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tigerpeachs · 1 year

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Business or Pleasure - Okkotsu Yuuta

-`ღ´- tags: 18+, fem reader, pet name usage, sex worker, pwp, dub-con (just to be safe), transactional sex, cum shot, choking, shoe licking, fingering, alcohol consumption, oral sex (male receiving), praise, slapping, shoving, tw: assault, scummy yuuta

-`ღ´- wc: 5.6K

-`ღ´- a/n: ya know - I totally skipped over one Yuuta project to flesh this out, but here’s to hoping the other one comes soon as well. also this is my first time trying something like this so hopefully it came out well! if you have any request or comments, my inbox is open ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_

-`ღ´- synopsis: You receive an odd request as a sex worker from a mysterious client. When a large sum of money is provided for your services, you decide to play along, even when things aren’t in your favor.

It was uncomfortable. You felt uncomfortable. There was something different about this meeting. You were used to sex work and selling yourself. It all came easier to you than the rat race others put themselves through. There were people miserable from working a 9-5, going home to their empty homes, and barely living their useless lives. You didn’t want that. You adjusted your dress and rocked your feet in your high heels, looking up at the elevator numbers change.

Top floor, penthouse level. You knew the man must be professional from the way he requested you. First, you were sent an NDA before you were even given access to who the client was. You were still allowed to decline if you decided to forgo seeing the client. Once you sent your signature back, which had to be approved by a notary, you received a care package and an invitation to meet your new client along with some instructions.

Hair must be styled, fresh professional makeup, waxed, shaved, oiled, and moisturized skin. You were to wear a clean-scented perfume, a fresh set of nails, and a tight black dress with red bottom heels. You accessorized with pearls, a black clutch, and a long wool coat. Everything else before this felt like practice. The attempts to look pretty, finding the most flattering dresses, saving up for pretty shoes, and soothing yourself by taking care of your body.

As the number got closer to the top floor, you pressed your shoulders down and back, then straightened up your posture. You chewed at your bottom lip slightly before the door opened. There was an older gentleman standing before you. He wore a suit and had perfect posture. His hair was greying and his skin was loose, letting you get a read that he must be in his late 60s.

You began to wonder if this was the person who you’d soon be working for. Not that you haven’t done it before, but you’d rather not sleep with older men again. There were too many awkward silences as they rutted a softening cock against your entrance.

“Right this way ma’am.” He spoke, leading the way down a lit hallway. You both stopped at a door and he placed his arm out. You looked at him inquisitively before realizing you were still wrapped in your coat. You smiled and thanked him, taking off the material. You felt a chill fall on your exposed back which lacked the warmth from your black dress. He stood in the same position and looked down at your clutch purse. You closed your eyes, smiling one more time; rather more at your stupidity than his kindness, and gave him your bag as well.

“Please enter the room and wait for the head of the house and me to return.” He departed before you could acknowledge what he said. You walked into the room with the release of a tight sigh. You immediately took in your surroundings in order to become more acclimated. There was a large table with two chairs, one on each end. There was low lighting and no apparent area of the lightbulbs location. You grabbed a seat and raised your eyebrows as you sunk in. The level of comfort it provided made you want to slouch and drape yourself over the material. How does one make wood feel soft?

Minutes ticked by and you grew bored of the room you were kept in. That thought of slouching from earlier became more delightful as time passed. Your head drifted as you sat. What might you have for dinner tonight? When was your nail tech available again? Maybe you should finish that book on your nightstand that seems to be collecting dust bunnies from neglect. Your mind drifted to worse places. Although the wait was long, it couldn't be worse than some of your previous clients.

Worst case scenario, you were about to be brutally murdered. Though, with this line of work consisting of mostly male clients, that meant there was always the possibility of assault, rape, or worse. Neutral scenario, the client might be into some shady stuff and just wants to have some fun on the side. Best case scenario? Maybe retiring for life and never having to look at your bank account again. Yeah. That sounds pretty good.

Your daydreaming was cut short by the rustling of the doorknob. You sat up again, back erect, shoulders back, neck straight, with your chest perked up. Your hands remained on your lap instead of the table and you sucked in a slow easy breath. Your eyes glossed over as you got ready to perform.

“My Apologies, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long.” You looked over to see…a young man in front of the elder gentleman from before. If you were shocked, you didn’t show it. He was handsome with an almost playful and youthful flare to him. He wore a suit as well with the tie slightly undone. A few buttons were already opened up and his hair was out of place.

He walked over and eased a hand over his hairline, pushing it back and fixing his side part - almost as if he could feel you analyzing him.

“No need to apologize. I assure you, it wasn’t long at all.” You were intentional with your words. Although it wasn’t long, it was still a wait.

As he got closer his scent hit you. Warm and sweet. Something with an amber flare that danced across your senses. His natural scent still came through. It entered your nasal cavity and spread through you like a shot of whiskey. You could almost taste him even from his professional proximity. You stood as he reached his hand out to shake yours. You made sure to apply the same pressure and he gave you a charming smile.

“Yes, well then. Thank you for your patience.” You knew he was trying to get a read on you as well. His eyes quickly did a once-over. The only thing that caught his attention was the mess up of your lipsticks. A mark from your restless teeth during your arrival. Nerves getting the best of you took away from the prestige you tried to showcase for him.

“Is there anything I can get you?” He questioned as he moved to take his seat “Perhaps a drink?” He sat down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he interlaced his fingers. His pace was smooth and his voice soft. Yet his presence was still demanding. It left a sense of unease in the room.

“No, thank you.” You spoke. He nodded at you but spoke his next words to the older gentleman standing by the door.

“Glenlivet Winchester, neat, please.” He moved after acknowledging the young man’s words, “Oh, and water, please. Just in case she’s parched during our meeting.” The older gentlemen paused.

“Yes, right away Sir.”

He left the room and all the attention was back on you.

The man smiled again, “My apologies, I never gave you my name. Okkotsu Yuuta. Although I’m sure you read the paperwork, you know what to address me by right?” He paused and gave you a moment to prove him right. You did read the paperwork. You memorized every line to secure the opportunity in front of you.

“Yes, Sir. That is correct.” He wanted a clean woman who was obedient in every sense of the word. He wanted you to listen to him. It wasn’t uncommon for CEOs, presidents, lawyers, doctors. They all either really liked control or being under control.

He sighed with relief, sitting back. He seemed happy. Pleased with himself to have you across from him. His hands smoothed across his thighs, fixing any wrinkles in the material of his slacks. His leg bounced slightly with excitement. You didn’t say a word, waiting for him to break the silence.

“I’m sorry if I seem improper. I’m just so…” His eyes landed on you again and it felt different this time. His gaze darkened, the polite smile before becoming a condescending smirk. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought of what was about to become a reality. Yes, he did his research to find the right type of woman for this. He was happy to see your polished and pristine appearance. Not a hair out of place on your head. But more so, he admired how vigorous you seemed. Your body language, your handshake, hell even your tone was unassailable.

Yuuta loved money. Very much. But if there was anything he loved more, it was seeing what money did to people. How powerless they became over it. How powerless would you become for it?

“...So excited,” He finished.

The older gentlemen from before came back in with various items. There were fat cigars, a straight cutter, an ashtray, a gold-encrusted liter, two glasses, and a pitcher of water.

He moves to open the bottle of scotch but your client stops him.

“Have you served before?” You nod your head, knowing what must be coming next. Yuuta gave the older man a look of dismissal, leading him to walk out the door.

“C’mere,” He smiles, beckoning you towards him, “Pour me a drink, Sweetheart.” You stood up and walked over to him. He didn’t pay you any mind, opting to cut open one end of his cigar. Your hands smoothed over the bottle and then you twisted the top off. You grabbed the old-fashioned glass as you listened to the wheel of his liter spin. Once. twice. Then a flame sparked on the third attempt.

Pulling a few puffs through, he relaxed in his seat, leaning back and letting his head fall over the top of the chair. His neck, long and elegant, strained as he pressed the smoke out of his lungs, letting it dissipate above him. He hummed in contentment before pulling his gaze back up to you. You poured him a perfect serving. Two fingers worth. You held it out to him. He gripped your wrist, making you jump slightly from his speed and strength. Your skin burned under his hold.

He kept his eyes on you as he brought your hand to his mouth.

You knew better than to look away. His gaze told you everything you needed to know. Keep. Your eyes. On. Him. He sipped from the glass, once, twice before releasing your hand. You shifted your weight on your heels, holding the glass closer to you as your joints ached. He sits properly on his throne and offers to take your hand. You set the glass down and place your hand in his. He spreads his legs a little bit.

“Take a seat for me,” You didn’t have to guess that this show of dominance and your submission did something to him. You could tell from the strain of his pants that he liked playing this game with you. You liked playing games too.

You stood between his legs as the start of his little competition began. You opt to sit on one leg and drape your legs across the other, knowing it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. You crossed your legs and rested one hand on his chest, the other draped across his shoulders. He grabbed at your waist whilst holding his cigar in his mouth. The expensive smell of his cologne was washed out by thick ringlets of smoke. He removed his smoke for a second.

“Grab the glass for me, baby.”

You did as you were told, leaning over, slightly out of his embrace. When you returned he took another sip, making you hold the glass for him. Although you knew he was somewhat fit, the seat you took changed your perception of him completely. While you saw a skinny man, his suit worked well to hide the heavy expanse of muscle underneath it. His fingers skimmed across your hip, making your body trust his touch.

“You listen very well.” He starts to talk. “I like that about you.”

You remained silent following his cues for another sip of alcohol. His hand came up to toy with the shoulder strap of your dress. This moment felt slow, as though you both were moving through molasses. His eyes ran over you, and he took a tentative touch to your collarbone. He pulled you in a bit closer and you did your best to remain still. Sitting pretty. Like a well-trained dog.

He dragged his nose across your neck, inhaling your scent and groaning in approval. The sound he made caused you to press your thighs together. Thoughts of eliciting that noise out of him again cluttered your mind.

Yuuta felt hungry. His hand dropped to your hip, palming it with excitement. You smelled raw and sweet. It was like a mix of vanilla and brandy. He couldn’t help but press his lips against your neck in a wet kiss, moving up slightly to nip at your jawline. You felt a wave of desire run through you, causing your hands to become unsteady. You retaliate by tightening your hold around the glass and adjusting yourself to press against his erection.

“Mmm, you taste damn good,” He groans against your skin. You could feel his arousal, heavy against you. You arched your back, enjoying the compliment, and quickly discovered the accumulation of arousal in between your thighs. His hands felt rougher, the drink in your hand rippled as he hitched the fabric of your dress up. Your panties were already damp from his light teasing and he was soon to find that out if he kept inching his fingers up.

“Too bad you’re just some trashy prostitute.”

Your rushed hands slammed against his chest, and you quickly moved out of his lap in the process. The scotch fell from your hands, spilling over the rim and onto your client. His cigar ashed out from the process, falling onto his expensive slacks. You swallowed hard as he stared down at the mess you made on him. The glass remained on the floor beneath the two of you. Cracked - just like the facade between you both.

The room is suffocating in silence and time seems frozen.

His eyes stayed down for a minute.

Or a few.

Right as you open your mouth, he takes a stand and tsks in disapproval. The cigar drops into the ashtray and he swipes across his slacks to get rid of the ash. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t come out of the fabric well. Yuuta grabbed at your elbow to position you well. He takes one large deep breath.

A sting spreads across your face. His large hands push roughly at your shoulders, forcing you down so fast that your knees slam against the floor. The sharp pain makes you cry as you hunch over trying to comfort yourself quickly. Yuuta smooths his hair back once more before taking a seat again. He sighs out of exhaustion before taking a look at you. You’re still bowed over, registering the fact that he struck you.

“Hey,” He says plainly.

You look up at him with disdain. No. Disgust.

He tilts his head at the look and then gives a sweet laugh. He views your pout as comical. Sort of like when a child throws a tantrum or a dog is upset at its owner. He leans towards you and his finger slides under your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“I paid a lot of money for you. I know you’ve been in this line of work for a while and you promote yourself well.” He tilts your head to look at the red mark across your cheek. He whistles at the sight, thinking maybe he was a little too heavy-handed on his brand-new toy. He still wanted you to look presentable after all. “You’re a good businesswoman, right? You come up with your end of the deal typically and men, like me, find that admirable. Girls like you work really hard don’t they?” He forced you to nod before letting go of your chin.

