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flowerbloom-arts · 2 years

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Do you think Moominmamma has a thirst for thrills like Pappa? It’s certainly there, I imagine, but in a different form, sorted differently among many other priorities and wants.

I believe that while Moominmamma is very willing to go along with whatever Moominpappa drags her into and can handle them very well, I don't think she's much of a thrill seeker even in a less... intense extent. Well, except for possibly the 2019 version, but I much more avidly read the comics and books and watch the 90s series and so my perception of her is more attached to those. So if you're asking about the Mamma with a 3rd physical dimension, I would say yes. Other versions of her, however...

Moominmamma has always been very, very comfortable in her status quo, she doesn't particularly enjoy new experiences if they last too long for her comfort. She's a technophobe, she'd be the first person to want to go back home if something hasn't gone wrong yet (though she wouldn't say it outright), she never instigates the story or conflict unless it's due to her own anxiety (e.i. feeling pressured by Mrs. Fillyjonk to be a proper lady or joining every club in the Valley because she doesn't want to say no to people) with only one exception of wanting to go back in time because of her technophobia, or someone else is pushing the main conflict and she's the first victim.

Moominpappa will attempt whatever endeavor he finds desirable and she will follow holding him by the tail just so he isn't alone or disappear in the process. Moominmamma may enjoy it for some time, since Moominpappa would also enjoy it and much of what she's willing to do is to satisfy her husband's needs, but she will always completely accept wanting to go back once it's brought up OR, if they're stuck for a longer while, want to make their situation much more homely.

Moominpappa craves adventure because the thrill of almost dying in a frozen lake was the first positive feeling he's had after a long ✨misunderstood youth✨ and that stuck with him far more than he probably even realizes. Right after adventure his biggest craving is attention, quite literally stating something of this nature in his memoirs;

“One of my characteristics is wanting to make an impression at any price by awakening admiration, sympathy, fright, or, on the whole, any feelings that include interest. That's probably because of my unappreciated childhood.”

Moominmamma, on the other hand, doesn't bear desires like this. Her past is only very speculative; we know of her parents only by this line in Moominpappa at Sea:

He must try getting in the right mood, like his father-in-law used to do. All her life, his mother-in-law had gone round dropping things everywhere or leaving them behind and forgetting where she had left them. Then his father-in-law would turn on something in his brain. That’s all that was needed. He always found things after that. Then he used to say: ‘Here’s your old junk,’ but in a kind way.

We know her grandma possessed a book of special recipes for ailments and alike, Moominmamma once told them of a technique her mother used when breaking glass (90s: the Eclipse), and she had an obsession with appearance in her youth even after Moominpappa rescued her from the storm. We do have a family photograph of her family in Moominland Midwinter that was taken in 1878 in Helsingfors (the swedish name for Finland's capital, Helsinki) and the family itself seemed wealthy but rather unhappy.

We don't gets much further information but assuming that the book takes place roughly around the mid-late 1900s during which the series is written, one of the children in the photo could as well be one of her parents. In a Lars comic we also get to meet Moominmamma's great great grandmother via time traveling who was an upper-class woman named Clotilde, and lived with a man named Rufus who bore a monocle (about as rich stereotype as you can get, also both of them were moomins I'm not sure I have to clarify but just in case). All this plus her irrational fear of having maids (Moominmamma's Maid, Tove comic) leads me to believe she was rather well-off if not rich before she was lost in a storm, though she would've been quite sheltered if she didn't know what a theater was.

All this to say, while Moominmamma can get out of her way to do something exciting with her husband, she is tremendously comfortable living domestically and having a routine. I could list off some examples but this answer is already long as it is.

So, uh, tl;dr:

I don't think Moominmamma is a thrill seeker by any means, but she's willing to go along with her husband's thrill seeking. And it's honestly rather interesting to consider. I think her not being one doesn't necessarily make her boring, in fact, it makes her relationship with Moominpappa more interesting and gives more to consider when it comes to how she interacts with the world. Having such an intense and stubborn creature be with a more calm and flexible one can be really entertaining, but both of them have their own things going on, it's just that Moominpappa naturally pushes his issues onto others whether or not they ask for it and Moominmamma seems to withhold herself for the sake of others.

P.s. I forgot to mention in an English letter written by Tove as Moominmamma, she implies that Moominmamma dropped out of school once she got bored of it and says Moomins in general do that. So. Make of that what you will. Moominmamma definitely doesn't like boredom that much judging from that, perhaps another reason why she married Moominpappa.

#moomins #moominvalley #Moominmamma #moominpappa #Moominparents #character analysis

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cinemaocd · 2 years

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Did you watch the new persuasion movie, and if so, do you have thoughts? I’ve only seen review headlines, but one basically said “this is not just one of the worst Austen adaptations ever, it’s one of the worst movies ever.” So uh. Seems like it’s not going well.

I haven't watched it. Members of my Jane Austen bookclub are watching it and commenting and finding it interesting and not too terrible. I think for people who have been around for a while in the fandom/academia combination that is JASNA (Jane Austen Society of North America) there is a tendency to take every adaptation with a big grain of salt. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but it will get new people exposed to and interested in the books.

There was a very real option for this adaptation to have a narrator to voice all the snark that the modern audience could hope for (Jane Austen could be brutal in her letters and her narrators are usually more not less engaged in sarcasm than her characters.) but they chose to give Anne the "agency" of doing this herself. Which is a choice that empowers her, yes, but that is frustrating because the whole point of the story is what it is like to be a powerless person in this world.

They also had an opportunity to deal with the issue of slavery, because it comes up obliquely in Persuasion, but instead they chose to comfort modern audiences with colorblind casting.

There was a lot of pearl clutching when the Roczema adaptation of Mansfield Park (1999) came out and re-opened a discussion of the link between the text and what it has to say about the oppression of women and the subtext of slavery. Edward Said and other academics had brought this up many, many times, but putting it a movie that got a big budget and appeared in theaters was a different story.

The novel of Mansfield Park uses the language of slavery and abolition to discuss the plight of a white woman (Fanny Price) whose only power is that of refusal (what part of "no, no, no no, oh my goodness no!" do you not understand) who is nearly forced into marriage with someone she doesn't want to marry because of pressure put on her by natural father and her adopted father. This is an unjust parallel, but it was also the parallel drawn by many white abolitionists (Charlotte Bronte draws a very similar parallel in Jane Eyre, though she doesn't go so far as to name the novel after the famous judge who made an anti slavery ruling) and early feminists who were before and after Austen. When the 1999 adaptation came out it dragged all of this up again, wrecking people's nice ideas about Jane Austen and the society in which she lived. One fifth of the British economy was derived from the transporation and sale of people. A huge amount of wealth was derived indirectly, from the labor of enslaved people. Literally every wealthy man in Austen is implicated in that. Even in Persuasion, there is Mrs. Smith's "property" in the West Indies:

There was one circumstance in the history of her grievances of particular irritation. She had good reason to believe that some property of her husband in the West Indies, which had been for many years under a sort of sequestration for the payment of its own incumbrances, might be recoverable by proper measures; and this property, though not large, would be enough to make her comparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir in it. Mr Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by her want of money. She had no natural connexions to assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law. This was a cruel aggravation of actually straitened means. To feel that she ought to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble in the right place might do it, and to fear that delay might be even weakening her claims, was hard to bear.

And all of this is sorted out by Anne and Captain Wentworth after they are married. So this is an Austen hero helping a poor widow, but helping her to what??? What sort of property in the West Indies "though not large" would make her comparably rich? Well it was likely land that was leased to a plantation for sugar production, a brutal industry with dangerous and grueling work, where the conditions were disease ridden and people were worked to death and replaced so fast that the market for slave labor was so pressed for fresh people to enslave that they began to try to improve their condition, marginally in order for them to be able to have families and for their children to become slaves. Modern chattel slavery was born in the West Indies and it was being propped up by absentee landlords who were getting rich vicariously in Britain, Like Sir Thomas Bertram in Mansfield Park and to a lesser extent, Mrs. Smith at the end of Persuasion.

As far as I can tell this new adaptation of Persuasion has nothing to say about this. They have gone halfway to Roczema territory by reworking the heroine to be more palatable to modern audiences. Roczema's Fanny Price quotes Austen's juvenelia and participates in a lesbian flirtation with Mary Crawford. It was spicy stuff aimed squarely at getting up the nose of people who saw Jane Austen as safe, romantic, archly funny stories and nothing more. Color blind casting in this Persuasion adds a further dimension of white washing any actual nuance or rebellion within Jane Austen's text, in favor of making modern audiences more comfortable and in the name of inclusivity:

“When the suggestion [colorblind casting] came up, my reaction was ‘Sure,’” [Screenwriter Ron] Bass recalls. “Because it’s not an issue in her time. Her time wasn’t about racial issues. Because, of course, there weren’t other races that were involved in the world that she was dealing with, so the idea of colorblind casting [worked]. Henry Golding could play Mr. Elliot because it doesn’t really matter. And Nikki could play Lady Russell."

OK, first of all this is wrong on so many levels. There were absolutely non-white people in all levels of British Society, and of course, their exploitation made the world in which she lived possible. Like I said, Jane Austen made slavery the premise and central metaphor of Mansfield Park. I do not have faith that an adaptation based on such completely ignorant assumptions about British society at the turn of the 19th century, is going to do anything positive for appreciation of the novel or Jane Austen.

What does it mean that Charles Musgrove, a landed respected yeoman farmer is played by black man, who is the descendant of enslaved people in the Caribbean? What does it mean, that Mr. Elliot, the man who declines to stir on behalf of his old friend's widow who wants to get a plantation up and running in the West Indies, is played by a Malaysian man (Malaysia was part of the British empire in Victorian times)? What does it mean that Lady Russell, whose entire presence in the novel is about the power of polite society to control and destroy people's lives is played by a woman who is Nigerian by birth and who grew up in West Indies?

All three of these characters have power over Anne Elliott who is played by a white woman. What is the message there? Why not just make Anne Elliot black and make Lady Russell white? Wouldn't that make us more inclined to understand the power imbalance in their friendship? If you are going to be colorblind then go for it, you know.

The screenwriters absolutely had an opportunity to find the nuance and rebellion in Jane Austen, to see the off-stage injustices that were happening, not from the POV of Mrs. Smith, the entitled white woman for whom they were nothing but a sore point, not because she wanted less slavery but because she wanted MORE; and give us something new. If you are going to change the text and modernize Jane Austen, while leaving it in its period setting, at least make her feminism intersectional! Could not Mrs. Smith decide that her land in the West Indies is better off in escrow than being a place where human beings are treated like animals? Or perhaps have it be that Mr. Eliot has made the conscious decision to keep it in escrow rather than deal with the moral consequences of selling it. I'm just spit balling here but it isn't that hard. Once you start fiddling with the text, you can do just about anything you want.

#Persuasion 2022 #Persuasiongate #Jane Austen #austenblr

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weepingseraphstranger · 2 years

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One Blink Changes - 1

It happened in a split second. One minute you were beside your family at some overpriced restaurant, bored listening to your better-off uncle flaunt his wealthy travels whilst throwing sugared comments about your immediate family’s status. You had only closed your eyes to gather yourself so you didn’t say something awful. When you opened them, you noticed that you weren’t in front of your uncle’s new girlfriend who’ll probably last a month at best. You were laying against a way less comfortable chair, staring at something covered in a rich orange fabric.

What. The. Fuck?

A hand was set on your shoulder. Confusion had its grasp on your mind, not allowing you to jump. “Are you okay, Your Goodness?” Came a concerned voice. It sounded like it belonged to a woman; soft and high.

You finally looked up, blinking rapidly as you were faced with someone who didn’t look like a waitress. Instead, she wore something that looked like you would see on a 100+-year-old grandmother. This woman was far from old, however, with no deep wrinkles on her face and bright freckles dotting her fair cheeks.

“Who are you?” You finally spoke up after watching her fret over you for some reason.

The look of shock and horror on her face was laughable. You should be the one looking like that. After all, here you were, somewhere completely different from where you were a minute ago with a complete stranger.

“Oh gods, the news is that bad for you?” The woman uttered, covering her mouth with wide eyes.

So much for learning who she was. Peering around, you were certain you weren’t at the restaurant or a hospital. The room looked too dim and plain. The walls were rough, even if all the light seeping in from the glassless window was brighter, it would all look like rocks and hardened dirt. There was no artificial light at all along with no technology you oh so already miss.

And how this woman's words sounded was unlike whatever you heard, but somehow you could understand. The twists of her tongue and the sounds of her teeth all came together to make a language that was similar to something you had heard somewhere but, at the same time, completely unheard of.

“News?” You once again asked only a question, this time paying close attention to how you sounded. You weren’t even speaking your own language and yet this one seemed to seep from your lips smoothly.

The woman’s cheek hollowed slightly as she bit onto it. “Are you…okay?” She hesitantly asked.

More questions answered with questions it seemed. You’ll be getting nowhere. Still, this was better than listening to your stuck-up uncle. Ugh, rich people.

“I don’t remember anything.”

You’d play with this situation a little, pretend you weren’t with family before this. Maybe she’d be nice enough to explain whatever backstory there was to whatever was going on.

“Anything…?” The woman murmured with a breath of disbelief before completely standing from her slight crouch. “Excuse me, I need to go get the healer.”

“Wait!” You called out, grabbing her wrist. She whipped back around even more shocked than before, staring at her wrist. Noticing, you let go. “Can you fill me in on at least something?” You questioned as gently as you could, but holding back the frustration was draining.

She slowly nodded, rubbing the wrist you touched. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “I’m Ciel, I’ve been an attendant to your family since I was a child. We’re close, or we’re supposed to be…Do you truly not remember a thing?”

The way her brown eyes twinkled made the nice part in you want to deny it. Too bad you didn't want to be left in the dust. “Yes.” You bluntly answered.

Her shoulders dropped, the hopeful light in her eyes dimming. “Ah…” She hushedly said, dropping her hands to her sides, “...Well, now you’re the mother of Sueldidi. Father Kraft has now found a woman from Gramabrong and he’s arranging for her to stay here.”

Your brain seemed to be going into loops trying to understand what Ciel was saying. While this is technically filling you in, it wasn’t explaining anything. Who is Sueldidi and who is Kraft? Are you important? You had to be if you had an attendant.

Also, “Your Goodness”? What kind of thing is that? You’ve heard Your Highness, Your Majesty, Your Grace and whatnot, but that?

It seemed she felt that was enough for you because she once again turned and scurried from the room through the doorway that had no door. Again, what the fuck? You’ve never seen a sitting room without some privacy.

Looking around the room, nothing had changed from being completely strange to you. You weren’t going to sit ducks waiting for her to come back when you were in this strange place.

Standing up, you could feel a difference in your body. You felt light on your feet for once. No matter how your body usually changed, there was always something on your shoulders that tugged you down. Such a thing was more of a mental happening than a physical thing, but it was quite a major difference for you.

The hall outside furthered how off things were. It was barely a hallway, only a wide circular room that led to ten other rooms. The entrance—or exit— brought in the sunlight to barely light it.

Wait.

This was way too primitive to be anything from the modern era. The floor wasn’t even a floor! It was dirt.

Dirt.

There were no lights, no outlets, no glass windows, no doors and not to mention those off names that Ciel mentioned.

You covered your face and heaved a sigh. You were somehow isekai’d, weren’t you? Maybe even time travelled, but that couldn’t be it. You didn’t know much about ancient civilizations and whatnot, but you were sure that the type of clothing you and Ciel were wearing had a bit too advanced style to it for it to be used by archaic people.

Which begs to question: who are you now and exactly what is this world? Thinking too much about it might give you a headache…though, it still beats listening to your uncle. At least you could go wandering around this place to uncover any other useful information.

The world better have answers for its sudden decision to plop you into some rando's being on some random plane of existence.

#arckion #original fiction #all aboard the train wreck #reader #second person pov #second pov #i read too many isekai stories and thought it would be interesting to make an important person in the history of arckion an isekai #the title sucks but idk what to name it

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mariemariemaria · 2 years

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this reminds me so much of the belfast rape trial

#just everything about it #the woman being completely humiliated in court by having her knickers passed around #ah being forced to recount her abuse to the world while she gets total humiliation (which is what jd wanted)#a working class woman standing no chance against upper middle class popular rugby players #and a woman who yes is rich but is far less wealthy and far less powerful than the man who has created this circus #there are so many similarities

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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Tell Me Your Mine, Darling

Western AU

18+ ONLY

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Warnings: prostitution, mentions of smut, alcohol, cursing, violence, mentions cheating

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Hey! As always, this is unedited! Please let me know if I missed anything to include as a warning. I’m on the fence if I should make this a longer story, I like the idea of this being a stand alone, but let me know what you think! I’d love to hear any feedback cause this is my first attempt at a Western AU :)

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The player piano echoed throughout the whole saloon, bouncing off the walls as patrons moved about the crowded room. The peppy music was perfect for dancing as a few of the men threw back shots of liquid courage and asked some of the women working tonight for a dance. It was a night where the people who came in through the batwing doors could forget about their troubles and the existence of sins, and partake in merry drink and debauchery. The night air hung heavy and the room smelled of sweat, cheap liquor and even cheaper perfume.

