#apparently he was given his english name when he was like six so he wants to change it. his friends have apparently also nicknamed him jinx | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prospectivereality · 2 years

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grey ferrari x cl

words: 1.8k, not native english

Your date turns out incredibly different

It was too astringent. Definitely not a match for a sweet tiramisu. I started to wonder - maybe I ordered it wrong? Maybe a waiter didn’t hear my order correctly due to broken French, or perhaps it was more common among customers to order bold wine on Saturday night?

Having a tiramisu on the first date as a dessert wasn’t weird, but it was not an obvious choice as a main dish. Though that really didn’t matter now, because my date was not even here.

I’ve checked a time thousand times. We both agreed on six o’clock at this place. Messing up the restaurant could be the option too - in Monte Carlo, there were plenty of them. However, I couldn’t do anything when my date didn’t even dare to text me back.

It’s been two hours.

I had no other choice than to try to enjoy my own company, observing the illuminated Hôtel de Paris visible from a terrace of the restaurant. Loud laughter, jazz music and the roar of sport-cars created a pleasant buzz which accompanied me as I reflected.

I didn’t know him anyway. It was a set-up meeting arranged by one of my friends. She insisted that I needed to start going out and meeting new people. Apparently, the first attempt was not so successful.

The waiter checked up on me a few times, figuring out I was probably ghosted. Every time I politely denied when he asked me if I want to order something more. I felt that mentioning the wine I was now drinking was irrelevant even though I knew it was very likely it was not the one that I had ordered. Nothing other than finishing and leaving seemed logical.

Trying to preserve the rest of my dignity, I smoothed out my satin red dress and tried to act graciously. I was about to stand up and leave when someone suddenly pop out in front of my table.

”Puis-je rejoindre?” the man’s voice asked in impeccable French.

My eyes look up at this mysterious person immediately while a slightly surprised look appeared on my face.

At first, I thought it might be my date, but too many conflicting facts appeared in my mind. He didn’t look British. He couldn’t be a pleasant and cultural gentleman, who moved from London two months ago to work here - in Monaco. The man that stood in front of me was dressed rather casually - something that the businessman I was waiting for couldn’t be able to do. He was wearing a simple, plain white t-shirt along with a black denim jacket and pants. Elegant but yet simple white trainers gave away that he wasn’t coming back from work, more possible could be training. Nevertheless, he had an interesting spark in his eyes of curiosity and slightly parted lips. He was waiting for my response, for permission. Accent, which was hearable in his question was flawless. Was it possible for a British man to talk French this good?

No, this man couldn’t be my date. He was local for sure.

”Pas de problème” I said after a while deciding that I have nothing to lose.

I noticed how fast the waiter approached us again, while the stranger took his seat. A few fast words of welcoming were given to my companion. The waiter looked… delighted? Was this man known for others, was he coming here often?

I observed how he asked only for wine. Fortunately noticing that I have already drunk a lot this night, he ordered a single glass. A few seconds later the waiter was not there anymore.

”Oh sorry, I’m such a bad gentleman. Didn’t introduce myself” a realization appeared on his face and was washed out with a slight smile ”I’m Charles” An “r” sound in his name resounded perfectly french.

”So you are definitely not my date” I said quietly now thinking too much about it.

”I beg your pardon?” his eyebrows frowned.

”Sorry” a soft laugh escaped me and I offered my name as well.

”You were waiting for someone?” his eyes had all focus on me.

”Yes, that is true” I said focusing my eyesight on the fabric of my dress ”I have been ghosted”

“I cannot believe” he laughed and it seemed so characteristic. Looking at his smile I had a feeling that it will be hard to forget. ”You are dressed so well and elegant, pretty woman”

I flush appeared on my cheeks. Compliments given by strangers should be disturbing, not pleasing. Somehow I couldn’t find any dishonesty in his words.

“Thank you” I passed him a grateful smile whereas his wine was just placed on the table.

While he took a sip of red liquid I asked him a question.

“What are you doing in Monaco?”

“Living” he shrugged confidently “I’m a monegasque”

“Never met a local before. There are a lot of people from all around the world” I admitted looking at him surprised.

“That is true. Sometimes you hear more english than french, but it still feels like home. Couldn’t imagine living somewhere else.

And you? What are doing here?” he asked with hearable curiosity.

“Looking for a husband”

A shock suddenly showed up on his face and I swear that this was the reaction I was hoping for. Loud laughter burst uncontrolled out of me as I watch his face return to a casual grin.

”Working. The real answer is working”

”You know some ladies do that, they look for a husband” he said taking up his glass ”but they are never so direct about it.

”Have you met one lady like that?”

