#women of noise fest

[womenofnoise]

WOMEN OF NOISE FEST

CHATTANOOGA, TN

SEPTEMBER 20TH - 21ST

8 PM BOTH DAYS

NO COVER, BUT DONATIONS HIGHLY NEEDED FOR TRAVELLING ARTISTS

LINEUP IS FINAL. NO OTHER ACTS WILL BE ADDED

DM FOR MORE DETAILS

POSTER BY @kaltsektion

[allurefix]

FAN OF A FAN - 3k+

18+ 𝙈𝘿𝙉𝙄 | 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘮, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱, 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨) , 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘭𝘦𝘸𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘴.

The packed Javits convention center was rumbling with the sounds of noise, but the thumping in Bree's chest was probably louder. Her heartbeat drowned out everything, including the conversation those around her were having while they stood waiting.

Bree didn't do events with large gatherings because it triggered her anxiety. Experiencing Fanatics Fest was especially overwhelming, as she was by herself. Bree was definitely out of her comfort zone, but it was worth it because she'd be meeting her fav wrestler and crush Jey Uso.

Currently she and surrounding fans had been waiting for about an hour, as the Fest was unorganized. The times for photo-ops were either wrong or delayed, leaving everyone confused. Not to mention there were no seating areas, so Brees feet were aching from having to stand.

To lessen her uneasiness, she talked with her friends in a groupchat. Updating them on the situation and how she was feeling, getting support and jokes in return.

Finally after what felt like forever, fans were directed to Jey's line. And with the line moving fast, Bree's heart-rate increased as she neared the Samoan wrestler. The small breaths she inhaled and exhaled weren't helping stabilize her jittery nerves.

She glanced down at her hands, one holding her phone and the other holding a handmade card. Jey loves waffle house, so she included a $25 gift card, along with a heartfelt note. Now what was hidden behind the gift card, was a piece of paper with her number and name. A sneaky yet bold attempt at shooting her shot.

Four girls were in front of Bree, and she could see that the interactions were short, barely any time to make an impact. Hopefully she could make hers in another way.

She was next in line, watching as a fan got a pic before walking off. Then it was her turn, and with a whirlwind of emotions she walked over to him with the cutest smile.

"Hiii, h-happy early birthday" she beamed, handing him the card as he grinned "for me? Thank you baby."

Her brain short-circuited.

Baby?

The way it rolled off his tongue in that deep voice, almost made her collapse. Somehow she maintained her composure, and they shared a side hug before the picture was taken. She inhaled his scent, nearly fainting at the masculine cologne that flooded her nostrils. They pulled away as he said one last thing "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

In a flash she was ushered away as she looked back to see him engaging with another fan. She covered her mouth, voice muffled through her hand "what the fuckkk." Taking a deep breath after.

She ended up finding the womens restroom to collect herself, entering the last stall as she then texted her chat. Simultaneously, she ordered a lyft, needing to get back to her apartment and off her feet immediately.

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Later on, Jey had gotten nicely settled in his hotel room after an eventful day. Seeing all the love and support from fans made his heart swell. He felt great appreciation for everyone that showed up, let alone gifting bracelets, birthday cards, and waffle house gift cards. One of the cards in particular, contained a phone number belonging to Bree.

His brain racked on which fan that was, as there were so many. Too many faces to try and decipher, or narrow down. So as he lay in bed he decided to just hit up the number and see.

Jey: This Bree?

###-###-####: Yea..who's this?

Jey: It's Jey

Bree: Wait really? srry can u send proof?

Bree: Just making sure

Jey: Gotchu

He recorded a quick vid of him in bed and sent it to her. She couldn't believe her eyes, it was definitely Jey Uso texting her.

Bree: Omgggg

Bree: I didn't think you'd use my number😭😭

Jey: You gave it to me for a reason lol

Jey: Send a pic and refresh my memory

Bree: [pic attached]

"Damn," Jey cursed to himself, instantly recalling that pretty face.

Jey: I remember you. What's yo age?

Bree: 21

Jey: Oh so you just got a babyface lol

Bree: Yeah I get that a lot😩

Jey: You pretty doe

Bree: Aww thanks🥰🥰

Jey: Whachu up to?

Bree: In bed, bored😔

Jey: Me too. You live here?

Bree: Yep! In harlem

Jey: I'm at the Hampton Inn

Jey: You tryna keep me company?

Bree was having a mini meltdown on her bed as she kicked her feet and squealed at the invite.

Bree: Oh? 😳 I'm down!

Jey: Bet. Lemme kno when you here, I'll come down to the lobby.

Oh hell yes she thought, while quickly ordering a lyft to the hotel.

Excited wasn't even the word as she looked over herself in her tall mirror. She was wearing a pink pj lounge set, choosing to cover up with an oversized hoodie. She then slipped her feet into her slides, grabbing her keys and phone before heading out.

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

Bree couldn't fathom sharing a bed with her fav wrestler, but here she was sitting beside Jey in his hotel room.

Butterflies flooded her stomach as she sat criss-cross, fiddling with fingers while he lay back relaxed. He picked up on her timid demeanor, finding it cute as his lips curved into a grin.

"Oh you shy huh? Demure."

She busted out laughing, flipping her hair over her shoulder "not demureee.... but i'm really just nervous that's all. Like I was freaking out to my friends earlier after meeting you and now..." she trailed off, still in disbelief.

"Well I never been in my hotel room wit a fan, so this crazy for me too" he joked, easing the awkwardness. She giggled as he grabbed her arm, making her slightly jump as she looked at him.

"Lay down."

He didn't have to tell her twice, lying back as her head met the pillow.

"You not hot in that?" Jey nodded at her hoodie.

She was definitely burning up under the thick fabric, but still made an excuse "I have on pjs under..."

Jeys brow raised as he joked "what they ugly?"

She stifled a laugh, covering her hand "no."

He sucked his teeth, teasing her "you kno you hot as hell right now."

She bit her plump lip, nodding in confirmation as she sat up and stood to her feet. Heart pounding through her chest as she pulled the large hoodie up and over her body. She could hear Jey grunt "damn" as he saw her backside, cheeks peaking out her shorts that rode high.

After putting her hoodie in a chair by the window, she went back over to the bed as he shamelessly gazed at her big boobs in that top.

His eyes weren't discreet, flushing her face warm as she got on the bed and laid on her side.

"What? she quietly whined under his burning stare, big dilated orbs that pierced her soul. It was intimidating to be looked at like his next meal, even if she wanted to be.

"You kno you bad right?"

There was that depth again, making her thighs subconsciously press together as her kitty throbbed. But his attempt at complimenting her only produced a somber response.

"I been picked on about my weight tho" she mumbled, as his brows knitted.

Bree was full figured- thick all over with a pudgy stomach. Nothing to feel ashamed for.

"Fuck em, man or woman. Don't let nobody make you feel insecure. Be confident in yo self cause you damn sho bad" he reiterated strongly. His advice and encouraging words resonated in her soul as they shared eye contact. She gave a closed smile "thank you."

"You welcome." He then reached over and grasped her chin, inching their lips closer until they smashed together. Her eyes closed as they shared a sensual kiss, lips slowly grooving in harmony.

"Mmph" she moaned into his mouth as it parted to stick his tongue in hers.

As the kiss intensified with wet smacks and lament, Jey pulled away making her whine.

"Strip" he commanded, voice drenched in lust as he sat up and removed his white tee. She quickly followed, pulling off her long-sleeve top that was discarded on the floor. Next she unhooked her bra and let her big breasts spring free, making Jeys eyes pop.

"Damn" he grunted, moving atop her and meeting her lips once more. The kiss was more sloppy as he hooked her legs around his waist, grinding his hips into her clothed center. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed along her neck.

"This whachu wanted huh? some of this dick? That's why you gave me yo number?"

"Y-yea" she admitted faintly.

"Can I eat that pussy first?" he asked while looking into her eyes. Her chest heaved with every languid breath, and she nodded. Before she knew it, her nipple was being vacuumed between his lips. She moaned as his large firm hands groped her massive flesh, his tongue licking around her boob with a insatiable hunger.

Her big orbs tried to stay focused on him loving on each breast, but the sensations forced her lids to flutter. It's like he was trying to clean a plate empty.

Her panties were definitely soaked, she couldn't have but leak.

She cradled the back of his head as his kisses traveled lower, and lower. His hands tugged her shorts down her legs, taking them off with a toss in the air. Her wet spot was visible as his lips formed a snarl.

"Gotchu wet already?" his tongue darted across his lips sexily, and her pink lace panties were swiftly snatched down. Once they were off, Jeys mouth watered at the sight of her fat pussy. Her juices gleamed off her puffy folds, and her clit was slightly larger.

"Shit" he cursed under his breath, licking his lips again as he pushed her knees up, making her legs bend. Bree gulped as his face was level with her heat. His fingers parted her slimy folds, seeing her wet hole clench around nothing as it dripped essence. His tongue licked a stripe up as she gasped at the introduction to his oral.

"Oh fuck!"

"I gotchu baby" he spoke against her flesh, slurping her up before french kissing her pussy.

a soft moan escaped Brees lips, as her eyes floated upward.

