his animalistic portrayal of the Beast meant he was always hiding his face with his hunched posture in the first act. While his body language ably communicated his character's growth, it meant that those of us in the mezzanine could hardly see his face before his big act one finale song. Then again, this was probably intentional-- we don't really get to know the Beast until Belle does.

I've discovered from the MANY performances of Beauty and the Beast I've seen that I like the Beast's costumes best when they're not attempting to replicate the character's look in the movie or going for extremely elaborate muscle suits and facial prostheses but are more impressionistic. Ruggiero's Beast simply wears a super shabby outfit, a long greasy wig, impressive curling ram's horns on his head, a bit of dark eye makeup, and furry gloves and matching boot. The rest is all his body language and voice.

Ruggiero lost a leg to cancer 10 years ago and now performs with a prosthesis-- in this production, a cool-looking, time-period-appropriate peg leg. (A post on his instagram applauds the skill of the makers of the peg leg: the fit and suction is so good that at one point, Gaston drags him across the stage by it, a gasp-inducing moment and certainly one that shows the extent of his villainy). He uses his prosthesis to creative effect in several scenes, especially when fighting off wolves. He also climbs up and down a super long curvy staircase while belting out high notes with ease, which surprised and impressed me while also making me confront my own ignorant assumption about his ability.

The actor's disability also helps put a different spin on the character's backstory. When we see the young prince at the beginning of the show, he's portrayed as a child and pushed around in a wheelchair by Cogsworth. His servants physically push him anywhere he wants them to, and when they offer him food, drinks, or the enchantress' rose, he brattily throws them to the ground. There's a Colin Craven vibe to the young prince. By portraying the prince as an actual child, we get the sense that he's both spoiled and neglected. The script bears hints of this, telling us the curse has been in effect for 'ten years' (but isn't he almost 21?) and the Beast mentions that he only learned to read "a little" and long ago. Did an illness or accident mean the young prince's formal education or etiquette training was interrupted? Is he babied because of this? Was he shut away from the world because of his disability before he was shut away due to the curse? Where are his royal parents anyway?

This sense of arrested development comes through very well in Ruggiero's portrayal. There is an innocent boyishness to the Beast that comes out in the second act, and his rages seem more like tantrums than genuinely scary. He even wears the tattered remains of his childhood velvet suit. No wonder this poor guy's messed up-- he went through puberty in a Beast's body. When he transforms into a handsome prince at the end, it's a version of himself he's never gotten to see before. While the physical transformation itself isn't anything major visually, he sells it with his character's utter delight. (And yes, he still has a peg leg as the Prince. He spins around on it. It’s neat!) I was so charmed by this version of the Beast/ Prince.

Beauty and the Beast has a third lead role that is not a title character... or, perhaps, is a little of both. That's Gaston, who has a MUCH larger role than almost any other villain I can think of, sharing fairly equal stage time with the Beast and with more to sing. Michael Burrell was an absolute delight to watch as Gaston and was both my husband’s and my favorite part of the show-- which is saying something, because all of the leads were great. He's portrayed less, er, 'rapey?' than many other Gastons I've seen, instead an utterly self-absorbed jock who does hilarious nonstop calisthenics to try to impress Belle in his solo number, "Me." His physical comedy skills are top-notch, his powerful voice rumbles through the score with agility, and he has impeccable timing and chemistry with John Sygar's funny and energetic LeFou.

He doesn't have the looming physical presence you might expect of Gaston, but I liked that for this particular production. Gaston solely defines himself by his peak physical ability. No wonder he is so appallingly ableist toward the Beast (and, in a different sense, Maurice). LeFou plays a sort of coach for him, and the big production number "Gaston" turns into a series of athletic drills that Gaston and LeFou lead. This takes on a more menacing vibe in "The Mob Song" when it seems he was unknowingly training his own personal militia all along.

Despite being extremely funny in the first half of the show, we see the clear moment when Gaston goes fully to the dark side-- it's when Belle slaps him in the face in front of all of the villagers after he offers to release her father if she marries him. We saw him earlier ranting about how being "dismissed, rejected, and publicly humiliated" is more than he can bear, meltdown averted only by LeFou and company cheering him up with a song about how great he is. Now there's no cheerful song to stop him and we see him go past a point of no return into sheer ice-cold villainy. When he's dragged off the stage by wolves after a dirty fight with the Beast-- a new death for the character-- it feels fitting.

It's worth noting that Burrell not only plays Gaston, he also understudies the Beast. He's played both roles before. Now that's duality! Before watching this show, I mentioned that I've seen some disappointing Gastons in past productions. They almost never strike the right balance of humor and villainy. He did it better than any I've ever seen!

The other lead actors in this show were quite enjoyable, too. Bobby Smith (a longtime favorite actor of mine) and Dylan Arredondo were side-splittingly funny and played off each other super well as Lumiere and Cogsworth. Despite their bickering, the two seemed like the best of chums and seemed to be having the time of their lives together. (I wished we could hear both of them sing more-- both have very pleasant voices and Bobby Smith is a talented dancer!)