”Maybe”

A longer silence dissolved around the table. I noticed it got pretty late - the sun was low at the horizon, wrapped in pinkish clouds.

”Tell me more about yourself” he said focusing on me.

”I am not living in Monaco for a long time. Just adjusting now to living here” I said staring at the sunset ”I do love French and their culture. Pissing off but funny at the most time!”

Oh he laughed, it was so heartwarming.

”You are kinda sporty people, here in Carlo. I hate running with my whole heart but I enjoy playing tennis. It’s so rewarding when you can compete in a healthy manner with others.”

”I agree” he still had a smile on his face

”Love to travel, cook stuff I learn from others. Try it. And oh, buying flowers. I am addicted to it.”

”And what is your favourite flower?”

I caught eye contact.

”Dahlias”

”Oh you have taste lady” Charles seemed so amused ”Noted that for future.”

Before I had time to think about what he just said another question was thrown at me.

”So are you up for some tennis game someday?” He said with a soft chuckle.

”If I don’t have better opponents, well with pleasure” I said looking at him and passing a smile.

I would lie that the conversation that I was having with newly met monegasque didn’t make me feel much better after the unsuccessful date. Talking with Charles seemed so natural and simple. I wanted to know more about him but he was the one who asked me more questions. The aura of mysteriousness around his persona was visible.

”I am sorry but it’s a bit late” I said after a while.

”No, it’s fine. I can give you a lift if you want” the man said with seriousness on his face.

”That is very nice of you but I don’t want to make any troub-”

”Don’t worry. Come on, I will grab your coat” He interrupted getting up leaving me no time to respond. He called out the waiter and asked for the bill.

”White, white blazer” I explained to him what he should ask for ”I will pay for myself”

”Nah, don’t be silly. I was the one who gatecrashed your date” he laughed ”You can wait for me at the parking”

A silent thank you left my lips. Slightly confused by the situation, I decided that the best solution was to leave the restaurant. I headed to the parking lot. It was already dark outside, the lights illuminated the neighbouring buildings and all of the city showing it in a captivating aura. I didn't have to wait long for Charles.

”Here you are. Your coat” the man said with a funny French accent passing me my blazer.

”Thank you again”

He took the keys out of his jacket and opened the car. Standing a few meters away, the grey Ferrari flashed its headlights.

”Oh” I said uncontrollably

”Yeah. She’s a beauty” he sighted and headed to it.

The car seemed extremely elegant and even more fast. The two stripes, white and red, divided his hood in half creating a plain and thick line. When I took my seat, amazement wasn't over - Ferrari's interior was sinfully comfortable, it created an impression of sitting in a soft, leather armchair.

Monegasque pressed a button turning the car on. A beautiful roar resounded.

”Nice car indeed”

”And… where I am taking you, lady, with it?” Charles said with full focus on driving out of parking.

I gave him my address information, he nodded and slowly headed to the streets.

The whole ride took place in pleasant silence. The man after some time tried to turn on some music in the background. Funny, those were slow Latina songs. Definitely not the type of music I could expect for his mysterious appearance. Minutes later, the Ferrari pulled up in front of my building and I realized that was the end of my unusually surprising but enjoyable evening.

”Thank you for actually asking me for a seat. I suppose my evening would be even more awful and I would get even drunker”

He laughed genuinely. His eyes captured mine, they had a spark of happiness.

”It was a pleasure. Hope we can repeat it soon”

A soft obviously left my mouth as I opened the door. I was already about to say goodbye when I suddenly realized something.

”Wait… How you will reach me?”

”Don’t worry, I have my ways” he answered calmly ”Have a great night my lady” Charles said before winking.

A blush crept up on my cheeks and seconds after he was already leaving.

I moved toward the entrance. Oh, keys. I have to find them. I started searching the pockets of my jacket, it seemed the only logical place to put my keys there. However, to my surprise, in addition to the characteristic cold metal, my hand sensed something coarse and light as well.

A paper.

I took it out to see what it could be. There was some text.

”Here is my phone number, if you still think about our future tennis match. À bientôt, Charles.”

”This moron” I laughed to myself ”He definitely knew what he was doing looking for my blazer”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #formula one fanfiction #formula one one shot

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yukikurosu123 · 1 year

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The Concrete-Encased High School Girl Murder Case (Junko Furuta Case)

I wanted to share this infamous and horrific case that never left my mind ever since I heard of it. The main reason why is because of how there are so many spread misinformations and misconceptions on this case, but also to add some details about the case who are quite important however were always not mentioned on the internet, particularly on English-speaking websites. The other reason is to spread awareness on violent crimes against women and how much juvenile delinquency is a big problem yet often left not punished.