This was really happening, reality had long set in as Jey ate away at her sopping cunt. It wasn't some erotic dream, she was finally getting what she desired in her freaky mind.

"Oh!" her mouth dropped open as he sucked on her clit, tongue flickering against her sensitive bud. She sucked in a needy breath as he repeated the combo.

"Ahh fuck!" she gripped her titties as her back arched off the bed. "Mmm."

She sounded so angelic to him, a soft and delicate sound padding his ears as his wet smacks and slurps overtook them. He couldn't help but groan too as he enjoyed his full course meal.

He released her slick folds with a pop "mmph, this pussy good baby" diving back in with haste as she whimpered.

Her lips remained parted as her hazy eyes glazed at him going to work. Shuddered breaths escaped her plump, glossed, lips. Edging that had Jey pre-cumming in his shorts. Damn he wanted to eat her for hours, but he craved that deeper connection. She'd already came in his mouth as he cleaned her mostly dry, leaving some natural lubricant for his dick.

He lifted up and maneuvered his shorts off as he dick sprung free. Now spit pooled in her mouth at the sight of his meat, thick, long, and slightly curved.

The sight before her was godly. Jey was truly the finest man on earth, gifted too just like she hoped.

But that was going into her?

He caught a look of fear from her and chuckled, pushing her legs back as he gripped her thighs. His devilish smile exposed his bottom grill, canines that glistened under the light.

Fuck he was so fine.

"Thank you baby" he bent down, planting a kiss as she mumbled "wait you heard that?"

"Bree stop playin wit me, Im bout to be in yo shit, talk as nasty as you want."

She bit her lip at his tone, looking into his eyes as he then lined his head up with her slit before sliding in. His eyes briefly shut as he glided into her constricting walls "ugh fuck" he groaned.

"Damn this shit tight" he lamented as he eventually reached balls deep, his head nudging her g spot as she whined in response.

He placed their foreheads together as she caressed his broad shoulders "talk to me" kissing her "how you want it?"

She found the courage to say "h-hard."

Jeys lips tightened as he had the green light to beat her walls loose. Glad he wouldn't have to hold back, only problem was the walls were thin. He had to give her a warning before he went crazy, not knowing if she was a screamer or not. She looked like it to him.

"You gotta keep it down aiight?" he held his index finger to her lips as she nodded.

His hips lifted as he dragged his length out enough before slamming it back in and earning a yelp from Bree. He clamped a hand over her mouth, eyeing her as he repeated his actions again and again. Practically pounding her poor cunt with as much brute force as he could muster.

It hadn't even registered that he wasn't using a condom, but it felt so much better.

"Tight ass pussy, who else been in it huh? This shit mine now" he spat as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Removing his hand he threw caution to the wind and let her moan loudly. They'd definitely get a noice complaint, but fuck it. The whole floor would hear his name.

"Uhn! Uhn!"

"Daddy deep in that shit?"

"Y-yea daddy!" she mewled with her eyes clamped shut.

"Look at me when im in my pussy" he demanded, she opened her lids and her heart swelled in her chest as they shared intense eye contact. He was starring into her soul where his dick probably was with each thrust. The feeling of pure ecstasy engulfed Bree in strong tidal waves, drowning her in lust.

Jey gave every stroke his all as he aggressively rutted his hips inward. His determination to break her in evident in his expression, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

"Mmm-ahh-Jey!" her pouty lips produced a cry as a pit in her stomach formed.

"You bout to cum huh? I feel it...that pussy trappin me" he talked between heavy breaths as he observed her love faces.

As her soaked walls contracted around his dick, he expelled a rough groan in response. The pressure was building up in him too, as the veins along his length pulsated amongst the haste friction. She hadn't reached her climax yet, but he needed to pull out unless she wanted to pop a plan B in the morning.

"Hugh shit!- I gotta-" on the verge of nutting, he ripped his dick out before a drop could leak. Bree whined in response as Jeys hand speedily cranked his flesh. His mouth fell open as guttural sounds escaped his throat. Droplets of his white creamy seed spurted out onto her belly as he emptied himself. With a sigh of relief, his motions stopped as he hovered over her.

"My bad, ain let you cum" he apologized before kissing her, "come ride me tho" swiftly moving off her and onto his back for round 2.

Bree blinked a few times, oh lord she thought, glancing at him waiting.

He read her expression, hesitant and reluctant- providing a deep guarantee before she could speak. "Baby I'mma grown ass man, ain no weight limit I gotchu. Now come ride this dick" his fingers curled in motion.

Her pussy jumped at the infliction in his command, and she needed no more convincing. She sat up and crawled over, slinging one leg on either side on him as she hovered over his hardened dick. Her fingers grasped the tip as she lined it up with her opening. And as her body sunk, his dick slipped between her slit and into her walls eliciting a moan. In this position, she had no choice but to take all 8 inches of him until she reached the base.

She gasped at him filling her up, thick stuffing her tiny hole and expanding her walls. "Oh god" flipping her hair behind her shoulder, as her hands planted on his chest to brace.

"Bounce on that dick baby, get yo nut" Jey encouraged deeply as he watched her under brim eyes. A lustful slip of the tongue across his lips at the buss-worthy visual of her huge breasts, effortlessly jiggling. Big brown jugs, with large dark areolas and perky nipples of arousal. Practically a mouth-watering sight, saliva pooling, being slid down his throat with every gulp.

She took her time getting adjusted to his size, tediously rocking her hips back and forth. Jey was in no rush, enjoying the view with his hands underneath his head.

And damn was it a view.

She slightly leaned forward, an arch forming in her back as she began to bounce on his dick, ass being thrown in a circle. Pussy gliding up and down his pole, creating a stimulating friction.

"Uhn!...uuuhn!"

"Get that shit baby" he grunted, marveling at her boobs bouncing too. He couldn't help but seize them in his massive hands, fingers groping the flesh and toying with her nipple while she continuously moaned.

This encouraged her to ride harder, as she repeatedly lifted all the way to his tip, only to drop down. Her volume drastically increasing each time as Jey groaned under her.

"Keep doin that shit mama."

She feverishly rolled her hips, grabbing his wrists as she resumed her bouncing. Losing her mind on that dick.

"Like that daddy?"

"Just like that baby...fuck you ridin that dick so good" his brows furrowed, as his teeth pierced his bottom lip. Bending his legs some, he pulled her down against his chest as their lips collided in a sloppy kiss. His hands finally got a firm grip on her ass cheeks, as much of her mounds as his palms could hold. He guided her up and down his dick as he thrusted, with hips bucking up from the bed. He grouped her flesh in circles, delivering a couple sharp smacks to her ass that had her whining.

"All that ass baby" admiration laced in his tone, truly in awe at how stacked she was. It didn't make no sense.

Bree's head dropped into his neck as she whimpered, letting him take over with rough strokes that had her dizzy. His arms snaked around her waist, as he raised his knees even more, acquiring the perfect angle. He began to fuck her at a speedy pace, dick drumming though her walls so fast her breath got caught in her throat.

She squealed as his tip kept hitting her gspot with precision, running wasn't an option as his muscular arms entrapped her. And his rugged course drawls of immense pleasure filled her ears as she pleaded for mercy. Knots and coils from within threatening to unravel, she was so close, needing to cum hard.

"Cum on this dick baby, hurry up fo' I put one in you" he found himself begging desperately as he twitched inside her again.

"Okayy okayy" she cried before releasing all over him, her creamy essence coating his dick as he steadily pumped. The substance stringing along their skin as it separated, gooey-like.

It's like Jey didn't have control of his own body as he continued thrusting her in half, he was about to throw caution to the wind and nut inside her. That's how good the pussy was.

But somehow, he gathered enough self restraint at the last second, lifting her off his dick as his cum spurted out the head like a volcano.

With a hand stroking a mile a min, he emptied the rest of his nut, dripping onto his fingers.

"Gah damn" he panted, coming to a halt and releasing his dick as her ass lowered once more.

Only thing that could be heard for a couple minutes were shared breaths of exasperation. Their chests heaved in sync, indicative of the intense session.

Jey spoke up first "baby?" turning his head to see her eyes closed as she started to snooze off. His clean hand patted her butt as she whined and squirmed.

He chuckled into her ear "we gotta clean up, c'mon." Tapping her again as she finally lifted off him, with a mug that mad him snort.

"Aye quit muggin and go pee."

She did as told, scooting off the bed and limping to the bathroom. Jey shook his head at her ass swaying with every step. He then got off the bed and followed behind her.

After she did her business and washed her hands, he followed suit. They went back into the room, taking opposite sides of the bed as they slipped underneath the covers. Her back was facing him as she succumb to slumber. Jey smiled before reaching over to turn off the nightstand lamp. As darkness engulfed the space, he got comfortable on his back before falling asleep as well.