The women were scantily clad in dresses only slightly less revealing than their undergarments, and the men still in their clothes from long days of travel. Cowboy hats, rugged trousers, and boots that lost their shine years ago. Girls carried around large trays of shots and lagers, passing them around to the drunk souls who struck rich for a night and opened tabs at the bar.

It was a busy night both downstairs in the saloon, but also many of the girls were leading men upstairs to their beds, for a warm place to lay their head and anything else they can afford. That was the secret that kept this dilapidated building up and running. The music and the watered down liquor wasn’t enough to keep the sheriff from closing and condemning the building.

If the owner was honest, he knew what kept the sheriff from coming and toting him away to rot in one of the two cells down at the jail. Not only was the sheriff partial to a drink or a few each night after the sun goes down, but he was particularly taken with one of the girls who worked there. Sure, the sheriff must’ve had his turn with every girl in the joint, but there was something about you which made the sheriff absolutely smitten. Of course, no one dared admit to seeing his obviously growing affections but the owner knew as long as you were here, and his glass was refilled, he had nothing to worry about. No one quite knows what happened. He went from coming in every Saturday night asking for whichever girl is free and then it went to asking only for you, every week without fail.

People theorize that maybe it’s your honeyed smile or the sweetness in your voice. The ability to deceive every man into thinking they’re the only one to ever touch you. The ability to put on the act of the farmer’s daughter while having the dirtiest mouth on this side of the Mississippi. No matter what drew him in, the sheriff had declared you his girl and anyone with half a brain knew better than to try to say different.

Nothing was any different about tonight, you watched from one of the stools at the bar while the other girls worked the room. Sitting with your legs crossed, your dress skirted up high enough to show the tops of your garters, you sip on your drink stealing glances at the doors waiting for him to arrive. You can’t help but let out an impatient sigh, balancing your high heel on your toe as you watch the clock that’s mounted on the wall behind the bar.

“Slow night?” the bartender asked as she topped off your drink. You smiled, but it fell a little flat, not meeting your eyes.

“Every man here is scared to come near me,” you chuckle dryly. Not that you were necessarily complaining- but you worried more and more as the savings you kept under your bed dwindled. The sheriff was a regular who paid incredibly well, but he was feared. And no one else would touch what he called his. You wanted to save up to get out of this town, salvage whatever was left of this life and do something. You didn’t want to live cooped up in that room and in this town for the rest of your days. You were luckier than most, that you understood and never tried to forget that, but still you found yourself daydreaming.

You thought about the men you’ve slept beside and the wild stories they told you. You didn’t want to live a hard life, the tedious and unfulfilling work they told you about. But, oh, you were so envious of how they traveled. Seeing the naked lands of the country and going to different towns. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to do, but you wanted to have the option. So in a little cigar box under your bed. You scrimped and saved what you could from each week. But, being the sheriff’s favorite girl, meant no one else dared touch you, meaning you have been having to open that little box of savings more and more.

“That ain’t the worst thing in the world,” you heard a voice next to you. Soft, and velvety- you’d recognize the voice anywhere as Dottie, one of the older women who had been working there much longer than you. Middle-aged, but completely sensual in her mannerisms and her voice. She had the ability to captivate an entire room with her prominent curves and everything you know, you learned from her.

“I know, I know,” you try to explain, but she feels your frustration. She understands it, and she knows it better than you do. She’d been there herself. The restlessness, the feeling of being incomplete, the utter fear of your life being wasted away under men whom you’re never going to fall in love with. She knows.

But she also knows the harsh realities of this world and how it treats lost souls like you, and she doesn’t want to see how it can hurt you like it hurt her. She understood how demeaning this line of work is, and how from here there is no way to move up in the world. It’s a limbo, where you're stuck in this saloon, listening to the complaints of men who despite their hardships will always have it better than you. However, the alternatives for women like you are far less desirable outcomes for your lives.

“Appreciate the gift you’re being given, sweetness,” she chuckles, watching as the bartender makes her usual. “As long as that sheriff keeps coming around, you’re working less for the same room and board the rest of us pay.”

You know she’s right. You know there’s so many things wrong about this town you can’t change. You can’t afford to worry about things like that, while so many of the people in this little one room saloon are just trying to survive tomorrow. It’s never going to be an ideal, and the world is much too cruel for miracles to happen for a woman like you who sold their soul.

Jesus befriended Mary Magdalene, so it never made much sense to you when folks in this town claimed you were damned to spend your own eternity in hell. You weren’t sure if the people in this town actually read the Bible. Granted, you didn’t know much about religion yourself. But long ago you learned religion was a luxury only the wealthy people in this town could afford to follow, and they were the ones who could afford to participate in the sins you peddled. But, that was just one woman’s observation.

Dottie disappeared back into the crowd as quickly as she arrived, and soon you were back to watching the doors again, waiting for the sheriff to relieve you of your ever growing boredom. The place was in full swing as a posse of men you don’t recognize entered, talking about how they were on their way to the coast, to mine for gold and become millionaires. You can’t help but roll your eyes, and you keep to yourself as they whoop and holler, making demands of the barkeep to send out a round for the whole place on their dime. Their rowdiness makes you flinch, and for the first time tonight, you find yourself anxiously waiting for the appearance of the sheriff so you don’t have to entertain the likes of them. Maybe God does like you, because before one of the men staring at you has an opportunity to saunter over, the saloon doors open suddenly and you can be saved.

You know you shouldn’t find it thrilling, but there is something about being his favorite that fuels your ego on nights like this. The most commanding man in the town, calling you his- making you have this untouchable status for the night. It was the closest you think you can ever be to royalty. In that bar, on the nights he regulars, you’re a Queen. It’s a rush that's definitely spoiled you and yes, in the moment, you absolutely revel in the power you feel as he changes the atmosphere in the room- with his hardened blue eyes locked right on you.

“Evening, sheriff,” you coo and shoot him a smile, genuinely happy to see him.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Lee, darling?” He smirks, placing his hands on your knee so you uncross your legs and he can stand between them. The feeling of his hands on the exposed skin of your upper thighs sent a tingle right up your spine. His thumbs slowly rubbed circles on your skin, making you shiver.

You rest your hands on his chest, rubbing gently, your hands shamelessly feeling the strength of his chest under his shirt. You straighten out the gold sheriff’s badge on his chest, and you can feel him tremble slightly at your touch, which strokes your ego more than it already was.

“I forget,” you tease, straightening out his tie. He smirks, looking down at you as his hands trail up higher, resting on your hips under the skirt of your dress. “I need you to keep coming back and remind me,” you flirt shamelessly.

“Your usual, sheriff?” the bartender asks over the loud music, people settling back into their own business after the excitement of the sheriff arriving has died down. Lee replies with a quick thank you but doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Did you miss me, darling?” he quips, rubbing your sides, his thumbs trailing across the waistband of your undergarments.

“I always do,” you wink, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his jaw. “It’s so slow when you aren’t here,” you practically whine, pouting your lips slightly.

“I’m sorry about that, sugar,” he mumbles, leaning in and trailing kisses down your neck.

“It’s your fault you know,” you tease, your nails scratching his scalp affectionately.

“Is it now?” he chuckles, as he nips at your skin.

“No one else comes near me,” you admit, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Good,” he murmurs against your collarbone.

“Ice is melting,” you chuckle, referring to the drink he’s ignoring on the counter. He just chuckles, pulling away only long enough to finish the drink in one long sip, and you watch as his Adam’s apple moves, and how the condensation of the glass drips onto his knuckles.

After he places the empty glass on the counter, you pull his arm to lead him upstairs with you. He takes your hand and let’s you lead the way, he knows like the back of his hand, and at this point better than his own house.

“Impatient, darling?” he teases, “Not going to ask me for a dance?”

“You never say yes,” you giggle, “Figured you want to have some privacy.”

“I might’ve said yes,” he retorts and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Would you have?” you counter and he shakes his head no with a devilish grin.

“One of these days, doll.”

“I’ll be an old maid,” you joke, continuing up the stairs and down the hallway towards your room.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says. You don’t know exactly what he means, but you don’t push him for an explanation. As soon as the door clicks closed behind you both, Lee’s lips attach to yours like if he waits a second longer he’d evaporate.

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbles against your neck, leaving a trail of love bites that send a shiver up your spine. “Think about you every night I can’t visit you.”

You noticed how much more intimate your interactions with the Sheriff were gradually becoming. You weren’t sure how much of it he meant. The way he fawned over you and treated you like something more. Plenty of times, men behaved this way, never admitting except behind closed doors that that craved a much deeper sense of intimacy. You had always assumed the Sheriff was no different.

He’d take care of you, and you saw over time the way he handled you changed. It used to be rough and impersonal, oftentimes as well relying on you to do all the work so to speak. But, overtime, his visits became more of a mutual endeavor, and soon he was kissing you like how he is now, or begging to let him settle his head between your parted thighs, saying he felt good making you feel good.

“I’m addicted to the feeling of your skin, darling,” he whispers as he lets his fingers linger as he pulls the straps of the dress down your arms. When the dress pools at your feet, he stares in awe like it’s the first time seeing you, and then soon enough his lips are on yours again and his hands are free to wander where they please.

“Most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers as you work on taking off his shirt, teasingly slow at undoing the buttons.

“You say that everytime,” you point out and he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides.

“Cause I mean it everytime,” he smirks, walking you back until the back of your knees hit the back of your bed and you lay down with him on top of you.

One time a month or so back, you were sitting on top of the bar counter with him settled between your legs. You were using a rag to wipe blood off of his face after a messy fight that happened. Well, a fight that he started.

“I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he grumbled, still fuming and he winces slightly as you press the damp cloth to the cut by his brow. “Shouldn’t be touching you like that,” he slurs, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Just means I’m doing my job right,” you chuckle, amused at his possessiveness. “It don’t mean nothing,” you say.

“It don’t mean nothing when it’s me either,” he pouts, with his eyes closed like he could fall asleep standing up. You are convinced he’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He leans on you slightly to keep himself upright, and you move to wipe the blood that is smeared by the corner of his lips.

He’s so handsome, you can’t help but observe. From a distance, sure he’s gruff and rough around the edges but he’s got the most handsome face you think you’ve ever seen pass through. You’ll never admit to yourself that you were taking your time patching him up so you could just look at him like this for a little longer. It’s always nice sometimes to pretend a situation is something that it’s not.

“Tell me your mine, darling,” he almost whispers when his eyes flutter open again to look at you. His gaze on you felt heavy and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“I’m all yours, Sheriff,” you can’t help but chuckle, thinking he’s just fooling. Just trying to tease you. He frowns and looks so sad, those damn blue eyes more expressive when he’s drunk.

“Tell me your mine,” he asks again, like a whispered plea as his eyes roam over your face.

“I’m yours.”

By the morning, he’s always gone. He always leaves more than necessary, insisting to you the night before not to tell the owner. He doesn’t want him taking a bigger percentage. He whispers not to worry, and to let him take care of you. He knows how much he affects your wages and he wants to do the right thing.

Lee doesn’t like to pay you. It’s a horrible reminder to him that you don’t actually care one way or another if he shows up or not. It’s the terrible wake up call come morning that you aren’t actually his, as much as he asks you to say it.

You’d just have to say the word and he’d do just about anything to make you love him back for real. But he knows that this can’t ever go further. You deserve to go off and see the places he hears you tell the other girls about. You don’t think he knows about you wanting to leave but of course he does.

The pictures of far away cities are hung on your mirror held up between the frame and the glass. There’s a picture of New York that sometimes he’ll stay up staring at, knowing your heart ain’t tied down yet to one place like his is tied here. He can’t leave and he knows he can’t in good conscience ask you to stay. He knows you would, but not for the reasons he wants.

Good god, you’re still young and have a spark in you that he damn well knows he doesn’t want to be the one to put out. He wants nothing more than for you to look at him and see you could be happy and be in love. But what life is that compared to the life you’re dreaming of. You have hopes, dreams, and Lee knows he isn’t at the center of any of them.

So for now, he settles for the time you share with him when he comes by like tonight. Where he hopes he can silently tell you with his touches how much he feels for you. Where he can carefully tread the waters of sweet sentiments in hopes you’ll return them without him asking. It’s not real, none of it is.

He can hold you close and touch every part of your body like it’s only his to see and feel. He can hear every noise you make and watch every reaction to his touches and it fuels him for now. It’s enough for now to leave bruises on your skin and pretend it’s enough to keep others from knowing you’re his. It’s not, because the marks won’t matter.

He can feel himself inside you, and feel how your body reacts to him. The way to him, nothing will ever come close to the feeling of you around him. He’s addicted and he can’t go back. He’s been ruined by you, and no one else will ever come close to adding up to you.

But it’s not real. He’ll go home in the morning, and lie to his wife one more time, swearing that it’s the last time he goes back. He’ll tell her he worked late and slept in the Sheriff’s office. He’ll make the promise that he’ll be home on the weekend. But it’s not real. Because, he knows that he’s going to find himself going back to you. And he prays to God you won’t be there.

Taglist:

@missyellowbirdie @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @weenersoldierr @msgodofmischief @lowercasegenius @demirunner

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker #The Devil All The Time #western au #lee bodecker western au #lee bodecker x f!reader #lee bodecker x female reader #tdatt #tdatt fan fiction #lee bodecker fan fiction #sebastian stan characters #smut #x reader #x f!reader

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Total Eclipse (P.1)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 1,816 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: more warnings may be added for other chapters. As always, 18+. Also, the song inspo is def Total Eclipse of the Heart but its the Blvck Ceiling remix!

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The carriage came to a stop outside the glove shop in front of you. It matched the description on the note that had mysteriously found its way into your cosmetics bag at home last night. And as the note had said, the gloves you picked up were already paid for. A practical gift from an absurdly practical man. One you could easily explain away to your husband as a gift he had simply given to you that he had forgotten that he had. He gifted items to you so often, it would not be hard to have this small token pass under his radar. Small to him but it was a symbol of a large wedge in your marriage, and it would always be.

The door opened and Sherlock was leaning out, smiling coyly. “May I offer you a ride, ma’am?”

“Do you even know where I am going?”

“Well, no. But if you would tell me…” You kept your face neutral at his toying and told him the address. He smiled broadly and said, “What a coincidence. I am heading that way and it looks like it might rain…” He turned his eyes skyward. It was cloudy. What a coincidence indeed. There was playfulness in his eyes as he pressed, “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you took his hand and let him help you into the carriage. He swung the door closed and tapped the wall behind him. The carriage took off.

“My, I’m pleased I was able to assist you,” Sherlock started cordially. “That is quite a lovely gown. Persian silk, is it not?”

“It is,” you answered stiffly.

You hated the games he played. He was going to pick you apart just for his own amusement now. Comment on all your riches simply because he had such a keen eye for everything with his travels and his intellect. And also because he liked you to remember how intelligent he was; it was something about him that had drawn you in in the first place. It still impressed you but now you knew it was him simply being petty more than anything. He wanted you and he wanted it badly. He was superior to your husband intellectually and always would be, something that would eat away at you. And besides intellect… Sherlock knew how to work your body like a well-tuned clock. This was foreplay for him. Assessing everything that had been going on with you in his absence since your last tussle in the sheets.

“Hmm. What lengths your family or husband must have gone to to acquire that fabric. You must really be special. Or they’re just woefully arrogant about their wealth.”

You shot him a disapproving look and he merely smirked briefly.

“I think it’s the latter personally. But what do I know? I haven’t seen you for four months.”

“Yes. What do you know?” you quipped.

“How is your son?” he returned quickly.

“With the nanny.”

“How aristocratic.”

“You never wanted children,” you told him tightly, getting tired of his questioning.

You knew why you were here. He was jealous still, even more so that you had had a child. And especially a child that was not his. He had been on a case across Europe at the time of conception… leaving no doubt about the father. But he was here now, wanting what he always wanted. A piece of you.

The two of you grasped at whatever pieces of the other you could get to hold close.

“Presumptive. We don’t know each other,” Sherlock replied, shooting you a look. You glared back and he merely simpered in response. “You look tired of the games.”

“I can’t even begin to describe how tired I am.”

The shades were drawn immediately by him, leaving the two of you in almost total darkness.

He was on you in a second and he pulled you close. “And how lonely?”

“Did you really shut yourself inside for four months?” you hissed back at him, as his hands played with the buttons of your bodice. “You are one to talk about loneliness! Watson told me!”