He sits back up, creating distance between the two of you.

“You can always leave if you want,” He takes his eyes off of you, looking unamused with the thought. He gives you a moment as if it was the respectable thing to do. As if you could pass up a payout like this. While tears brimmed your eyes, you mentally reminded yourself of that.

“Or,” He drags his eyes back to you and smiles politely. He knows your answer already. It was apparent in the sick look on his face. “Can you be a respectable partner? Do you want another chance to be my good girl?” He leans in a bit, resting his forearms against his thighs.

You knew what he was thinking.

And that's what made you feel so pathetic when you said -

“Yes, Sir.” In a broken tone.

His smile grows before he sits up. He grabbed your face with the same brute strength he used before. Although it hurt, he smoothed his hand over the mark on your cheek, gently touching the skin and leaving a burning sensation in its wake. The look in his eyes was tender, endearing, and loving.

His touch didn’t stop. He slipped a hand under your chin again, holding you in place. The other moved to your mouth, where he pressed his thumb against the seam of your lips. You slowly opened up, allowing him to violate the new expanse of skin. He didn’t have a look of arousal on his face. It was more inquisitive. Like he was examining you with care.

He dragged his fingers across your gums and against your teeth. He stretched your mouth out before he slid his fingers down your throat. You tensed as you suspend your gag, curious if he would prefer for you to fight the intrusion a little instead. He doesn’t switch his body language up to showcase what he wants. Instead, he runs his thumb across your lips once more, impressed that your lipstick doesn’t smudge.

“Stand for me,” You didn’t bother verbally responding, only raising up on shaky legs in front of him. He warms up to your obedient nature, leaning back a little as he pulls you forward just a step.

“That’s my good girl, you’re being so sweet for me.” He sucks at the finger that was just inside your mouth, sending a chill down your exposed spine.

“Strip for me. Keep your undergarments on.” He sat back more and started to relax in the chair. He didn’t bother watching as you stripped. The dress fell smoothly off your skin as he decided to glance at his wristwatch.

He put his hand up, curling his fingers towards him in a beckoning motion. You step out of the dress, moving towards him. You notice that he grabs at his cock, possibly to adjust himself or maybe to alleviate his erection. He tightened his jaw as he concentrated on your form. You were beautiful. Warm skin and a voluptuous body. Prim and proper. Sweet and ripe for his taking. His eyes glazed over in admiration of such a woman. He could jerk himself off in a matter of seconds from watching you. The thought entertains him, but Yuuta was never greedy. He could hold out for something better.

He grabs at your waist, pulling you towards him. His hands skimmed over the thin fabric of your underwear, skimming over your sex. His fingers dragged down your thighs and took in the expanse of your skin. He put some weight against one palm, and lightened the other, making you turn in his hold.

Your back faced him. You wish you could see him but you elected to keep your posture facing away from him. Again his hands skimmed and examined your frame. Light touches pressed against your skin as he felt your spine. He skimmed at the dip of your back, petting over the area as images of you bent over, struggling to take him filled his mind.

You felt his face come near, the hair from his head slightly tickling your lower back. His hands found their familiar place on your hips once more. He couldn’t control himself.

There was no verbal instruction. Instead, you felt his hands bend your forward. You made sure to fold your body over for him, sticking out your ass, waiting to feel his hands explore your frame once more. But he found what he was looking for. You're soaked. The fabric stuck to your cunt, a silhouette of it forming through beautiful threads of fabric.

His touch didn’t come.

He cleared his throat, unable to look away from the sight in front of him.

“Stand up straight for me,” He instructs, leaning back. You slowly raise and you peak at him over your shoulder. He’s covering the bottom part of his face, his unnerving smile gone, and his eyes flit over your frame, landing on your expensive pussy covered by a pathetic excuse for underwear. His mind is still on the place between your thighs.

“Drop to your knees for me,” He says, rubbing his hands together, working to soothe himself. You do as you are told. You drop down and look back at him, giving slow blinks to him. He wraps a hand around the back of your head. You follow his lead as he pulls you forward. You brace yourself against his knees but continue to follow his motion.

Your cheek meets his upper thigh, laying against his hard-on. You can feel how big the mass is through the thick fabric of his dress pants. You take a deep breath as he reaches over you, dragging his fingers from the bottom of your spine upwards.

Once they catch over the latch of your bra, he lightly prods at the fabric. You exhale as he undoes the garment. The lacey piece falls from your skin, your breast chilled from the air in the room. Yuuta pulls the piece off the rest of the way before allowing you to lean back.

You sat pretty for him.

He smiled at you. You smiled gently back this time. Possibly from his warmth.

Possibly from his uneasy nature.

He lifts his shoe towards you. You look down, noticing an amber liquid lightly spread across the leather of his dress shoes. He doesn’t bother playing into your confused nature. Instead, he places the shoe across the warmth of your chest, right over your sternum, and presses in slightly.

“Be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.”

Silence filled the room once more.

You didn’t have to do this. You could get up and leave. You looked over to the table to see if any napkins were present. There weren’t. You assumed he wouldn’t be happy if you used your dress or bra to wipe his shoes clean. You looked up at him once more, uncertain.

He frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“C'mon, lick it up.” You felt frozen in time. That's disgusting. Foul. You don’t know where his feet have been this whole time or how long he’s worn these shoes. You stare at the amber liquid once more and he gets impatient. He grinds the balls of his feet into your chest, annoyed.

You grip at his ankle to alleviate the pressure. If you thought his hands felt heavy, the weight of his foot was unfathomable. It felt like he was crushing your ribs. You had to press into the ground just to stay upright underneath his dirty shoe.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale through your nose. The money. That large sum of money could easily keep you from doing work like this again for a while. Plus, you supposed you’ve licked worse…

Yuuta smiled as you pulled his shoe closer to your mouth. You ran your tongue across the rich leather, the scotch mixing with the unique earthy flavor. You made sure to suck it up, just as you did your ego. You gazed up at your client, his eyes were hazy and his mouth hung open slightly. You noticed a slight movement from his hand and dropped your eyes to see him palming himself.

After sucking up each drop of scotch, the man leaned over. You held the liquid in your mouth as he pulled your head closer from the nape of your neck.

“Don’t swallow yet,” He instructs and you listen. You brace your hands on your thighs, intimidated by his lustful gaze. He leans in more and pulls you in as well. His lips press against yours with hunger and urgency. You moan into the kiss, opening yourself up to him. His tongue pursues yours, and he suckles around it, taking the scotch and grime off his shoe into his mouth. You expect that to be it. Just a kiss for his game. He didn’t relent. His mouth was bruising and demanding. It was a message. You wouldn’t win against him.

You gasp as he pulls away, seeing such a serious look on his face.

He hums in approval. His thumb slides across your spit-slicked lips for a moment before he grasps at your chin. He pulls you closer and you follow his lead. Your face is close to his again.

“Can you be a smart girl for me?” He asks before leaning back. He doesn’t bother waiting for your response. Only one glance down at his erection and you understood what he meant. Your hands slide up the expanse of his thighs, skimming over his cock. He jumps lightly at the touch, forcing his gaze back to you. You meet his eyes, expert hands undoing his belt without a single glance away. He chuckles lightly at that and grabs at the cigar on the table.

You ease your hands into his slacks. Gentle touches, slow moves, teasing in every sense of the word. You tug his pants down just enough for the outline of his cock to no longer be trapped beneath it. There’s a slight light coming from the cherry of his cigar, helping you see the precum that's left a wet mark on his briefs.

Before removing his underwear you lean over him and press your lips right against his covered tip. He stalls, watching you with his interest piqued. You suck gently at his leaky tip, savoring the taste of him. You had to admit… it tasted better than most of the cum you’ve swallowed down. He pulls gently at your hair and you come up only to take his underwear off.

His cock slapped against his button-up, his swollen head leaving a bead of cum on the expensive cotton. He watched intently as you took him in. His cock was pretty in every sense of the word. It was flushed pink at the tip, with a base a bit more tan than his milky skin tone. The veins running down his shaft were thick and continued around his pelvis. He curved upwards slightly and once you grabbed at it, it felt warm and heavy in your hands. Most importantly, it was big.

You got into a proper position, letting your back arch as you leaned forward. One hand braced yourself in between your folded legs and the other led his tip against your lips. He didn’t bother speaking, but you could tell he was excited from the way he scooted his hips forward in his chair. You pressed open-mouth kisses to the underside of his tip, getting the sensitive area wet.

You can hear him inhale the smoke right as you open your mouth more, letting the head of his cock slip in. Both hands rested against the ground now as you leaned forward, taking more of him inside of you. You suckled around the skin, moaning slightly as you pulled back. Soft breaths fell from his lips as you got into a rhythm. He felt heavy on your tongue. Your jaw ached from the weight and stretch of trying to accommodate him.

You persisted in taking all of him, flattening your tongue and sucking more of him down. It hurts. A lot. Your nose finally touched the hairs against his pelvis. You purposely clenched your throat around his shaft causing him to grip at your hair. A broken moan fell from his lips that made your arousal feel heavy. The cigar was long forgotten as he used both hands to lead you up and down his dick.

You kept the pace he set, only breaking it to hold all of him inside you again. Once more, you tightened your throat while licking at his balls. His moans were broken by a slight laugh. He dropped his hands and allowed you to play with him as you pleased. You moved back to his tip, sucking harshly before licking his full length and mouthing at his base.

You couldn’t help but feel smug at the look on his face. He was ruined. His hair was a mess, the shirt he wore had more buttons undone. And the drunk look on his face told you everything you needed to know. You brought one of your hands up to stroke him and sucked at the under seam of his tip. He shut his eyes, restraining himself. It was too much. Feeling the pressure you forced out of him along with seeing your angelic figure pleasuring it. It made you happy to see him working so hard against you.

You tightened the grip on your stroke and sucked just a little harder causing his hips to stutter. You moved to take his whole cock in again but he moved faster. He grabs at your shoulder and forces you back. Your grip was replaced by his and you watched as he rutted his cock into his hand. More moans fell from his sweet lips as he watched you.

Swollen lips and tear-brimmed eyes. Your chest heaved and your skin was wet from his precum and your drool. He liked seeing you ruined beneath him. He liked the mark he left on you. He liked seeing you be his mess. The thought of having you again and again and again plagued him. The images flashed before him as his cum shot out across your tits.

Warm cum dripped across your collarbones and breast. It mixed in with the previous mess you made from sucking his cock. The sight was absolutely vile and yet, both of you couldn’t get enough.

Your break was short-lived.

Yuuta immediately grabs at you before laying you across the table. You try to sit up on your elbows at the very least, but he pushes you back down, shaking all the materials on the surface from his force.

“Fucking hell,” He grunts, laying his still-hard cock across your pantie-clad cunt.

“Look at what you do to me,” You don't have to look through. You can feel him. You can feel the heavy weight of his cock prodding at your lower lips. You can feel the sticky drip of his cum still easing out his tip. You can feel how slick he is against your pelvis. And you wanted to feel him more.

While you’re anticipating the thought of what that delicious stretch inside you would feel like, Yuuta collects some of the cum across your breast and rushes to press it in your mouth. You don’t hesitate to take his offer. You slide your tongue across his digits as he pumps them in and out of your mouth. His cock jumps at the feeling, tensing with the need to be inside you.

You’re being so good for him. You take every drop he gives you and you’re looking up at him like you're thankful to be here with him. Thankful to have his cum on your lips.

And he smiles.

It touches his eyes for once.

“Atta girl.” His eyes drop, taking in your naked frame once more. He ruts his cock against your slick-covered folds one last time, squeezing at your hip to control himself. “Thank you for this.” He leans back, tucking himself away.

He helps you sit up and slowly move off the table.

“Get dressed, then please help yourself to any refreshments.”

He then walks out without a word to you.

You slowly get dressed and the moment you straighten yourself up completely there was a knock at the door. You didn’t bother saying come in, instead, the older gentlemen from before walked in. He doesn’t say a word to you. He holds out your coat, purse, and a special envelope. Once placed in your hands you could tell it was filled with unmarked dollar bills.

You’re led back to the elevator and descend to your normal life.