[genderqueerdykes]

2024, yet another year where I see my local city's pride fest have a day specifically to "celebrate femininity" (called "She+ Fest") and then have no such day dedicated to a celebration like that that for masculinity, or gender neutrality/gender beyond the binary spectrum folks. there is a non-binary pride flag on the poster for this event, and yet it's only for feminine people. there's a lesbian flag on the poster, and yet it's only for "femininity", meaning butches will feel alienated and not want to attend.

it actually made me just want to cry because yet again masc & neutral/other gendered queers are made to feel like we're nothing special, like we're nothing worth celebrating, like we're meant to just blend into the crowd and be background noise, like there's nothing to be proud of and like we don't need community. if this event is for lesbians, where the hell do the butches go? where the hell do the femmes who aren't women and don't want to be seen as one go? why do we claim to love lesbians and then RACE to leave out butches and non woman identifying lesbians as fast as we fucking can?

the big issue here is this is yet again leaving masc and other gender queers with nowhere to go. no space to occupy. no way to meet each other in a concentrated and guided fashion. its great to uplift feminine people and women, i'm not complaining about the existence of this event; what I'm saying, however, is that it's glaringly apparent what people are implying by having an event only for "celebrating" femininity and then having so such events for other trans people. the message is deafening and hurts like hell.

to the people who say "the generalized pride events are made for you, why can't you just celebrate in those?" my answer is this: WHY do we need a day specifically dedicated to femininity, then? why can't femme queers celebrate in the generalized events, too? why are non-binary people only being recognized in a feminine context? why are we making it easy for feminine people to interact, but not masculine or gender neutral people? why do masc & neutral people have to wade through a sea of people to find other people just like us, but we create space after space for "feminine" nonbinary people and women. please create spaces for masc and other gender queers. we are begging you. we are tired of being told we're oppressors or that we're inherently dangerous to femme queers and women. we're sick of being told we don't deserve to be celebrated, or that we are nothing special.

our community can't keep going like this. masc & neutral queers need community, too. we need to be able to find and support each other, too. how is it 2024 and we're STILL only acknowledging non binary identities in a feminine context. our community is suffocating. masc & other gender queers are drowning. include EVERYONE and allow EVERYONE to find support from people just like them. this shouldn't be something we afford to just femmes and women. fuck out of here.

[fernsnailz]

💥 AND THE WINNER OF THE TEAM DARK FEST IS... 💥

OH AND ALSO UHH I MADE SOMETHING THAT IS RELEASING TOMORROW. it's announced at the end of the video ok cool bye <3

(video transcript below the cut!)

Back in the studio! The table is covered in papers and calculators and shit.

SNAIL: Alright warriors, we’re BACK with huge news! We have our winner for the TEAM DARK FEST!

SHINE: Thank you all for participating in our silly tournament! The results are a combo of the Twitter votes, Tumblr votes, AND the propaganda you all submitted!

SNAIL: Alright, no more fuckin around. LET’S SEE THOSE RESULTS!!!!!

A close up of the TV shows the total vote counts:

SHADOW TOTAL VOTES: 4,446 ROUGE TOTAL VOTES: 5,085 OMEGA TOTAL VOTES: 4,188

The winner is… ROUGE!!!

SHINE: ROUGE is our winner! CONGRATS WOMEN!!!!!!!

SNAIL: Congrats, Rouge Warriors! Let’s go give our victor their SPECIAL PRIZE!

A bootleg Rouge the Bat plush sits on a park bench. She’s wearing a paper star that says “da winner.” A paper crown with “#1” is gently placed on her head. A party horn blares in the background.

Rouge, decked out in her winner’s memorabilia, sits alone on the bench. The third movement of 3 Black Noises from SA2 plays - a melancholy piano as Rouge looks at the sky.

ROUGE: not gonna lie. this kinda sucks

Rouge crosses a bridge. She is puppeted like a Muppet.

ROUGE: is this really what i wanted?

Rouge lies in a patch of grass, contemplating.

ROUGE: the prize wasn’t even good… it’s just a paper crown… there’s something… that i’m missing…

This Machine from Sonic Heroes begins playing. Rouge BOLTS up, coming to a realization.

ROUGE: OH YEAH I MISS MY FRIENDS DUH LMAO. if i win, I’M WINNING WITH THEM!!!

Rouge leaps from the ground, leaving her crown behind. She skateboards to the nearest Subaru Forester and hops in, putting the car in drive and speeding down the highway. She drifts the car and it’s really cool and very real.

The bat leaps out of the door and enters a house, crashing into her teammates - REUNITED! There's a sound of an explosion, but no actual explosion because the editor could not figure out how PNG sequences work in DaVinci Resolve.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Snail reappears and reads from the video’s Script.

SNAIL: “...This is where I reveal that this entire tournament was an elaborate advertisement… for a Team Dark zine that I made.”

Snail pauses.

SNAIL: OH FUCK I FORGOT TO FINISH THE ZINE

EXPLOSIONS!!! DANCE IN FIRE, a Team Dark zine comes out TOMORROW and will be available digitally for FREE!

Thank you for participating in this silly event! good lord I am never doing this again

[honestsycrets]

HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he’s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips. 

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it. 

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?” 

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail. 

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.” 

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?” 

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did. 

“You lost mi amor?” 

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman. 

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.” 

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin. 

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path. 

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.” 

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?” 

“Entirely presentable.” 

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses. 

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.” 

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?” 

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.” 

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.” 

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories. 

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?” 

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.” 

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.”  You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.” 

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going. 

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.” 

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?” 

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run. 

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots. 

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”  

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you. 

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.” 

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense. 

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.” 

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?” 

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.” 

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.” 

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.” 

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.” 

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?” 

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.” 

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.” 

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand. 

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it. 

“I’d love to, Miguel.” 

Something tells him he has time to.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Not Ready Part 5/12

Part 6 and Part 7 are out on my Patreon!

Readers sister dies in a tragic car accident, leaving reader and her boyfriend Ruben in the urgent custody of her niece and nephew. Readers' life is suddenly flipped upside-down since having children hadn't been the plan for her and Ruben's life together. At least not now, when his football career was reaching great new heights.

Enjoy! 💞

If Manchester City were playing at home you were expected to be there, supporting your boyfriend. At least that's what the other players' girlfriends were doing.

You sat amongst the WAG's without a ring. But after sitting through ninety minutes of comparing vacation pictures on Instagram, you felt that you might have more in common with the married women and their children. Although you and Ruben hadn't talked about starting a family yet, your relationship felt closer to that stage than a stage where the two of you are only in it for a good time.

"It's a victory. Everyone's going out to celebrate, are you coming?" One of the girl's asked you. Perhaps she was Joško's new boe. She was sweet but a real party girl. You ended up accepting her offer, for the subconscious reason that letting loose on a dance floor might be enough to fill the emptiness inside of you. At least for the moment.

"I'm gonna get another drink." You shouted in Ruben's ear.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I want one. I can handle it." He let you go, but kept an eye on you as you made your way across the dance floor towards the bar. The club you had gone to was a real Posh Fest, playing none of the music that you liked. However, all Ruben's friends were there and they seemed to be having a great time.

"One shot of patron please!" You felt ridiculous, peering over a dozen heads just to hand the bartender your debit card. He swiped it, the price outrageous for one shot, but at least tequila was handed to you with a complementary slice of  lime. You carried it across the room, carefully balancing the glass as not to spill its content. But that's when you felt your phone buzz in your purse, forcing you to down the shot right where you stood, before answering the call.

"Hello, mom?" You exited the club just to get away from the noise. However, no one was heard on the other end of the line, or at least they weren't saying anything.

"Emmy?" A feeling in your gut told you that it was her and when a low sniffle sparked in your ear, you just knew. "Oh Emmy."

"Auntie Y/N, can you please come and get us?"

"Sweetie, you know I can't do that. We've been over this." 

The children lived with your parents in Bournemouth now and they were expected to start school soon. You often called to check on them, no doubt missing having them around.

"I wanna live with you and Uncle Ruben."

"Baby, I know you do." You crossed the street, a Seven Eleven up ahead. There you took a seat by a table near a window, with a view of the club and the many people fighting to get in. "We promise to come visit you in the summer." You said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

"But summer is so far away." She cried. A squeal that cut like knives in your ear.

"I'm so sorry Emmy,  but you and your brother are going to have to get used to it down there with Grandma and Grandpa. At least until your dad feels better." Or better yet, check himself out of rehab. Turns out that Liza's husband had struggled with alcohol addiction for most part of his life. However, your sister had never mentioned anything about it to you before. It was not like her. Nevertheless, Emmy and Vale's dad was not allowed to see them until he had gone through a rehabilitation program, completing it.

"Auntie Y/N...." 

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I miss mommy."

Your heart ached. A painful throb. However, you had to compose yourself. For Emmy. "I miss her too." You spoke with no air in your lungs. All of you empty. "So much."

"I have to go to bed now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight baby. Talk to you—" The line went flat before you could finish the sentences. A silent beat drumming in your ear.....

Read full chapter and more on my Patreon

[fan-goddess]

For your k!nktober fest, could we please get Osferth x mutual masturbation? Maybe mutual pining for one another but they both are painstakingly pious and it eventually just...spills over?

Authors Note: I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THESE LAST REQUESTS HAVE TAKEN I GENUINELY AM SO SORRY ABOUT IT! Here it is now I hope you can enjoy it!