“I was only inside for two,” Sherlock responded lightly, as if that made it any better. “I had a case I did. But… two months inside was nothing. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? And why is Watson tattling to you?”

His hands were running up your sides, holding you close. His breath was hot, and he was coming in quickly. He claimed your mouth with his, the kiss deep and passionate. His tongue slipped past your lips, swirling and you responded in like. The two of you were panting with the intensity, hands grasping tightly on each other.

Sherlock managed to pull you down to the floor of the carriage and you hit him in protest. “My skirts! The dirty floor!”

“Say you fell. Make up a story of a heroic war hero – think of Watson for inspiration – helped you up off the cobble stone. It’ll make a great dinner story,” Sherlock spoke in hushed tones as he turned you around.

Your hands hit the opposite seat, chest planted firmly against it. Your heart was beating loudly in anticipation of the pleasure you were about to engage in. And the excitement that you truly could be caught at any moment if the carriage stopped for any reason.

Sherlock’s lips were at your neck, kissing up earnestly. He sucked deeply and you knew to let him; he knew the rules. He would never suck hard enough to leave a mark. No matter how much he wanted to. He nipped at your ear before circling back down; you turned your head to let him pull you back into a kiss.

He took this distracted opportunity to pull away, leaving you in a haze as he pushed your skirts up. You had done specifically as he liked and he was impressed.

“No undergarments,” Sherlock commented quietly his hands gripping the sides of your ass. “That’s very inappropriate and screams hussy in society. But… it’s very appropriate for me. I’m just delighted.”

“Will you get on with it?” You said impatiently. He always spoke so much and at the most inopportune time.

He chortled at you. “Always rushing. It’s what got you into your marriage in the first place, my love.”

His fingers traced. Running down between your thighs and pressing your legs open as you huffed indignantly at his rude comment. He always had to talk down about the situation you had found yourself in as a woman, no less. He knew why you had given in and still!

“And the fact—oh!” You gasped loudly at the last.

Sherlock’s fingers had dipped into your folds. He laughed quietly and warned you.

“Quiet now, dear. I paid the driver for discretion about who was in the carriage. Not discretion about any gossip he might hear. We should hurry it up though. We’ve taken three turns which means there are only four left. About fifteen minutes.”

Sometimes it paid off how perceptive he was but it still annoyed you right now when all you wanted to do was get off.

“How I wish I could turn around and sink onto you. That would ensure this would be done quickly,” you hissed at him.

You felt him at your entrance immediately and he pushed in. You groaned and he did in turn too. He filled you to the brim and sat stationary for just a moment, seeming to cherish the feeling before pulling out and setting himself a good pace. You pressed back onto him and one of his arms came to hold you tight across your chest. He still laid sloppy kisses along your exposed skin at your neck as he fucked you.

“Another turn,” you said sarcastically, just to rile him up.

And it worked.

He increased his pace in response, driving deeper. You lost your breath, fingers digging into the carriage seat as his teeth sunk in slightly. Bastard. He was pressing the rules just to teach you a lesson to be quiet and let him work.

His hand slipped back down to toy at your nub and your breath quickened.

Sherlock’s hand slapped across your mouth in anticipation. You hated he could read you so damn well. You moaned against his hand, your cunt clenching around his cock. His fingers dug in on your cheek, struggling to hold your pleasure in as you came undone as you were drawing it out of him with your tightness. He grunted loudly, sputtering. And then he was spasming just like you.

The third turn. The two of you felt and you were away from each other in a messy way. You pulled yourself back up onto the seat, touching at your hair. No, that was fine. He was always careful to not mess that up unless you two were spending the night together.

Across from you, Sherlock straightened at his waist coat. “The ball two days from now—” he started to say.

“It’s a masquerade.” You straightened your skirts out and sad back down on the carriage seat opposite him. You pressed them down further and did not miss the amused expression on his face.

“I’m quite aware, darling. Perfect opportunity.”

“For you to greet everyone? Come out of your shell?” you returned.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Watson told me I should.”

“I’m telling you that you should.”

“And that is enough.”

He had a sincere look in his eyes.

In your tryst, the rain truly had started to fall, a steady beat on the top of the carriage.

You had only been married for less than two years. And god, how you wished it was to him. But that was never to be.

The carriage came to its final turn and your house was so close. Your big… big house. It was so empty. The two of you were locked in a gaze just as the carriage came to a stop.

Swallowing sharply, you grabbed your purse off the bench beside you and said loudly, “Thank you for your courtesy. My husband would have been angry if this silk had been ruined in the rain.”

“You better run quick since there’s no butler here to greet you.”

“Ass,” you snapped, and he smiled again. You hated his smug smile so much, but you cherished seeing it too all the same. You climbed out, reluctantly taking his hand to help.

“You didn’t even say ‘welcome back’.”

He was actually pouting.

“You’ve already made yourself at home, dear,” you quipped.

You slammed the carriage door in his face and heard him chuckle from inside.

Turning, you went up the pathway quickly to the gate and threw it open, not bothering to look back. You knew you would see him again at the ball. The light rain was no bother.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

also @mcnegan if you are interested haha!

(THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I’LL USE THE MARVEL TAG, OTHERWISE I’LL TAG SPECIFIC PEOPLE AFTER THIS SINCE IT IS NOT MARVEL, AND JUST AN RDJ CHARACTER! If you wanna be tagged, let me know! :D)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes x ofc #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #my shit

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sharkbait77 · 3 years

Text

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Two: The Arrival

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Death of a parent, nosy neighbors, irritated feelings, lmk if I missed any

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: Welcome back! First of all, I want to thank each & every one of you that read & enjoyed the Ch.1! Your wonderful comments really set it in stone for me to continue this fic & I really hope I don't disappoint! Anyway, I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this one! I'm so nervous!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

Chapter One || Chapter Three

~APRIL EIGHTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

The days passed, the same as they always do, yet with no word on any boy or man willing to spare the help for the farm. You did your best to think rationally; the majority of the families around town were busy with their own affairs, their own shops and farms. It was only you and Pa, and while the majority of the townspeople were friendly, not a soul seemed to spare a second thought towards the two of you, outside of banding together for Ma’s funeral.

You were preparing to give up, once again, the hope that perhaps there was one – at the very least, one – man who would take pity on you and Pa. The more you reassessed the people of the town, the more it appeared they only ‘cared’ when it suited them, when whatever dilemma you and Pa were faced with was the opportunity for them to engage in hearsay.

Mrs. Williams, for example – although kind and respectful while you stood in front of her – immediately took it upon herself to, not only relay the information that help was needed to every man, woman, and child in town, but indefinitely began to spout words of pity regarding you and Pa. Of course, that got the whole of the town babbling about how awful, how unimaginable, it was to have to endure the tedious season by yourselves. Yet, no one desired to lift a pinky to help.

So, as you enter the town, you aren’t stunned when you hear whispers as you pass. It had been a brief few days prior that you had finally been overlooked, finally was not the cause of their speculations. And now, you grit your teeth with disdain and continue walking through, awaiting the moment you reach the haven of the shop and, hopefully, have a moment to collect your thoughts and set them in the icebox to cool.

One positive outcome of it, you gather, if you were to look on the other side of things, is that you have gained the ability to avert your ears from whatever nonsense the older women gossip about, not concerned so much of what they say, just that it was taking place at all.

However, as you make your way down the dirt road, you realize it isn’t just the typical gossip coming from the elderly ladies, and are even more shocked to learn that you are not the subject of the chatter. The whole town is seemingly buzzing like a hive of bumblebees, a hum carried through the air consisting of ‘Did you see him?’, ‘A visitor’, and ‘What a strange man’.

Even you acknowledge that it must be interesting news for the whole town to be churning with such fervor and animation over it. The town, collectively, has never been so excited about anything since the new sheriff was appointed and you find yourself turning your ears to the conversations to see if you hear anything of importance. Once you realize, though, that you're partaking in the exact avocation you so despise when it's directed toward you, the doors close inside your ears once again and you walk straight to the shop.

After you’ve had time to settle and display all the new wares, the bell rings and you hear behind you the whispers of the older ladies filling the atmosphere, conspiring against whatever – or, whomever – has attracted their attention so.

“Hello, dear!” One of them – Mrs. Foster, who is seen as the lead hen – yells out to you. You take a deep breath, summoning the companionable parts within you to the surface.

“Hello Mrs. Foster,” you greet while turning to face the group.

To her side, Mrs. McKenna and Mrs. Jones, along with her young daughter, Lucille. Lucille Jones must be the closest you have to an acquaintance in town, but her mother keeps her quiet and buried under her wing, grooming her to be exactly the respectable young lady that will surely attract a wealthy husband, therefore paying for luxuries his new mother-in-law would not be able to afford otherwise. That poor fool.

“Have you seen the latest traveler, dear?” Mrs. McKenna asks.

“I have not,” you reply simply. Tis the truth, after all, but something about this mysterious traveler, that has caused such an uproar, makes the curiosity seep into the lining of your veins. Though, you would not engage in their gossip just to find out more.

“He is most strange,” Mrs. Jones adds, answering a question you had not asked.

“To each his own,” you say, feeling the irritation at their simple minds grow in your belly.

Before another moment could be spared for this nonsense, you quickly distract them with your latest concoction: a complexion cream made from eggs, cream, oats, and lavender, a soothing blend that would help hide the blemishes on their faces. Not their consciences, unfortunately, but it excites them no less.

~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

You awaken before the sun today, the sky is still a dark cobalt and fading into sapphire behind the hills, indicating the orange ball of light will be presenting itself in moments. You sigh, stumped at the sudden feeling in the pit of your core that today will be unlike the others – somehow. You turn over on your other side, away from the window, in search of another wink of sleep. It is futile, and you accept the call for the day to begin.

You step lightly so as to not disturb Pa sleeping just below your floorboards, and begin washing your face, arms, and legs, dressing in your usual skirts, and meticulously perfecting the knot of your hair. You even go as far as braiding the length of it before pinning it around on the back of your head and the sight of it resembles a flower. You hum; a sincere hum of a song your mother used to sing. You ponder why it entered your head in this moment after not having heard it in over a year.

Once the sun begins to peek its rays across the fields, you step down the ladder softly, keeping your eyes to Pa’s bed on the other side of the rails to ensure you haven’t woken him. Only, he isn’t there. His bed is made with care so you know he hasn’t been resting on it for a while. As soon as your boots are planted on the wooden floors, you turn to face the rest of the house. He is nowhere; not in the kitchenette, not sitting at the table, nor sitting in his armchair in the corner of the house.

Confusion strikes you; he has not risen before you since Ma was still here. You grab the lockbox from the safe and your bonnet off the wooden hook in the wall, tying it around your neck and placing the box in your bag, stringing it over your shoulder before stepping outside. There is still a chill in the air from the night and you shiver slightly before cupping your hands around your mouth.

“Pa?!”

You yell into the air, the heat of your breath visible in front of you as you await an answer that doesn’t come. Your eyebrows wrinkle across your forehead, worry beginning to creep into your bloodstream. You walk down the steps from the house and turn towards the fields. As you look across them, the sun shining bright enough now to help your vision, you don’t see his figure anywhere. You walk towards the barn, cupping your hands around your mouth again to repeat your call.

“Here, child!”

You hear the rasp of your father’s voice respond from within the barn. You will your heart to rest from the fright that rushed through your veins, breathing right again knowing your Pa is well. You walk to the doors of the barn, the sun blinding you briefly before entering and you see Pa standing and chatting with a man.

He stands with a confident, yet humble posture, straight brown pants covering tall legs, suspenders attached at the waist and strapped over a bone-white shirt with a black coat resting across broad shoulders. In his hands, he fiddles with a wide brimmed, brown hat that, as you step closer, you can see has small tears & rips along the outer edges. He turns to look in your direction, a soft and friendly smile underneath a neat mustache, hair sparsely adorning his jaw.

“Daughter, this is Mr. Prospect,” Pa introduces.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prospect,” you give a small curtsy and bow your head.

“I assure the pleasure is mine, miss,” he replies, bowing his head. “Your father and I were only just discussing the season you will be faced with here. I am most obliged to be suited enough for work and I am at your service.”

You nod along to his words, finding it difficult to search inside your brain and pull something out of it that may continue the conversation. His voice is rich and decadent, finer than the most luxurious chocolate you might have the pleasure of introducing to the buds on your tongue. It sounds as if it comes from deep within his being as opposed to his throat, and you find it very pleasing to your ears.

“Mr. Prospect here will be our new farmhand for the season. He only just arrived moments before you rose,” Pa continues.

“Forgive me, Pa, I did not hear you wake-”

“Do not fret, little one,” he smiles and places a weathered hand gently on your shoulder and you smile in return. “Daughter, please show our new employee the farm; I have yet to do so, but the chickens need feeding now.”

“Yes, Pa.”

Pa exits the barn with a stomping of his boots as his heavy and tired legs carry him, turning the smile on your face into a small frown. You exhale through your nose and turn to the man, noticing a small tuft of white locks at the beginning of his hairline, fading into a rough cut of shaggy, brown hair. You avert your gaze so as not to be impolite with your stare and look into the mahogany irises of his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Prospect, I do apologize for you having to lodge with the cattle,” you say as you gesture to the black and white beasts resting in their stables.

“It is quite alright, miss. I’m sure they will be most interesting to converse with,” he smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth and his jest pulls a giggle from your throat as you smile.

“Just up there –” you point to the ladder leading to a platform above the cows. “– is a bed of hay. It may stick you, but we will provide plenty of blankets to soothe the irritation and keep you warm.”

His gaze meets the platform, exposing his elongated neck and strong jaw, his profile revealing his aquiline nose and you find your gaze fixated on him once again. What an intriguing man. You realize he must be the new traveler the town was so preoccupied with yesterday, but you find nothing strange about him at all. Quite the opposite. He seems to be the purest and gentlest man that has ever passed through this town. He looks back down to you, the soft, good-natured smile reaching his eyes, the same smile on his face from the moment you met.

“Follow me, please.” You lead him out of the barn and to the fields on the other side and he places his hat back on his head as he walks.

“This is the field the corn will grow, and just on the other side of the barn will be the potatoes. I must divulge that it is quite strenuous. I am thankful to you for accepting the work; it will help my Pa and I tremendously.”

“I respectfully deny your thanks; I’m afraid it is I who should be thankful to you and your father for welcoming me with such friendliness,” he replies and you look up into his eyes. Such beautiful orbs, as brown and majestic as the mountains that surround you, the likes of which you’ve never seen.

“This way,” you say, a light tremble in your voice from momentarily having the ground swept from under your feet. You lead him to the house, stepping up the stairs and opening the door. You take a step inside, but the man does not enter, rather staying still on the porch, fiddling with his hat in his hands once again.

“It is quaint; I’m not sure where you are from, Mr. Prospect. Perhaps you are familiar with more lavish dwellings,” he looks around the room as much as he is able from where he stands and smiles.

“Not in the slightest, dear Sunflower. The home you reside in is lovely and most would be envious to have such to call their own,” he says kindly and you smile genuinely in return, a warmth reaching the apples of your cheeks from his endearment.

“You are welcome to our table for meals and coffee, if you’d like. And we have wash basins you are free to use as well.”

“Many thanks, miss. I am very grateful to have been blessed with hospitality such as this.”

You nod your head, lowering it slightly as you walk out and back onto the porch, the man waiting for you to step down into the dirt before he follows suit. You smooth out your dress and turn to look back at him, his eyes having not left you once.

“What is your name?”

“Ezra,” he replies, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You offer your hand politely and return your name, the greeting between you holding firm, yet gentle; his hand is warm and soft, slightly calloused from farm work.

“Ezra,” you repeat, letting each letter of his name roll from the back of your throat, over your tongue and through your teeth. It was as smooth as the butter you had churned this past monotonous week. “What a unique and beautiful name; very pleasing on the tongue.”

He blushes lightly, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he averts his gaze to his dirt covered boots.

“Did you see the notice at the post?” You ask, smiling fondly at the bashful man in front of you and he faces you again, nodding his answer. “Yes, I assumed so. There was one at the shop, too, but you had not walked in while I was there.”

“Yes, once I saw the notice and inquired about the position, I spent some time familiarizing myself with the town before heading here to see your father. He had been preoccupied yesterday and requested I return early this morning.”

“That’s strange. He didn’t mention it to me,” you ponder. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for Pa to not trouble you with these affairs until it was time to deal with them. “And you only just arrived yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, miss. To be frank, I am slightly unnerved at the commotion my arrival has stirred; it seems the people here are not accustomed to travelers.”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply with a contrite look on your face. “I apologize for the welcome not being so friendly. Do not take it to heart. I have grown up here and still feel like an outsider,” you add, the sudden remark escaping you naturally. You have a strange feeling that you may be able to open your mind and thoughts to this man who exudes comfort and compassion. Maybe someday.