A few weeks pass by. Life was good. There was no need to schedule new appointments due to the surplus of money Yuuta provided you. You lay across your couch wondering what you could possibly do with your day. There was a new café in town you could try. Or maybe you could hit the farmers market and take a walk into the city. Just go with the ebb and flow of life for a little while. A knock interrupts your daydreaming forcing you to sit up.

You didn’t dare to answer the door right away since you weren’t expecting any guests. A chill ran over your body as you thought of who it might possibly be. You slowly moved towards your door and listened to hear if anyone was out there. Once the coast was clear you creaked open the door slightly. You look around, not seeing anything until you gaze downward. There stood a letter. In the same envelope.

The same type of special envelope you recalled receiving from your last client.

637 notes · View notes

maturemenoftvandfilms · 3 months

Text

The Rev. Jerry Falwell

Featuring Rev. Jerry Falwell

Back in 1989, I was a student at Liberty University and in the office of the University president, Rev. Jerry Falwell for violating the school's personal ethics code. I got caught blowing a guy and you know who Rev. Falwell was, you know I was in trouble. Falwell was a so called champion of righteousness, waging a crusade against homosexuality so my time at Liberty was over.

With that being said, I couldn't help but admirer him. Your typical older white male in his late 50s or early 60s. He had greying hair. Not too bad, he had a cute quality to him. And if I was going out, I might as well go big and have some fun with him. I always had a thing for older guys.

I apologized, slowly licked my lips asked, "Is there something I can do to make up for the infraction?"

His face turned red and just shook his head as if there was nothing I could do. I bet he never had a man make a pass at him. His eyes quickly did a once over on me, and bingo. I do believe the good doctor here might have a thing for little ol' me.

We sat there for an awkward minute as he had his internal struggle whether to accept my proposal for sex or not. So I chose to take things to the next level as I got up and walked over to a wall with his accolades. He turned slightly in his chair, not knowing what to do next and I saw his bulge. I had him right where I wanted him I thought as I walked over to a bookcase by his desk and picked up a picture of him and who I assumed was his wife. She seemed like a hard nosed bitch.

"Is this your wife Rev. Falwell," I asked.

"Yes, we've been married for 30 years." He answered. Ah, so he's been debating if he should cheat on his wife with a young piece of ass like me.

"She seems a bit intense, no?" I asked. He chuckled and almost immediately tried to hide it. I struck a nerve. I bet she was a prude with being only for procreating. And definitely no blow-jobs.

"Does she take good care of you, Rev. Falwell?" I gently asked, placing the picture back.

He froze so I took a small step towards him, but his lower lip seem to quiver a bit. As if words were trying to be formed, but my now sexual presence was suffocating him. I took another step forward and fixed his collar of his shirt. I looked into his eyes and whispered, "Rev. Falwell, does she suck your cock every night and morning? Does she make you feel good?"

I slowly shook his head no. I smiled meekly before kneeling in front of him. I licked my lips and said, "Rev. Falwell, I need another chance. Can't you find it in your heart to give me just one more chance."

With his lips still quivering, he nodded yes as I slid my hands up and down his legs. I put on my most sincere face and thanked him while my hands slid up his body and down his legs again. On the next pass I unbuckled his belt so I could undo his pants. I slid them down and was rewarded with a pretty decent cock. It was about 7 inches, thick, veiny and most importantly, hard. I licked from the bottom of his shaft to the tip as he shuddered in pleasure. I took in his musky smell and it felt so erotic. Then I slipped my lips over his manhood and went to work.

Rev. Falwell gripped the arms of his leather chair as I I could feel the veins on his cock as my lips glided up and down. His salty precum hit my tongue and I looked up at him. His glazed over eyes told me everything I needed to know. I had him right where I wanted him.

I continued my oral assault on him as I sucked him off for everything he was worth. He built enough courage to lay a hand on my shoulder and then on my head as my hands slipped under his ass so I could take him deeper. I let his cock hit the back of my throat a couple times to make that sound porn stars make in the videos. I was feeling real slutty as I released his cock from my mouth with a gasp and I jerked him off so I could catch my breathe.

"You're wife doesn't suck your cock like this does she." I asked, looking directly at him. He shook his head no as I slapped his cock against my lips and then my tongue.

Wanting to milk this old bastard and leave him wanting more, I was back to sucking and stroking his thick cock. My head bobbed as his moans got louder and louder. His hands gripped my shoulders as if he wanted me to stop but I wanted it. I wanted his cum. I wanted his satisfaction. He thrusted his hip as he could no longer hold it in anymore. With a last suck, his cock popped out of my mouth for the last time and he shot all over my face as I furiously jerked him off.

His cum sprayed all over my face and I could feel it slowly seep down it. Luckily it looked like he got everything by my eyes. I slowly opened them as I watched him panting as if he'd just ran a marathon. I licked my cum covered lips and tasted him before quickly cleaning all the cum off my face, but didn’t swallow it. Instead I moved quickly up and on top of Jerry until my face was over his. Rev. Falwell opened his mouth to say something and I started French kissing him with my mouth full of the old man’s cum.

Looking into his clear blue eyes, I saw a look of shock. Then he was surprisingly kissing me back. His tongue was every where inside my mouth, angry and as brutal as he could make it. I loved. As I wrapped my tongue around his and sucked, I could feel him swallowing his own cum as he sucked it out of my mouth.

Suddenly I felt his hand grasp my balls. I sucked in air as he tighten his grip on my tender testicles. Then as I started jerking and thrashing from the pain of his iron grip on my balls as we kissed like I had never before kissed someone. I thought he was going to rip my balls off as he squeezed and pulled on them. But a part of me love it.

When we finally broke our embrace, Jerry let go of my balls. And the moment he did that, I undid my pants and jerked them down along with my boxer shorts. My fat dick sprung up and stood straight out from my body. It was so hard it was throbbing. The old man's eyes got big as he looked at my thick dick against his mouth. I didn’t think Rev. Falwell would open his mouth, but then I guess he was so horned up he didn’t know what he was doing. The next thing I knew Rev. Falwell was sucking my dick.

I felt wonderful. But even better to look down at Rev. Jerry Falwell, the fundamentalist preacher who founded the Moral Majority while he had my dick in his mouth. I got so excited that I shot off. He gagged and tried to spit my dick out but I forced my dick in him, and made him swallow the entire load before pulling it out.

Needless to say, I wasn't kicked out of school that day.

#jerry falwell #Jerry Falwell Sr.#The Rev. Jerry Falwell #fan fiction #celebrities

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ash5monster01 · 5 months

Text

Goes On Chapter One

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

word count: 2.6k

Prologue ←→ Two

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

1/4/60

Coming back from break was always the worst. The good part was you knew you were already halfway there. The bad part was now it was time to get serious. No more silly Holidays or breaks. Now it was time for excessive studying, finals, and college applications. It meant being real for the next five months. The teachers knew this to which explained why Evelyn had a mountain of books to carry in her arms and enough homework to keep her up all night.

At least she had English. The one class she wouldn’t mind having an excessive amount of work. As long as she got to read and write it would be okay. A whole forty minutes to relax and enjoy the only lesson of the day that wouldn’t bore her entirely. Something to clear her mind. Or at least she thought.

“Isn’t he so cute, I told you” Evelyn heard Laurie whisper to Violet as she plopped down in her seat next to her. Laurie was the school gossip, most popular, most blonde, most perfect, and an in on every secret that flooded through the school. She had the power to be friends with anyone and for some reason she had chosen Evelyn and her friends.

Violet on the other hand was more outspoken. Gentle, kind, blue eyes as deep as the ocean and hair as dark as a raven. She had been Evelyn’s roommate the entirety of their time at the Academy and best friend in the world. So if Violet was part taking in Laurie’s gossip it only made sense Evelyn did too.

“Who’s cute?” Evelyn asked as she slid into her desk beside them and the two girls instantly shushed her, students turning, and giving the three confused looks.

“The new guy, he was in my math class” Violet whispered and Laurie nodded behind her, a grin etched across her face. New students meant fresh meat for Laurie. New gossip, new excitement, and possibly someone new to flirt with.

“Yeah he was in Latin with me first period. Real mysterious and quiet. It’s hot” Laurie spoke and Evelyn chuckled at her blonde friends antics. Only she could romanticize the idea of a new guy in Latin class with Mr. Miller who was bald and fat, and for some reason always smelled like moth balls.

“Well I wanna see the new guy” Evelyn pouted, now intrigued by the fact there was a new student randomly in the middle of the year and she not only hadn’t seen him yet but had been so busy with school she didn’t even hear about it.

“Don’t worry if you don’t have a class with him I heard he’s rooming with Nate” Violet said speaking of their male best friend. Nate hadn’t mentioned getting a new roommate but they also hadn’t really had the chance to see each other since they came back from the Holidays.

“Wait, quiet, there he is” Laurie hissed before Evelyn could yell about Nate not telling her. Evelyn nearly snapped her neck as she turned to the door where sure enough an unrecognizable boy walked through. His white button down was tucked into his required grey slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up effortlessly. He was cute, and normally she wasn’t one to admit that so quickly.

“Wow” was all she could muster and the girls giggled at their normally not so shocked friend. Evelyn turned to see he had taken one of the open seats in the back, immediately dropping his head as if not to be seen.

“I wonder why he transferred?” Violet whispered back and Evelyn shrugged. Until now she hadn’t known anything of him and she hated that he actually was cute because now there was no way she could focus on class.

“Maybe his parents got a new job” she offered and the girls nodded as they accepted the answer and began to open their English books.

“Alright students today we’re going to be learning a little about Dr. J Evans Prichard” the room froze as a small scoff came from the back of the room, heads turning to spot the new kid.

“Is there an issue-” Mrs. Clark paused as her eyes scanned her papers for the new kids name. “Mr. Dalton?”

“No issue, just clearing my throat” Mrs. Clark rose her eyebrows, unconvinced with his excuse, but moved on nonetheless. Evelyn was surprised by such an outburst from the boy and grew even more curious about him. Suddenly his eyes locked on hers and she quickly turned her head away to avoid being caught staring.

“Well then, let’s open Chapter One of our books, Understanding Poetry” the class moved and did as told as Mrs. Clark got started with the lesson. Evelyn found it wasn’t only the boy that kept her distracted during the lesson but his reaction to the material as well. Why didn’t he like Prichard and how did he even know about him? She figured these were questions she may never get to learn the answers too.

Charlie had grown used to the staring. He figured he’d stick out like a sore thumb considering the fact most of the students were expecting the same old classmates from before. Add in the fact it was during the middle of the year. He thought he’d have fun admiring the girls and being around them considering he now went to a co-ed school but he still didn’t feel enough like himself to care. The Charlie that answered a phone call from God would be disappointed to see him now.

As Evelyn continued throughout her day she noticed the new kid ended up being in all the same classes with her. Guess it didn’t matter he was rooming with Nate because she couldn’t seem to get away from him after English class. With the shared amount of time together she learned he was quiet and mysterious just like Laurie had said, which perked her interest about him even more. So it was a total loss trying to pay attention in any of her classes, she was in another world, curious thoughts swirling her mind about him.

“Hey has anyone seen Nate?” Martin, Violets boyfriend, asked. They were sat in the students lounge, determined to get study group rolling so they didn’t have as much homework to do after dinner. Martin also needed all the help with classes that he could get. Martin wasn’t as smart as the rest of them but he was at least willing to work at it. He was determined and Evelyn figured that was exactly the reason Violet had fallen in love with him. Evelyn now realized that being stuck in her thoughts the rest of the day made her unaware of the fact she hadn’t seen her friend all day or at the very least talked to him.

“No not since lunch” Violet spoke, realizing their friend had been A-wall for a while.

“I’ll go find him” Evelyn popped up, curious herself as to why Nate hadn’t been around all day. She needed a distraction too, she couldn’t start the new semester with clouded judgement.

“Don’t get caught on the boys dorm floor!” Violet called after her, always worried about her careless friend, and Evelyn waved a hand back. Mostly unbothered considering Violet had Martin in their shared room almost every night.

“Nate, why are you hiding?” Evelyn shoved the familiar dorm door open to spot not only Nate at his desk doing homework but the new kid shirtless on the usually empty bed. She had already forgotten her friend had gained the new kid. What a waste of a distraction.