Their scenes were always highlights, while they drag in some other productions. Like this production's Gaston, Smith didn't come across as inappropriately sexual or gross like Lumiere sometimes does, mostly just goofy. Not all of the silly comic bits blocked into these scenes worked, but enough did to make the audience laugh uproariously. And they gave a lightness to the potentially existential scenes in which the household objects contemplate their fates-- this version of the show felt more warm and light than those I've seen in the past.

Kelli Blackwell had a warm maternal presence as Mrs. Potts (and also played the ghostly figure of Belle's mother in the beginning of the show, too?) and sounded wonderful on the title song. Some of the other numbers seemed a little outside her alto range, though, and I wondered if she may have been losing her voice and had an off-night or if she usually struggled with those parts. I had an understudy for the role of Madame de la Grande Bouche, a bit disappointing at first because she's normally played by another one of my favorite local actors (Tracy Lynn Olivera), but understudy Erica Leigh Hansen sounded absolutely gorgeous on those operatic high notes!

The whole ensemble seemed to be having a blast, interacting with each other in fun and creative ways. One highlight of the show was when the baker was chased offstage during the castle fight by cutlery wielding a giant baguette (a set piece previously used in "Be Our Guest") and screamed, "MARIE! THE BAGUETTE!" The cast had a LOT to do. It's a much smaller ensemble than I'm used to for this show, and many not only doubled as townspeople and household objects, they actually played multiple different household objects in one song.

Ensemble member Connor James Reilly stood out as the Enchantress, dancing gracefully on pointe. I do not know what pronouns Reilly uses, but I have never seen such a tall dancer on pointe before and the effect was cool. As a villager, Reilly appears to be selling puppets of the Beast. That raises an intriguing question: is the Beast a local urban legend? Is he the village's own version of the Bunnyman?

Unfortunately, the choreography in the show seemed a little simplistic and uneven, which is a shame because many of the cast members can DANCE! I would have liked a little more 'oomph!' from the long dance breaks built into this score. Another uneven theatrical element was the costumes. Some of them, like Belle's ballgown (which looks much better in person than in pictures) and the main household objects' baroque costumes, look fantastic. Some work in a simple but effective way, like Gaston and the villager's warm-toned color coding and the Beast's minimalist get-up. But the more minor household objects, which require very quick changes as they switch from costume to costume, have an amateurish and unfinished look to them.

I wrote another long, obsessive review of Creative Cauldron's Beauty and the Beast back in 2019, an even lower-budget production, and noted that despite awesome creative elements, they just had too many people and costumes for the very small performance space. I almost felt the opposite with this one: they sometimes didn't seem to have enough people to fill the stage. In some scenes, the emptiness seems to reinforce the loneliness that the Beast and sometimes Belle feel. In others, it just feels... unfinished. In both productions, the low budget sometimes showed, but so did the heart.

I did very much enjoy the simple set here, though. We're surrounded by the cavernous walls that represent the Beast's castle. In the castle scenes, a big staircase pops out of the wall and cobweb-covered chandeliers fall from the ceiling. (I guess Babette's not a very good feather duster.) In the village scenes, they retreat back into the set. The real crowning glory of the show was their imaginative take on the rose: a stained glass rose WINDOW. This worked beautifully-- because after all, how the heck is an audience going to be able to see a single rose petal fall from the mezzanine? The rose window lost panes as the show went on, like an ominously ticking countdown.

Although it didn't feel as big as a Broadway production, this show is imbued with the pure magic of theatre. Audiences young and old were clearly enjoying every minute while I was there. You will leave it feeling enchanted, invigorated, and maybe even empowered.

I mentioned before that I've always related more to the Beast than Belle. Heck, I even dressed up as a woman version of the Beast for AwesomeCon several years ago and posed for photos with every Belle I found. This was the first time I found myself putting myself in Belle's shoes, too. In this production, I felt like anyone can walk away feeling like they can be Belle, they can be the Beast, they can be anyone. Just don't be Gaston. That guy's a doofus. This tale as old as time has taken on new life and feels more universal and more magical than ever!

[babsvibes]

Maybe a perspective flip from Logan’s perspective in the “His eyes followed the path, spending an inordinate amount of time at her navel…” section of already medjool dating

😭 so sorry for taking forever on this one!! Yes, and I’ll combine it with an ask I received from the lovely @percysburgers, requesting a scene from AMD as well! Even though the original excerpt is from the spicy chapter, I’ll keep it PG-13. As always, they’re in their twenties/thirties.

Already Medjool Dating - Louise is the last person to find out she’s already dating Logan.

If he was another man, he would say he was lucky.

Sitting back in his bed, he looked at this beautiful woman, who trusted him enough to let him see all of her. They were having fun, sexy fun even, and he knew too many people that would kill for an opportunity like this.