“Well, Ezra,” you enunciate again. “I’m afraid I must go now. Pa will have you busy with work in no time, I guarantee. If you ever need anything from me and I am not here, our shop is in town, right after the bank. Please do not hesitate to come by and ask.”

Ezra looks at you again, the tender smile that had budded on his unconventionally attractive face blooming into a full fledged, teeth baring grin. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, sparking a dull fire in the furnace within your belly that had long been barren, full of the ashes of any past flame that ceased to exist as quickly as it had lit.

At first glance, it may have been easy to overlook his features, but as you gaze at him before you, it is not difficult to see that he is, in fact, very handsome. You smile in return, adjusting your bonnet to sit atop your head and turning on your heels to walk toward the town.

Of course, the people are still buzzing with the recent arrival of Ezra Prospect. Even worse now, word has reached that he is to be your new farmhand. Mrs. Williams, of course, heard from her husband that Mr. Prospect had shown intrigue in the position, and later that night while they ate dinner, Mr. Williams shared the news with his wife. It truly is doubtful that anyone would be able to survive one, single daybreak without having something or someone to talk about.

The main three hens, Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McKenna, and Mrs. Jones all swarm your personal environment before you even make it inside the shop and they are just about bouncing in their heeled boots, awaiting any sort of information you can give them about Mr. Prospect.

“I hear he’s your new farmhand.”

“Is he as strange as he looks?”

“He seems dangerous; best keep your distance, dear.”

They will not stop; one question rolling into the next from each of their beaks. You have a right mind to lay out some feed on the ground for them so as to keep their mouths busy with other matters. The irritation courses through you, a dull tightness forming at the base of your skull.

“What is his name?”

“Perhaps if he did not feel so unwelcome by the whispers of the town, he may be more inclined to tell you himself,” you say harshly before having a moment to think twice.

They gape at you; the audacity, their expressions seem to say. You don’t seem to care for it, though. To have them whisper about you was one thing; you could manage just fine, however bothersome it is. But Mr. Prospect seemed friendly and gentle enough to make you relinquish any passiveness to these women, unwilling to keep cordial when they’re so unpleasant of anyone new introduced to this town. It’s unusual, this feeling. Protective. Over a man you only spoke to for no more than fifteen minutes.

The women scoff under their breaths, very obviously offended by your response and denial of amusing them. They whisper amongst themselves as they walk away, not trying to hide their second glances at you from over their shoulders as they continue down the road. Surely, the word will spread that you did not wish to speak to them about the traveler, and they will conspire on which hen to send next to continue the digging.

You feel some relief, however, knowing now the conversation will be turned back to you instead of Mr. Prospect. He did not deserve to be treated as such during his stay and you would make sure of that.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

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#ezra x f!reader #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra au #ezra prospect au #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #prospect #prospect fanfiction

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mermaidsirennikita · 3 years

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bridgerton--the good, the bad, the ugly

The short of it: Bridgerton excellently captures the tone of Regency romance novels and offers a lot of escapism and great sex scenes, but could definitely use some serious work in terms of how it depicts race and it should have made some further alterations to the dated and flawed source material. Definitely loved a lot of it and am hotly anticipating the second season, but I want to see more work done and I HOPE that this encourages the adaptation of better (and less inherently flawed) romance novels.

Now for the longer take.

The Good

Bridgerton depicted sex and romance in a way that is totally different from anything I’ve seen in period dramas, for sure, but possibly different from anything I’ve seen on TV. The romance of it all was woven into almost every aspect of the show. There is the handsome and seemingly severe but extravagantly wealthy and sexually adept duke sweeping into town. The (multiple) rakes who just want to have fun while also being hot messes. The awakening of female sexuality and the copious use of the female gaze. (Note the pretty modest and minimal focus on female nudity, while we get plenty of lingering shots on Simon.). People want love! There is pretty minimal violence and perhaps the most physically violent scene involves Simon beating a man up because HE IMPEACHED DAPHNE’S HONOR~.

The sex scenes themselves focused on Daphne’s pleasure for the most part, and were probably among the best I’ve seen since Outlander in terms of chemistry, in terms of the visuals, in terms of focus on sex as an act of emotional connection and FUN. Yes, there was some Unlikely Vaginal Orgasming, but we also saw Simon tell Daphne about masturbation. On the wedding night, he was pretty clearly touching her to help her enjoy it. He ate her out... a good bit.

And aside from that, we got all of the grand speeches, the stolen glances and touches, an excellent buildup of sexual tension that led to some pretty hilarious moments.

I also really enjoyed many of the performances on this show. Rege-Jean and Phoebe had great chemistry and excellent back and forth. Jonathan was a GREAT Anthony. I would argue that as lackluster as I found his relationship with Siena (more on that in a minute) it largely existed as a way to set him up for his romance with Kate. He now has even more of a reason to be down with love, as opposed to solely relying on a kind of flimsy tragic backstory. Additionally, his overprotectiveness of Daphne added tension to the story and made him a source of comedic relief for me? I loved it. Give me disaster Anthony all day; can’t wait until he falls to the enemies to lovers trope just like Simon fell to his FLAW-FREE fake dating plan.

A lot of the changes I found were really good. Obviously, it was important that the show incorporated greater diversity (though they need way more). Benedict was INFINITELY more fun and interesting than he was in the novels, and acted as another standout for me. As much as I hate Portia Featherington, I think that the elevation of her to a proper villainess is probably necessary and Polly Walker excels at those types of roles, though they need to maybe have her be less like, actively racist. I adored the addition of Queen Charlotte; she was excellent comic relief. Lady Danbury’s expanded role and relationship to Simon was one of the best moves they made. It touched my entire soul.

Buuuut....

The Bad

The show needs to work on casting more men that are frankly on Rege-Jean’s level. It feels a bit awkward to see a guy that is by most people’s standards kind of stunning and then.... Colin looks twelve. Lord Philip is like... a farm guy. Get rid of the sideburns, we’re in romance novel territory.

In the same note, the girl who played Siena wasn’t a great actress and wasn’t super stunning, so even though I’m fine with her being a placeholder.... Eh. Go for better casting. The woman playing Madame Delacroix would’ve played that role so much better and I really enjoyed her dynamic with Benedict because she was just fun.

Frankly, I don’t know what the fuck they’re going to do to make me want to watch Penelope and Colin fall in love. Their book was already a bit basic--fun, but far from revolutionary. I don’t really get why they would receive attention similar to that of Kate and Anthony, basically. The issue is that Colin, again, looks and sound rather young and twerpy. It obviously wasn’t great for him to be tricked into raising another man’s child, but.... For fuck’s sake, how much would that have affected his life on a practical level. He’d never know unless he was told, thanks to the lack of DNA tests. He was marrying far out of his league in terms of attractiveness. He’s a rich white guy in England with a supportive family.

I really disliked the fact that Colin told Marina in his huffy little tantrum that he would have married her anyway--because would you have, buddy? Really? The thing is that Marina had no way of knowing that and her entire life (and the reputations of her cousins) was on the line. She didn’t know if she could trust Colin to keep her secret. They barely knew each other. He basically came off as a whiny child and I’m fine with him staying in Greece if that’s the plan.

Penelope was just... psychotic. And that was really disappointing, because I love Nicola and would love to have loved to see the fat girl get her sexy love story. But first off, lol, it wouldn’t have been sexy because Colin was miscast. Second, she basically tried to destroy Marina’s life and that of her sisters? And herself? Because Colin? Because Colin, a guy who hasn’t even shown any amount of attraction to her at this point? Her tears, her whining, it was all too much. Penelope was dealing with a crush and Marina was dealing with the real Grown Woman issues of a child out of wedlock and as it turned out a dead lover and they were not on equal footing.

I mean, Penelope could very well make a great villainess at this point, and if done well I’d embrace it. But I do not know how the fuck they can make me interested in her love story. And the idea of her basically being launched into villainy because she was this chubby white girl obsessively jealous of a beautiful black woman...... not a great look.

The show definitely needs to explore diversity in terms of sexuality too--I don’t think it’s correct to read Benedict as straight because he still seems to be open to exploring. Once he has more screentime, I think he could totally end up being bisexual, and it’s possible that the writers were trying to feel the audience out in terms of their receptiveness to taking a straight character who has a big straight love story in the books and making him LGBT+. Eloise could also easily be a lesbian, and I’d be thrilled to see that happen. They need to do something to expand the world, and if there are 8 Bridgerton kids, all of them being straight as an arrow seems SO unlikely.

The Ugly

Obviously, the rape scene was bad and should have been written out. Simon could have gotten caught up in the moment and blown up at Daphne after he accidentally didn’t pull out in time. Men.... accidentally don’t pull out in time... a lot. That’s how babies happen. It would’ve been believable, and due to our sympathies being with Simon largely, I don’t think he would have become irredeemable if he was more at fault than Daphne.

As it was, I will say that the scene was somewhat better than it played in the books because Simon was conscious and totally sober, and it was a bit? Confusing? That he didn’t just roll Daphne over and pull out? Because she wasn’t really clearly trying as hard as she was in the book to wrap her legs around him and hold him tight. But it remained a rape scene. The show also did a better job, I think, of establishing how fucked up it was that Simon took advantage of Daphne’s lack of knowledge. Whatever he said about thinking she knew what was up--he knew she didn’t even know about masturbation. He had to know she wouldn’t understand what pulling out meant. He did very clearly mislead her to think that he was sterile and therefore denied Daphne her ability to give informed consent. Did that justify what Daphne did? Nope. Two wrongs don’t make a right. But both of them did a fucked up thing and I think that we honestly could’ve stopped at Simon’s misleading.

The issue too is that this leads into a bigger problem the show had. It wanted to include diversity (yay!) but did not consider the total implications of what was happening (not yay). Daphne and Simon’s dynamic is inevitably influenced by the fact that she’s a white woman and he’s a black man, regardless of whatever handwaves happened. This influences the sexual assault and makes it even more messy.

Speaking of mess, I’m not sure what exactly would have fixed the “we don’t want this to be a colorblind casting” issue... but the explanation they came up with wasn’t good. Never mind that this makes everything SUPER confusing (racism is over like..... maybe 50 years MAX after Queen Charlotte’s marriage if we assume she was a teen when she married and is in her 60s now?) but Lady Danbury’s dialogue explaining this was HORRENDOUS. “One of them fell in love with one of us”. The implications are awful. I don’t know if perhaps setting back the integration of society centuries earlier would have helped? But this wasn’t it.

Additionally, the writers and casting directors didn’t seem to get that diversity is all well and good, but what about the fact that almost every black character has a light skin tone? Why are there so few black female characters? Why is Marina, the most prominent woc on the show, given the “pregnant and desperately trying to trick a man into marrying her until her jealous white cousin fucks her life up and she is humiliated into settling for a loveless match” plot? I desperately hope we see her next season, falling in love with Sir Phillip or perhaps having experienced a plot twist that gives her someone else... And she better not die. Eloise can find someone else if Marina really ends up with Sir Philip.

Ultimately, again, I really loved the show. But it needs to work on some things. I think that a lot of its issues can be addressed and fixed in a future season, and I HOPE they do that.

#bridgerton #but fuck polin for life lol

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rein4r1 · 3 years

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Portrait

Wc: 1.9k

Warning/s: Homophobia, Signs of Mental Illness, Mentions of Mental and Physical Abuse, Mentions of sexual activity, Dark Content

Pairing: [Modern AU] Mikasa x F!Reader (They/Them)

Genre: Fluff if you squint, Angst

Synopsis: On which Mikasa offers them a solution to their problems

They couldn't help but create a different reality

MINORS READ WITH DISCRETION

“So tell us Y/n L/n”

“Tell you what? I have nothing to tell you!”

“Tell us why you killed your parents.”

They pulled her knees to their chests, tightening their hold. The air from the AC doing nothing but worsen the already dreadful atmosphere. With shaking hands, they touched the side of their face, feeling the sting from where their father slapped them from hours ago. It wasn’t his aggressiveness that hurt them nor was it the shattered frame of a portrait that stood proudly on top of the island table, but it was their mother’s words; “I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!”

Their parents were always conservative, believing that people who like the same sex are nothing but sinful. In all honesty, they believed every word they fed growing up. At least until they met her. Maybe deep down, they were already different from what their parents fear, just hiding in the closet. The first time they saw her was in the middle of the hallway, junior year in high school. To be honest, they didn’t have friends, them having friends is far-fetched anyway.

Not only did they hate their situation at home, but they also hate their situation at school. It’s not like they’re physically troubled by other kids, but they can always hear their murmurings, clearly them being the subject of their gossip.

“For someone with a pretty appearance, they sure are crazy.”

“Shut up! They might hear.”

School was already hell for them; just in the middle of the hallway stood a girl with short black hair, there she stood in the sea of despondence. They always had a downcast look, when was the last time they stared at anything but their feet. They can’t help but be drawn to her dark orbs, something about her enigmatic look draws them to her. The felt their body move automatically towards her, but in the heap of the crowd, she was gone. Their eyes searched any nook and cranny for her, hoping that there’s something she left by. And they felt it, the erratic beating of their hearts, as if nothing will help to calm it.

The next time they saw her was at the school’s courtyard, sitting at one of the benches looking like she’s lost in her own thoughts. They slowly approached her, sitting just at the other end of the bench. As if sensing their presence, her head turns towards them. Her face shows aloofness, but their eyes bore in theirs with curiosity. She turned her head back to the horizon, clearly not minding their presence.

“You look sad.” ‘What?’

“You look like… you’ve been failed by the people around you…” she continues as they look at her with sadness in their eyes.

“Wha- What are you talking about?...” And out of the blue, she pulled them towards her, letting their head rest on her shoulder. She brought her hand to caress their hair, and all they could do is cry. It’s been so long since they became vulnerable, looking no different than a walking corpse. “Don’t worry Y/n, I’m here now.” ‘Huh but how does she know my name?’

“Wait how did you-“

“I’ve always been watching you Y/n, I’m sorry it took me a long time.” They look at her face and saw genuine repentance. “But I haven’t- I don’t know who you are.” As if sensing their growing confusion, she smiled; “Mikasa, my name’s Mikasa.”

Mikasa is their first friend and the first person they talked outside of their family. They didn’t feel alone anymore with the girl beside them. The once suffocating halls didn’t feel smothering anymore. Their eyes didn’t look downcast, it slowly began to look less dull and look more with vigor. But that didn’t do anything to lessen the outlandish look their schoolmates gave them, their mumblings only continue to worsen. It didn’t matter anymore, since Mikasa is by their side, and she didn’t feel alone anymore.

Mikasa slept over at their house, this was something they’ve been looking forward the whole weekends. Lying together in their bed as they faced each other, Mikasa brought her nimble finger to draw in their features as she reached stay strand of their hair and placed it behind their eye. As if there was an unknown force that compels them to each other, they felt her lips brush against theirs in a gently manner. Feeling the way their lips moved in sync with each other, Mikasa’s kisses were steady, gentle, and slow

She looks at them as if she revers them with her whole entirety. They felt her hands drag across their skin like an adagio. Mikasa looked at their eyes for any signs of discomfort, but they only brought themselves closer as an answer. And that night, they made love under the light emanating from the moon.

A few days later, Y/n sat at the dining area with their parents for dinner. Their mother was babbling about how charming their neighbor’s son is. It fell into deaf ears of course, only having Mikasa in their thoughts.

“Y/n you should meet Mr. Grice’s son, I heard he’s about your age.” They snapped their head towards their father, they could not believe the words that came out of his mouth. Never in her life did he appreciate them having any malefriends. “You ought to have friends at your age, create a network with people.”

“I already have a friend ‘pa” he could only dismiss their reply. Their mother clearly being insistent on bringing the Grice boy and them together. “I know both of you are taking your exams for university, it doesn’t hurt having room for more people in your life.”

“I thought you never wanted me to have any guy friends.”

“But it’s the Grices we’re talking about.” They came to understand their mother’s intentions. The Grice family were considered wealthy and influential, who doesn’t want to marry into a rich family anyway? Obviously, Y/n L/n who only has Mikasa in their heart. Plus, the Grice boy already had an army of girls (and boys) willing to be his significant other. It was supposed to be a normal dinner, with them minding their business, leaving their parents to whatever chit chat they’re engrossed in. That is until, their father said something that triggered more on her already displeased mood.

“God, those sinners, parading around for some rights when they clearly don’t deserve any.” Her father muttered in disgust. The television was on, displaying news about a protest done by the LGBTQ+ community in accordance with the rights of their transgender brothers and sisters, considering that there is a rise of crimes towards the group. “If only they weren’t that then people wouldn’t-“

“I’m gay.” Their parents snapped their heads towards her, their expressions full of vexation.