Today is the case of Junko Furuta, she was murdered on the 4th of January 1989, after having been kept captive and tortured for 40 days.

I’ll try to make this as accurate as possible because as much as popular this case is, most of the informations about the motive of the killers seem to be incorrect, so instead of basing the source of my informations from English-speaking websites, I’ll take it mostly with accurate Japanese websites about the case.

Trigger Warning: This case contains explicit description and grotesque mentions of torture, rape, captivity, false imprisonment, immorality, injustice and cold-blooded murder.

Background:

Junko Furuta (古田順子) was born in Misato, in the Prefecture of Saitama on January the 18th of 1971. She had an older brother and a younger brother. As a teenage girl, she was studying in Yashio-Minami High School. (Photo down below)

She was a bright, loving and popular girl with many friends at school due to her kind personality. A good student with high grades and infrequent absences. She didn’t smoke, drink, nor do drugs unlike many of her peers. Junko also reportedly had dreams of becoming an idol singer.

She had a boyfriend going by the pseudonym of Kawamura, a 23 year old construction worker who accepted an interview to a magazine about the murder and shared his feelings of helplessness after the case.

Here’s something you might find a bit weird, Junko had just turned 17 while he was 23, as I prescribed earlier, an adult, but perhaps it wasn’t seen as socially immoral for a minor in Japan in the 80’s for a minor to date an adult six years older than them. The two met on Christmas 1987 through a mutual friend. They started dating the day before Valentine’s Day in 1988. In Japan, it is a custom for a woman or girl to give chocolate to the man/boy they like (though there is also chocolate given to coworkers called ‘obligation chocolate’), so Junko made Kawamura homemade chocolates (according to some sources, she loved to bake sweets). He gifted her an 18K gold necklace in return.

In the summer of that exact same year, Junko, Kawamura, and their friends went to the beach (Junko apparently loved going to the beach), where they took a famous photo about her together (link to photo) which I think was later cropped because you can only see her on it.

“A child with big and bright eyes” was Kawamura’s first impression of her according to an article.

On 23 November, Kawamura’s birthday (but for some reasons was instead misinterpreted as Junko’s birthday on some English-speaking websites), Junko knitted him a black sweater and the two went bowling. They had also plans on going skiing in the winter which devastatingly would never happen due to the unfortunate tragedy which would occur only two days later. When Kawamura found out about the incident in March 1989, he was understandably angry and devastated.

Link to Japanese article about him

After graduating from the high school four months later in March, she was supposed to start working for an electronics retailer company from April 1989.

On the 25th of November 1988 at around 8:30PM, she was cycling home after her part-time job at an plastic molding factory, it was Friday, the day people would be paid at work, she was looking forward to watching the last episode of her favourite TV drama, Tonbo which is named Dragonfly in English.

Now, about the perpetrators background:

Offender ‘A’ (Hiroshi Miyano), the leader of the four, was born in April 1970 as the first son of his parents. With both parents working and gaining income, the family was going well financially but dysfunctional due to conflict between the parents. Miyano started showing his aggressive nature since his primary school years by stealing, bullying and vandalism. He would often break into schools, beat teachers, vandalize properties, even one time broke one of his parents ribs for buying him the wrong food. As he became violent within the family, his father even went as far as to go to his school for advice. In his middle school years he passed the three years without causing much trouble; he became good at jūdō, devoted himself to it and left good records. He moved on to a high school which was famous for being good at jūdō. The practice was hard and he was bullied by his seniors. As a result, half a year later he left the jūdō club and another half a year later dropped out of school. He started to work to become a tiler, but around that time joined a motorcycle gang. Having committed several criminal offense such as causing bodily injury, unauthorized entry to buildings and theft, he was placed under probation. Having left the motorcycle gang, for a year or so he appeared settled. He worked hard as a tiler, pleasing his boss. He started living with his girlfriend who was according to some sources offender D (Yasushi Watanabe)‘s elder sister. Wanting to marry her, he started to save money. In May 1988 he obtained a driving license and was presented by his father with a brand new car in July. Since around August, however, he became dissatisfied of his low wages and stopped turning up for work. Getting to know a yakuza member through his former classmate, he started selling fake brand goods, working as a Tekiya, looking after a yakuza office etc. He also started inhaling paint thinner. His girlfriend however soon broke up with him because of his delinquent behaviour.

Offender B (Jō Ogura to later Jō Kamisaku) was born in May 1971. His parents were separated and divorced when he was a kid. He lived with his mother and sister the majority of time, spending only two months with his father when he was ten. Good at sports, he did not show any sign of being a troublemaker, until he suffered a complex fracture in his right foot while skiing in January 1986. Unable to carry on with sports, he became lazy with studies and was expelled from his high school in November 1987. Working as an apprentice of an electrician, he enrolled at night school, but soon lost interest and was absent from the classes. From about May 1988 he idled the time away. In July 1988 he drove a motorcycle without a license and was placed on probation.