Warnings: masturbating from both people, sort of perving on osferths part, simp osferth, short praising, kissing, marriage talk, they moving fast (if I miss any let me know so I can add them!)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

As a child, ever since you had been brought to the nunnery, the church had been all you’d ever really known.

You were taught the life of Christ and the life of the church, and that it would be the only life you would ever truly know.

The worst part about it all, was that you truly believed it to be true. That is however, until you met Uhtred and his men one afternoon.

You had never thought of them as savages, rather just men simply protecting their country, regardless of the individual faiths they each followed.

Which, was probably why you found yourself so fascinated and intrigued by the warrior monk called Osferth, who almost every night joined you and a few others women in the monastery to pray.

You’ve conversed with him very little times outside of the monastery. Only speaking to him on small meaningless topics, such as the words of Christ or other things similar.

And yet a part of you burns for more than that.

You know the monk is not as pious as the others are. The whispers of his visits to the brothels leave your ears burning in a mixture of embarrassment and longing every time you hear them uttered by the other women.

You’ve watched him from afar for so long, and yet you know it would never feel the same as if you were with him. His touch, whenever you managed to feel the roughness of his skin on yours as he passed you sometimes, somehow made you weak in the knees without him even trying.

You cannot deny either that the weakness prayed upon you whilst you laid in bed at night. Your hands trailing down to your core that leaked with evident arousal for him.

It was so sinful, and yet it was way too enjoyable to stop yourself from doing it.

The images of Osferth coming to you in the dead of night, treating your body so carefully yet so sinfully. It leaves small gasps panting from your sore lips where you had been biting to try and keep the noise down.

It was embarrassing to realise, that the sound of your fingers pleasuring yourself can be heard by you with how wet you are. But no one was around to hear them, right?

Osferth has never truly felt like he belonged anywhere, apart from with Uhtred and the others. They were his new found family. His brothers. He never felt like he could truly connect so easily with another person. That is what he thought for a years. Until however, he met you.

You were kind. So kind to him and the others when you met him at the gates. You offered a smile so bright he could believe the heavens had been brought to earth, and offered food and water to him and the others for their travels, even though your fellow sisters looked at you bewildered, surprised you were so kind to the savages he and the others were so used to being called.

And yet you didn’t call them that. You’d asked for his name, and have kept calling him that the entire time you’ve conversed with him. It was almost strange, that for the first time in a long while he was called his name. Yet Osferth did not deny how nice it sounded coming from your lips. How angelic is seemed to be.

Which is why late at night when his sins consumed him, it made him so angry with himself when it was your angelic smile he saw before him, imaging your lips as you smiled and allowed him to take you as a husband takes a wife.

He prayed for forgiveness whenever he could, and yet that didn’t seem to be enough to keep himself restrained. If anything his longing for you was increased more than ever.

He’d feel your soft hands brushing his own as he passed you something, whether that be a basket of bread, or even simply passing you your bible that you’d left in the pew, and find himself hard and throbbing in his trousers, begging for the feel of your wet walls around him.

The whores, were no help in quenching his desire. No matter how much he indulged himself in the warmth of their flesh. His body only craved yours.

Which is why Osferth feels such hate and resentment for his actions when he arrives at your door, hand raised ready to knock and alert you if his presence.

Yet as his fist is about to make contact with the dark wood, certain noises force his body to stop. Certain, familiar noises he remembers hearing only from the pleasure from the pleasure house.

They were moans. Osferth is in shock with his mouth hung wide, as he swears he’s hearing feminine moans coming from your chambers.

He feels like a pervert standing there, just listening to you as you seemingly pleasure yourself. Only what he begins to wonder, is if there’s someone in there with you, making you feel that way. So he moves, and knocks at the door, regretting everything he’s ever done to lead to this moment when he hears hurried movement from inside the room, before the door opens and you greet him with bight red cheeks, no doubt your previous activities.

“Osferth? What are you doing here at this time?” You ask, voice breathless as you try to take deep breaths without seeming obvious.

His hands clench themselves into fists by his side, as it takes everything within him not to lunge at you and kiss you right there and then. To give you another reason to have bright red cheeks. “I-I came to see you.”

Oh fuck him. Your checks seem to have gotten darker from blush and your eyes trail to the floor quickly. Osferth never thought the meek look would affect him this much, and yet here he is, affected so easily like a virgin all over again.

“To see me? Why would you wish to see me at this time of night?”

“I heard you!” He blurts, his restraint slowly coming undone before his very eyes. Your own eyes though, look up and quickly widening before looking straight back down to the floor. Your whole form practically closing in on itself in embarrassment. A strange silence taking over the corridor as the only noise he can currently hear is the rapid beat of his heart in his ears.

“I’m sorry…” He can hear you murmur. A strange sight really, seeing you meek and so out of character for the first time he’s met you.

“You, you do not have to be-“ He coughs, his own deep blush taking over his face and neck no doubt as he realises the predicament hes found himself in, and how much he strangely likes it. “It is a normal thing! To, to self pleasure.”

It’s an awkward moment, but Osferth swears he can feel something brewing between the two of you. Something bubbling over that waits to be spilled.

It’s no surprise to him though that he’s the one whose feelings cannot be contained, and his lips find themselves on yours, claiming them passionately and possessively, his hands never being able to find purchase as they roam your whole body to map out everything.

The sound of a clicking door goes unnoticed as the two of you can only feel each other in that moment. Oblivious to the fact you were both a man and a woman passionately embracing each other in a closed room, away from those who could hear you.

“I find myself caring about you,” The words spill before he can stop them. Like the feeling of your lips on his own have cast a spell on him. “And thinking of you in ways a husband should only think of a wife. But my restraint is strong, as I do not wish to tarnish you before our wedding night, if we are lucky enough to have one. I do not wish to betray who has brought us together. Is that okay with you?”

“Osferth….” You place a hand on his cheek, and he can’t help himself from leaving into the feeling of your warmth. His need for your body showing itself clearly to you. “Its okay understand. Our faith, has its boundaries and restrictions. But…”

You step closer, and his breathing becomes ragged as your face comes closer to his than he’d ever think it would be. His head screaming at him to kiss you again when he feels your breath teasing his lips.

“But we can do other things…” That is all Osferth needs to hear, as he lunges forward to cup your head in his hands, and connect his lips to yours once more. A fire burning within him that burns only for you.

“So beautiful…” He murmurs, unable to keep himself away from your hold. Adoring the way you preen at his words and move against him. He knows you can feel his cock aching in his trousers, and as much as he wants to claim you, he knows he cannot.

So Osferth has another idea in mind, that’ll no doubt bring the both of you some satisfaction.

“Get on the bed my lady…” He mumbles, watching your body carefully as you do as he says. Standing there whilst you lay on your back, looking at him with anxious eyes, your lips stuck between your teeth.

“You look beautiful…” He murmurs, allowing himself to stand at the edge of the bed and admire you while you lay there. “I cannot allow myself to besmirch your body in sin. But as you said…” His hands move to undo his robes, revealing himself to you and blushing slightly as he sees you staring at him, seemingly unable to look away. “There are others things we can do…”

His hands shake as he clasps one around his cock, groaning slightly as he begins to work it with his rough hand. Arousal practically dripping from his tip as he sees your own hands travel beneath your night clothes to your cunt, where you unknowingly tease him from the slight. He is unable to see what it is you are doing, and even still, pure groans of pleasure stumble from his lips as he pleasures himself. His eyes are unable to look away from your whole body, wishing he could imprint the noises and the sight of you in front of him in his head to forever remember.

If it wasn’t blasphemous to say, he’d say this was the most heavenly thing on earth.

“Such a good girl…” Osferth groans, a slight barely audible whimper escaping his lips, your own sounds only tightening the coil of his orgasm in his stomach.

“I-I’m so close!” You whine, and it’s all over for him, as his seed spills into his hand and onto the bed. Your own peak crashing down on you not long after, and a strange yet comforting silence overcomes the two of you as Osferth moves to lay beside you, your body already moving to hold his own.

His hands clasp around your waist and pulls your close, leaving a small affectionate kiss on the crown of your head. “I wish to do this properly. I want to court you, in the traditional was. If- if that is what you want of course!”

Your lips move into a kind smile as you make a small giggle, and Osferth can’t help but find himself adoring the sound already.

“Of course I would wish to court you Osferth! I would want nothing more!”

“Good.” He smiles, moving so he can slowly push his lips on yours and savour the warm feeling he knows is love that is brewing his chest. “I refuse to allow my lady to go unsatisfied for long.”

[howlingday]

Silvers Republic

Summer: "Oh, Summer~! You sure have a lot of sway as a leader. Kiss me~!"

Summer: Okay!

Summer: (Mashes Summer and Raven dolls, Making kissy noises)

Ruby: Hey, Mom?

Summer: (Eats dolls) Hello, Ruby! I'm just reading this book! What can I do for you?

Ruby: Well, you know how you say the Silver-Eyed Kingdom is the greatest kingdom in the world?

Summer: It sure is!

Ruby: Well, I was just wondering... What makes us so great? How did we come to be?

Summer: Wow... My girl~! Ruby, let me take you on a journey...