“Y/n come again? What did you-“

“I’m fucking gay ‘ma, and I appreciate that the both of you stop asking those people for liability for something they clearly didn’t do, especially that they- we, are discriminated by people like –“ SLAP

They looked at their horrific faces, hand on their cheek. They expected this, they knew they were like this, but they couldn’t stand them any longer. They couldn’t help but think of Mikasa, the fact that they have this kind of mindset already means that after learning Mikasa’s existence, they’ll get in between them.

“I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!” Their mother cried and their father’s face full of furry. “Go inside your room! We’ll deal with you later. FuckI can’t look at you right now without having the urge to murder you! And I don’t want to commit a sin like you!” Their father’s voice echoes around the room, as they quickly left her unfinished dinner, seeking solace inside their room. Sitting at the innermost corner of their bed, they leaned against the wall and brought their knees towards their chest. They expected them to be like this, but deep down they were hoping that they’d understand, that they’d accept them for who they are.

They felt their phone ring as they moved towards the bedside table and saw a text from Mikasa.

They immediately dashed towards their mini balcony, and there she is, Mikasa in all her glory. Seeing her made them break down, they found solace with this woman. To them, Mikasa is their sanctuary. Mikasa held them tight under the dark sky and the cold wind of the early hours of morning. She listened to them as they bawl their eyes out, pressing kisses on their face in hopes that this will make them feel better.

“I have something for you.” Mikasa reached something in her pocket to reveal a necklace with a vial as its pendant. They looked at the necklace with an astonished look, Mikasa then proceeds to wear the necklace on their neck. “You know you can do this Y/n” Mikasa smiled at them as she pressed another kiss on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around them. “I know you can”

Their parents woke up at the delightful smell of breakfast. They were bemused at the food that is already prepared on the table.

“Oh, both of you are awake, I prepared breakfast.” Their father looked at them suspiciously, but she only smiled cheerfully.

“What is this? Didn’t we tell you to-“

“I would like to apologize for yesterday, I was clearly stressed because of my exams. I was probably just confused… Yeah just stressed” they chuckled, they felt a bit unsure of their words, but they only brushed it off, content that their child finally came into their senses. They took a sip of their tea, as they began to converse with their parents. “You know about Grice, maybe I’ll approach him later at school.”

“Really? That’s great Y/n!” Her mother chimes.

“Yes ‘ma” They continue to look at their parents. Minutes pass as something went eerie that they could not explain. ‘Something’s weird’ their father glanced at their grinning face. They suddenly lack the ability to speak. As they slowly grow limp from their chairs. They could only stare at their child’s retreating form as the light in their gets swallowed by darkness.

“Tell us why you killed your parents.” Are they out of their mind? Kill? Why would Y/n kill their parents? They may have hurt them too many times, but they could never hurt their parents.

“Kill? I did not kill them!”

“The autopsy showed signs of poisoning, and the investigating team found its connection with the tea they drank. In addition, you were the last person they were last seen with.” They were confused, the tea?... The tea!

“It wasn’t me… It was… It was Mikasa!” Their eyes widen in confusion. “She gave me a vial. It was her!” They wrote their claim down on a piece of paper.

“Mikasa?... I need her last name.” He probes. ‘Wait, she never did give me her last name.’ The officer slid a small envelope. The opened it to reveal a portrait that looks oh so familiar. It’s one of the portraits her father flounced in the heat of anger. A portrait of a young woman with a baby in her hands. ‘No this can’t be… this is just a coincidence. This woman-‘

“-is Mikasa Ackerman, the one who gave birth to your mother.”

That night, they never received a text from her. It was only their alarm setting off.

An: I feel like this is badly written so bsoibhaoibh

I apologize for any grammatical errors and improper use of punctuation marks.

#mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan x reader #shingeki kyojin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines

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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years

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Pride and Prejudice 1940: "When Pretty Girls T-E-A-S-E-D Men Into Marriage"

Made during the Great Depression, this classic black and white film is loosely based on Austen's novel and is set in what is likely the 1830s rather than the Regency Era (late 18th century to early 19th century). It is an escapist piece which capitalizes on nostalgia for a simpler time by transporting its viewers to a chocolate-box vision of the past, while paying homage to Austen's social satire by delivering plenty of laughs along the way.

Overall Thoughts on the Film:

The first time I watched this movie, I was confused because the plot as well as the setting was revised significantly (the events after Darcy's first proposal are changed to hasten the happy ending; Darcy's letter and Elizabeth's visit to Pemberley are not included in this movie). This changing of plot points makes the 2005 movie a much more faithful adaptation in comparison with this version, in spite of the creative liberties both take with the novel.

Production Design:

The movie is a typical example of Golden Age Hollywood productions, with beautiful actresses and melodramatic flourishes added to increase the drama. Some of the lines are delivered very quickly, in keeping with the comedic style of the time.

The music: definitely not historically accurate. A lot of sentimental, "ye olde timey" string arrangements that emphasize emotions or fast-paced waltz music for balls/parties.

The 1830s costumes are beautiful; it seems as if no expense (or quantity of fabric) was spared in making them. The bonnets are way taller and have more decorations than typical 1830s bonnets. Some of the patterns/fabric choices are very 1930s, and the costumes are exaggerated in such as way as to make the wearers look like fancy turkeys.

Hair and Makeup: very 1930s, with finger/sausage curls, plucked eyebrows, lipstick/lip makeup, and long lashes.

The sets: the dollhouse-like interiors are lavishly gilded and made to look as opulent as possible. Outdoors scenes are lush, with lots of flowers and bushes; the garden in which the second proposal takes place is gorgeous. The set design transports the viewer into an idyllic vision of the bucolic English countryside.

The Lead Actors:

With the exception of Laurence Olivier, the majority of the actors are American, since this is a Hollywood production. Many of the characters in the film's imaginary vision of pastoral Britain speak American or make clumsy attempts to imitate British English.

Greer Garson: while she is definitely too old for the part, she perfectly conveys Elizabeth's intelligence, outspokenness, and sarcasm. Her facial expressions are killer as well; with the arch of an eyebrow along with a snarky side eye, she captivates us all. All in all, Garson effectively shows off Elizabeth's impertinence through her nonverbal acting (this reminds me strongly of Jennifer Ehle's Elizabeth Bennet).

Laurence Olivier: he effectively conveys Darcy's pride while hinting at his deeper feelings beneath the surface (I can see why Colin Firth spoke so highly of Olivier's portrayal of Darcy). Most importantly, the film emphasizes Darcy's intelligence; he is certainly Elizabeth's intellectual equal. While this portrayal of Darcy is very accurate to the book, Darcy's pride does go away pretty quickly (he and Elizabeth form a tentative friendship early on) and his social awkwardness isn't immediately obvious thanks to his charm. Also the unflattering hairstyle with the greasy hair and painted on sideburns makes me sad.

Key Scenes:

Opening scene: The title card appeals directly to the audience's nostalgia for a sentimental, romanticized past: “It happened in OLD ENGLAND (this was actually capitalized), in the village of Meryton…” The Bennet women are at a fabric shop, where they gossip with aunt Phillips about the rich people moving into Netherfield Park.

The carriage race: this scene, which isn’t in the original novel, represents the rivalry between the Bennets and Lucases. The mothers both want their daughters to be the first to snag the rich bachelors.

The first ball: There is a historical anachronism as the music is a waltz by Strauss, who became popular in late 19th century, specifically the Gilded Age; far too early for the Regency Era or 1830s England. Other changes from the original novel include Elizabeth meeting Wickham before Darcy; other events from Aunt Phillips’ ball (which isn’t included in this movie) and Wickham and Darcy’s confrontation are included in this scene.

Elizabeth’s impression of Darcy at the ball: she puts on airs and mocks his casual dismissal of her as tolerable (definitely a parallel with the 1995 version, where Jennifer Ehle does the same, but privately with Jane).

Great comedic change: Darcy introduces himself to Elizabeth after calling her tolerable and asks if she will dance with him (this originally takes place at Mr. Lucas' ball). Right after rejecting Darcy, she instantly agrees to dance with Wickham; in a humorous moment, Darcy evacuates to a corner of the room to sulk while seeing Wickham dance with Elizabeth.

The “Accomplished woman” scene: the dialogue lifted directly from the book for the most part. Darcy, in a departure from his trademark seriousness, shows off his playful side when reacting to Caroline Bingley's "turn about the room." I particularly like this added repartee from Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy, which is clever but also foreshadows her prejudice: “If my departure is any punishment, you are quite right. My character reading is not too brilliant.”

Elizabeth can't stand Mr. Collins: After twirling about his monocle, he pronounces that: “It might interest you to know my taste was formed by lady Catherine de Bourgh.” The best part of this scene is when Elizabeth plucks a wrong note on her harp when Collins gets really annoying.

The Netherfield ball (which is now a garden party):

Elizabeth running away from Mr. Collins: She looks rather ridiculous, almost like an overdressed turkey, in a white dress with puffy sleeves as she runs away from an overeager Collins. Then she hides in the bushes while Darcy helps her to hide, telling Collins he doesn't know where she is. It's fun but most likely not something a proper lady and gentleman would do (two people of the opposite gender out alone, shock!).

The archery scene: Darcy attempts to teach Elizabeth how to shoot a bow and arrow, even though he doesn’t hit the bullseye. She goes on to impress him by perfectly hitting the bullseye every time; Darcy learns his lesson: "Next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won't be so patronizing." Caroline Bingley, very passive aggressive as usual, shows up for her archery lesson right after and it's absolutely perfect.

Mr. Collins attempts to introduce himself to Mr. Darcy: Laurence Olivier captures Darcy so perfectly in this scene (really set the precedent for Colin Firth). When Mr. Collins starts talking (inviting Elizabeth to dance with him) Darcy tries to keep himself well-composed but has a pained expression on his face as if he’s about to pass out. Olivier masters the way Darcy can look so miserable but also disgusted and proud at the same time.

Mr. Collin's proposal to Elizabeth: I like the added touch of Mrs. Bennet pulling Elizabeth back by her skirt when she tries to run out of the room. The dialogue is taken directly from the book, and the scene is made even funnier when Collins holds on to Elizabeth's hand desperately and doesn’t let her get away. My only quibble is that Elizabeth isn’t indignant enough when Mr. Collins doesn't take no for an answer.

Elizabeth and Darcy at Rosings: I like that Olivier subtly indicates that Darcy is clearly affected upon seeing Elizabeth at Rosing, hinting at deeper feelings beneath the surface. I also like how the scriptwriter emphasizes that Darcy indirectly praises Elizabeth and enjoys their conversations, while she remains convinced that he hates her. Sadly, the original dialogue of the piano scene is not included, which is unfortunate as it allows Darcy to reveal his introvert tendencies, calling into question Elizabeth's assertion that he is unpardonably proud.

First proposal: The famous opening lines are mutilated with awkward punctuation: “It’s no use. I’ve struggled in vain. I must tell you how much I admire and love you." While the rest of the dialogue matches up closely with what happens in Austen's novel, both of the actors aren’t emotional enough; instead Elizabeth cries very daintily, and Darcy remains serene, which conflicts with the book's description of both of them being very angry and defensive at each other.

THE SCRIPT:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follows the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

Brilliant Quotes:

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Mrs. Bennet's despair over the situation of their 5 unmarried daughters: “Perhaps we should have drowned some of them at birth.”

Darcy insists Elizabeth cannot tempt him: “Ugh. Provincial young lady with a lively wit. And there’s that mother of hers.”

Darcy is an arrogant snob: “I’m in no humor tonight to give consequence to the middle classes at play.” (Technically the Bennets are part of the gentry; they just are less wealthy than Darcy).

Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy pronouncing her to be tolerable at best: “What a charming man!”

Elizabeth rebuffs Darcy's offer to dance after overhearing his insult: “I am afraid that the honor of standing up with you is more than I can bear, Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth favors Wickham after witnessing the bad blood between him and Darcy: “Without knowing anything about it I am on your side.”

Mrs. Bennet's comment after she sends Jane to Netherfield under stormy skies: “There isn’t anything like wet weather for engagements. Your dear father and I became engaged in a thunderstorm.”

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Jane's fever: “Jane must have all the credit for having caught the cold…we’re hoping Elizabeth will catch a cold and stay long enough to get engaged to Mr. Darcy. And if a good snowstorm could be arranged we’d send Kitty over!”

The sisters' description of Mr. Collins: “Oh heavens! what a pudding face.”

Caroline Bingley at the Netherfield garden party: “Entertaining the rustics is not as difficult as I feared. Any simple childish game seems to amuse them excessively.”

Darcy reassuring Elizabeth after helping her escape Mr. Collins: “If the dragon returns St. George will know how to deal with it.”

Darcy learns his lesson after Elizabeth beats him at archery: “The next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won’t be so patronizing.”

Elizabeth comments about a curtain: “Oh that’s pretty. It’s a pity you didn’t make it bigger. You could have put it around Mr. Collins when he becomes a bore.”

Elizabeth on Kitty and Lydia: “2 daughters out of 5, that represents 40% of the noise.”

Elizabeth sees Lady Catherine for the first time: “So that’s the great lady Catherine. Now I see where he learned his manners.”

Lady Catherine's attitude towards philanthropy: “You must learn to draw a firm line between the deserving poor and the undeserving poor.”

Darcy takes Elizabeth's advice: “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said at Netherfield, about laughing more...but it only makes me feel worse."

Elizabeth and Darcy have a conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam: “He likes the landscape well enough, but the natives, the natives, what boors, what savages … Isn’t that what you think, Mr. Darcy?” With a smile: “It evidently amuses you to think so, Miss Bennet."

CHANGES FROM THE BOOK:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follow the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

With the exception of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the portrayals of the characters are (generally) true to the book.

As I said earlier, the film neglects any sort of historical accuracy when setting the story in romanticized "Old England," where genteel people pass simple lives that revolve around dresses, tea parties, social gossip, and marriages. A lot of Austen adaptations present an idealized vision of Regency life, where people are dressed immaculately, flawlessly adhere to "chivalry," and find love in the ballroom. This contributes to the misconception that Austen's novels are shallow chick-lit books with flat characters who live for lavish parties and hot men, instead of stories of unique, complicated women who happen to be well-off but aspire towards love, respect, or independence instead of being content to make economically advantageous marriages. Austen's novels are character novels and she doesn't waste time writing about dresses or tea parties; balls, while exciting, are just another part of daily life for her characters rather than some Extremely Big Special Once In a Blue Moon Event.

Austen's multifaceted view on marriage turns into a game of matchmaking. She recognizes it as necessary for women to survive in the patriarchy, since they cannot provide for themselves unless they marry well, but at the same time, presents marriage as a means for freedom if it is a loving partnership between two people that respect each other. In contrast, marriage is a game of manipulating the partners into wanting to marry (ex. Lady Catherine and Darcy's trickery). Also, it seems to be a given that Elizabeth will marry for love, unlike in the book where it is uncertain whether she will achieve this.

Kitty and Lydia's antics are viewed much more sympathetically as those of young people having fun; in the book, their behavior harms the family's social reputation, reducing the chances the Bennet daughters have of making good marriages.

Louisa Hurst, Georgiana Darcy, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are not in the movie.

Wickham is introduced much earlier than in the book; he is friends with Lydia from the very beginning. Interestingly, he doesn't begin to trash-talk Darcy until Bingley leaves; in the book he does so much earlier, before the Netherfield ball.

Darcy is more considerate towards Elizabeth at the Netherfield party (ex. rescuing her from Collins), until he overhears Mrs. Bennet scheming to get the daughters married. Elizabeth forms a tentative friendship with him until finding out that he separated Jane from Bingley.

Jane is more obviously heartbroken over Bingley's departure than in the book, where she keeps her pain to herself. In the movie, she runs away to cry, which is uncharacteristic of her.

Collins is a librarian instead of a clergyman. I dislike this change because some Austen scholars/fans think that Collins being a clergyman is a deliberate choice as part of Austen's social criticism. Collins is representative of how hypocritical the Church is, since he worships Lady Catherine's wealth instead of God, and preaches moral lessons instead of actually using religion to help people. My theory is that the change was made because of the Hays Code, which led to the censorship of movies for "unwholesome" or "indecent" things; the religious criticism could have been offensive.

Elizabeth reacts rather too kindly to Charlotte marrying Collins by showing concern for the loveless marriage. While she does worry about the lack of love in the marriage, initially she is extremely surprised, outright shocked, and confused.

The scene where Darcy tries and fails to talk to Elizabeth (the "charming house" scene in the 2005 movie) just before the proposal is removed.

Darcy's letter is skipped over and Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice of Darcy very quickly, as shown when she tells Jane she regrets rejecting his proposal. This is contrary to the book, where overcoming her prejudice is an emotionally exhausting and slow process that continues all the way up until the second proposal.