But Logan had waited and worked and suffered a very long, torturous time for this moment, so he considered it only his just deserts. (Never mind the dopey smile that he had to cough away every time he remembered they were really, actually together.)

After a nod from Louise, he let his fingers skirt across her soft skin and let his mind drift to the past. He traced her bellybutton and thought of food, which had started this all.

When he first reentered her family’s restaurant, he expected to be a jerk and have a laugh about how everything in the old joint was exactly the same: same layout, same menu, and same pun board despite nearly two decades having past since he last visited.

However, his waitress was decidedly not the same.

Oh sure, she was still a complete pain in his ass, immediately trying to run him out as soon as he sat down, devolving until she was challenging him on whether he knew the difference between a bread and butter pickle and a dill pickle (Why? He couldn’t remember. His answer? Probably the dill). But this Louise was another ballgame, with an even finer point to her sharp wit and a wider arsenal to combat him. And also the boobs. He did notice the boobs.

He had lit up while they were arguing, involuntarily but still excited all the same. No one liked to have fun like this anymore. Arguing over things that didn’t really matter just because. Everyone he knew found the game to be a waste of time, but not her. She was going to win, and he did love a challenge.

Little did he know what a damn challenge she would be.

As he skimmed his way down and over her hips, he moved slower, sure to commit the curves to memory just right.

Logan didn’t like to brag (yes he did) about his… prowess when it came to dating, but he never wanted for long. He was attractive, a smooth-talker, and he loved cheesy movies. A winning combination, some might say. Did the relationships last more than a month after they found out he could be kind of an egotistical ass? No, not really. But the getting there part? That had never been an issue.

Well, here was someone that already knew he was an ass, but she… kept talking to him. When he came for another burger, she beelined to his table just to slam down proof that she was right in their previous argument. When Bob came by to tell her she could take a break, she waved her dad off to keep talking in the booth. And when they ran out of subjects to tease each other about, they talked about things they agreed on and liked even. Pretty good signs, right?

Wrong. Turns out, Louise was a skilled debater, a genius strategist, and also a complete and utter moron. Specifically with anything romance related but he had caught her once trying to pet a dog through a window, so he couldn’t fully rule out other forms of moronic behavior.

He had assumed they both knew what they were building towards, especially with how often they cropped up in each other’s lives. “There’s this restaurant I want to try, but they don’t have single tables.” Boom, he was there. “I have to pick up a shelf from Gregslist, but I got weird vibes from the seller.” Boom, she was there. “I want to go to a concert, but none of my friends know the band.” Boom, they were there. Harmless at first but definitely foundational.

Then a stupid gimmick restaurant had opened up, Hide and Leek, that only served soup. No doubt the place would shut down in a few months or so, so they had to jump on it. It was fancier than either of them expected, candles, string music, multiple tiny courses… of soup. Thankfully, they dressed semi-appropriately and were let in. He remembered choking on his own tongue at the sight of her, looking exactly the same but wearing a slightly lower cut blouse.

His eyes moved back up, his hands following suit, cupping her boobs but not quite playing with them. He could do that later. Right now, he was on a mission. He thought back again to the soup place.

Between the ambience of the restaurant and the lure of his companion, the words felt pulled from his throat.

“I like doing this with you,” Logan said, spooning a bite of vegetable broth—the appetizer soup before the entrée soup—to distract him from getting in his own head. “We should just make it official. Less questions that way.”

She snorted and said why not. His heart jumped into his throat, but he stuck his spoon in his mouth to keep from saying something stupid. Neither mentioned it again.

In hindsight, probably not one of their better moments of communication.

Resisting a sigh, Logan traced up along her collarbone then down each of her arms, a little faster now.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t face facts that their relationship had… an unconventional beginning, but it did sting a little to remember when it finally clicked that he had been dating her but she was not dating him. At least not intentionally. It hurt his pride, and pride was a powerful thing.

Pride almost drove him, if only for a second, to cut himself off from her altogether.

The invitation to his cousin’s wedding put a pause on that idea. He refused to sit quietly at the same table as his mother and listen to her make snide comments all night. He refused. Maybe he wouldn’t have a date or a partner, but if Louise was there then he at least had an ally. A friend. God, she had been amazing. Every remark from Cynthia sent their way was swiftly returned, every nauseating wedding tradition was made tolerable by her jokes, and he remembered gazing at Louise in awe.

“This caviar covered veal simply doesn’t have enough baby animal death to satiate my need,” Louise said, pitching her voice to sound like his mother. “How will I ever achieve eternal youth if I can’t steal it away from everything around me?”

He laughed, glancing back at Cynthia having a harsh word with the caterers but too far away to hear what they actually said. She felt his eyes it seemed, her head snapping to him. He quieted as she looked down her nose at him, then Louise, then him again. His shoulders slumped.