Summer: ...to the other side of this room.

Summer: (Starts slide show) The Story of Silvers! It all begins with these beautiful baby girls drinking from some she-wolf mommy milkers~!

Ruby: That's gross.

Summer: YOU'RE GROSS- I'm sorry! I'm sorry! (Pets her) You're not gross. You're my daughter and I love you. These two girls were Sylvia and Salem and when they grew up, they founded Silvers. But there was just one problem; they couldn't agree on which of them should be the Queen.

Ruby: But they worked it out peacefully, right?

Summer: Oh, heavens no! Salem blasted a hole through her sister's chest! Here's a picture~!

Ruby: Our first queen committed sororicide?!

Summer: I know! Look at her face! She's all... "WAAAGH~!"

Ruby: At what point do we become the greatest civilization, Mom?

Summer: Well, at first, Silvers was full of women. I'm talking a real clam fest, y'know what I mean?

Ruby: Yes, ma'am.

Summer: So we invited some neighboring kingdoms over for a big feast and then we literally kidnapped ALL of their men! Here's a picture~! HA! Look at that one's face! He's all like, "BAAAAAGH~!" HA HA HA!

Ruby: This is messed up.

Summer: YOU'RE MESSED UP! Agh! Sorry! Sorry. () I'll... be a better mother. I promise.

Summer: So then, finally, after centuries of monarchy, including the disappearance of our Queen, Salem, her successors started getting a little too big for their britches. So we overthrew the queendom and established Silvers as a republic!

Ruby: Is that when the killings stopped?

Summer: Oh, heavens no! That's when the killings SOARED, baby~! We went wild and drove off the Schnees, crippled the Nikos, and enslaved the Arcs! WOO! What a rush~!

Ruby: Mom, the Silver-Eyed Kingdom seems pretty barbaric.

Summer: YOU'RE BARBARIC! Oh! I almost forgot about the time a prophet told The Sister of Darkness that her sister would overthrow her, so... so, she grabbed her sister and she literally ate her own sister! Seconds after making up with her!

Ruby: ...I don't want to see a pic-

Summer: Here's a picture~!

Ruby: MOM! LOOK AT THAT! That's messed up, dude! Are we really this uncivilized?!

Summer: HEY! If we were so uncivilized, would we use communal toilets where we all fart and poo together in one big, stinky, steamy, dirty toilet room?!

Ruby: YEAH, MOM! WE WOULD!

--------------------------------------------------

It gets gross.

Summer: Clean your butt with the sponge, Ruby!

Ruby: But all these ladies just used it!

Maria: What's wrong with you girl, Summer?

Ruby: I don't want to be here! This is so weird!

Summer: YOU'RE WEIRD! Argh! Sorry... You're not weird. I'm sure you're (Pets her) probably fine.

Summer: (Looks over)

Ruby: (Smeared with nasty) ...BAAAAGH!

[shoshiwrites]

The lovely @mercurygray is running Blind Dates again this year — now with a blog @blind-dates-fest! — and I wanted to make it four for four!

My sincerest apologies to Esther Bubley, whose photo stories for the Office of War Information I borrowed for this piece (and header), more specifically the six-week bus trip she took in 1943 to document the country's travels during wartime.

Her photos are amazing and can be found in multiple books on the Internet Archive and on the Library of Congress website. Her OWI peers included Jack Delano, Marion Post Wolcott, Gordon Parks, and John Vachon, and I should probably put together a second post instead of taking up all the space in this one!

Without further ado, meet Paulette!

so many miles and so long since i've met you

It’s 5:00 AM, and she’s hungry. 

She’d gone for a boxed lunch at the last station, scarfing it down at a corner bench with her camera on her lap, her jacket flung over it for protection. The taste of salmon salad lingers in her mouth, her fingertips still smelling of orange peel even though she’d waited in line to reach the ladies’ room, politely elbowed her way between fellow passengers reapplying lipstick and dabbing their makeup to scrub her hands clean at the small sink.

I could go for a Coca-Cola right about now. 

If nothing else, it would keep her awake to keep shooting, capture the people waiting who look as tired as she feels, as tired as she knows she looks by now. She’d gotten some good pictures at the machine shop back in Indianapolis, the garage where the mechanics worked and the drivers wrote out trip reports. 

Maybe she’s predisposed, her comfort in these places. Her papa’s a mechanic too; she knows the chambray shirts with their pockets, stained with oil and stuffed with pens, wrenches hanging on the wall, the smell of new tires and grease.

She tries not to yawn, and fails, into the back of her wrist. Sleep finds a way here — she sees it in heavy shoulders, click, the flyaway curls, click, the man walking through with a stack of used pillows off an incoming bus, click. The children dozing on their father’s arm, little brown shoes barely touching the floor, the stuffed bunny in the little one’s arms. Click, click, click. The woman behind her has taken up a whole bench, her pumps kicked off besides. Click. Her camera is small, comparatively, and even still, they all sleep so soundly that the noise doesn’t wake a single person. 

Good shots of the garage in Indianapolis, and better ones of the women who washed the bus windows, the baggage clerks hustling with their caps and cigarettes. They let her roam, with the permissions she’s got, all stamped and tucked in her bag. Behind the driver’s seat, the front, the middle, the back. Her bus out of D. C. was segregated; it depends which bus, which city. Everyone looks at her funny until they forget she’s there.

Paulette has plans for a short stay in the next city, photographing a driver and his family. A real bed and supper at a table, marking the halfway point of this East-Coast-Midwest criss-cross. She thinks of sending a few postcards home — there’s hardly time, but Maman always likes to hear from her, and Paulette knows she’ll catch hell if Charlie and Dot don’t have anything to tape up. 

Is it better to send the same postcard, or different ones, she wonders. Sometimes the twins like to match, and sometimes there’s nothing worse. Just as long as she calls Charlie Charles — makes him feel like a grownup, like Pa’s official correspondence, and her sister Dot or Sis. Marie-Dorothée makes her sound like their grandmother, Dot says. Paulette, ten years older, out of sight and on the road with her knowing smile, does as she’s told.

“Miss?”

Her eyes fly open to the asker, the soldier in front of her as tired as the rest. It pulls at his frame, still upright with the force of hard training. His voice is a little hoarse, that sleepiness, like it’s not a question. “Mind if I sit here?”

Here is the space between her and the end of the carved bench, not much. But here, it’s all at a premium. She nods.

He slumps in next to her, his bag on his lap, and they touch at too many points to count, warm hip warm thigh warm calf. He’s close enough that she can see freckles under the artificial light. If she got up, she could make a photo. Give him some space. 

She feels like she’s missed her chance, the part where she introduces herself and asks for permission. There’s no one here to distract him, no friends or pretty girls to let her fade into the background. Something tells her to get up and walk around. Her bus will be here in an hour anyway, it’d do her good to get the blood in her legs moving. And there’s no such thing as enough pictures, of course. She taps her finger against the flattened lever on the side of her camera. 

“Neat gadget,” says the soldier. 

Paulette’s had the Rolleiflex just under a year, and she’s just now getting less jumpy about it. Photographers have to get used to expensive pieces of equipment. Mr. Linehan back at the office had no patience for it, squeamishness. Trust yourself, a colleague told her. George Gordon, always wore an old leather jacket and signed his letters G. G. He’s somewhere in Maryland now, or Massachusetts.

She’d saved and saved. Gotten a good deal, too. Did some free photos in exchange for the balance. Probably put the corner store out of business from all the Mounds bars she didn’t buy. She’d kill for one of those now, too. 

“Thank you,” she says, even though that’s not the thing to say. 

“My sister’s got one of those little Brownie cameras.”

“Has she? I’ve still got mine at home.”

“Where’s that?”

Maybe she has to give him credit for that. Don’t I ask the questions, she wants to say. “Cincinnati.” There’s a small bruise at his jaw, and maybe she wouldn’t even call it that, it’s still reddish-pink. Training accident, she guesses. “Where are you headed, soldier?”

“Ain’t that confidential?” He smiles, and she can see the slight overlap of one of his front teeth. Boyish. That’s the word. She doesn’t quite feel girlish, here in her tired slacks and her curls that haven’t seen a bottle of hairspray in weeks. “South. Georgia.” Paulette nods. “You?”

“Far as the next bus takes me.”

“Taking pictures?”

“Taking pictures.” Where d’you wish you were headed? she wants to ask. Maybe that’s too much. Maybe that’s something she doesn’t allow herself here, doesn’t want to, usually. Doesn’t have the time. You don’t fill a portfolio getting distracted. You don’t get taken seriously, either.

She doesn’t know him, anyhow. 

“You take a lot?”

“Too many.” Her finger hurts from it. She lets the air out of her nose, something like a smile. “On my last frame, actually. On this roll.” She know she’d better load the next one before the bus rolls up. “You wanna see how I change ‘em?”

He’s twisted in his seat already to talk to her. Nods, watches her hands fiddle with the body, pull the film taut. She’s suddenly self-conscious, but he stays silent. His head is bowed, the scent of his hair and his sweat and the remnants of aftershave in her nose. He points a finger, slowly following her movements, her steps. The scent of orange. His lunch, or hers?