The Pemberley visit is removed; instead, Elizabeth returns home to the news that Lydia has eloped. Visiting Pemberley is very important as part of Elizabeth's re-evaluation of Darcy's character and provides an opportunity for Darcy to show Elizabeth that he has changed for her. The visit is key in increasing Elizabeth's love for Darcy, and removing it means that the characters have less personal growth (also wouldn't it have been great for the audience to be treated to another gorgeous estate of "Old England?"). Instead, Darcy visits Longbourn on his own and offers his help in finding Lydia. When the news comes that Wickham accepts very little money in exchange for marrying Lydia, it isn't as shocking as it is in the book because Darcy had already expressed his intentions of helping Elizabeth earlier.

Here's the change that bugs me the most: Lady Catherine becomes good; though she is a busybody, her main priority is Darcy's happiness. Her confrontation of Elizabeth is a scheme hatched between her and Darcy as a test to be certain of Elizabeth's love. This does not make sense on so many levels: first, Darcy insists that "disguise of every sort is my abhorrence," so why would he resort to trickery, however well-intentioned, to find out if Elizabeth still loves him? Second, Lady Catherine is a social snob and objects to Elizabeth's low connections; also she has an arranged marriage planned for Darcy. Third, in the book, because Elizabeth likes Pemberley and gets along really well with his sister Georgiana, Darcy would have had some evidence that Elizabeth, in the very least, cared for him. And the added claim that Lady Catherine approves of Elizabeth because she likes rudeness and thinks Darcy needs a humorous wife irritates me further because the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy is revolutionary since it was made in defiance of societal rules!!! Why, why, why in the name of comedy did they have to do this?!

Darcy kisses Elizabeth (in a stagey and melodramatic way) after she accepts his second proposal. Seems a bit uncharacteristic of him.

All the sisters get married at the end. Happily ever after.

CONCLUSION

This movie certainly was not aiming for faithfulness to Austen's novel; it ignores her detailed portrait of Regency era society and its attitudes and focuses on the "light, bright, and sparkling" aspect of Pride and Prejudice that gives the story its timeless appeal.

All in all, this comedy of manners is definitely a classic thanks to the clever dialogue and jokes within the script, along with some great acting.

@appleinducedsleep @dahlia-coccinea @princesssarisa @colonelfitzwilliams @austengivesmeserotonin

#pride and prejudice 1940 #pride and prejudice #pride and predjudice #jane austen #movies #movie review #laurence olivier #classic movies #we stan p&p 1940

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loving-inkpressions · 3 years

Text

Burning Up [5/?]

Summary: When she applied to be the secretary for managing partner Rosé McCorkell, Denali hadn't expected to end up working for the biggest pain in her ass, nor did she expect anything beyond a professional relationship.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Happy Wednesday all! Hope you enjoy the rollercoaster below with a side of jealousy and tenderness. ;)

Prefer reading it on AO3?

Denali stood near the bar, fiddling with the bracelet that Rosé had given her earlier that evening while she stared out at the sea of people.

It was the night of the S. Child Anniversary Gala, marking the ninth year since the three managing partners had built their law firm from the ground up. It was incredible to think how three strong women had managed to build S. Child from a small hole in the wall office to the major law firm that it was today.

And they were only in their mid thirties.

The anniversary galas had been a yearly affair since their fifth year, and it was always an event to behold filled with the city’s top socialites, celebrities, wealthy businessmen, politicians, the list of powerful people was endless. Denali hadn’t really thought that Rosé would ask her to be her plus one, seeing as how the charity benefit that she had attended the last time had been considered small compared to this.

When she had received the dress and note that morning, there had been little to no hesitation in her decision to say yes to Rosé, not after how much their relationship had grown, and especially not after Denali had finally acknowledged her own feelings for the older woman.

She remembered how she had gone into their morning meeting, her now treasured folio from Rosé in hand, and acted as if everything was normal, as if she hadn’t yet seen the dress or the note. It was like business as usual, and Denali had to smother the laughter she had wanted to let out when she saw how disappointed Rosé looked when she hadn’t brought it up. The redhead hadn’t either, not having the chance to since Denali had immediately started going through the managing partner’s itinerary for the day and given her the necessary case updates.

Denali had gotten up and turned to leave after she was done, but not before extracting the note from her folio and sliding it across Rosé’s desk with a small smile, “Yes” clearly written in blue ink at the bottom. When Rosé seen it, her returning smile had been almost blinding.

And now here she was at the gala. Alone.

Well, she hadn’t been alone for long. Rosé had been at her side since the beginning, having picked her up earlier. She had even surprised her with a delicate gold leaf bracelet, one that matched the necklace she had gotten for Denali the last time. The bracelet went well with the dress she was wearing, a dark blue backless number with a plunging neckline and thin straps that looped around her neck. The hem was down to her ankles with a long slit that reached mid thigh. She had no doubt that Rosé had picked that dress herself, with how she had whispered about how sinful her legs looked, causing Denali to blush and the redhead to smirk.

Once again, Rosé had stayed with her and was attentive to Denali’s every need, both spoken and non-spoken. There was barely a moment when she hadn’t been touching her, having her arm wrapped protectively around Denali’s waist. Her fingers would sometimes trace small mindless patterns on any exposed skin that was within her reach, causing Denali to perpetually have to bite the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stop herself from blushing or allowing herself to grin too widely. It didn’t help that throughout the night, Rosé had taken to constantly whispering in her ear about how beautiful she looked either, that she was surely the envy of every person in the room, and that there was no one else she would rather be with.

The last statement had thrown Denali off with how Rosé had sounded so sincere, the usual playful look on her face gone when she pulled away slightly. There had been a spark of sorts, the skin beneath Rosé’s fingertips suddenly feeling warmer than usual and Denali could see her gaze flitting from her eyes to her lips.

Denali swore that they would have actually kissed if Jan hadn’t turned up at that exact moment to pull Rosé away to meet a prospective business partner. Rosé had looked annoyed at the other woman’s interruption, but hadn’t complained. She left Denali reluctantly, but not before taking the blonde’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it, promising to be back soon. She had then disappeared in the crowd together with Jan, the other managing partner throwing an apologetic look Denali’s way as they departed.

And now here she was standing at the bar, trying to catch the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to want to pay her any concern with how he was fixated on the more prominent guests there, making Denali feel small and reminding her of who she really was in the grand scheme of things. She was just about to give up when she heard a voice behind her.

“Excuse me, I believe this beautiful young lady here has been waiting for you to take her order for quite a while now.”

Denali was startled and turned to find a statuesque blonde woman standing behind her, her lips curved into a smile as she winked down at Denali.

“Of course. My apologies, Miss Michaels.” The bartender muttered as he came over, attending to them.

“Go on, tell the nice bartender what you want.” The woman playfully nudged at Denali. She nodded in response and stammered out her order of a whiskey sour, followed by the other woman ordering a martini for herself, and watched as the bartender swiftly made their drinks before leaving to serve another wealthy businessman.

“Thank you, Miss Michaels..?”

“It was nothing, and I couldn’t very well leave a damsel in distress now, could I? And please, call me Kameron. Miss Michaels feels far too official.”

Kameron Michaels? Why did that name sound so familiar to Denali…

“And you are? Miss..?”

Denali snapped out of her thoughts and smiled. “Foxx. Denali Foxx.” She held out her hand to shake Kameron’s in a polite gesture, but was surprised when Kameron had taken her hand and kissed the back of it instead.

“Denali. Pretty name for a pretty girl.” Kameron smiled charmingly at her, causing Denali to blush, which she tried to hide by taking a sip of her drink as she carefully withdrew her hand. “So what brings you to this gala? And alone, no less.” Kameron continued, looking at her as she drank from her own glass.

“Oh, I’m not alone. I’m here as someone’s plus one.”

She raised her brow at Denali. “Really? Now who would be silly enough to leave you all by yourself in a room full of sharks? That’s not very safe.”

“Are you calling yourself a shark then, Kameron?” Denali couldn’t help herself from shooting back, feeling somewhat at ease as the other woman threw her head back in laughter.

“Witty and charming on top of being a beauty? Your partner really must have lost his senses to have left you alone.”

“Well, I can handle myself just fine. I don’t need her protection.”

Kameron’s eyes flashed at that. “Her protection?” She took a step closer to Denali. “Well, how about I be your partner in her stead? I’m sure it’d be better than being alone.”

“Oh, er-“

“Temporarily, of course, until she comes back. How about a dance?”

Denali faltered. Kameron seemed nice enough, and she wasn’t sure how long more till Rosé would be back. And it was just a dance.

Wasn’t it?

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Denali, one dance wouldn’t hurt.”

She looked at the hand extended out towards her and the smile on Kameron’s face. She took one quick look around the room, not seeing Rosé anywhere in sight and nodded, not wanting to be rude.

“Just one dance then.”

Kameron smiled at Denali and took her drink from her, setting both their glasses down on the bar and leading them to the dance floor. She had been respectful, asking Denali if she would be alright with her placing her hand on her waist, knowing that her fingers would be on her bare skin with her backless dress, which was something Denali appreciated and she gave her consent. Taking hold of her other hand as Denali placed one on her shoulder, Kameron guided her as they danced and chatted, the atmosphere light between them.

Denali found that Kameron was funny and down to earth, something that was different in a sea of big wigs and uppity people. She genuinely found herself having a good time with her, almost forgetting that she was there with Rosé. Almost being the keyword. As lovely as Kameron was, it was still Rosé that Denali wanted to dance with, not Kameron.

As Denali laughed at something Kameron had said, the taller woman smiled warmly down at Denali.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

Denali cocked her head to the side before she shook her head.

“No, should I? Though I have to admit that your name does sound familiar.”

Kameron grinned. “It’s nice, you know, having someone treat you like you’re a normal person, and not just because you’re rich.”

“Well, you seem normal enough to me. Money doesn’t change who you are unless you let it.” Denali replied, making the grin on Kameron’s face widen.

“You know, if you didn’t already have a partner, I’d whisk you away and steal you for myself.”

Denali paused, stunned at Kameron’s forwardness. “Oh, I-“

“Denali?”

She felt the hand on her waist tighten just a little as she heard Rosé’s voice behind her, not noticing how the smile on Kameron’s face slipped just a bit. She turned around, stepping out of Kameron’s arms, her face brightening when she saw Rosé.

“Rosé, you’re back-” Her voice died down when she saw the almost stony expression on the redhead’s face, and she gulped inwardly.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to dance with Kameron after all.

Rosé stepped forward and pulled Denali to her side, an arm wrapping around her waist in a possessive grip that left Denali tensing up a little.

“McCorkell.”

“Michaels. I see that you’ve met my partner here.”

Kameron’s smile slipped even more and was replaced with a sarcastic smirk.

“Oh, is Denali your partner now? I saw her all by herself and thought she was alone. It’s not in very good taste to leave one’s date alone, is it? Especially one as pretty and charming as her.”

Rosé’s eyes flashed, her grip on Denali tightened and the blonde swallowed hard, not knowing what to do.

“I agree, although I also don’t think it’s in very good taste to steal away another’s partner.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left her in the first place.” Kameron sniped back, eyes narrowing.

“Watch yourself, Michaels, I don’t like it when other people touch what’s mine.”

“Or what, McCorkell? What are you going to do about it?”

Rosé’s jaw clenched at the challenge, her grip turning almost painful around Denali’s waist. Denali let out an involuntary whimper at the tightening grip, drawing both sets of eyes to her and Rosé quickly relaxed her hold. Kameron frowned, but didn’t say anything more after a moment’s consideration. Instead she turned her attention back to Denali, her expression dropping back to a pleasant one as she smiled at her.

“I think it’s best if I leave. It was lovely to meet you, Denali, and I hope to see you again soon. Perhaps in different circumstances.” Giving her one last smile, Kameron turned to leave, throwing a quick look of contempt at Rosé as she left.

Denali let out the breath the she had been unconsciously holding in as Kameron walked away before looking up at Rosé, who was staring after Kameron before looking down at Denali, the wrinkle between her brows smoothing as she looked down at her.

“Denali-“

“What was that?”

There was a pause. Rosé sighed, pulling Denali to the side where there were less people, before she replied. “I mean, she was clearly trying to make a move on you.” Denali frowned as she stepped away from Rosé.

“Even so, that doesn’t give you the right to act the way that you did.”

Rosé’s brows raised. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what just happened, and I don’t know whatever history there is between the two of you, but I don’t like being treated like some object. I am not a thing for you to own.” Denali shot back. She hadn’t liked being caught in the middle, hadn’t like the obvious tension and how Rosé had been. It had been clear that there was some bad blood between them.

“I’m not saying that you are-“

“Really? Then why did you act as if someone just snatched away your favourite toy? I was just dancing with her.”

Rosé sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Denali, you can’t be that oblivious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you need to be more aware of who you are and who you’re talking to.”

The blonde frowned, clenching her fists in an attempt to control her rising anger. “Look Rosé, I know I’m here as your plus one, but that doesn’t give you the right to dictate what I can or cannot do.”

“That may be true, but don’t forget that at the end of the day, I am still your boss and you are my secretary!”

Denali recoiled at that, stunned at Rosé’s statement. It felt like a slap to the face, and every insecurity she had about her position, about who she was and who Rosé was came flooding back. It took Rosé a moment to realise the full impact of what she had just said, the realisation dawning on her face, but it was too late. She reached out for Denali, as if physically wanting to take her words back.

“I didn’t mean to-”

Denali took a step back, her face schooled into a carefully blank expression.

“I have to go.”

“Denali-”

“I’ll see you in the office, Miss McCorkell.”

Rosé’s face fell at how Denali addressed her as Miss McCorkell again.

“Please, at least let me drive you home.”

Denali shook her head, smiling bitterly. “There’s no need to, and it wouldn’t be very appropriate for you to drive your secretary home, would it?” She replied as she took another step back.

“I-“

“Have a good evening, Miss McCorkell.”

Denali turned and walked away from Rosé, not wanting to face her anymore, the careful mask on her face crumbling with every step. She could hear Rosé calling after her, but she ignored it, not wanting to face her.

Not when she could feel her heart slowly breaking with each step.

———

When she had gotten home that evening, she had refused to let herself cry. She instead stripped herself of her dress and stuffed it in the back of her closet, took a quick shower and collapsed into bed, letting herself fall into a fitful sleep.

Over the weekend, Denali had switched off her phone, knowing that Rosé would likely try to reach out to her, and instead chose to hole herself up in her apartment watching reruns and trying her hardest not to think about what had happened. She had buried herself under her blankets on her couch, wrapped up in an oversized hoodie while hugging a pillow to her chest and staring numbly at the screen. Denali couldn’t even bring herself to go to the rink to skate it out of her, her limbs feeling far too heavy and her insides hollow.

She felt foolish, having let herself dream that something could ever happen between the two of them, but the truth had hit her square in the face and she had come tumbling back to reality.

Rosé was her boss.

Denali was her secretary.

And that was it.

———

37 unread messages and 11 missed calls.

That was what greeted Denali when she finally switched her phone back on that Monday morning when she was entering the office building. She sighed as she unlocked her phone. Not everything had been from Rosé. Some were from friends, though mostly from Kandy wanting to know how her Friday night had been with Rosé, and if she and Rosé had finally slept with each other.

Denali felt the corner of her lips twitch at the irony of it as she scrolled through the rest of her unread messages, her thumb hovering over Rosé’s name in her message inbox before deciding to leave them unread. She still didn’t have the courage to look at them yet, the feeling of a heavy weight in her chest.

Dropping her bag onto the floor, Denali switched on her laptop and got to work, going through her emails and gathering all the necessary materials that she needed for her usual morning meeting with Rosé, already dreading it. Just seconds before their meeting, Denali found herself standing before the familiar wooden door, gnawing nervously at her bottom lip before finally squaring her shoulders and knocking on the door and waited, something she hadn’t done in a very long time.

If Rosé saw her as nothing but her secretary, then that was exactly what Denali was going to be.

There had been a minute of silence before the door opened, and Denali found herself face to face with a worn looking Rosé, which surprised her. Normally the redhead would look impeccable, not a crease in sight nor a strand of hair out of place. This Rosé however looked tired and just a touch unpolished. Denali felt herself wanting to reach out to Rosé, to comfort her, to do something, but stopped herself from doing so. Instead she tightened her hold on the folio that she hugged to her chest, as if it were a barrier between the two of them.

“Good morning, Miss McCorkell.”

Rosé stared at her for a moment before silently stepping aside to let her in. Denali walked over and sat in her usual seat in front of Rosé’s desk and opened her folio as Rosé sat in her own chair, the redhead clasping her hands as she looked at Denali. Even though her heart was racing, even though every fibre of her being wanted her to run, Denali kept things professional and did her job. She went through Rosé’s schedule for the day, highlighted to her the key points and important memos that she needed to know.