“Eve can you learn how to knock, what if we didn’t have pants on?” Evelyn rose her eyebrows to which the new boy snickered at the look on the girls face. He hadn’t meant to respond but seeing her expression made him laugh. She was cute he thought, someone he might’ve spent more time thinking about if his head wasn’t so crowded with grief.

“If you didn’t have pants on I’d probably be a little concerned as to what you two were doing and then I might’ve snuck a peek” Evelyn shot a wink towards the new boy, figuring if he was so quiet she could mess with him. Charlie was surprised by this response, not realizing the girl from most of his classes could be so outspoken.

“Evelyn could you stop embarrassing me for once, I meant if we were changing” he tried pushing her out the door and she giggled lightly, fighting back and forcing the door open.

“Oh lighten up Nate, it’s all in good fun. I just came to drag your ass to study group, Trig is killing me” she pouted at the boy, knowing he would cave. He always did. Nate held a soft spot for Evelyn and sometimes she abused her power, without even realizing she had it.

“Eve you’re gonna have to learn math at some point” Nate crossed his arms, hoping if he did homework in the dorm he could get his new roommate to open up a little. Martin was a cool guy but him and Nate were on different spectrums and if Martin wasn’t dating Violet he figured they’d never talk to each other.

“Yeah, but todays not that day. Let’s go” Evelyn shoved him towards the door and he sighed as she collected his books. Not willing to take no for an answer.

“Fine, you’re so annoying” Nate huffed as he went to grab his books from her before she messed his notes up. Now free of the books she turned to the new kid, ready to take her opportunity while she had it. The sooner her questions were answered the better off she’d be. No curiosities to keep her distracted.

“You too newbie, let’s move it” Evelyn collected the shirt she saw him wearing earlier from the ground and tossed it at him. He wore a surprised look but quickly collected himself.

“I think I’m okay sweetheart” he quipped and she rose her eyebrows, surprised to hear the confidence in his voice, but she didn’t falter as she held her ground.

“Save the pet names for Nate, we’re studying now” she told him, arms crossing over her chest. Charlie stared at her in shock for a moment and Nate sighed as he looked at Evelyn. The girl he had been in love with since he was thirteen. For a moment he realized having a room mate meant having someone new to steal her away.

“Man, she doesn’t take no for an answer. So save us the time and just come” Nate suggested a little defeated and Charlie looked to the girl, he saw how she held her shoulders high and waited for him to stand. She was brave.

Without answering Charlie stood and shrugged on the button up shirt he had planned on abandoning for the rest of the night. Evelyn grinned in victory as she watched his fingers glide up the buttons and hide away his chest. Evelyn tried her best not to seem too smug but it was hard not to when she had already convinced the new boy to tag along.

“I think you’re cool new kid” Evelyn said as he started to grab his own textbooks. Charlie gave her an amused look before shaking his head.

“It’s Charlie” he corrected her and she shrugged before turning towards the door and leading the pair of boys back to the study group.

“Found him and a straggler” Evelyn announced as she pushed the door open. The friend group turned to find the familiar faces of their friends was accompanied by a new one.

“Of course Evelyn would bully the new kid into spending time with us” Laurie said gesturing to him as they all took their seats at the table.

“I had to, Nate was talking about them not wearing pants together. It was my duty to save him” Charlie was surprised as she grabbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He had never met someone so unbothered by the world around her. Most girls he knew were uptight or dumb.

“She took that out of context, she just opened my dorm door. One of us could’ve been changing” Nate quickly defended himself and the group laughed.

“That won’t stop her Nate, she would’ve enjoyed the view” Violet said and Evelyn let out a proud hmph because that was exactly what she said.

“Well Nate, introduce us to your friend” Laurie leaned forward on the table, dropping the nail file she held in her hands. Evelyn was surprised by the jealousy the bubbled in her stomach as she spotted the way Laurie looked at him.

“This is my new roommate Charlie, he just transferred from Welton” surprised faces appeared as they heard this. Shock filling almost each and every one of the group.

“A Welton boy, guess it is true that they’re all cute” Laurie smirked and Charlie gave a surprised look that these girls were so free willed with their speech. He figured majority of them were shy but maybe this is what happened when you went to a co-ed school.

“How did a Welton boy end up here of all places?” Violet asked him, curious as to how you could go from one of the best schools to here.

“Yeah, I tried to get into Welton and they denied me. Weird that someone who actually could attend comes here?” Martin asked a bit surprised. He already struggled at Ridge, Welton took one look at his grades and said hell no.

“You guys know you’re a prep school too right?” Charlie asked and Evelyn laughed like he just told the best joke of the year.

“Yeah but not a good one, maybe a quarter of our graduates go to ivy leagues and since we’re a co-ed school we’re frowned upon. The Ridge Rejects” Evelyn bumped her shoulder with his, surprised he wasn’t aware of this. Then again why would someone from the big times bother to know anything about the left behind kids.

“Yeah, exactly. We’re the kids who were too smart to go to public school but not smart or rich enough to go places like Welton or Henley Hall” Violet explained and Charlie nodded as he learned this new information. No wonder he ended up here of all places.

“Well I’m here because I’m the king of the rejects. Welton booted me” Charlie spoke so nonchalantly but the rest of the group gasped.

“They kicked you out?” Martin eyed him, shock covering his features.

“How did you get kicked out?” Nate asked, new to this information as well. He had been dying to know since last night.

“I hit a kid, he deserved it, and I’d like to do it again. On top of that they wanted me to sign some bullshit contract and I wouldn’t so they shoved me out the doors” Charlie stated, flipping through his assignments, already having come to terms with the fact he was no longer apart of that school.

“That’s really bad ass new kid” Evelyn spoke, eyes glimmering with admiration, and Nate burned with jealousy the same way he had been since she shoved open their dorm door and winked at him.

“Thanks” Charlie spoke and Evelyn was surprised to see he was much more than they had thought.

“Well Charlie welcome to the school of Rejects, you’ll fit right in”

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years

Note

Fight Club narrator is irrevocably in love with me but can't bring himself to say anything about it and I put my dumb ass in Fight Club but Tyler Durden has his eye on me now. How would narrator react to knowing this, and how would Tyler pursue?

Narrator “Jack” and Tyler Durden x Male reader

Headcanons

The Narrator is referred to as Jack in this. When I wrote this, I imagined Tyler and Jack as their separate people. I tried to write the reader in a way that would catch not only Jacks but also Tyler’s attention, hope that’s okay.

This became a lot longer than I had planned, so I hope you enjoy :)

Tw for some mentioned homophobia. Mentions of violence (its fight club, so duh), nsfw mentioned but not described.

I'm always open for more fight club requests if anybody is interested. I know it's a pretty small fandom but ya know. I like it.

- Jack had been dragging himself through the grey and repetitiveness that was society when he met you for the first time. A new person had joined the multi-billion-dollar company that Jack had slaved away at for who knows how many years.

- You had been set up in the empty cubby beside Jack, the one that had been empty since his last coworker moved on to another mindless soul sucking job that paid a little extra.

- He had been typing random letters in a document, trying to force his insomnia heavy eyes to stay open, his head drooping every now and then as if the weight of his brain became to much for his neck to bare.

- Jack came to after you had already left to collect the materials needed for your desk. You had only been by to place your bag and leave your jacket. He heard people mutter and whisper, their voices muddling together into a wall of useless sounds, the kind that no matter how hard you tried, you could focus on enough to understand.

- Jack felt something swell in his throat as he saw you as you went by the opening of his cubby. He could now see why people talked about you that way. You had multiple piercings and tattoos, the ink curling up your neck and crawling the back of your ears, as the fake stones in your piercings twinkled.

- When you stepped back onto the floor, the whispers went quiet. A ringing noise filed Jacks ears as the sound suddenly left the room, an air of fake politeness filled the room like the gas from a stove left on too long. All it would take would be some comment, or any sudden movement to be the spark that would blow it all up.

- Your hair was styled in a way that was unprofessional by most sheep’s standards. It was spikey but still manageable. In a way that no one could really punish you, as it didn’t break the clothing rules. Letting his eyes roam over you, he caught a flash of colour on your hips.

- There, on your hips, you wore a colourful belt with spikes and buckles. And from one of the many buckles, hung a keychain of a rainbow flag. Jack could see the looks of disdain and disgust on his coworker’s face. As if your very presence was an insult to their existence, to their grey boring lives that followed the same patterns every single day.

- Jack could hear the mutter of Jenny, the 60-year-old, thrice divorced mother of 4, whose children never visited her anymore. He had her use a slur under her breath, venom lacing her words as she asked why someone like you had to work here.

- From the returned mother of Peter, married but unhappily, he would come in every day and complain about his wife and how she was unbearable. It was obvious he hit her. You were a hire from the higher ups to make the company look more “inclusive”, as “your kind” was becoming more accepted.

- When you smiled at him, he felt a warm flutter in his otherwise cold and empty chest. It was like a flower unfurling its leaves under a streak of sunlight. He tried to smile back, but he knew it looked awkward. He must have been some sight, with the dark circles under his eyes and sunken in appearance.

- As you looked to the side, your eyes meeting his, it felt as if Jack was struck across the face. It felt as if your fist met the side of his jaw, your ring covered fingers carving indents into his flesh and blood pouring from the damage.

- But you just smiled and introduced yourself. Jack politely replied, welcoming you to the company. He felt his heart give a lurch as he caught the appearance of a tongue piercing as you spoke.

- You grinned at him and made a comment about how you would be cubby neighbors, so you’d have to get along. Jack smiled, a little less tense this time, and made a smart remark about how he was sure you would get along just fine.

- Some days you would style your hair different, wear different piercings or change your hair. You even started wearing intriguing and colourful ties as the employee rulebook said nothing about colour.

- You were like a flash of light, a breath of fresh air or the relieving feeling of Tylenol kicking in and washing away a day long headache. You were a streak of colour in the otherwise grey and ice-cold world. You were warm and exciting. Nothing was ever the same being your cubby neighbour.

- Jack kept up his work friendship with you, the warmth in his chest turning into a bonfire, later growing into an almost unstoppable forest fire. The smoke rising and filling his lungs and causing tears to gather in his eyes as the soot blinded his vision. But through it all he could still see you, your hand reached out to him as you handed him a stapler as he had lost his own.

- Jack had even stopped going to support groups, as your very presence seemed to fill whatever hole it was, he had in his chest, tho he still had an impossible time sleeping. You were like a balm or an icepack on his otherwise painful existence.

- When you one day came to work and gave him a present on his birthday, the forest fire grew even more, the flames consuming hundreds if not thousands of miles or privately owned property, tearing down the million-dollar mansions and low-income houses that struggled paycheck to paycheck.

- He had never told you his birthday, but you just looked off to the side, a faint flush on your perfect face, at least in Jacks eyes, as you made some off hand comment about seeing it on the work calendar and since he was the only one at the office who seemed to like you, you felt like it would be a nice thing to do.

- Jack smiled, like really smiled as the warm feeling that he now recognized was love bubbled over, like a boiling pot of water, or acid mixed with the right chemicals. He shyly thanked you, and when you grinned and went back to your seat, he let the fluttering in his stomach be instead of surpassing it like he normally would.

- Inside the gift you had given him with a “Make your own soap” diy set with a sticky note ontop with some comment you had written about how “atleast making soap you get to decide, unlike this dump” and a winky face.

- Digging deeper into the box he pulled out a shirt, it was thick and warm and on closer inspection it was a hoodie. It was black and had multiple patches and artworks embroidered into it. The string it was stitched with was colourful and obviously homemade.

- In the hood was another note. In your recognizable scrawl It said “You always look so cold and small in ties and dress shirts. Its like looking at a wet, abandoned street cat. You should have something comfortable to wear”.

- Only you had been on his mind, and curling the hoodie to his nose, he could smell you. This has knocked him over and edge he hadn’t been able to cross in as long as he could remember. He couldn’t deny it any longer. Jack was madly and uncontrollably in love with you.

- Later that evening, Jack would lay awake in his bed, wearing nothing but the hoodie you had made for him. His forehead was sweaty, and his mind felt floaty as he had just had the best orgasm he could remember ever having.

- You filled everything inside of him. From his thoughts to his guided meditation safe place. Where in the past it had been a penguin telling him to slide, was you, in your out of work clothes, cigarette between your lips and telling him to live.