A slight thump hit his forearm on the table, and he turned back to Louise, whose wrist still rested on his arm, fist clenched like she might start a fight.

“Are you letting her get to you?” She asked in what seemed like genuine concern. His mouth opened but no words came out. Still, she waited for him to give her an answer. Because she cared. About him. She really did. He shook his head.

Letting her hand fall off him, Logan looked at her wrist and wished nothing more than to put it back, to kiss it and let her know he was fine, to pull her to the dance floor so they could both embarrass themselves.

“It’s all good,” he offered simply. “Want to keep making fun of people together?”

While grazing that same wrist with his thumb, studying the veins, it hit him how alive he felt even while wading through dreamlike memories. He supposed the rush might have come from realizing that all their choices—the fumbled questions and the torturous patience—still led here. It could also have something to do with them both being naked.

With that, he finished observing her. Logan was ready for this memory to join all the others. A compilation of nonsense, of fun, and of affection that he couldn’t help but break the tension of by tickling her until she was slapping his hands away.

AMD Chapter 3:

The tips of his fingers traced over the entirety of her body, slowing down where he thought she might still be sensitive. His eyes followed the path, spending an inordinate amount of time at her navel, her breasts, and one of her wrists. Louise swore that he was memorizing her.

[kxllerblond]

Lance Josson -— The obnoxious older brother figure who is also an obnoxious vampire. ( PINTEREST )

Lance, like many older immortals, is a being with a plethora of his origin lost to the sands of time-—including his turning and most of his life before. Be it truth or lie, he will be incessant on the fact he simply does not recall that stage in his life at this point.

His earliest bit of life he will bother to recall is serving as a knight for some royal court for some king that hardly did enough to warrant any real spot in his memory. What he does recall in detail though is serving alongside some bastard with a messy head of dark curls and a too-serious attitude who ended up being part of some elaborate Kill The King plot orchestrated by some thieves guild at the time. While interesting enough to shake him from his already settling stupor of apathy most immortals gradually would gain, it annoyed him enough to settle into his memory and he grew to remember this fellow knight simply due to his distaste for him. A mild grudge for a man long dead, funny that.

Lance carried on in life through the years hopping from role to role and position to position, changing everything but the first name he carried with him everywhere he went. While he had plenty of experience in the lower rungs of society, he grew to enjoy the finer things in life and the upper echelon and would eventually take an interest in business and economical pursuits to ensure he never left it.

This would eventually lead him to cross paths with one Clark Thompson. He was an annoying little thing, Lance had thought at first. Young but with the demeanor of a jaded old man, a composure that was anything BUT if one merely looked hard enough. In a way, perhaps, he had reminded the vampire of a version of himself that had mostly faded from his recollection or perhaps he had just been bored enough to convince himself they were similar in some way. Whatever the case may have been, Lance continued to cross paths with the man-—unintentionally at times, intentionally at others.

The two grew to have a rivalry of such as was common in their sphere and this eventually gave way to something close but not quite a friendship. Between their banter and dedication to vexing one another, the dynamic can only be described as brotherly at this point.

General personality wise, Lance is if Clark could get his shit together. He's relaxed, he's confident and it's no show or defense mechanism. His humor is very dry and he's very committed to his sarcasm. His faults are his bouts of cynicism and his overall lackadaisical nature. While he is also a bored immortal like Clark, he doesn't feel that ITCH to fix it and more or less casually strolls through life simply following whatever pursuit catches his fancy. He's more mature and put together than Clark is is certainly the one to roll his eyes and tell the cambion he's overreacting. Despite his detached attitude and Clark's obnoxious one, the two do seem to genuinely care for one another.

Other important/random bits -—

🍷 He shifts aliases every few decades, etc, but he always keeps his first name. His current last name in use is Dumont and he is a very wealthy CEO of a handful of wine companies.

🍷 Obnoxious British accent because why not.

🍷 Even though he has a very social and party guy sort of personality, he's actually not that super into people and is more introverted at heart.

🍷 He absolutely delights in bad vampire movies and fiction.

🍷 Super stylish like Clark. Put them in a room together and heads will turn 100%.

🍷 He actually really likes animals and will often have pets. He's had everything from crows to skunks to rats to ferrets to just a cat or two.

🍷 He is big gay, big homosexual. The stories he could tell you about how gay medieval knighthood was too, phew boy.

🍷 Where Clark is all flat and no emotion, Lance is very expressive. He rolls his eyes, scoffs, whistles, etc. If he thinks you're an idiot, you're going to know before he even says anything. He is a Mean Girl and he will let you know it.

🍷 He likes to collect things! Usually this is weird and occult shit but he also has a weird little habit of being a completionism of, idk, Beanie Babies or Squishmallows. He'll complete a collection and then just sell it all at once and find something else. He's also the type to give you a cool rock and say it reminded him of you.

🍷 He's at least 700+ but his actual age is pretty unknown.