“Gotta take one now, dontcha?” he says quietly, that little bit of brassy shine to his voice.

She smiles. “Would you oblige the lady?” The words run together, in her accent, in her tiredness.

Paulette can’t think about where he’s headed. His easy calm, the flecks in his eyes. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She does get up, gets him turning in profile, thumb curving at his bottom lip as he looks off. The light glints off his boots. A little posed, for her usual. And it never feels like this, like a photo might be just for her. She takes two, just in case. She doesn’t pull out her notebook. 

“S’pose my mother wants a copy-” he starts.

Silly. “Oh, of course!” The notebook, the tiny pencil. He writes down the address. Kokomo. Not so far from Cincinnati. “And- and your name?”

“Floyd. Floyd Talbert.” Does she stick out her hand? He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, before she can say anything. “S’pose I ask if- if I can write you?” 

It’s not the first time. She’s lost count, actually. She’s never given it, the road forgiving her with warning bells and train whistles, timetables. There are freckles on the bridge of his nose. 

She tears a scrap of paper off the metal rings. Paulette Schafer. Her home address. Her mother hosts servicemen for Sunday dinner, shoos them out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. “You can call me Pauli.”

“I hope so.” He smiles. “When’s your bus?”

Her watch — the thing she hasn’t looked at for the last hour — tells her twenty minutes. “Soon. I’m headed west.”

“Cryin’ shame.”

“You know, I can’t spend all my film on you.”

He leans back against the wall. “You’d like to though, huh?”

Floyd Talbert, how many times has a girl wanted to keep a photo of you in her pocket? “You’re a compelling subject.”

He smirks, and something in her stomach flutters. 

“You say that to all the handsome soldiers.”

“‘Course.”

She’d better head out now if she wants to get some good quotes out of the driver, a few shots of the baggage clerks, if she doesn’t want to get stuck in the jump seat if it’s a full house. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Floyd,” she says, and sticks out her hand.

A voice intones over the PA, 6:00 AM to Kansas City- “All mine, Pauli Schafer.” A beat passes, and he’s looking at her with an expression she can’t name. “Can I walk you out?”

She knows he’ll let her do what she needs to, stay quiet by her side. 6:00 AM to Kansas City- She wishes they had time for a cup of coffee. She’ll take a moment though, get one more picture of him walking out in the morning light. “You may.” 

[womenofnoise]

Women of Noise Fest, Night II

Giltvein

Moth Eater

Domesticatrix

Glad I Didn't Get My Stupid Wish

Pulsatile Tinnitus

All photos by Leperwitch.

[softguarnere]

I've never participated in the lovely @blind-dates-fest before, so we're actually trying two new things this weekend: a new writing challenge, and writing for The Pacific for the first time. This OC has been banging around in my head for months now, so this seemed like a good time to introduce her - especially since she'll be making a cameo or two in one of my ongoing BOB fics. Without further ado, I hope y'all will enjoy Samantha "Mandy" Majors ♥️

The Deception of Appearances

Realistically, Mandy is aware that these are the men who are fighting for their country. The heroes of Guadalcanal can do as they please. But as MacDonald pushes his way through the bar’s crowd of wild, drinking men and boisterous women, dragging her along behind him, only one thought runs through her mind: What the hell am I doing here?

She knows, of course. She’s making money. She’s carving out a little space in journalism because, as her publisher always so kindly reminds her, the market is always changing, and fantasy stories will not be in fashion forever.

With that pleasant reminder, she lifts her chin and continues her walk into the unknown.

MacDonald struts ahead of her, openly ogling the men as if they’re an attraction at the zoo. There’s something distinctly unprofessional about the wide-eyed look that he’s always giving his subjects, like he’s got them trapped under a microscope and is poking around in their thoughts. He doesn’t seem to realize that he has a habit of making other people feel utterly invaded. Which, if Mandy had to guess, is probably why the Metropolitan Express has had her acting as his assistant for so many months. Well, that and, if she’s being honest, the fact that Duncan MacDonald cannot write to save his life.

As if reading her mind, MacDonald grabs her arm and hisses loudly in her ear to be heard over the celebrations, “Look at them! We’re bound to get a good story out of them.” Then, quietly, more urgently, “And quickly, too, because I don’t like the looks of this place.”

For once, Mandy finds herself agreeing with him. But, as is the way of the world, these things are easier said than done.

They manage to find a small table that’s miraculously unoccupied to set up shop at. Despite the look that MacDonald gives her when she orders a drink, Mandy settles in. Her boss might not want to spend any longer in this place than he has to, but that’s only because he’s not a real writer, and he doesn’t understand that the best stories come to those who are patient. These things can’t be forced, no matter how intent he seems on bending them to his will.

Besides his writing – or lack thereof – there’s the small matter of MacDonald himself. He’s too forthright, strutting up to the men and asking them bold questions with no sense of boundaries. Most respond by giving him a blank stare instead of a quote, and those who are willing to share any thoughts only give them the kind that cannot be put into print.

“Well I never,” MacDonald splutters as dark haired man with a wide smile answers his question – a completely tone deaf What’s been your favorite part of the war so far? – with a curt Wouldn’t you like to know, jackass? and a wink thrown at Mandy. MacDonald uselessly swabs his face with his handkerchief before sighing, “I don’t think this place agrees with me.” He mutters, perhaps thinking Mandy can’t hear him over the noise of the bar. “I should have stuck to vaudeville.”

I’ll drink to that, she thinks to herself as she surveys the man who’s supposed to be a war correspondent.

“He seemed to like you, though,” MacDonald says. He gives Mandy a curious look that she’s all too familiar with – one that suggests that she do all the work while he rests his delicate little mind. “Maybe you should try talking to them, without me.”

He’s throwing her to the wolves – or, more accurately, the Marines. But strangely, she finds that she doesn’t mind this time. After all, she came here to write about the war. Write about it accurately, honestly. People back home need to know what’s being fought for. And if she can lend her pen, her camera, and her typewriter to the cause, then by golly, she will. 

She nods. “Not such a bad idea.” And then she leaves him there, alone at the table, before he can change his mind.

Looking for a good story is not so different from hunting, if you think about it. At the edge of the room, Mandy surveys the scene before her. The Marines may be wild, but most of them are also intoxicated, which means their lips will be loose. She can use that to her advantage. Especially now that she’s free of MacDonald.

There. From across the bar, her eyes land on the dark-haired man who winked at her earlier. He’s one of the few men not entertaining one of the bar’s local Australian girls. An easy target.

As if to prove her point about patience, someone taps her on the shoulder just as she’s about to march through the fray to reach her intended target.

A different man, this one with blond hair, blushes slightly when she turns to him. “Um, excuse me, Miss,” he says, his thick accent taking her by surprise. For just a second, she mistakes him for one of the locals before she realizes that he’s wearing an American uniform with the name Phillips on his chest.

Maybe getting a quote will be easier than she thought it would be. “Yes?” 

Phillips nods across the bar to the man that was her original target. “My friend over there said you were a reporter, looking for quotes?”

Mandy nods, smiles, trying to make herself as bright and warm and trustworthy as possible. “That I am.” She holds up her notepad and taps it with a red fingernail. “You don’t happen to have one for me, do you Phillips?”

He’s not blushing anymore. He only smiles and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. I don’t think I’m good enough with words for that kind of thing. But my friend is,” he adds before she can lose interest.

“Oh?” Mandy raises an eyebrow. “Do you think he would give me an interview?”

“I’m sure he would,” Phillips replies. “In fact, he was writing the entire time we were on Guadalcanal. He’ll probably give you some of his original notes.”

Mandy has to take a breath, remind herself not to get her hopes up. This could all be a rouse, after all, by some stranger.

But then again, even though she doesn’t know this Phillips, he doesn’t give off the energy of someone trying to pull a fast one on her. Maybe it’s just his southern charm, but she’s tempted to trust him right away.

“That would be great. Mind taking me to him?”

“Sure thing.” Phillips starts to weave through the crowd, leading her through the bar. He looks back and extends a hand part of the way through their walk. “I’m Sid Phillips, by the way.”

She accepts his hand. He’s got a firm shake. More of that southern charm, perhaps. “Samantha Majors. But my friends call me Mandy.”

As they push deeper into the bar, several men call out greetings to Phillips, slapping him on the back and palling around as they pass. Phillips returns their handshakes and smiles, only stopping to ask if anyone has seen the Professor. Most men shrug off the question, but one man finally points toward the farthest part of the bar and announces over all the noise, “Lucky is over there! Guess he needed a place to think.”

Lucky. The Professor. She’ll have to remember to ask about these nicknames during their interview. No doubt there’s a good story behind them both.

She slips her notebook out of her pocket as they walk, readies her pen as she turns to Phillips, ideas already churning in her head. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“There he is!” Phillips nods to a table in the bar’s far corner, where a small group of men sit drinking, partly obscured by shadow. “That’s him in the middle, with the curly hair. Robert Leckie.”

At the same moment that Phillips says his name, the man in question leans forward, throwing his face into light so that Mandy catches a glimpse of him for the first time. The sight makes her heart drop, and she freezes as if she’s just been caught red-handed.