- Jack fell asleep to a bittersweet burn on his throat. He could never confess his feelings to you. It would destroy what little control he had over his life, and he knew you were so far out of his sphere that he would never have a chance.

- So, when the next day came, he acted like he always did, greeting you with a smile and tried to ignore the unbearable flutter between his ribs as you smiled back, a new piercing in your bottom lip.

- It was harder than he imagined, hiding fight club from you. Especially when you’d brush your knuckle over his bruised brow, your well kept and styled brows furrowed as you asked in to what happened.

- That’s when Jack met Tyler Durden, and everything went down the rollercoaster that was his Life. Jacks’ apartment was blown up, he moved into the abandoned building with Tyler, and they started fight club.

- Jack couldn’t help but look at the rings on your fingers, the gold and silver triggering the part of his brain that dreamt of being punched and hurt. He wanted nothing more than for you to pummel him into the ground, to kill him so he could be reborn yet again, this time to your kisses and touch.

- Things kept on as usual, tho you became more and more worried as Jack become more disheveled and unfocused at work. It was when Jack had apparently been beating bloody by the manager that you put your foot down.

- You had planned on crowding him against a wall and forcing out of him who had been hurting him, when you heard mutters of some so-called fight club. One of your coworkers, one of the lowest ranked there whose whole job was sucking up to higher ups, mentioned Jack and how he was a beast in a fight.

- Your brow gave a twitch as you forced the guy into a supply closet with you, and with some prodding and threats you got it out of him. Fight club. You even got an address forced out of him and the times Jack was there before you left.

- You ignored the side glances some of the other men gave you, knowing their eyes were all over your clothes and the way you carried yourself. Knowing it was a club for beating each other up, you had taken out your piercings.

- That Saturday you arrived at the bar your coworker had given you. You had arrived before fight club was so happen and had taken a seat in the back of the bar, eyes on the door.

- you were wearing low hanging jeans, so low the top of your hip bones was visible, and a short tank top, the shirt ending a few inches under your pecs. Over it you wore one of your sweatshirts, this one like the one you had made Jack. It was black, with multiple patches and smiley faces embroidered in many different colours.

- On your feet you wore well loved boots, and your hair was ruffled in a way that would have you sent home at work. You had even gone as far as smudge dark eyeshadow around your eyes and paint a sharp edge to your eyes with eyeliner.

- Normally at bars like this, multiple men would have already harassed you the moment you stepped in the door. But they had only seemed to size you up as you stepped in doors, some even letting their eyes falling to the exposed inked tattoo of your stomach and neck.

- Catching the eyes of one of them, he immediately turned his head in the other direction, his ears going red as he did. He was blonde, the kind that you could only get out of a box, even his eyebrows had been given the same treatment. And he had a large still healing bruise on his face.

- As they entered, the bar seemed to buzz as they started closing, tho only some men and mainly women left the building. As the group moved into the basement, you stood up and cocked your hip, letting your eyes roll over the many pathetic or desperate expressions. They reminded you of an addict about to get their next hit.

- When Jack stepped into the building, you almost got up and charged at him to force him to tell you what the hell this was about. But then the other man swaggered in behind him. He had greasy but spikey hair, and wore clothes you assumed he dug up at the same goodwill that you did, and from his lips hung a crumbled cigarette.

- As you walked down the stairs, you passed the man Jack had entered with. He stood as if he was greeting all the other men entering, but the moment his eyes landed on you, a cocky and lustful smirk pulled on his lips, as he let his eyes roll all over you.

- You did nothing but roll your eyes at him as you moved past. Scrunching your nose at the cigarette smoke he puffed out as he gave some flirty greeting to you. When you just quirked a brow at him and kept moving, he cackled to himself as if entertained by your uninterest in him and moved to the front.

- You took your place in the crowd, and watched as this man introduced the club and its rules, his eyes passing over you multiple times as he did. Beside him stood Jack who hadn’t seemed to have spotted you yet.

- Soon the fighting began, and you leant against a wall with mild interest. You could see the appeal sure, but you liked fighting just two people, since it felt even better with no audience.

- Jack choked as you stepped into the ring, working off your shoes, jacket, and the piece of fabric you called a shirt. He could help the ugly jealousy that boiled through his shock as Tyler seemed to eat up every inch of inked skin you revealed to him. Tyler spat the cigarette between his teeth on the ground and squared up.

- Finally, as all the other new men had fought, Tyler stepped into the ring and called out to you. He went as far as to bite his lip and wink as he said you would be fighting him.

- “How about a bet” he purred as you cracked your neck and stretched your wrists and arms. When you quirked your styled brow, he grinned and wiggled his owns as he said “If I win, you’ll go on a date with me”

- You scoffed. “And if I win? Then what?”. Tyler kept grinning as he gave a shrug “Ill let you do exactly what you want with me”. You rolled your eyes and got into a fighting stance.

- Jack had to hold himself back from barging into the circle to grab your wrist and drag you with him out of the basement and bar. He couldn’t bare you being hurt, but most of all he couldn’t take the way Tyler was looking at you, or the obvious half chub in his pants as you struck him across the face, almost sending him flying with your strength.

- The fight lasted at least 15 minutes, Fists flying and blood splattering the ground. Soon Tyler was on his back, and you wailed on his face and head, punching him with the same strength one would their worst enemy. Tyler gagged and spat up blood, arousal, and something else fluttering his chest as you straddled his chest.

- It triggered something inside his brain that you were stronger than him, and even after fighting for 15 minutes, you didn’t even seem winded, even as Tyler was staring to lose consciousness. As he started to hear ringing and lose his vision, he finally stopped trying to fight back and went limp, announcing the fight was over.

- You pulled Tyler to his feet with ease, the man wobbling and crashing into your well built chest as he grinned up at you, tongue running over his bloody teeth as he squinted his bloody and bruised eyes.

- You rose to your feet with the ease of a ballerina, sticking out your hand to help Tyler get up as the deafening roar of cheers and hollers rose across the basement.

- “So, what do you wanna do with me” he purred, and you rolled your eyes and dragged him out of the middle of the room, letting the next two victims get a chance to beat each other bloody.

- You dragged Tyler to a garden chair at the edge of the room near the stairs, placing him down into it with little care even as he groaned, head rolling back and Adams apple bobbing.

- Jack couldn’t stop the glare he shot Tyler as the man clearly was showing off to you, trying to entrance you the same way he had all the other men in this basement.

- Your lackluster reaction only made the need inside Tyler burn brighter. He wanted you. You were bright in a way that none of these other pathetic space monkeys were. You were his perfect other half, Tyler knew it. And if the glare that Jack was burning into the back of his skull was making Tyler want to act out even more, so what.

- “Wait, you didn’t even give me your number” Tyler called, rolling his still dizzy head so he could look at your hips as you walked up the steps. Turning back, you huffed a chuckle, rolling your eyes and shaking your head before turning back around and leaving the basement.

- As the fights continued and you had checked that Tyler wasn’t going to choke to death on his own tongue and blood, you pulled on your shirt and jacket, shooting Jack a look before you went up the stairs.

- Jack could feel his fists shaking by his sides as he saw the flirty interaction with Tyler, who seemed to have caught the same infatuation with you that Jack himself had. If the dreamy look Tyler was shooting the door, you had just exited was anything to go off. It was either that, or you had given him a concussion during your fight.

- Jack bit the inside of his cheek, the taste of blood spreading to his tongue as he tried to suppress the bubbling jealousy and rage at the very thought of losing you to Tyler. Jack internally cursed Tyler, for daring to speak to you in ways Jack could only dream of ,you had just met and he seemed to already have worked his way into your good graces in a way that took Jack weeks.

- Tyler turned his head to Jacks direction, shooting him a bloody grin as if he had won some fight that didn’t involve their fists. As if he had won your affection and ripped it out from right under Jack. Tyler seemed to take some pleasure in the bubbling anger in Jacks eyes, the glint in Tyler’s eyes sparkling just a little bit more than usual.

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justadram · 29 days

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How did cultures of the mediveal people view aging? Were their ageism

Actually, there was a whole thread in historiography dedicated to the argument that the medieval era was like the golden age for being elderly. And I’d probably guess it was less ageist than modern youth oriented consumerist culture, but probably not as great as some historians claimed either.

Old age started around age 60, and there were plenty of elderly people kicking around. It’s high infant mortality rates that skew the average to like 30 very misleadingly! So, the elderly weren’t like a freak population. About 15% of the population would have been over the age of 60 in the late medieval period.

The elderly often were considered wise and more pious, which was admired. There are lots of saints lives about elderly saints who were not just spiritual warriors but also physically powerful. Lots of grey haired warriors in the epic poems, and old wise kings too.

In the Middle Ages, it’s all about the Community rather than the Individual, and there are good and bad parts to that. The elderly were still very much a part of the Community and as important as the other members. They didn’t exist as their own lesser category. They were considered capable of work, for example.

And if they were infirm and could no longer contribute, there were community institutions in place to protect them. Most people were cared for by their families. Others entered religious houses to retire. Some paid for a retirement setup within another household. But the church preached care for the infirm, so that was considered the right thing to do.

The law also protected the elderly. People who abused the elderly or took advantage of them were prosecuted.

But they also recognized ‘drawbacks’ to aging. There was some obsession over facets of aging we’d recognize, such as advice about changing dietary needs or brews and potions to regrow hair. And they did have some funny notions like some writers proposed the elderly weren’t capable of sex. But the writers tended to be male churchmen and they had all sorts of weird ideas about sex.

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wylde-lore · 5 months

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Doctor Wylde's character sheet

Name: Cedric Arlo Wylde

Alias/titles: Aldia Entrati (deadname), big guy, old fart, Doc, Doctor, The Good Doctor, General, Master, Enlightened One, Midnight Sun, Slayer of Lord Demogorgon

Race: Orokin

Sex: Male

Age: 10,948 years old

Height: 7 feet (2.1336 meters) while disguised as a mortal, 2,000+ feet (610+ meters) in his true form

Weight: 350 pounds (158.757 kilograms) while disguised as a mortal, ( 2.6 * 10^11 (260,000,000,000) tons in his true form

Physical appearance:

Additional characteristics: Despite his extreme age, he looks like he's merely in his late 60s to early 70s. His body is completely covered in countless scars, ranging from claw marks to lightning burns. He has the physique of an Olympic strongman and calloused hands that never so much as quiver under even the most stressful of situations and possess a vice-like grip that's almost impossible to escape from. His sharp nails are actually retracted claws, and are capable of rending flesh and metal alike when fully extended. His eyes are a rich golden color with red accents, and sport slitted, reptilian pupils. His ears are elongated and elf-like. His teeth are razor sharp and the canines are elongated into vicious fangs. His face is weathered and rarely shows emotion, but if you look closely there are clear smile lines. He has both crow's feet and dark circles under his eyes. Most of his hair has turned grey, but some still possess the coppery red of his youth. Though almost never seen as he's extremely good at hiding them -though the reason why is unknown - he has a pair of draconic wings with black and gold scales sprouting from his back, a draconic tail of similar coloration, the tip of which is bladed and impossibly sharp, and a line of bone spikes that protrude from his back and run along his spine. Much like most of his family, he has an Irish accent.