When she was done, she closed her folio and moved to leave.

“Denali?”

She stopped when she heard Rosé, but refused to look her in the eye.

“Listen, I’m-“

“If there is nothing else, Miss McCorkell, I’ll be taking my leave now. I have a stack of reports that I need to file by the end of the day.”

Rosé watched Denali for a beat, wanting to say something, but instead she sighed dejectedly, resigned.

“Right, of course.”

Denali nodded at her and left, trying her best to ignore how she could feel Rosé’s eyes burning the back of her head as she did.

———

For the next few days, Denali and Rosé went through the motions, with things between them kept strictly professional, both acting tentatively around each other. By Thursday, Denali felt drained from trying to hold herself back. She wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, but Rosé’s words kept haunting her, and her own words and insecurities echoed the same sentiments right back. She knew she was being dumb, but she would rather feel hurt now than risk hurting even more in the long run by letting herself live in delusion.

It was near the end of the day when Denali found herself back in the filing room sitting in the corner again, feeling more tired than usual and overwhelmed. It hadn’t been a very good day, having started with one of Rosé’s clients screaming at her over the phone, then the endless stream of emails for the new case, and finally when she had accidentally dropped her cup of coffee in the pantry and in the process shattering the cup that Rosé had gotten her weeks ago. She had promptly cleaned up the mess and retreated to the filing room to calm herself down, feeling herself starting to fray at the edges. She had to force herself not to cry, not wanting to show any sign of weakness and remain as strong as possible, but she was getting a little tired, just wanting to go back home and curl up in bed and sleep.

She sat there in the filing room alone for a good few minutes, letting her emotions settle down before she finally took a deep breath and got up, walking towards the door. Just when Denali was a few feet away from it, she heard the door knob rattle and twist open, revealing to her the very woman that had been haunting her thoughts and dreams for the past few days. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide in surprise.

“Rosé- I mean, Miss McCorkell.”

Rosé looked wordlessly at Denali from the doorway before she entered the room, shutting the door with a click. She took a step towards Denali, her hands in her pockets as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, before finally speaking.

“Denali, I’m not letting you leave this room until you hear me out.”

Denali stared back at Rosé, feeling her hands go cold as anxiety settled in her bones.

“I-“

“No, let me finish this time. I’m done with letting you run away, and now you’re going to listen to me.”

Denali swallowed thickly as determined hazel eyes bored into her wavering brown ones, and she slowly nodded back in response.

“Okay,” She replied. “I’ll listen.”

Rosé nodded, and took one step towards her.

“Denali, I’m sorry for how I acted at the gala, and I’m sorry for what I said. It was stupid of me, and I never should have let my emotions get the better of me.”

Denali stared at her feet, her fingers twisting together.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Denali?”

“You really hurt my feelings.” She whispered, her voice shaking as she willed herself not to cry.

“I’m sorry.” Rosé took a step closer.

“I thought that you were looking down on me.” The tears that Denali was holding back were starting to blur her vision.

“Never, angel. I would never look down on you. Ever.” Two steps closer.

“It really, really hurt to think that you thought of me as nothing more than your secretary, even though that’s exactly what I am.”

A few more steps in and Rosé engulfed Denali in her arms as her tears started to fall.

“No Denali, never. You are so much more than that.”

Denali felt warm and gentle fingers brush the tears off of her cheeks. She blinked the remaining tears away and looked up, finding herself getting lost in Rosé’s gaze, her heart threatening to burst from her chest at how Rosé was looking at her, at how close they were. Rosé cupped Denali’s cheeks, thumbs tenderly stroking the curve of her cheekbones.

“You mean so much more to me than you know.”

Denali hesitated for a moment before tentatively resting her hands on top of the Rosé’s as she leaned closer, revelling in her warmth.

“You mean a lot to me too, Rosé.” Denali whispered back, for once not caring about the consequences of her words. Rosé’s lips curved into a smile, and Denali found herself slowly smiling back, the heavy weight in her chest finally disappearing.

Rosé leaned forward and gently grazed her lips against Denali’s forehead then tugged her into a tight embrace. They stood silently wrapped in each other’s arms, letting themselves finally relax in each other’s presence after so long.

It was like everything was finally falling into place.

———

That evening, Rosé had driven Denali home, and it was almost as if everything was back to normal.

Well, almost back to normal.

When Rosé had driven her home, instead of just dropping her off at the curb like she usually did, she had instead parked at the side and walked Denali to her door. At her doorstep, Rosé had carefully stroked her cheek, eyes full of warmth as she leaned in and kissed Denali on the cheek before she whispered good night and left, leaving Denali to ponder what had really transpired between the two of them.

The next morning, Denali had arrived at her desk to find a new cup to replace the one she had broken and next to it lay a dozen fully bloomed red roses. Denali had dropped her bag onto the ground and picked up the bouquet, a smile spreading across her face as she knew exactly who they were from. Holding them up to her nose, she breathed in the scent of the fresh blooms and let out a small laugh as they tickled her nose. There was a soft thump as a thick white card fell from the stalks and onto the floor.

Curious, Denali bent down and picked it up. She flipped the card over and read what was written on it, feeling her cheeks warm and her heart flutter at the words.

For the most beautiful woman I know.

Yours, Rosé

———

A/N: I was seriously contemplating on whether to leave this chapter on a cliffhanger, but I decided not to choose chaos today.

#rosenali #rpdr fanfiction #burning up fic #work wives verse #inkpression writes

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generalfoolish · 3 years

Text

Feel The Heat

Part One: Cruel World

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ Warnings: fem masturbation, male masturbation, cursing, mentions of casual sex

Word Count: 4k

Summary: June visits the farmer's market and meets Frankie, a grumpy farmer. She's interested, but they're both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! I've been working on this massive Farmer!Frankie AU with an OC. I'm excited to debut this first part, the story is going to be a little slower so I can put in SO much pining. Anyway, enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Part two

June breathed in the fresh air as she pulled her tote strap onto her shoulder. The canvas bag held her wallet and keys, but was otherwise empty. She smiled, knowing that soon enough it would be almost too heavy.

The farmer's market was always busy on Saturday morning, and this one was no exception, she realized as she neared the stalls. She had a certain path she liked to follow, but she was feeling overwhelmed about the crowd. It was much busier than she had anticipated, and she always got a little panicky in throngs of too many people. So, she veered off her normal route, and found herself on the far end of the market.

It was much quieter, and much less crowded, she noticed right away. June also noticed that the produce was amazing. Late summer the fruit started to get a little smaller, but the berries at these stalls were still plump. The vegetables weren't as uniform as some of the bigger stalls, these were misshapen and discolored. Two indicators that the flavor would be divine, she thought as she roamed the stalls.

Her bag was getting heavy quickly, she noted, and she was determined to explore the whole area, so she walked straight to the end. The last stall on the property. Her hopes were not high as she marched up to the display stand.

"Would you like to try the tomatoes?" A rich baritone asked, and she quickly met his eyes. They were silky and brown, and breathtakingly deep. He had his cap pulled low, but his face was scruffy.

"Sure, that would be great. Are you the farmer?" June asked, taking the sample, and eyeing the selection.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Frankie, and that is a Brandywine. All of my produce is hand picked, and that process starts at seed selection." He told her, his voice softening. She smiled and popped the tomato into her mouth. It was delicious. Acidic and sweet, not overpowering to the palate. Frankie must have seen the delight on her face because he grinned, knowing what she was experiencing.

"Wow, Farmer Frankie, this is so good." She laughed a little as she chewed, wanting to savor it. "I'll take a basket please." She decided, and nodded down at his table. He nodded and started to bag it. "I have a bag, thanks! What do I owe you?" She asked, pulling out some cash. He merely waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it." He told her. June only frowned.

"I can't do that. You worked so hard, I want to buy something." He chuckled and took his cap off before running his hand over his head.

"Look, it's early, and I couldn't possibly charge someone as beautiful as you." She blushed deeply, but thrust a twenty at him anyway.

"My beauty isn't for sale, but your tomatoes are. Have a good day, Frankie." She told him and turned around quickly. She wasn't normally bold, and she had no qualms with getting stuff for free. She had no idea why she had fought him, but as she walked away all she could think about were his beautiful, brown eyes.

—

Frankie kicked himself hard as he watched the woman walk away from him. What was he thinking? He didn't even catch her name; he had no business calling her beautiful. He was off his game, and badly.

His phone buzzed, so he fished it out of his shirt pocket. An old t-shirt with a pocket on the chest, tattered and dirty, and that's what she saw when she walked up to him. What was she doing in the back of the market anyway, no one ever came this far back. He opened the message and sighed at how long the group chat was. Santiago and Benny could talk for hours, even texting. He wasn't up for it this morning, which wasn't unusual. He skimmed the messages, and decided it wasn't worth responding to. He had to sell some produce.

He looked down at the crisp twenty dollar bill on the table and cringed again. Twenty was way too much for the tomato basket. They were marked purposefully cheap, since they cost nothing to grow and always brought people back, and she had overpaid. Grossly. Even a ten would have been too much. And what had he done? Nothing. He hadn't even gotten her name. All he knew was that she looked great in shorts, her hair was a deep red, and she loved his tomatoes.

—

"What do you mean?" Stella asked, sipping her glass of wine.

"I mean how do I fix it? Like I want to try his other stuff, but I was so rude." June told her, sighing into her own glass. Zinfandels usually brought her mood up, but she was still feeling from earlier.

"You just go back, darling. I doubt he'll remember you. I mean you only talked for five seconds. Also, I think paying for your stuff is the opposite of rude." Stella took a bite of her pasta before pointing her fork back at June. "Unless, it's more than that. It's definitely more than that. Are you trying to date the farmer?" June felt her face flush, and quickly took a bite of her own pasta to buy some time to think. She had gotten worked up, but she hadn’t thought about why that was. She grumbled as she bit into the ravioli. It was dumb, but Stella was right. She wanted to get to know Frankie more. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but she wanted to see him again.

Stella took Juniper’s silence as a win, and a grin spread across her face. June had always thought that Stella’s signatured wicked grin could rival the Cheshire Cat, and this one was no different. Too bad, June thought, that she hadn’t tumbled down a trippy tunnel where answers were held in clearly labeled vials. She took a wistful sip of her wine and looked back up to Stella.

“You’re right. But have I messed it up too bad? Like, I was pretty rude.” Stella laughed.

“You could have stepped on him and he’d thank you for it. June, you’re hot. He’d be lucky if you even thought about him. You couldn’t have messed it up.” June laughed, not really any more confident, but loving Stella’s hype game anyway.

“How’s...Bernard?” June asked, struggling to remember the man’s name. Stella had a habit of switching out lovers pretty often. June thought of it as her “man of the week,” and while it was good fun for her to envision a horrible reality show it wasn’t conducive to remembering their names, or anything about them.

“Ben,” Stella sighed, correcting June and pausing dramatically, “Is gone. I’m seeing Javi now. He’s much younger, and a lot richer.” Stella teased, taking another mouthful of food. June rolled her eyes. Stella had launched a business when she was in college, and had made a small fortune by the time they graduated. She was independently wealthy. In a way that June was not. June had opted for an education degree, and now was in charge of a bunch of literal children.

She took a sip of her wine and considered that path for a moment. She actually loved her job. She didn’t make shit, but it was worth the long hours to see those kids be nurtured and educated. She cared for them, and that made it worth the lack of zeros in her bank account.

“Javi, huh? He sounds posh.” June said, not really thinking about Javi or Stella’s various other affairs.

“He is not. He’s new money, so we can be tacky together. Anyway, lunch is on him!” Stella told her, laughing. June cringed at that, thinking back to Frankie. She groaned. She should have just taken the damn tomatoes. She didn’t even want them now, the thought of eating them just made her shrivel in on herself.

While Stella took care of the bill, June wondered if she shouldn’t just go back to the stall. Introduce herself and apologize, she thought. It’s the only thing to do in this situation. She set to getting her nerve up to do it, but at the end of lunch she just hugged Stella and went home.

Frankie slid into the booth next to Benny and across from Santiago and Will. When he had gotten around to answering the text chain the guys had decided to go out for a drink, and Frankie had wanted a drink after his day.

“Fish, Liv wants to stay the night.” Will announced, watching Frankie take a thoughtful sip.

“If Becka doesn’t mind, neither do I.” He shrugged, and Will nodded. Becka had been Frankie’s saviour. She was Will’s wife, but her and her little girl had taken up with Liv so easily. Being a single dad was not easy, but Becka had never let him feel alone. Hell, she handled everything for him. She was too good to him.

“Course not. She loves Liv. Not as much as Ashley, but I think she loves having another kid to spoil. Bad news for me, probably.” Will laughed out, and the rest joined in. No one had expected Will to get married so quickly, and none of the guys had been prepared for his girl to already have a kid in tow. Will had taken to Ashley quickly though, and had settled into the family role easily. Frankie noted Will’s painted nails and smiled. He was lucky to have such a great group of brothers.

“Enough kid talk, I have a fight coming up. You coming?” Benny asked, nudging Frankie’s arm. Frankie took his cap off and ran his hand through his hair.

“Who’re you up against?” Will asked before Frankie could answer. Honestly, he was searching for an excuse. Not that he didn’t want to support Benny, but the fights were always too loud, too tempting.

“Jones. It’s a special rematch. That’s why I need my boys there! Pam!” Benny hollered after the waitress and held up four fingers. Shots, Frankie thought sarcastically, just what they needed.

“Ben, of course, we’ll all be there. I’m bringing a plus one, though.” Santi announced, demanding the attention of the table.

“Who’s the victim this time?” Frankie asked, sipping his beer. Santi shot him a dirty look and clapped his hands together.

“Her name is…” He paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “Sam.” Frankie rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

“What does Sam do?” Will asked, not minding the dramatics.

“Sam is a school teacher.” Frankie’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“Surely, not.” Benny snorted. Pam sat the shots down, and everyone grabbed one.

“To Santi, maybe learning something!” Will toasted, and they threw back. Frankie relaxed as the tequila warmed his throat. This was normal, and meeting with the guys did his body some good. He wouldn’t even think about the woman from earlier. He grimaced as he thought about it. His problem, he was realizing, was that he was too sober. He caught Pam’s eye and nodded at her. They came to this bar enough that they knew the waitstaff by name, and the waitstaff knew their orders. Frankie preferred it that way, less chance of an awkward encounter.

“Sam is a local gal, but she has not yet heard of me.” Santi told the group, clutching his drink. He had a bit of a reputation of being a lady killer. It was rare he found someone who didn’t recognize his name.

“I guess teachers aren’t normally in the same crowd as strippers.” Benny joked, and grabbed his shot when Pam sat them down. “Damn Fish, long day?” They knocked them back, and Frankie just nodded.

“There was this lady at the stall today. Total knockout, and I just flubbed it hard. It was early, y’know?” They all laughed at him and he couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face.

“She’ll be back. I mean, look at yourself, Fish. You’ve got it back together.” Will offered. Frankie smiled at him and sipped his beer again. They shifted to riling Benny up about his on and off again girl, so Frankie just relaxed. It wasn’t uncommon for him to space out, and the guys could fill any silence. He surveyed the bar, taking in the patrons and just assessing the crowd. Saturday nights could go two ways: chill or not chill. It was an old habit to scan for danger, but it suited Frankie. He could sip his beer and watch for thugs or idiots or drunks. The waitstaff never complained when they stepped in. He supposed they didn’t mind four ex-service guarding them a few times a month. Sometimes they drank for free, but Frankie had no issues with bloodying his knuckles up every now and again.

He was smirking, thinking about their last fight, when he saw her. He had to do a double-take to make sure his eyes weren’t fooling him. He couldn’t believe it. There she was. She’d changed. Opting for small jeans shorts and a tight t-shirt over the yoga shorts she’d had on before. He gulped loudly, and shifted in the booth. Her hair was down, curled, and she looked amazing. He didn’t think she could look any better. He wanted to go to her. Instead he leaned on the table and cleared his throat.

“She’s here.” He told the guys dumbly, cutting off something that Benny was saying.

“Who is?” Santi asked, looking around, probably for Frankie’s ex. They all hated her, but she wouldn’t come here.

“The girl from earlier. The knockout.” Frankie told them, trying to keep his voice low. He nodded in her direction, surprised that she hadn’t noticed him. It wasn’t a large bar. Maybe she didn’t recognize him, he thought. He flushed even as he thought it. He hoped she would remember him. Santi whistled low as he faced Frankie.

“She’s good.” He murmured, and took a sip. Will and Benny agreed.