“No,” she whispers. Then, in her head. It can’t be.

For a split second, she thinks that maybe her luck will be good, that she’s changed so much since their school days that he won’t recognize her. They’re not kids anymore. Maybe he’s forgotten her.

But the second that his eyes land on her, she knows that it’s no good. His expression changes quickly as he drops the thread of conversation with his friends to stare at her in confusion, then recognition. A small smile crosses his face and he stands, not frozen the way that she is.

“Sammy Majors?!” He calls, voice slightly too loud with the excitement of someone who has been drinking.

Phillips’ brow furrows as he glances between them. “You two know each other?”

“Yes,” Mandy whispers at the same time that Leckie announces, “We grew up down the street from each other!”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Phillips turns to her when he asks. “No awkward introductions to hold back your interview.”

Mandy has to force the words out of her mouth; they feel like they’re stuck to her tongue with paste. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Leckie, as usual, seems undaunted by everything before him. He shoves the man sitting next to him over and uses a grand gesture to indicate the vacated seat to Mandy. “Come join us!”

The confident demeanor that she’s worked so hard to build up all these years is slipping. With every step she takes towards him, Mandy feels like she’s clinging to it for dear life. She has to remind herself that she’s no longer Sammy Majors, the little girl who sits by the window writing fairytales because she couldn’t go out to play. She’s no longer Sammy Majors, who entered every writing competition their school hosted in vain, always losing out to lucky Robert Leckie, whose stories and poems were always so much better than hers. Robert Leckie, who had a job at the local newspaper before they had even finished high school.

As she takes the seat he offers her, one of the other men at the table laughs when he asks, “Hey, Lucky, does Vera know about this?”

Robert Leckie, who always so obviously had a crush on Vera Keller from across the street. Robert Leckie, who never seemed to realize that she existed . . . but who recognized her at first sight after all these years, and on the other side of the world, to boot.

Leckie smiles at her, so warm and open, as if his success in writing didn’t come so easily to him that it always crushed Mandy’s heart, her hopes, and her dreams. “What are you doing here?”

In response, Mandy raises her notepad and purses her lips, resetting her usual, casual demeanor that she has spent so many years working on. “I’m with the Metro Express, and my source tells me that you might be good for a quote.”

Several of his friends ooh and aah like a Greek chorus, jostling him as they laugh.

“He’s got more than just a quote for you!” One of them hoots.

“Yeah,” another man adds. “Try a whole novel!”

Mandy raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” When Leckie shrugs in response, she allows herself to smile, to be friendly, even though it goes against her better instincts. “Robert Leckie, ever the writer.”

“Fight by day, write by night.”

She makes a small scribble on her notepad to make sure her pen still works. “Well, Private Leckie. Do you have time for a quick interview?”

Leckie leans back in his seat and takes a drag off his cigarette. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he exhales the smoke, nods. “Fire when ready, Miss Majors.”

[littlexstarlightx]

@therabbitbehindtheslaughter cont from {x}

☀️ There was no warmth to be found in the dilapidated building. It was as if the atmosphere was always a foggy graveyard and in a way it was. Not another living person had been in here in several decades at this point aside from recently when the property was signed over to the gingers father for 'safe keeping'.

He was the new warden of this hell on earth.

She pulled the hood of her jacket down; a jingle of metal off the stiff cotton bunny ears that accented the soft black coat. This would help so that they could both get a better look at one another. He probably wasn't expecting such a small rescuer, and she wasn't expecting....what had she expected?

The grinding and squelching were unsettling, but it wasn't what set her on edge. Those cold eyes and his height. So tall. Pulling down her safety-pinned decorated face mask with bright pastel fingernails bright electric purple painted lips emerged.

"Yes, freedom. Don't worry I put some of the children down for a nap so we'll have to be fast~" She still didn't know where some of the other animatronics had gone in this hovel of a building but she was ready for whatever they had to throw at her.

Melissa couldn't get anything from her father about the last few decades. Not even her 'uncle' Henry would open up to her about the long-standing lore of their failing business chains. The young woman chewed her gum and blew a bubble flinching at the sound of the cough and the hard slam of the mechanical jaw.

That smell, however, was far more metallic than the rabbit himself. It was permeating in this dusty hole in the ground. The ginger was left to snap the face mask back into place the rainbow beads bouncing a bit as she did so. She would not breathe in the air down here more than she had to.

" You were pretty loud about it. Tall tale heart up in this rather quiet building. My father kept telling me that it was just the building settling.... bullshit. You're one noisy skeleton in his metaphorical closet...." The ginger pointed to the groaning joints of the dingy yellow rabbit.

More painful coughing, it was hard to believe he still had the lungs to do so but the ginger sighed and heaved the large worn leather satchel from her shoulder. It hit the ground with a cacophony of metallic noises.

Given it wasn't like the rest of the black and pastel barf fest on her it was safe to say it was work equipment. Pushing back the sleeves of her coat her wrists were then filled with beaded bracelets. Pulling out some rubber gloves the women then produced pliers and a flat head screwdriver.

"Here, let me help you with that really quick. It will be one release from that constant pain." Melissa stepped forward with her platform shoe not giving her too much height to counter his. He'd have to keep his head bowed for her to work the ring to a looser fit.

"From here, I'll take you in my van to the safe house. I own a studio apartment ....once an old factory ....so no more small spaces for you. We have to move quickly I'm sure that other then the other security measures my absence has been noted..." Even at her age her father would 'ground' her and she'd come so far to find the 'yellow rabbit' only whispered about.

"Oh...before I get overly handsy...I should introduce myself. I'm Melissa. You can just call me Missy though if it's too hard to talk ...I understand it has to be difficult and a lot of work. You don't have to humor me...." An odd child that was for sure but at least polite. 🌙

[ashesandhackles]

Rarepair Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @danpuff-ao3

Rules: List the top rarepairs that you like outside of your OTP, and why you ship it! (Criteria for what makes a rarepair is up to your own discretion.)

My current OTP is Sirius/Severus and I have made enough noise about them. So here is my other small favourites:

Ginny/Hermione

They are SUCH a good ship? Immaculate friends to lovers. They enjoy each other's company, share secrets, and there is enough tension and complements in how they interact with each other and the world for it to work. Also cannot get over how Hermione says that Harry would notice Ginny if she was bit more "herself"? For Hermione, the very simple but strong belief that Ginny would catch attention of the boy of her dreams by simply being herself. Hermione sees the sun. (I also greatly enjoy the idea of Ginny/Cho and Ginny/Blaise, thanks to @bluethepineapple work for Winter Sun fest)

Rolf/ Luna

Listen, there were few years in my life that I worked for an outdoor company and was surrounded by outdoor guides. These boys (women started coming into the industry very late and in small numbers) are some of the best people you can hang out with: funny, bright, very practical, conscientious. They also have deep rooted anxiety and need for control all the time, and to me, it really fit with the outline of Rolf given in extra canon. He was a good POV to discover Luna, a character who is defined by not being in her physical reality all the time. I wrote them together in an adventure fic and I unashamedly ship my own version of them.

Andromeda/Any Morally Grey Man

Listen, I love Andromeda/ Ted as much as the next person, but I recently read Andromeda/ Rufus Scrimgeour and my jaw dropped? Andromeda is such an interesting outline of a character in canon, and I love the directions fandom has taken with her: keeping her very much an intimidating Black sister, but with softer edges to play with. So here I am going to recommend the incredibly smartly written : A wilder beast from West than all were by eldritcher/ and the interesting take on Andromeda/Rodolphus : Till We have Faces by TeddieJean. I also greatly enjoyed the Andromeda/Lucius from @decemberistafic wonderful "I Awaken With Your Name"

Snape/ Petunia

I read and enjoy lot of Snape fics with various permutations and combinations with him (he is very shippable, and each new characters brings a different side of him) - but I recently read @maria-de-salinas Regretfully Yours and I am utterly charmed by this pairing. I really loved how skillfully the story was written, and how very vulnerable it was! These are the rarepairs I enjoy off the top of my head. Tagging anyone who would like to do this!

[crowmero]

An updated note about my stance in the whole "False accusation" plot that happens during LL.

1. The whole plot is horrible and ridiculous and should not exist.

2. This plot is fucking unrealistic. The true is that if Rayan was accused like that in the real world... nothing would have happened to him. Is true that the people at the city learns about the case because Renata leaks the story on the news, but to be honest, I can't imagine people making too much noise about the situation, at most the students, and probably the people more likely making noise about the case and demanding justice would be women and feminists groups. The true is that the general public cares more about men's feelings than women's feelings. In the real world I have watched how women get burned and demonized for the most stupid things but men who kill and rape, barely get some heat.

3. Also it was a FALSE ACCUSATION, so of course, Rayan was in all his right to be the poor victim here, poor little meow meow was suffering. This is the narrative that a lot of misogynistic men are salivating to happen to them, this is a fucking male fantasy. Some men want to prove so much that women are evil to all cost. On side note: I have to guess and think this was done to clean a bit his image since the hate he was getting during UL was harsh, but I think women who where calling out how uncomfortable this character was, was justified. Because I know and I know a lot of women had seen this happening in their own school, happening to their classmates, living this experience and I don't think all the teachers doing this (trying to get into a relationship with a student) are as good as Rayan.