Profession(s): arcanologist, biomechanical engineer, licensed arms dealer, CEO of Wylde Labs, religious leader

Allied factions: the Orokin Empire, the ASF, the Drone colonies of Copper 9, Humanity

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Demiromantic omnisexual

Relationships: @theblackcubeofdarkness Cube, @emily-and-friends Clown - spouse (polyamorous relationship) Evelyn, Emma, Oswald, Ruby, Lucy, Lily, @theblackcubeofdarkness Oliver - biological father Cyn, Delilah, @emily-and-friends Emily, @solvar-the-drone, @nate-doorman-elliot, @thad-the-jock, @p3nny-bakes-cookies - adoptive father Agent Arrow - master and mentor Slyvan - pet owner Natah - son Janus - host Margret, Tessa, Abby, Odin, Belnar, Alice, Sarah, Cephalon Eda, Elizabeth, Asmodeus, @emily-and-friends Mikan, @sea-slug-in-a-sweater, @r4m-has-horns - employer Andy - Champion Serial Designation J, Yeva, @emily-and-friends Serial Designation O, Adele, Valentine, Vivien, Koki, Mimi, @asknoridoorman, @roseamongrobots - close friend and associate @asf-director-turner - contracted employer Ko, @emily-and-friends Serial Designation V, Korrina, @serial-designation-mj, @worker-drone-alex - (potential) future father-in-law

Personality: He is extremely adept at hiding his true emotions, creating an illusion of perpetual calm. Though he never reveals this information to anyone but those closest to him, in truth he is haunted by his past and suffers from PTSD so severe that he's developed an irrational fear of falling asleep, for he knows the only things waiting for him on the other side are vivid and horrific nightmares. He has a bit of a smoking problem, though he usually only smokes when he's particularly stressed. He loves his family dearly, though can be a bit overprotective of his children - especially Ruby, his firstborn. He is known for harboring extreme hatred and prejudice - bordering on flat out speciesism - against demonic entities, with exactly one known exception. Contrary to popular belief, he does have a sense of humor. Though rarely seen, he is known for having a sadistic streak and is not above torture if the situation demands it. Though he loves the thrill of combat and is very much driven by honor, he is not above "cheating" or "playing dirty;" he can and will exploit your weaknesses at every chance he gets, and he never fights fair. He has a bad habit of consuming the souls of those he kills in order to steal their knowledge and power. He is deeply religious and has an unwavering sense of duty to keep his culture alive, as his home world is gone and he is among the last of his species. He's very slow to trust, and is extremely secretive. Not even his two spouses know all his secrets. He's a complete workaholic and loves his job.

Important lore tidbits: Like many of his kin, the Doctor's true form is incompatible with the comprehension of mortals, and so he devised a plan to hide it. He tracked down a human scientist named Cedric Wylde, killed him, and stole his name, flesh, voice, and even his very soul. The new Doctor Wylde now wears the old one's skin like a costume, though how he fits inside is unknown. He has worn this skin for just over 50 years, and once it finally gives out on him, he'll have to shed it and repeat the process. In order to keep himself from sinking into the ground as its crushed under his immense weight, the doctor is constantly using gravity magic to make himself lighter. At this current point in time it's become second nature to him, as effortless and automatic as breathing, and sometimes he forgets he's even doing it. He is a veteran of a great war known as the Fell War, and it is the cause of not only his PTSD, but also his prejudice against demons. Over the millennia he's developed a split personality; a twisted version of himself named Janus. Pray you never meet him, and that if you do the meeting is brief and nonviolent. Janus only emerges to "play" when Doctor Wylde nears his breaking point mentally. He is capable of allowing parts of his true self to temporarily break through the skin suit as "mutations" if needs be. He can also contort his body at inhuman angles at will.

Additional lore trivia: In his youth, he had a bit of a superiority complex and this obnoxious "holier than thou" attitude that only got more infuriating when you realize that he's right. Such things were snuffed out of him during the Fell War. Though fully ambidextrous as an adult, he was born left handed. Do NOT challenge him to a drinking contest, as not only does he already have a drinking problem and by doing so you're encouraging him, but the alcohol content needed to get him even slightly tipsy is enough to kill several people from alcohol poisoning. He absolutely despises the word "moist." His favorite color seems to change every few days. This is because his favorite color is actually outside the wavelengths of visible light for humans, and he's trying to find one that's the most similar.

Drip:

His theme song:

youtube

#murder drones #murder drones au #cosmic indifference #murder drones rp #wylde lore #wylde family lore #oc character sheet #dr. wylde #art found on google #all credits go to the original artist(s)#Youtube

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the-fans-stuff-blog · 1 year

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Here's some of my Oni headcanons (+ some stuff about my au and Amaya, the Oni mother of the spinjitzu brothers):

TW: mention of blood

Oni saliva actually works the same way as rubbing alcohol and antibiotics. It can clean wounds and prevent infection. I feel it's this way because if an Oni was injured while fighting, they need to keep the wound clean till it heals or can get fixed up properly (Half Oni saliva isn't as effective, but that never stopped Garmadon till he almost got an infection)

Oni blood is purple and also extremely bitter to the point where you immediately get nauseous if you taste it. Unless you're a dragon or another Oni. Consuming Oni blood gives you the ability to transform, but only the elemental Dragons in my au have done this

Oni can purr, and only do so when alone or with someone they trust. They also have a nesting habit, and will usually do it for sleeping or comfort. Garmadon and Lloyd do this the most, and has their own stash of pillows and blankets so they don't steal someone else's (but they probably did at some point anyway lol)

Oni have high regeneration and healing abilities, able to regenerate full limbs. But oni full blooded Oni can do that, as a part oni can't. Their wounds still heal quite fast though, so it's not a total loss.

The only things that can kill an Oni are another Oni and a Dragon.

An Oni can have either black or white hair, no matter the age or gender. Sometimes there are Oni with light grey or dark grey hair. It is possible for Oni to be born with four arms instead of two.

Amaya (Wu and Garmadon's mother in my au) was the last oni to have a tail. No oni after her was reported to have a tail. Garmadon only has a tail due to the venom

Baby oni are called cubs, but Garmadon and Wu were called man cubs due to being only part oni. Only Amaya ever called the two her cubs though. In my au, Wu and Garmadon are twins, Wu just looks older due to the stress from training students. (Both brothers are around 345 y/o (60-70 in human age)

Male and Female Oni take turns when raising their young, making sure the cubs learn things from BOTH parents, not just one. Oni society do not have gender roles, so it's actually the oldest oni who leads the family, no matter the gender. Female Oni are still very respected, as they give life to their kind. They also lead hunts more often, which gives way for female Oni warriors too (Amaya was one)

Oni are very physically strong, able to easily crush skulls with a single kick or stomp. They only ever use weapons as back up. They also have strong legs, especially for jumping or running as they don't exactly sit and wait when hunting other creatures. An Oni and even half Oni can jump up to 30+ feet

Oni have heightened senses and reflexes. They also have a sixth sense, where they are able to tell how someone is feeling without even looking at them. It's basically like sensing an aura. Oni also use this to tell if danger is nearby. This sixth sense ties into their good parenting.

Despite being creatures of destruction, Oni can be gentle, especially if one of their own is hurt. Oni are loyal to their families, and very rarely do betrayals happen, only ever due to miscommunication.

Half Oni live up to 600 years, while full-blooded oni can live for thousands of years.

Amaya and Mystake are close like sisters, and have been friends ever since they were cubs.

Oni are very flexible and are even double jointed. This comes in handy when hunting, along with their strength of course. They also have very strong claws and teeth.

Oni can lower or raise their body heat based on the temperature of the outside environment

half Oni are more easy to kill than full-blooded oni, as they aren't as capable of regenerating whole parts of their body and they can die of complete blood loss if their injury isn't tended to fast enough, especially if it's a serious one

Oni have very strong and flexible feet, and they are able to easily grip onto things like edges of buildings and stuff

#ninjago #lord garmadon #ninjago oni #ninjago headcanons

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gender0bender · 2 years

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ID: a photograph of a white trans man in his 60 with squarish tinted glasses and short cut grey hair. He is wearing a blue denim jacket with a white t-shirt on underneath, and looking straight at the camera. ED.

Ben, 64, Northampton, MA, 2014 (Taken from To Survive On This Shore, Photographs and Interviews with Transgender and Gender Nonconforming Older Adults)

I identify as an FTM, non-hormone, non-op, transsexual heterosexual man. That’s the whole string of it. I was in the lesbian community when I was younger, but I never really fit. That was the 1970s and there really wasn’t the language then about transmen or FTMs or any of that. I didn’t have that accessible to me as an identity. I thought, “I’m the only one on the planet like me,” but then in 1985, Lou Sullivan sent his little booklet through the mail to the archives I was working on. It was “Information for the Female-to-male Crossdresser and Transsexual,” a little booklet that he self-published with a little handwritten note that said, “Maybe some people in your archive would want to read this.” Even though he didn’t know me, he didn’t know who he was sending this to, I read it. I read it and within two hours I called him and I said, “I gotta meet you, because now there’s two of us, you know, on the planet.” And I flew to San Francisco to meet him.

When I got there, I dressed up super masculine. I even wore temporary facial hair, because I wanted to demonstrate to him that I was a man. So, he opens the door and he is this little frail ninety-eight pound gay guy with a t-shirt on and I thought, “Well, he’s a man and he’s kinda like me, but he’s kinda not like me.” We ended up talking for five hours straight in his kitchen. In the middle of it, he told me he had to get up and take his AZT. I hadn’t known that he had HIV/AIDS, but I realized then that I was making the closest friend of my entire life, the most pivotal individual for me, and that I was losing him at the same time. We corresponded until he died and when he died, I started the East Coast FTM Group because I had nobody and he had asked me to head up his group in San Francisco, which I couldn’t do.

I always felt some resistance to the fact that I didn’t transition medically, but over time I started to find transsexuals who had not transitioned medically, or who had transitioned partially and then stopped, like my friend Leslie Feinberg. Eventually I found more people with the idea that, “I’m already me, I don’t need any medical intervention to become me.” It took a ten-year journey with a gender counselor to give myself permission around this, because it is not popular, even in our community.

I’ve done a lot of organizing, much of it pre-internet. I did it the way Lou did it at first, all by mail. I remember the first big conference I went to, a True Spirit Conference, and I think there were 300 guys, FTMs, from all over the country and Canada, and I remember thinking, “It’s starting. The movement for FTMs is really starting, big time.” Now I have a vision for making the Sexual Minorities Archives a national comprehensive LGBTQ educational resource center with a museum and an art gallery with many rooms to show the collections, to have a youth room, to have a meeting room, to have a community room, and to be the preeminent LGBTQ archive on the East Coast. That’s what I’m most looking forward to as I age and that’s what I want to accomplish before I die.

#transgender #transmen #ftm #transgender history #lou sullivan #transmasculine #transmasc history #lgbt #lgbt history #I have an interview with him that I'm gonna transcribe so heads up for that

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khazadspoon · 1 month

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Thanks... I find Mr Favor's tummy, idk, kind of comforting in a way? As I get older and deal with body changes, I appreciate older media more, where bodies looked more ordinary, almost. The women in Rawhide still are very 60's shaped, but the men come in more sizes and shapes. Idk I guess I'm saying the fact that the (very tall and very cool) male lead has a human body that shows natural fluctuations like when he's eaten, that's a nice thing.

YES anon you are so so right.

It’s great and comforting and refreshing to have leads in a show that have less than “perfect” bodies. Tummies that stuck out, chests that aren’t pert and solid, wrinkles and lines and marks and greys in their hair. The two main examples I can think of (at the moment at least) with male leads that do this are Rawhide and Black Sails.

Mr Favor has his tummy and he definitely doesn’t have a chest like Clint Eastwood (it’s rounder, softer, not muscled). Captain Flint in the last couple of series is either gaunt and haggard or rounder and most definitely aging.

And y’know what? They’re hotter that way to me but also YES more comforting! Because our bodies do this too!!!! We deserve the comfort of a body that is relaxing into itself as it gets older.

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4rtificialfolio · 1 month

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It’s Complicated, My Darling: Character Introductions

Of course, we all know who our beloved Nick Folio is but in this universe, he is not the drummer of bad omens; Folio is a detective in 1941. Besides Folio, every character in this story is entirely fictional, so when you see mentions of his “family” in this story, they are NOT his real family. There will be quite a lot of names mentioned and new characters will be introduced throughout, so I thought I’d make a character profile for each of them. I will make another one as the story progresses but for now, meet the characters of “It’s Complicated, My Darling” so far!