🍷 He's one of those quirky vampires that can go out in the sun but not for long and not without looking like a goth baddie at the beach. He avoids it when he can.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 56 THEON V (pages 723-732)

Theon experiences nightmares as things quietly spiral out of control, Asha arrives at Winterfell for all of five seconds and is not much help at all, and 'Reek' leaves with a promise to return with an army.

-

- great wolves the size of horses with the heads of small children. ... They're dead, dead, I saw them killed, he tried to shout, I saw their heads dipped in tar, -

Nice, very subtle, you'd be likely to dismiss it if you didn't already know, but he doesn't identify them as Bran and Rickon, just "small children" and "them." But because the news ravens said he killed Bran and Rickon, we assume it must mean them. A nice, quiet bit of trickery, though it does provide precedence for movie rules: if it didn't happen on screen, it didn't happen. (And sometimes even if it does happen on screen, it still didn't happen.)

Last night he had dreamt himself back in the mill again, on his knees dressing the dead.

mmm, and there's the second (hindsight) flag after "heads dipped in tar" because why would he be doing that? yeah, there's a possibility it was just a nightmare, but why would his nightmare include dressing the dead? Why would the boys need their pants put back on but for deception, or the kind of thing Theon isn't letting his men get away with?

Last of all he donned his crown, a band of cold iron slim as a finger, set with heavy chunks of black diamond and nuggets of gold. It was misshapen and ugly, but there was no help for that. Mikken lay buried in the lichyard, and the new smith was capable of little more than nails and horseshoes. Theon consoled himself with the reminder that it was only a prince's crown. He would have something finer when he was crowned king.

oh, buddy. No.

Probably reading too much into it, but black diamonds were in Joffrey's crown too. Robb's has nine iron spikes, though I'm guessing it's also/only supposed to be because his people are the ironmen. Renly's crown is gold... was gold. All three things that make up his crown appear in other crowns for the other kings, but Theon's is misshapen, a result of his own efforts spiraling out of control. (His men killing Mikken because he refused to submit to Theon's "surprise betrayal.") Theon himself considers the crown a temporary one, and knowing what we know about how this plays out, it just feels like a bit of a metaphor for his situation and upcoming plot beats. What he has is a shoddy imitation of what he wants, but it's also something he won't be keeping.

... Ha, vengeance one man at a time. ... Oh Theon, that was poorly executed, in every sense of the phrase.

Also is it just me, or- no, no, that's a little too conspiracy. or is it? so my brain is currently running three possibilities for the actual killer: 1: the people of Winterfell slowly fighting back and eliminating Theon's people one by one as they can (possibly Osha coming out of the crypts) 2: Ramsay did it to sow discord and paranoia 3: "The ironborn can't keep secrets, they had to die, and someone had to take the blame for it." Theon killed his own people for reasons (so they wouldn't tell anyone the truth about the boys)

coupled with the earlier comment about one of the 'mystery murders' from Theon 'at least he's not haunting me' in the middle of a string o guilt ghosts... three's looking really plausible actually. It only sounds tinfoil until you stop and think.

I should never have come to the hall, he realized belatedly. I should have summoned her to me.

Ahhh, poor Theon, he just wants to be in charge and adored and told he's doing a great job, but he's just not cut out to be a CEO. He has his own strengths, but this? not one of them.

"When has a maid ever understood a man's need for revenge?"

... Theon. Perhaps consider yourself lucky you aren't going to be standing in a room with a Stark woman any time soon. Trust me, there are plenty of maids who do a damn good revenge.

also, ngl: it took a second to click that Rodrik and Maron were the names of his dead brothers. I read Rodrik and my brain immediately went to Rodrik Cassel.

... gasp. Asha! That was rude... but also true, even Theon knows his crown is ugly.

"Gone hase she?" Reek was at his elbow. (...) He could not think of anyone he wanted to see less. It made him uneasy to see the man walking around breathing, with what he knew. I should have had him killed after he did the others, he reflected, but the notion made him nervous.

Ahhhh, so it was a blend of 2 & 3, Ramsay did it, but it was at Theon's request to cover up the subterfuge with the boys.

I'mma take the win on that one.

... Theon... *raises the steel chair to smack Theon for selling a rape victim to a new rapist but bypasses Theon to bludgeon the sadistic torture rapist to death instead* you live only because you didn't think it would be a transaction completed, or did you Theon, either way you remain on thin ice for now...

And the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

"Working through stuff trauma dream" or "vision" = 🥛 oooohhh, been ages since we took a drink for that.

..."by the time he was finished she was sobbing" *smacks Theon unconscious with the steel chair*

Urgh, Theon is frustrating!!!! I know he can be a better person, but his treatment of women and smallfolk is just. AARRGGHHHH!!! I'mma hit him again! See if I don't!