“Buy her a drink, Fish.” Benny suggested, clapping Frankie on the back. He grimaced as the loud noise rose above the din of the bar. As if on cue, she looked up and saw him. He was staring at her, and there she was, looking at him. He looked away, chickening out. He wouldn’t say anything. She had stormed off earlier, hadn’t she? She should apologize to him, he thought, getting his hackles up.

June couldn’t believe it. She had agreed to go out with the new girl from work, came to a bar she had never been to, and here he was. He looked great, she admitted to herself. He had thrown a plaid button up over his shirt, and it suited him. Farmer Frankie, she mused, and then turned to Samantha.

“Do you come here a lot?” Samantha looked up from her hard seltzer and shook her head.

“I came with this guy I’m kind of seeing. Everyone knew him here, and I liked the scene. It’s kind of dive-y.” June nodded, and took a drink of her rum and coke.

“Are you settling in, you know at school?” June asked, deciding to ignore the farmer. If he wanted to say something, she wouldn’t stop him, but she had no intentions of approaching him.

“Oh yeah, you know Keira? She’s been super helpful.” June nodded in agreement, Keira was the secretary but she ran the place.

“Like your kids? You’re what 5th?” Samantha nodded.

“I have no idea how you handle those 6 year olds, they’re too wild for me.” June laughed.

“I couldn’t handle the ball jokes, honestly. Tweens are the worst.” They both laughed, and sipped their drinks. June felt eyes on her, but tried to ignore them. She repeated to herself: if he wanted to talk, he’d come over. She made it her mantra. She focused on Samantha, willing the handsome man to go away.

“Tell me about this guy you’re seeing! I haven’t been on a date in so long.” June laughed, not wanting to admit how long it had really been.

“He’s so sexy, June. Like, literally so hot. It’s mostly sex though. We’ve been out dancing once, drinking a couple times, but it’s mostly just hook ups. I’m thinking about breaking it off, honestly. Like, the sex is good, great even, but how long is that sustainable, y’know? Like, I want to nurture a relationship at some point.” June nodded, trying to push her jealousy aside enough to be empathetic. She would take some great sex, even if it meant not having a relationship.

She peeked back at the Farmer, who flitted his eyes away as soon as she did, and knew that wasn’t true. She was long overdue for a meaningless hookup, but she wanted something real, whatever the hell that meant.

“Have you tried just telling him? I mean, maybe he doesn’t know you want something more. Men are kind of oblivious to that sort of stuff.” June added. Samantha took a sip, thoughtfully.

“That’s a good idea, Junie. Are you seeing anyone?” June laughed, a little too loudly.

“Just my therapist.” Samantha swatted her shoulder playfully. “No, I, uhm, I got out of a bad relationship last year and I’ve been so nervous to get back in the game.”

“Oh my gosh, my guy has tons of friends! Maybe I can set you up?” June thought for a minute.

“Maybe, I guess I could be open to it.”

“They’re all like ex-Army or something. I’ll text him.” June watched Samantha tug her phone out, and tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. He will come to you, she reminded herself. “Ooh, two single friends! Fish or Benny? Oh nevermind, just Fish. Apparently, Benny has drama. Bullet dodged there, huh?” June snorted, bullet dodged indeed. Fish? What a weird nickname.

“What the hell, set it up.” June told her, throwing back the rest of her drink and indicating another to the bartender.

“Yay! I’m so happy you came! Tuesday night?” June nodded.

“Have him come to the Italian place on 5th street at 7pm. I have parent-teacher conferences, but that should be late enough.” June explained, sipping deeply. Her hands were shaking, she hadn’t been on a proper date in years. Her ex hadn’t been one for dates, so she was out of practice. She raised her eyes to meet Frankie’s, knowing he’d look away immediately. He didn’t, but the look on his face was confusing. Almost angry, so she looked behind her and saw a guy approaching.

“Hey, I’m Kyle.” He introduced himself and sat down on the stool next to her. She looked at him bewildered.

“June.” She said shortly, taking another sip.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Kyle asked.

“Have one.”

“The next one?”

“I think I’m good. There are a lot of empty stools, why don’t you find a new one.” She murmured lowly, and turned her back to him. Samantha giggled.

“I think I know why you don’t get dates!” June rolled her eyes.

“It’s pretty lame, okay. To come up and just sit down. I’m already a little drunk too, it’s just not very cool, Kyle.” June chided, raising her voice so he’d hear. She sighed when he left, and looked back at the booth where Frankie was. The booth was empty, now, she realized sadly. She wished he had approached her. She wouldn’t have turned him away. Why was he so cold?

By the time she made it back to her door, June was pissed. She stumbled in her hallway and pulled her shoes off. They hadn’t been at the bar that long, but the last round of shots had been the death blow for her. Samantha had bid her farewell, saying her ride was there. So, June had ordered an Uber, clutching her keys like a weapon, hoping Kyle didn’t want revenge or something. She pretended to be sober in the Uber, and had chatted easily with the driver on the drive to her house.

Once inside though, June groaned in frustration. She couldn’t believe the stupid luck. It was too much, seeing him there. It was too bizarre, too much of a coincidence. She had stormed upstairs and turned the shower on.

A habit she had started in college, when she was overwhelmed, a hot shower was just the thing she needed. She stripped down and stepped in before the water had warmed up completely, but she didn’t really notice. The shower was just a vessel; June just needed space to decompress. So, she thought about the tanned skinned farmer, and how cold he had seemed. He hadn’t seemed interested, but she had felt his eyes on her all night. She had seen his anger at another guy approaching her. She had felt how angry he was from across the room.

She lathered her body up, and almost absent-mindedly rubbed small circles around her budding nipples. She worked down, and let the soap wash off. She didn’t normally masturbate, but his brooding face and broad shoulders wouldn’t leave her mind. So, she slipped a finger inside herself with one hand, and worked her clit with the other. It was lazy at first, but then she remembered their encounter from the morning and she started going harder, getting worked up. She came hard, whimpering to herself in the steamy shelter of her bathroom. The hot water pelted her skin, and she rested her forehead against the cool, tiled wall.

Whoever this Fish was, she was going to fuck him. She had to get this farmer out of her mind.

Frankie was seeing red as he stormed up to his door. Of course, he had no reason to be pissed. He knew he had no reason to be pissed, but here he was, stomping to his kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He had wanted to break that guy’s legs for even coming near her. He scoffed at himself, her. He didn’t even know her name and he was ready to pummel someone for looking. Someone was looking, someone would always be looking. She was so gorgeous. He folded over his counter and rested his forehead against his hands. Nothing could help it now. Santi’s girl had messaged him, and the night was over. What was he supposed to do? Watch his dream girl get hit on by some idiot? March up and apologize for being such a giant dickhead? He suspected he was onto something, but he was just buzzed enough to ignore it.

He went to the couch, and threw a few stuffed animals on the floor. He had already kicked off his shoes, but he let his jeans fall to the floor now. The perks of Liv having a sleepover, he chuckled to himself before laying out on the couch. He adjusted himself, his hard dick straining against his underwear.

He planned to ignore that too. But, then he was thinking about her. Her hair down her back, deep and dark. Her smooth skin, inviting and leading his eyes to her ass. He pulled himself free and started slowly rubbing. He thumbed over the tip, and groaned at the precum pooling there. He wanted her so bad. He started thinking about how soft she would be, what she would look like on her knees doing this to him, and he fucked up harder into his fist. He closed his eyes when he felt the snap, and grunted through the orgasm. He wiped his hand down his shirt, and groaned.

He had to get her out of his head.

Part Two: Something More

#catfish #triple frontier #frankie morales #Frankie morales #Frankie Morales x oc #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #smut #juniper collins #benny miller #will miller #santiago garcia #oc #tf oc

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slasherscream · 4 years

Note

ok hear me out. platonic claudia and reader BUT reader is like the rich lesbian wine aunt archetype

this is everything

it all starts when claudia has run away from home. louis and lestat are beside themselves with worry. although admittedly, lestat is more angry at her audacity to run away than concerned for her safety.

claudia doesn’t expect to be away from the pair for long, she just needs a moment. an instant of peace. a peace that alludes her no matter how diligently she searches for it. she wonders if the emptiness inside of her, that tears her chest wide with longing, is anything like the turmoil that so easily eats away at louis day in and day out.

she doesn’t know what she’s looking for when she leaves. she didn’t know she was looking for anything at all. until she finds you.

she ran in the dead of night during one of the many tiring spats between louis and lestat. nothing but the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet.

when she thinks she’s traveled far enough to rest it’s been days since she’s fed. she only used the night to run, and slept fitfully during the day. she finds and eats her meal with relish and is then left to wander the city streets with her dress and golden curls dripping with blood. that’s when she comes across you.

you gasp at the sight of her and move quite fast for a human, rushing to kneel before her, tugging her this way and that, looking for wounds you won’t find. you smell sweet and heavy. the perfume of a rich woman lingering in the air around you, blending pleasantly with the sweetness of your blood beneath your skin.

just because you can find no source of the blood doesn’t mean you jump to the conclusion that the child is a murderer, obviously.

you take her in your arms - intending to bring her to the law in order to get to the bottom of whatever horrible ordeal she’s been through - when she asks you where you’re going in a voice as light as wind-chimes. you tell her to the police and she begins to weep and crushes you to her body with a strength that startles you, the blood upon her dress seeping slowly into the fabric of your own.

against your better judgement you’re overtaken by a motherly instinct that has never gripped you before and you walk back to your estate, intending to calm and care for the young girl and deal with the law later.

you didn’t know, at the time, that you are living out your last few moments as a human. claudia, as well, did not know that she was going to keep you alive.

you strip her of her bloodied clothing and run her a warm bath. you clean her skin gently with a washcloth made of fine, soft materials. you tilt her head back to wash her hair and tell her to close your eyes now, sweet girl and though she has entered a period of fierce rebellion she finds herself listening to you mindlessly.

there is a moment, while you are washing her hair that she opens her eyes and your gazes meet. she’d been observing you as you went about your task with a seriousness that was nearly comical (you had been around few children and were already considered a spinster by everyone who knew you or knew of you). you look briefly from her perfect, spiraled curls to her piercing eyes and your face softens.

claudia is no stranger to people being disarmed by her looks. it is what makes her such an effective, deadly predator. but for once when she sees your face soften her own does too and she wants.

she doesn’t know what she’s feeling but then you kiss her forehead and tell her don’t worry, love and i’ll take care of you now and in an instant she knows. lestat as her maker, she doesn’t know how to deny herself anything, and already she knows she wants to keep you with her always.

in immortality she gained two fathers, louis and lestat, but she was robbed of so many precious things mortal girls experience, like growing old or having a mother.

she hadn’t known she’d wanted a mother until you.

there was still a hole in her chest that she knew could never be filled. that hole was for things like becoming a woman, watching as her face lost its baby fat and gained wrinkles and lines, falling in love, having a family of her own one day. but looking at you the hole ached less, which was more than enough for claudia, as she was nothing if not realistic.

you only spend one night and morning together with you as a human. claudia knows her fathers are not far behind her and she can’t risk lestat killing you as a punishment or being talked out of turning you by louis.

she turns you while you are sleeping. you wake to her bite. she is not a gentle feeder, but she is draining you of blood so quickly that you faint from sheer lightheadedness, let alone the pain. when you wake you are forever changed.

claudia has already hunted down a human for you to feed off of by the time your heart has stopped and your eyes reopened. they are the same eyes but the person who looks through them is transformed. you are a predator now. you react like a predator when claudia throws the weakened human she has caught and injured onto the bedside beside you. your newly formed fangs rip through tender flesh to taste the most delicious thing you’ve ever smelled and all the while you hear the sound of a delighted laugh and excited clapping.

when louis and lestat find you two it’s been two months since you were turned. long enough that claudia has taught you some semblance of control but more importantly, long enough for you two to grow close. you are both maker and creation. new friends and yet old, kindred spirits. sisters damned by the same curse, the same affliction. mother and daughter bound by affection.

claudia is ready to be reunited with louis and lestat by the time they find her, but only on the condition that she is allowed to keep you. that you are allowed to be part of their family.

louis, while disappointed that claudia turned anyone else, agrees nearly instantly. he’d been beside himself with grief and guilt (which, although not a new state of being for him, was much more severe considering the circumstances) over her disappearance. the mere sight of her cherub face had brought him to his knees.

lestat was angry at the beginning of her disappearance but though he could, potentially, live for eternity, the longer he was without claudia the more his anger transformed to worry. he’d thought louis doted on the girl too much until she was out of sight and suddenly his every thought was consumed by her. was she alright? was she alive? was she lonely? was this, finally, the all consuming bond of a maker and their fledgling that he staunchly ignored?

he pretended to think the decision over so as not to give claudia the gratification of him caving to her will like softened candle wax but she knew and he knew that she knew, that she would be coming home with you, and that you would all be a new kind of family.

it’s an interesting transition for you all.

you’d already been eccentric in life. an orphan who was lucky enough to be left with a family fortune, you’d never had to marry to secure wealth and comfort. you’d kept mostly to yourself despite the depth of your inheritance and the pull it could gain you and you were considered strange by the high society you were born into, to say the least.

being removed from the limitations of human morality was terrifying and freeing. you’d thought you’d been a rebel before. someone on the outside looking in, mostly by choice, and the choice had empowered you. claudia hadn’t offered you the choice to become a vampire but nonetheless you felt more free than you ever had before you met the young vampire.

the two of you would prowl through the streets, dressed in finery, hand in hand, looking for prey and then playfully competing on who could take it down the fastest.

there were many nights that you two would come home covered in blood, melodic laughter drifting through the halls of your estate that had once been occupied by only you.

it amused you endlessly that the halls you’d once lamented had been void of life were now occupied by your newfound, undead family.

matching high society outfits you had made so that the two of you match one another when you go out onto the town? yes, absolutely. what’s the point of being wealthy if not to get matching dresses made for you and your vampire daughter?

i cannot stress enough how lestat, who cannot fathom being close to anyone without using the powers of seduction, would be baffled by your lack of reaction to him. he wonders at first if claudia has already poisoned you against him but you seem perfectly content to be in his company. you just don’t react to any of his flirtatious comments or physicality.

he doesn’t understand until he takes you to a bar and a prostitute, seeing your fancy dress, playfully straddles you and asks if you’d like to spend a night with her. no longer is there enough blood in your cheeks to make you blush but instantly your body language becomes sweeter and softer.

lestat, a known and notorious bisexual, understands immediately 👀

lestat bursting into a room where claudia and louis were peacefully playing piano together: don’t worry everyone! it was a false alarm! i’m still beautiful! it’s just that y/n is gay

claudia is ENRAGED, by the way, that lestat kept making passes at you. you’re hers. you’re the only thing in the world that’s not immaterial and that’s just hers. for awhile it was just a fight to get claudia to let you talk to either man alone. louis was honestly a bit shocked that he was also subject to such treatment by claudia.

( bitter that he is no longer the #Favorite Parent? ..... maybe so... )

louis belongs to lestat, though claudia is sure louis loves her more; and lestat is taken by louis, though he is her creator as well. most days she feels like she is a pawn in a game she didn’t want to be part of.

with you she is just claudia. claudia, your beautiful girl. claudia, your maker. claudia, the family you’d lived without for so long. claudia, the daughter you never would have had or wanted if she’d been forced onto you by way of marriage.

you found one another in the perfect, shakespearean way. a maelstrom of beauty and tragedy alike. two lonely souls, never meant to truly belong anywhere, coming together.

despite being a strictly familial relation the passion and fierceness of your devotion is enviable to all who meet you two.

women will come up to you, drawn by your charms and looks and claudia will cling fiercely to your skirts, fangs barely suppressed. the women, unfortunately, never live for long once they’ve spoken to you.

when you catch eyes lingering upon your brilliant, vicious maker you tug her closer to your side and thank the lord - who you’re sure sees you as an affront to his grand plan - for the unholy strength in your body, fueled by the sweet blood of man. you imagine ripping apart the people who look at your claudia limb from limb.

claudia encourages this protective, instinctual display of your love and affection. she praises you, no matter how bloody or careless a scene you leave behind. she doesn’t say it but you can see it in her eyes. she’s never experienced a mother’s love. maybe she’d had it once but she holds no memories of the woman who gave birth to her. for so long there was just louis and lestat. now there is you mother. the first face she has ever been able to conjure when hearing the word.

after you kill a despicable man who smiled too charmingly at claudia from a darkened alleyway you ask her if you feel so strongly towards her because she is your maker or because you’re family. she places a bloody hand gently upon your equally bloodied cheek and says ‘can’t it be both, my dearest y/n?’ you share wide, fang-tipped smiles with one another.

#the vampire chronicles imagine #claudia x reader #interview with the vampire imagine #iwtv #interview with the vampire #slasher x reader #monster x reader #me: writes one thing for the first time in a month: queen shit??#im a little tipsy so excuse me for spelling errors

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