(for ages, note that the story is currently taking place in May of 1941)

Main Male Character

Name: Nicholas John Folio / Nick

Age: 25

Birthday: 17/07/1915

Birthplace: Maryland, USA

Occupation: Lead Detective

Started as a Police officer at age 18 and worked for 6 years until the beginning of the war

He was relocated to NYC to help with the war effort

Enlisted in the Army at the beginning of the war but was discharged in June of 1940 due to a back injury

He then returned to work where he was promoted to lead detective

Enjoys fishing

Has a 1936 Harley-Davidson EL Knucklehead

Family is currently unknown (fictional)

Main Female Character

Name: Ada Marie Chapman

Age: 23

Birthday: 21/03/1918

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Occupation: Undercover Secretary / Operative

Moved to London and worked as a secretary in England in 1940 and was made an operative after she discovered a traitor among her colleagues, previous workplace is unknown

Partner agency in NYC so she was chosen and relocated to NYC

Enjoys knitting, bird spotting and walks on Brighton pier

Hates seagulls

Has 2 sisters & a brother

Side Characters

Name: Logan Chapman

Age: 52

Birthday: January 1889

Birthplace: Brixton, England

Relation: Ada’s farther

Slim build, Grey hair, glasses, always wears a suit

Birthday unknown

Orphaned mother died giving birth and father sent him away

Siblings unknown

Met his wife in 1917 when he moved to Brighton during the war, discharged from injury

Served in WWI

Name: Mary Chapman

Age: 40, deceased

Birthday: 24/07/1899

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s mother

Came from a middle-class family

Met Logan in Brighton when he came into her family-owned tailor shop

Married Logan within 6 months

Had 4 children: Ada, Denis, Peggy and Agnes

Enjoyed taking them to the pier in the summer and buying them ice cream

Died in March 1940 evacuating to Canada with one of her daughters Agnes, ship sunk

Name: Denis Chapman

Age: 19

Birthday: 16/12/1921

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s younger brother

Only boy amongst siblings

Always caused trouble at school

Worked in his grandfather’s tailor shop for a year before the war

Enlisted at aged 17

Wrote home as frequently as he could

Declared MIA in July of 1940

Name: Peggy-Anne Chapman

Age: 9

Birthday: 28/06/1931

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s younger sister

Second to youngest sibling

Goes by Peggy or ‘pegs’

Loves dresses and dolls

Favourite activity is running down the pier scaring the seagulls

Used to love playing with her friends and little sister in the fields during the summer

Very stubborn

Name: Agnes Chapman

Age: 5, deceased

Birthday: 13/06/1935

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s youngest sister

Evacuated to Canada with her mother but the ship sunk

Died just 3 months before her 6th birthday

Loved making daisy chains with Ada and singing Ring ‘O’ Roses with Peggy in the fields

Favourite toy was a teddy bear made by her mother for her 3rd birthday

Name: John Hughes

Age: 58

Birthday: 11/02/1883

Birthplace: London, England

Occupation: Head of operative agency, Ada’s boss

Made head of agency during WWI

Bit of an arsehole

Misogynist

Never fought on the front lines but likes to brag as if he did

Wife left him, no children

Name: Alfred Goodwin

Age: 60

Birthday: 03/01/1881

Birthplace: NYC, America

Occupation: Head of England’s partner operative agency in NYC

Also a misogynist, just american

Arrogant

Has a wife and twin girls, always berating them because he wanted boys

A dick but he’s good at his job

Name: Michael Brewer

Age: 56

Birthday: 13/01/1885

Birthplace: NYC, America

Occupation: Captain of 13th Precinct

Fairly diplomatic, just bossy

Big ego

Never has a suit that fits

Fired 5 secretaries in the past 4 months because they “weren't young enough”

Married but is cheating on his wife with his neighbour

5 children but hardly sees them

More will be introduced later in the story, but that's all for now!

series master list

#nick folio #bad omens #bad omens band #noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #bad omens fic #nick folio fic #fish boy #it's complicated my darling #4rtificialfolio

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mellkat1986 · 1 year

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I saw a post this morning on Tumbler, asking to choose between Rumbelle or Splinter and some other thing (teenage mutant hero turtles). 🙄 Yeah… Right…

In their description for Rumbelle, they blatantly showed their bias by calling Rumple an ‘asshole’ and fixing on his age being approx 300-350.

For a time, where we are eagerly encouraging people to accept other people’s differences and not to judge someone on these differences, I can’t help but see this judgement in a lot of things I read that include Rumple.

Yes, he is the oldest on the show… but his son, Baelfire/Neal, and Captain Hook are around the same age as well. Hook isn’t that much younger, for definite, than Rumple. Yet, both Baelfire and Hook are swooned over to be Emma’s love interest. So, realistically, it’s nothing to do with their age as everyone should’ve been outrageous by their pairing. No, it’s more to do with Rumple (aka Robert Carlyle) looking older and having greying hair.

I feel really sorry for those people who judge by looks, and they do! They must do, to have this prejudice against Rumple and age. I’ve met people who were in their 60s and looked like they were late 30s. Although, I’ve met people in their 20s, who have the maturity of someone in their 50s. But I’m getting sidetracked…

Realistically, we should be growing and moving on from these prejudices that have plighted our society in the past. But the more I read and the more I watch, the more I think I’m so alone. Hell, I was watching a clip the other day of a woman, I say woman loosely, whose ideal man was in his 30s, 6ft tall, earning a six figure sum a month, fit as fuck, and was a complete gentleman. So already, this has excluded the majority of the male population. This ‘ideal man’ could be boring as fuck, have no personality, is a complete doormat (yes sir, no sir, I’d do anything for you - nobody in their right mind wants that in a partner, apart from a narcissist).

You shouldn’t look at someone and instantly write them off because they’re older, because they’re younger, because they’re not beautiful/handsome, because they’re wearing the wrong clothes, because they’re driving the wrong car, because they don’t believe in your believes. To quote Belle (OUAT): You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. These people you’ve written off could be the best friend you need, could be the partner you’ve been crying out for, the lover who cares about what you want. Instead, you’d rather hang on to some delusional expectation and hate on my Rumple!

#ouat rumple #ouat belle #ouat rumbelle #rumple x belle #rumplestiltskin #rumple #ageism #antiaging #delusional expectations #acceptance #triggered

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swaglordyoongi · 3 months

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✟ 𝓐𝓼 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓿𝓮, 𝓢𝓸 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀 ✟ { Intro }

A/N: After a long hiatus, I've decided to introduce a new series I will be working on. It's lightly proof-read, so don't judge it too hard. Hope you enjoy <3 P.S. This holds no value to my own views and is not meant to offend or attack any group(s). Purely fictional! <3 Pairing: Angel!Namjoon x Demon!Jungkook Warnings: Religious talk/Reference, Moral disconduct, Sexual thoughts/actions, Infidelity. Snow trickled down slowly, but surely from the sky. The flakes would dance within the soft winds before littering the streets of Seoul, covering the pavement in blankets of white. Cold temperatures bit at the busy bodies scurrying down the roads - most enjoying such weather. Laughter, conversation all filled the atmosphere. Jungkook felt like he was going to puke. The thick black coat he wore did nothing against the chills crawling over his body. The fluffy black hair he had tucked under a beanie did nothing to rid of the pins and needles nipping at his ears. This sucked! "God blessed us with snow today~" A older lady had cooed to her elderly husband as they worked their way up the sidewalk.

'Blessed?' The young man couldn't help but scoff at such a thought. God? The mention of such a deity was enough to have the handsome male's soul burning. 'What a joke' he thought as his gaze locked on the aged woman. She had to of been in her 60s with the grey consuming the color of her hair and the fine lines accenting her skin. Walking the line of sin, constantly had proven to Jungkook only that 'blessings' were nothing but a mental figment of human's imagination. They allowed it to fit whatever narrative they wanted to build for themselves. After all, he had been referred to as that "blessing" a time or two, when it truly couldn't be further from the truth. Jungkook was a demon. Not one of spirituality either. No, those pathetic creatures held no light in comparison to the young creature. He was very real and tangible unlike them who appeared in nothing but the shadows. His one purpose to walk these streets was to ensue chaos. And ensue he would. As the couple had walked towards him, the Jungkook couldn't help the thoughts that wracked his brain. It wasn't until he watched as the lady's phone had slipped from her pocket, that he decided how to approach it all. Bingo. Increasing his pace into a jog, Jungkook was quick to scoop the phone up from the snow, dusting it off. He then turned towards the elderly couple. "Excuse me," he spoke, catching their attention. Closing the distance, he decided to speak again. "You dropped this," the young male claimed, holding up the elder lady's possession.

The woman gasped in shock, "Oh my. I didn't even notice. Thank you so much. What a kind boy," she rambled, holding her hand out for the phone.

A smile pulled on the handsome male's lips as he set the phone down in her hands, but he didn't release it just yet. He wasn't done. No, no. Jungkook wouldn't of went through all that trouble just to return the woman's phone, and - from how quickly her husband's shoulders had tightened - he knew his plan was on track. Leaning down, the male lowered his voice to whisper to the lady, loud enough so only her (and maybe her husband) could hear. "I'm not a boy," he purred, his gaze mischievous and playful. "Maybe if you were with a man like me, you wouldn't have to worry about anything like this.." He stood, letting go of her phone. The woman was dazed, as if she was in a trance. Her hand clutched the phone as she gazed up at Jungkook. The demon snickered. "We're a little more.. attentive-" he winked, "if you know what I mean." And with that, the man was off back down the street again. "Don't lose it again!" he claimed, as he stuffed his hand in his pockets, the fake smile he was sporting, gone. Instead it was replaced by a sinister smirk as he heard the old man hollering after him. Surely, he was livid by a young man rousing up his wife in broad day light. Oh well, not his problem.

"Still a blessing?" he wondered, to himself.

Bzz, Bzz.

His lightly chapped, but pink lips pressing onto a scowl. With a small, but gruff grunt, he looked down at his phone, eyes locked on a text rather than the trail in front of him. The handsome male's lips curled into a smirk as he gaze at the screen. Hook, line and sinker. Jungkook had been buttering up a nun of a local church, and it seemed to be paying off thanks to the "Come get me." text he had just received.

Just as he was about to return the text, he was hit by a random burst of water. His eyes blew wide, the scent of cleaners and filth in the water working quickly to rile him. Did someone just throw mop water on him?! "What the fuck?" The man growled out, his eyes snapping to the perpetrator.

Jungkook froze.

Standing beside him, looking equally as shocked, was probably the most handsome man the demon had encountered walking about this world. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" The man began, quickly setting down the bucket. "I was tossing out some water, and I didn't see you, I'm so sorry. Here, come in. I can get some clean clothes for you-"

Hearing the apology seemed not to do much for the shorter man though, as he stepped forwards to grip at the other's apron he wore, gripping it into a tight fist. "You really expect me to believe it was a fucking accident?" The younger grimaced, his eyes dark, swirling with nothing but anger. What really surprised him though was how easily the man pried his hand away, holding onto Jungkook's fist, easily engulfing it in his own hand. Was this man some giant or something?? Why was he so strong? And why was Jungkook's hand burning? The demon chalked it up to the cold which had been assaulting him since he left the warmth of his little apartment. The man's touch was extremely warm, so it would make sense.

"I don't." The worker, answered. "But, I wouldn't be offering you clean clothing and some tea to warm you up if it was intentional." There was a pregnant pause as Jungkook genuinely debated the man's words. They were fair enough. Plus, he did not want to waltz around in a sopping jacket that now smelt like soil and lavender.

"Fine." The younger grumbled out, ripping his hand from the other. Tingles rumbling over his skin once the contact was broken. "You're paying for dry cleaning too though."

And that was how he met Kim Namjoon: the man who took his current life and shattered it.

Originally, their meetings after the situation were purely coincidental. He'd be on his way to a club or even just to near by event when he'd cross paths. It happened so frequently at one point that Jungkook debated whether or not Namjoon began to stalk him. That was ridiculous of course. Eventually, Jungkook had put a target on Namjoon's back. The older male was a perfect victim for someone like Jungkook. The man was so righteous that the demon's hair would stand up on ends. His body physically cringed at the male's holy than thou presence. Plus, the rosary that Namjoon sported about his neck hadn't gone unnoticed by the younger. It had became a goal for Jungkookto get the seemingly perfect man to slip. Yet, this time, the demon's plan did not go as planned.

At first, it went too well. He easily had snaked himself into the man's life. Just a couple coincidental "passings" by the same floral store they had met at, and soon the man had easily invited the demon in his home time again and again. Jungkook spent a bit of time gaining the man's trust, but even that wasn't enough!