Theon's regret for not going with Asha feels like it's a bigger than it is. and by that I mean it feels like it's more than just "he regrets not going," more like, part of him understands that by choosing to stay he's losing himself, his Greyjoy heritage, that part of him that belongs on the sea, he's chosen to stay and he's never going to get back what he's incidentally spurned doing so. Because his whole thing has been about the dichotomy of his first and second decade of life, living on Pyke vs living in Winterfell and the struggle between the two versions of him that created.

aaaand ending the chapter with the internal monologue confession (ish) of the truth about the dead boys.

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

Since you all made a mockery of last week’s theme, we’ve decided that there will be no theme.

Aries 

According to “The Cube Rule of Food”, A Sandwich is defined as having independent structural cabs on opposing sides to the filling; for instance a hamburger. HOWEVER a Club Sandwich, which is a double-decker BLT with poultry and an additional slab of bread in the middle, is correctly defined as… “Cake”. Have fun eating your BLT Cake this week.  

Taurus 

Start the countdown and buy your supplies now. It’s less than 250 days until Halloween and you need to make a splash this year. Plan on throwing a party, themed around Historical Figures - and you’ll be Amelia Earhart…. And when your guests arrive, you be in Hawaii.

Gemini  

Your capacity to remember commercial jingles from the 70’s is only as impressive with how localized those same commercials are. Nobody knows what the Milford Plaza is, or where Puppy City is, or what discounts on slacks are available at M&K. Turn all that knowledge into a trivia game! 

Cancer Moon-Child 

Yes, you can play a flight sim, or space sim, or racing sim with a mouse and keyboard, but they’re all more fun with a dedicated controller. But for you freaks driving Train Sims… those dedicated controllers look like something out of a Minuteman Missile Silo. Y’all are FREAKS!   

Leo 

Look up into the night sky. Somewhere, about 200 km over your head at over 27,000 kph, there’s a hunk of metal that, upon impact, would turn you into a finer mist than DOOM’s BFG 9000 could ever hope to accomplish. The next time you start feeling romantic, just remember it’s up there, waiting patiently while traveling three times faster than any bullet on Earth… just waiting for you to get into space so it can bite you. 

Virgo 

Have you watched “Smokey and the Bandit”? You better not watch Burt Reynolds in that movie because he just does NOT know how to operate a CB Radio Microphone. Ok, Ok, so. Just watch how he talks into it - he grips the mic switch and Never.. Lets… Go. CB’s Don’t Work That Way! Jerry shoulda taught you better!

Libra 

“Loop-DUJH, hohm-MLEEJ, Loo-TEHB, Garg-HMEH!” If you’d taken up learning Klingon like we told you to LAST week, you’d be laughing right now. You uncultured “Peh-TAHQ”!

Scorpio 

Where did we go wrong with you, Aquarius? We’ve tried for months, seriously months, to be nicer to you. We bent the rules of the cosmos and worked on making you feel more included and supported and what d… OH! Sorry, Scorpio. Mistook you for Aquarius there. Forget about it. You just… go get an ophthalmological examination scheduled this week.

Sagittarius 

Lemme screw you all up. The original USS Enterprise on Star Trek should have looked more like the Reliant from The Wrath of Khan. The only reason it looked the way it did was because Walt Jeffries had the design upside-down across the table to Gene Roddenberry and he approved it that way. So turn your best work upside-down and someone else will stamp their approval on it.

Capricorn 

There is a company that sells pillows with specialized photo printing on them. You know what the hottest seller is? A picture of a Samsung Galaxy Note 7. It’s the perfect puffy size and shape. Why couldn’t you come up with something that fun to sell? Or maybe you can. So the same thing, only… make it self-heating for the winter months. And add a Bluetooth Speaker in it.

Aquarius 

Yeeaahhh. Sorry about the mix up there. Hey, look. We’re still in your star sign, so-o-o-o… eeeeyeeeaaahhhh. (*Long Exhale*)” Look, we all know how this is gunna end. Neither one of us is going to budge on this ‘Scope until the heat death of the Universe, so. Let’s just agree not to get into each other's way down the stairs. OK?

Pisces  

Here’s the naughty one that was held over from last week. Buy a container of K-Y Jelly, find the consumer helpline phone number on it and give a call. Let the person know that you are impressed with the spreadability of the product, but dissatisfied with the flavor, requesting information on any berry-flavoured versions. Just make sure you ONLY do this on April 1st! 

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

[critical-chris]

Mouse Hunt (1997)

That's right, folks. Today we're talking Mouse Hunt.

I know what you're thinking. Why? When I've spent most of my reviews discussing recently released or relevant films, why would I suddenly take the time to watch and write about a forgotten 1997 comedy vehicle driven by Nathan Lane and Lee Evans?

Dollar, dollar bills ya'll. This is my first ever commissioned review, and the sick individual willing to cough up some cheese for Critical Chris had to hear my thoughts about Mouse Hunt. What an advertisement for my services.