4. The writer representing Beemoov really sacrificed and burned four women (three of them are POC) FOUR WOMEN for the sake to save one man. You can't tell me this is not a very misogynistic thing to do in a game that is aimed for women.

5. I totally can see why Priya and Miss Paltry act the way they act if you decide to side with Rayan. It makes more sense why they don’t feel that sorry for Rayan after what happened: they were choosing to give priority to a woman over a man. Because is a feminist principle "I rather believe a woman even if she is lying, over a man that could be a potencial abuser"... because statistics says that 75% to 90% of the people perpetrating violence over women are men.

6. I think this is a good post and food for thought to talk about Renata. I understand that the women involved in this plot committed wrongs, but I think is good to question their motives and why they act like this (Aside from the writer doing a shit job).

7. What was really realistic was the amount of hate that Marina, Miss Paltry, Priya and Renata got from the fandom and because it was justified for the false accusation and because we knew from the start that Rayan was innocent because we're are watching everything as spectators, but this characters just faced the normal outcome of someone speaking out. The writer representing Beemoov did a excellent job demonizing four women and the fandom was more than happy to participate in this misogynistic hate-fest.

8. Misandry does not exist, because misandry doesn't have an actual weight or influence in the real world. Misandry is just the normal outcome of women having to endure abuse for many years and realizing later that they are done putting with that. No woman is born hating men and they don't teach us to hate them either but to prioritize their feelings. But Misogyny, that sure is really doing good and well and normal in the real world, even some women love to be misogynistic and think is the most normal thing to do.

9. This is just my own point of view about this whole mess. I have changed my mind over the years because I learned more and this is the way I see this plot now. I'm not looking for debate or people to convince me about changing my mind. I don't really care if people disagree with me either, everyone is entitle to their own opinion. If I missed something I'll probably update the post.

10. If you hate Priya I really don't want anything to do with you, this is not the place for you and you're more than encouraged to seek for some other place that can accommodate your misogyny.

[safereturndoubtful]

Fetlar

Wednesday 26th July

I spent five days on Fetlar in the end, the van not moving from its wonderful setting just above he beach, and in that time probably met most of the islanders. Each day I wandered past the cafe, which acts as a shop, post office, and information centre also, and sat inside for a coffee and a chat with whoever was around. The owners are typical of islanders, from the south of England, in their late fifties, and taken to Fetlar as an escape from the noise, pollution and lack of space in England. Only five of the sixty seven residents are from Shetland since birth. The English have brought with them a high level of organisation. Despite the remoteness of their residences things happen efficiently; the food deliveries to the shop from the mainland, the postal service, the regular meetings at the community hall. The arrival of strangers, or rather tourists, is noticed by all. It’s not possible to creep in undetected.

The island is well-supported in terms of infrastructure, probably too much so. For its regular postal service, the island has its own red Royal Mail electric van, which four islanders work in shifts with deliveries, and get paid to do so. The ferry, which is free for island residents, calls at least four times a day, which seems quite unnecessary, as most times when I was there it was empty, but the crew come for their lunch at the cafe. Garbage is collected by a truck that comes from the mainland once each week. A mobile library, hairdresser, and various other services call in for a few hours fortnightly. A doctor or nurse will visit when requested, and a dentist calls in monthly.

In that sense, it’s not as remote as other mainland communities.

Though I knew nobody by name, everyone knew me, the guy with the red dog and the porthole van on the beach.

Though the first days I was there were fine, the second half of my stay on Fetlar the weather turned wild. There were occasional showers, but the wind howled and came from the north. Rather than gusty, it was a steady thirty five mile per hour gale, and as it was from the north it took the temperatures down to single figures, with an added chill factor. These are the most unwelcome conditions for outdoor activity, and even indoor activity is with an unsettling rocking and a constant reverberation.

On the windy days Roja and I headed out in the morning as usual, but no further than the couple of miles to the cafe and back, then settled into an afternoon of reading, podcasts, and even completing the VAT return for work..

A few locals walked their dogs on the beach, and over the days Roja got to know them all. There weren’t many visitors, but two young women came over to say hello one afternoon, sheltering from the wind behind my van. They were students from UCL, a woman of Sudanese descent, and a Nepalese lady. The former was a geography student hoping to be a lecturer, hence the reason for the visit. They were on Shetland for two weeks, and were tough enough not to even mention the weather.

We were one of just two vehicles on the 3:30 pm ferry to Unst earlier today, the wind had at long last dropped, and the sun broke through. I drove to Baltasound, Unst’s equivalent of a metropolis, and stocked up on water, and from the supermarket. At the leisure centre I paid £1.50 for my weekly shave and shower, and the guy told me, at 5 pm, the showers would need to run a bit as I was the first person in today. Unst has as many visitors in Fest week (last week), a few hundred, as it does in the other 9 weeks of summer put together.

I drove to Uyeasound to park-up, at the far south west of the island. I had hoped to visit here, but it had quite a few people around the marina last week, so I had postponed it. From that howling three day northerly wind to a completely calm night - it was appreciated.

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 2: The Substance

Spent most of the day doing laundry and a bit of other cleaning—not very interesting, but probably a good idea. In the evening, impulse-watched The Substance. My overall feelings about it are positive. My more specific feelings are… uncertain. The more I read (skim) other people’s opinions, the less certain I feel of my own. Like I’m not sure if the Emperor has clothes here or not, I suppose.

The movie is about 2 hours and 15 minutes not counting the end credits, which is frankly a ridiculous length of time for a movie to be, so let’s start there. For most of it, I was like, yeah, okay, maybe this is good enough to warrant this run time. Then it came to what seemed to me to be a reasonable conclusion, at just shy of 2 hours I believe, decidedly did not end there, and swerved off to continue for another 20-30 minutes. And that last sequence felt, to me, as I’d been following along with the plot so far, like it was from a totally different film. My primary thought was that the writer did not know how to end, so just kept going and going. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say at this point and nothing else to focus on but increasingly over the top body horror and gore. It was so much that I was honestly mostly bored. My experience on this first view was that it had gone off the rails.

After watching, I skimmed over some reviews and responses… Some of them seem to categorize the film as a horror-comedy—like oh what campy, satirical fun—and that take seemed to coincide with an appreciation for that last gory 20 minutes. And… see… I did not laugh. I was not smiling. I am not sure if that is a defect in me somehow, that I took it too seriously and that’s why I wasn’t on board for that final arc. I did see the horror references even on this first viewing—I know Carrie, I know Carpenter, I know Cronenberg, I mean come on. And I’m trying not to be too full of myself and just outright dismiss a large portion of the film, by which I mean, if it only works as a whole if you view it with a certain lens, then maybe that is the right lens, objectively.

But. I don’t know. I’m not convinced. If it was supposed to be funny it didn’t hit for me—I found it most effective and striking when it was a pure horror, and the primary emotions I had from the very beginning were disgust, disdain, and fear. And then after that probably sadness. And while I’d agree it wasn’t exactly subtle… I don’t know, it was way more subtle before that last sequence than during it. It gave me much to think about—up until that point.

I would have ended it, if it were me, at the point where Elisabeth terminates Sue. I see why she couldn’t fully do it, that was decidedly part of her character, and she’s very obviously addicted and I understand why even hitting what appeared to be rock bottom wasn’t enough. So I would have kept her having second thoughts, and I would have kept the line “I need you because I hate myself.” But I would have the attempt to revive Sue not work. First of all, having the two awake at once seemed to me to be physically impossible given the rules we’ve already established, and that was my first indicator that the film seemed to have run out of ideas and was just… spewing blood at this point. And second, I still don’t fully get what anything after this moment did to contribute to the POINT of the film. I think I’ve heard everything I need in that line, and having SO much run time after dilutes it.

I think there’s an alternate ending for Elisabeth that is… maybe too sweet for what the film was going for, but which I think would still fit with the rest of the movie and maybe pull out certain themes more strongly than an extensive gore-fest does. The movie is so silent. And most of the talking is done by men, by which I mean men get to ramble and women (Elisabeth/Sue) use an economy of language. Elisabeth makes herself small, quiet, and unobtrusive a lot. But the older/more deformed she gets, the more noise she makes. The more MESS she makes. The fewer fucks she gives. She’s yelling at people to shut up and pushing them out of the way as she goes to get the termination package to take back her life. I just think there’s something there, and maybe it’s a little sappy, about how the damage to her physical body is permanent but perhaps it is also freeing. She simply cannot strive to be the next young, hot thing anymore—but it was that striving that destroyed her, so why miss it?

Anyway. I’m not usually a body horror person but I wanted to see this and it wasn’t too much… it was a lot, but I handled it. There’s also a lot of ‘I am looking respectfully’ lingering shots and one thing that was interesting about the watching experience as a queer woman is that the two were not so distant from each other: the female body cut up into (beautiful) pieces for appreciative consumption* and the body horror of the female body literally unzipped and split open and drained are all on the same continuum. They are the same.

*Male gaze etc. etc. yes I know.