It was like the man held an inhuman moral code. If Jungkook asked him to go to the club, he'd retaliate with the idea of having some wine and dinner. His sexual or flirty advances were completely missed by the oblivious man. The time he tried to get him to go gambling, the older gave him an hour lecture for fucks sake! Hell, Namjoon had even soiled his plans with the nun! Who would of known that the church the woman worked at was one that Namjoon attended and that the woman would be so comfortable with the man to talk about the situation. Ultimately being convinced by Namjoon that it was human to have such thoughts, but to stay with God and not to commit such a sin. Despite it all, Jungkook felt like he was hooked on Namjoon like some kind of drug. The lines behind his motives had surely blurred long ago. While he - if asked - would say he was just around Namjoon for the sake of corruption... There was something else deeply buried in him that knew he would be lying. As time grew, so did their relationship. For the first time in his life, Jungkook had given up on tainting someone. Instead he was able to just be himself about the man. The older became almost a safe-haven for the handsome male, away from all the chaos and trauma he created. Whether or not he would admit it, Namjoon had fell off of his books for his tasks and had became the first and only person Jungkook socialized with just because he wanted to.

Today, hadn't been Jungkook's best day. He had convinced some rich actress to bed with him, despite her having a partner. Work was work. To his luck, right before they got to the good part, her partner had came home and decided that instead of taking it up with his girl, he was going to end up in a brawl with the demon.

Obviously, it hadn't ended well for the woman's partner, but the fact that the idiot managed to land a hit to Jungkook - especially on his face - had the other livid.

In the last numbering weeks, Jungkook had felt.. weak. He had spent a good chunk of his time with Namjoon, so his only explanation for the sudden drop of power was the fact that he wasn't as active in his duties as he been before. Now, it had ended with him being hit by a mortal. Hard enough to bust his lip open too!

Pushing into Namjoon's floral shop, he wiped the remnants of blood off of his lip onto the leather jacket he wore. "Hyung, I'm hungry." He called grumpily as he walked in.

In moments said man was in front of him fawning over him thanks to the injury. "What happened? Why is you lip bleeding?" The older male fussed. While Namjoon knew Jungkook put himself into a lot of rather dangerous situation, this was the first time he came back with any injuries.

It didn't take long before the store had been locked up and the man was ushering the younger to his apartment that sat above the store. He treated Jungkook's wound, but not without a lot of complaints and whines from the other.

"Jungkook sit still. I cant disinfect it if you keep moving." The man chastised. He had boxed Jungkook in his spot, sat atop of the bathroom sink, yet the younger seemed to have no interest in holding in one spot until his wound was handled.

"It stings!" The tattooed man whined, turning his head away to avoid the cotton ball touching his lip any longer. "I'll be fine."

"Please, look at me." Namjoon ushered.

"No." No avail.

Fed up with Jungkook's general disobedience at the moment, the older's hand shot up to cup the other's chin, forcing him to turn his head and keep it there so he could finish caring for the busted lip.

This seemed to subdue the younger enough, seeing how he didn't move or fuss. It was a little startling how quickly the skin Namjoon held took on a red tinge. He hadn't gripped that hard. Maybe his skin was a little sensitive?

Yet, no complaints fell from Jungkook. Instead, his eyes had fell locked on the florist's lips. "Hyung.." He suddenly spoke, gaining the elder's attention.

"Kiss me."

"Jungkook- wh- what are you-?"

Before anymore could come from the older, the demon had pushed forwards, hand hooking around the back of the man's neck, pulling him forwards to connect their lips. Hot pains flashed through Jungkook, yet they felt so good. His eyes were fluttered shut as his lips moved against Namjoon's who was slowly giving into the kiss.

The demon's hands were soft as they moved up into Namjoon's hair, and a small smile pulled on his lips when he felt the other's hands sitting on his waist. The soft grip they provided sending his heart ablaze.

It wasn't until Jungkook's tongue swiped across the other's plush, bottom lip that Namjoon pulled away. The sight that greeted him though, was one that made his heart drop. Jungkook was sat on the counter infront of him, panting. His eyes were hooded, sinfully and he looked so fucked out, despite it just being a kiss.

The sight would of been arousing for the male, if it wasn't for the blood red hues that had replaced Jungkook's once chocolate irises. There was small horns twisting off his head now setting it all into align for the older.

Jungkook was a demon.

"Get out." Namjoon's voice boomed.

The younger froze, his hooded eyes slowly rounding wide as he stared up at the older in disbelief. He was unaware of his attributes showing. After all, it had never happened before. So to him, it was confusing. Was the man mad he kissed him? Why would he return it then? "Wh-.. What?" He asked, his hands now shaking.

"Be gone." Namjoon shakily repeated, his heart aching. Had Jungkook approached him this whole time only to corrupt him?

He couldn't believe it, but with the new information on the younger's identity, the man couldn't find another reason. Yet, why did Jungkook look so surprised? So hurt?

The demon needed not be told again; his body reacted before his brain at the words. Slipping off the counter, he ignored the way his joints ached. "You're an ass." Was all Jungkook said, before exiting the bathroom.

Namjoon was in pure astonishment. He was a jerk? How? Wasn't it Jungkook that was here to try and throw him into the pits of hell?

Unless -- thump.

"Jungkook?" Rushing out, he was greeted with the younger's figure slumped weakly on the floor. Wings had now sprouted from his back, black as night, yet tattered. His skin had lost the warm color, quickly paling and his breathing was nothing but heavy.

What the-? He had only banished him. Why was he like this? Namjoon was at a complete loss. Nothing like this had ever happened around him, and it was as if his feet were glued in their spot on the floor.

"Hurts.." Jungkook whined. "It hurts!" He hissed as a golden glow began to shimmer off of his body. The balls of light were beautiful in their own way, but Jungkook's curdling cries showed they were anything but comforting. It was like a million balls of lightning were dancing about the man, zapping his skin soundlessly as they grew in size. Jungkook curled in on himself, his now long, black nails digging into the flesh of his arms, taring at the skin. "Fuu-!" He hissed as the light consumed him, flashing with a burst of feathers before disappearing entirely, leaving an slumped Jungkook. His horns were no longer, and the wings had disappeared, leaving nothing but the mess of feathers behind. The male was silent now, his eyes shut and breathing scarily slow.

Rushing to to young male's side, now that his shock had worn off, he shook him "Kook.. Kookie, please. You.. " His heart screamed. What had he done? Yes, he had banished the kid, but it shouldn't of done this. It only should of made him leave!

Slowly, the younger's eyes cracked open. Once again, they were the beautiful, warm brown color they typically bore, yet this time they quickly filled with fear.

"Wh-Who are you?" The male pushed himself up to sit, a groan coming from him as he moved. "Where..am I?"

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts namkook #namkook #namkook fanfic #bts au #bts au fanfic

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astrovian · 2 years

Text

Interview with Richard Armitage for The Telegraph (30/10/22)

Transcript under cut

If anyone had asked Richard Armitage 10 years ago whether he’d ever thought about writing a book, he’d have laughed. “I’d have said, ‘I’m not clever enough’,” he tells me. “I always feel a bit of an underdog when it comes to intellectual pursuits. I didn’t graduate from Oxbridge, like so many of my peers at Lamda [the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art].”

Yet here he is, the author of an atmospheric, icily tense audio-thriller, Geneva, about a Nobel prize-winning neuroscientist, Sarah, who is slowly losing her memory. The story, released earlier this month on the online audiobook and podcast service Audible as an “Audible Original”, takes in dementia, Big Pharma and biotech; Armitage narrates alongside Nicola Walker, his voice as soothing as melted chocolate.

“Audible asked me if I wanted to write something,” he explains. “I’ve narrated quite a few books for them and I think they checked the algorithm and realised I score quite highly with crime thrillers. They’ve seen I have an audience.”

Armitage, 51, says this in a self-effacing way. He’s been a fixture on the small screen since 2004, when he emerged as the brooding mill-owner John Thornton in the BBC’s adaptation of Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South, delighting a generation of (let’s face it) female viewers. He has worked with exhausting regularity since then, notching up credits as the imperious dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit film trilogy; inscrutable MI5 spy Lucas in the TV series Spooks; the deliciously villainous Sir Guy of Gisborne in the BBC’s Robin Hood; and the special-forces hard-man John Porter in Chris Ryan’s Strike Back. Most recently, he starred in two Netflix adaptations of the Harlan Coben novels The Stranger and Stay Close.

He is a consistently reliable screen presence: he often plays macho heroes with an interesting, sensitive side and was particularly excellent on stage as tormented visionary Astrov in Ian Rickson’s 2020 West End revival of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. But with grey hair now at his temples, Armitage is wary of taking all this for granted. Hence the branching into other mediums: he’s developing a TV show (which he can’t yet discuss) and, of course, there’s the new book.

“I don’t want to retire when I get to 60, but I don’t necessarily want to still be an actor-for-hire, either,” he says. “It’s quite a whimsical position to be in: one day you’re flavour of the month; next day, no one wants you.

“You can’t force your own relevance. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never been relevant, I’ve just been lucky. I’m easy to work with, but I don’t think I’ve ever been hot.”

Some might disagree. Still, I don’t think I have ever met an actor who has such a complicated relationship with his own career. Armitage is a curious mix of self-deprecating, pragmatic and quietly anguished. He approaches each role with the dedication of a scholar, penning preparatory biographies for his character and immersing himself in research (he famously endured waterboarding to prepare for his spy character undergoing the torture in Spooks).

Yet he worries he is sometimes cast because of his looks. “A couple of times I’ve been hired for something and I go, ‘Oh, I thought I was here because of my brain, but actually it’s because you want totty on screen. I’ve done all this character analysis and you just want me to take my shirt off.’ People talk about the power of the male gaze. But the female gaze is just as interesting to talk about. It’s a marketing tool like any other.”

One wonders whether Armitage is actually perfectly happy taking his shirt off. He says he told himself that when he got to 50, from that point onwards, he’d keep his clothes on – but he’s at it again in Damage, Netflix’s forthcoming remake of the 1992 steamy thriller featuring Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche, in which he stars opposite Peaky Blinders’s Charlie Murphy.

Still, he says that it took him a while to understand why directors would cast him in a particular type of role. “For long stretches of my career, I would take what I was offered. Yet I wouldn’t understand why I was being asked to inflict violence all the time. Why am I firing guns and throwing punches? Why am I not playing gentle, fragile, broken little people?

“But then you watch yourself and you think, ‘Well, I’m pretty tall. And I seem to have this hyper-masculine energy that I was unaware of.’ Then I realised that was quite useful, because maybe the hard shell of a man often harbours a more fragile person that I could occasionally reveal. Because the world doesn’t really allow men to be fragile.”

Armitage grew up in a working-class family in Leicester and only attended the performing arts boarding school Pattison College thanks to a local-authority grant. He worked first in musical theatre, including stints in 42nd Street and Cats, before taking a three-year course at Lamda then joining the Royal Shakespeare Company. He has always worked hard, an ethic he puts down to both an insecurity about money (linked to his roots) and a gnawing anxiety about his ability.

He admits that the character of Daniel in Geneva – Sarah’s husband and also a scientist – contains a fair bit of himself. “Daniel’s wife has all the glory. He has to accept that he’s pretty average. I relate to that. I know there are people out there who are far better at all this than I am, and I feel my only forte is that I have the discipline to put my head down and work. I’ve always felt like this – in dance, music and acting. I’ve never had that natural, God-given genius, for instance, but when I was younger I knew I could become a fairly average cello player if I worked hard enough.”

Armitage came out at the age of 19, although it’s not something he’s talked about much. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not very interesting. I suppose if I were to stop being hired because of it, that would be something else. But we’ve moved on since those days, haven’t we?”

He genially bats away further questions about his personal life. “When I was younger, the actors I found the most intriguing, such as Gary Oldman, were the ones I knew the least about. I’ve always wanted to be that type of actor; I’ve never wanted to get in my own way. Otherwise it’s a bit like painting a picture then standing in front of it waving your hands.”

These days, he spends half the year in New York: he was advised to move to the US after The Hobbit to expand his career, but couldn’t stomach Los Angeles, so settled for the Big Apple instead. “Although I can’t say living there has brought me any extra work.” That professional angst never goes away. “In fact, it gets worse as I get older.”

He is aware of the absurdities of his profession. “I look at award ceremonies and premieres, in which we’re all swanning around in $400 suits, most of them borrowed, drinking champagne, and I think, ‘What is this illusion we’re all peddling? I’m from a working-class background: I should be on the other side of the barrier!’ ”

Then he laughs. “I say all this, but I’ll probably be seen at yet another film premiere next week.”

#richard armitage

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