I had never seen Mouse Hunt as a kid and frankly had never heard of the movie until college, when a friend of mine insisted that we take time out of our busy drinking hours to watch one of his beloved childhood movies. The same friend who spent prime weekend days clicking away at League of Legends, or whatever that stupid World of Warcraft ripoff is called, on his laptop at our kitchen counter. Like smart, intoxicated adults, we declined every time. Instead, we focused on finer films like Anchorman and Katy Perry: Part of Me. You know, classics.

I would classify myself as a Nathan Lane fan, but in the sense that what I've seen of his I have enjoyed and not that I've seen all of his movies. I loved him in The Birdcage, found him to be one of the only good parts of The Producers, fondly reminisce on the life he brought to Timon in The Lion King, and liked a few of his bit parts here and there. Lee Evans, on the other hand, I truly only remember from There's Something About Mary, but enjoyed his performance quite a bit in that movie.

For context on my state of mind going into this movie, I had just watched Aftersun for my upcoming blog on Oscar nominations and predictions, and was still wiping the remainder of the tears I cried at the ending when I decided I needed a pick-me-up. If you've seen Aftersun, and you should, you can understand that mentally I was in a very depressed space once the credits rolled. That movie kicks you in the gut when you least expect it. What better way to pull an emotional 180 than chase that film with a battle of wits between a couple bumbling buffoons and a rodent.

The setup for Mouse Hunt is simple enough: Two rather distant brothers reunite when their father, the proprietor of a string manufacturing company (because that's common), dies and leaves them not only the company but an aging and decrepit mansion. Oh, and he left them a piece of string. Nathan Lane plays a stubborn, indifferent renowned chef uninterested in his father's legacy unless it comes with a payout. Lee Evans plays a simple unemployed man with more of an emotional connection to his father who has recently been dumped by his controlling wife. Lane only desires to sell his father's company, while Evans sees an opportunity to continue the family business.

Both brothers are shocked to learn their father owned a mansion that is now passed down to them, and even more astonished that it ends up being the work of a historically renowned architect. The brothers cannot believe their luck as several magnates descend upon them offering fat checks and millions of dollar, dollar bills ya'll. There's just one issue, the house is occupied by a sneaky, relentless mouse. Oh, did the title give that part away?

There were some really brutal uses of outdated CGI effects through the film that reminds you the quality of movie you are watching. The setup of Nathan Lane inadvertently serving the overweight mayor a lavish meal with a cockroach inside, which had been hiding out in Lane's father's cigar box, was decent enough, but the cockroach itself looks like something made for Jaws 3D or a clay-mation project for film school.

However, I found Mouse Hunt to be funnier and better made than it had any business being. The opening joke of Nathan Lane criticizing his brother for not owning a black suit to wear to his father's funeral, and the subsequent gag of dropping the casket and sending their pops' corpse flying into a manhole, set the tone for the film. There were a handful of funny, well-executed gags and some good back and forth ridicule volleyed between Lane and Evans.

The joke of Lane and Evans rigging an insane number of mousetraps and accidentally trapping themselves in the same room hints at the gag to follow, and the mouse sending a cherry flying to set off every trap on the brothers is another great moment.

The scene where Evans is firing a nail gun into the walls in an attempt to kill the mouse in his territory, and seeing the grand interior destruction and mouse dodging the seemingly massive metal spikes, was fantastic. It not only has you sympathizing with the mouse, but gives some great disaster movie-esque effects. The same can be said towards the end of the film when Lane attempts to 'flush' the mouse out during their mansion auction by stuffing a running hose into one of the mouse's holes in the wall.

I had a funny feeling that we may have a surprise cameo in this move as well, and when CHRISTOPHER WALKEN enters this thing as a crackpot exterminator with an assortment of gadgets, it sent me over the moon. Walken is cranking up his schtick to an eleven, and has a funny moment when analyzing mouse droppings as he subsequently eats one. He, of course, is outsmarted by the mouse as well, but I loved his addition to the movie.

The other side characters are fine. Evans' wife, portrayed by Vicki Lewis, plays her part okay, leaving him at his lowest only to come back into the fray once she hears of his potential payout from the mansion, only to leave again when the mansion crumbles to dust. Maury Chaykin plays an eccentric millionaire obsessed with the famed architect offering absurd checks to Lane who dismisses him in favor of an auction to drive up their earnings. Everyone else is in the movie just for moments or are forgettable.

The ending was fairly cheesy (pun intended) as well. After the mansion crumbles and the brothers are seemingly left with nothing, they enlist the help of the mouse to convert their father's string factory into a string cheese factory. I suppose they had to come up with some happy ending, but I thought it was kind of a cop out to go with a play on string cheese. However, I probably couldn't think of anything better in 5 minutes, which I assume is how long the writer spent drafting the closing scene.

I don't want to praise the movie too much because, at the end of the day, it is a goofball comedy that is far from a classic. The laughs and gags provided do make it a much better comedy than you would expect by the cover photo and title, but don't go in expecting to find your new favorite laugh riot. Fans of Nathan Lane, however, should be pleasantly surprised.

In conclusion, thank you to my first ever paying fan for sprinkling a handful of singles into my bank account so I could take 90 minutes out of my evening to sit back, turn off my brain, and indulge in this comedy. I'd also like to mention that I was correct for all those years in college and beyond, and this was not a classic movie we were dismissing in favor of watching other movies or drinking our nights away in its place.

Mouse Hunt - 6.3/10

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: Never Cross a Highlander by Lisa Rayne

4/5. Releases 12/27/2022.

Gird your fucking loins, because this is a Highlander Highlander novel.

Kallum MacNeill (otherwise known as Dubh Mahoun/the Black Devil) is a badass. There is no finer way to put this is. He kicks ass, he takes names, and he is frankly so intimidating that everyone else is essentially looking the other way as he frees enslaved people across Scotland. He is connected, he is powerful, and he knows what he's about.

So when he sees Ailsa Connery at Stirling Castle, clearly in need of his help, he does the natural thing and kidnaps her. The issue here is that Ailsa, while definitely in trouble, did not necessarily want to be kidnapped, and has a much more complex background than Kallum initially assumed. And she is in fact heading in the opposite direction from him. But he can't let!!! A lass!!! Travel alone!!! OBVIOUSLY!!! So what was a good kidnapping turns into a roadtrip between two people who get on each other's nerves, while also wanting very desperately to get her under him (or vice versa, depending on the moment).

First off, disclaimer--I'm white, and I can't speak to the effectiveness of the rep in this book. This is my first Lisa Rayne book, and I don't plan on it being my last. To say that this gives a totally different perspective on Highland romances would be an understatement. It's all old world, it's all Scottish, and it's also Black. Both leads are Black (as a note, Ailsa does have a white father) and this isn't something that's just peppered into the story to be a little garnish or to make the world seem more diverse. Kallum and Ailsa's Blackness is key to their characters, their backstories, and their motivations. It's certainly not all they talk about or the only reason why they relate to each other, but it's obviously something that they can connect over, in, again, old world Scotland, in a way that they can't with most people.

At the same time, there are things that I won't give away that up-end what I think some will expect of this book. Kallum and Ailsa are not stereotypes. They are not here to just suffer. This book does not skirt over the racism they face at all, but it also gives them agency and power and revels in it.

So this book is doing the work on that level... while also giving you kind of old school Scottish adventure romance. There is much lass-ing. There is a lot of brawn. There is much och, much aye, and there is a lot of like, "oh we are traveling together, must get very close to one another now". There is a moment I mentioned earlier on the blog where Ailsa hits this man's dick so hard that he literally can't pee right for a while, and yet when he sees her eyeing said dick later is STILL GETTING IT UP. Now that's a hero. That's what I want out of an och aye book.

Things I Liked:

--Very romantic in a way that I feel like we don't see as much of anymore? Not just romantic in terms of kissing and tension, but also like... the romance of adventure. The romance of being under threat and finding love and humor and fun while up against pretty steep odds.

--If you're into the kind of dynamic where a big man is convincing himself he's the boss while actually she's the boss, you will enjoy this. At points, I was mildly reminded of Key and Peele's "MEEGAN (you forgot your jacket tho!!!)" sketches, and I won't even lie to y'all... That shit is an archetype, and it's one I enjoy so much, and I do love to see it.

--There is a scene... under a waterfall... And it felt so like, 90s romantic historical movie, so like, First Knight (which I... also mentioned recently on the blog, the most play First Knight has been getting in forever probably), and so sensual. And I just appreciated that Lisa Rayne went "this is happening in a fucking waterfall" because why the fuck not.

Things I Wasn't As Sure About:

--This is really a minor thing, but the language can get a bit euphemistic at times, and as much as I'm not calling that inaccurate (I genuinely don't know for this era)... At points I could've used a little more explicit language. But that's honestly personal preference, and the euphemisms did make it feel more old school, which I appreciate.

--It does take a little while to get the pace up, at least for me as a reader. So do hang in there! Once this one gets going, it gets GOING.

Trigger warnings for enslavement, human trafficking, racism, and discussions of all the above, as well as threat of sexual assault. I'm not going to call this one heavy for me to read, but of course your mileage may vary, and I advise taking that into account before you read. To me, this book balanced the adventure and romance with the serious subject matter very well, but it's not going to work that way for everyone--and again, I can hardly be the judge there.

One thing I do advise, though--read the author's notes at the end. Lisa Rayne has done her research, and the insights there are great.

If you're looking for Scotland and a great 90s vibe, I think you could find your match here. And truly, seriously--more of this, less "give me points for casting a person of color in this period piece while centering the white characters anyway" content.

Thanks to Netgalley and Entangled for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!