Offender C (Shinji Minato) was born in December 1972. Both his parents worked at the same surgery; his father as a pharmacist and his mother as a nurse. He had an elder brother who was born in January 1972. While at the primary school, he started causing trouble with threatening behaviour and shoplifting. Moving on to the middle high school, his verbal and physical violence intensified. He also rebelled against his father. After graduating from the middle high school in March 1988 and starting his high school years in April, his behaviour worsened. He would not attend school, would not come home at night, mixed with bad company, was violent at home, and left his school in September. Since summer that year, Minato and his elder brother’s rooms became a hangout for a gang of hoodlums as his busy parents were often not at home. Faced with their own son’s violence, Minato‘s parents were ‘helpless’, described by reports. Minato was also placed under probation after driving a motorcycle without a license.

Offender D (Yasushi Watanabe) was born in December 1971. His parents separated when he was four, and divorced two years later. His father was killed in a traffic accident soon after. Watanabe was raised by his mother and elder sister. Although he had enrolled at a night school in April 1986, he stopped attending classes only a week later, and left school in September. In October 1986 he was placed under probation for domestic violence. In June 1987 and in March 1988, he was on file for minor criminal offences. He tried a few jobs but did not last long with any of them probably due to his incompetence and violent demeanour.

All four of them used to go to the same middle high school with A as the oldest, followed by Ogura and Watanabe in the grade below, and Minato another grade down. Minato‘s house had two rooms upstairs which were occupied by Minato and his elder brother. With both parents working and therefore often not at home, those two rooms became the hangout for a gang of youths since summer 1988, about which Minato‘s parents were at the end of their tether. Ogura was in the same grade as Minato’s brother, and started to hang out at Minato‘s that summer. In October 1988, Minato‘s older brother’s motorcycle was stolen and Miyano started to come to Minato‘s while helping his older brother search for his motorcycle. From then on, a small gang of teenage delinquents formed. Miyano was feared by the others, and under his leadership the gang behaved like yakuza. Ogura was second in command, and dominated the others in Miyano‘s absence. By the way, they often used the name yakuza as leverage to get away with violent crimes, but were not actually yakuza’s (although they had acquaintances who were low-ranking yakuza’s) and had no power, no name, no authority in the underground world. They were called yankees (juvenile delinquents), commonly found in Japan.

Kidnapping and Abduction:

In the evening of the 25th of November 1988, Hiroshi Miyano and Shinji Minato were wandering about on separate mopeds in Misato, the Prefecture of Saitama, with the purpose of snatching bags from or raping young women. Spotting Junko cycling home at around 8:30PM, Miyano told Minato to “kick that woman”. Minato did so and left the scene immediately. Junko fell to the side. They mentioned on a Japanese site that ‘she looked so scared’. Miyano then approached her saying, “That one’s crazy; I’ve been threatened by him with a knife a short time ago. You may still be in danger. Let me walk you home”.

Place where Junko was knocked off her bicycle and abducted: 35°47'46.5"N 139°51'50.1"E

Gaining Junko’s trust, Miyano lured her into a nearby warehouse where he dropped his ‘good guy’ pretence and raped her, saying: “I’m his accomplice and we are both yakuza. If you obey me, I will spare your life. Let me have sex with you; if you scream you’re dead.” He then took her to a hotel by taxi where he raped her again. From the hotel Miyano rang Minato‘s home, their usual hangout, and told Ogura that he succeeded in raping the girl, actively bragging about it too. Ogura asked him to keep her in captivity so he and numerous other men could come to rape her. At around 0:30AM on the 26th of November, Miyano with Junko, Ogura, Minato and Watanabe met up in a park. After a talk between Miyano and Ogura, they decided to abduct and imprison her. They told her that they knew where she lived from her student notebook (which every student was expected to carry with them while in uniform) and that they would get yakuza members to kill all of her family if she tried to escape. She was taken to C‘s house in the Ayase district of Adachi, Tokyo, where she was easily overpowered and repeatedly gang-raped. Location of the home Unlike what some websites claim, she didn’t know her abductors beforehand, they had no grudge against her and there was nothing particular that made them do this. They were all school dropouts, serial gang rapists and juvenile delinquents. She was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, literally just riding back home after finishing her part-time job.

Captivity and Torture:

On the 27th of November, Junko’s worried parents asked the police to search for her. However, the gang forced Junko to call her home three times between the end of November and the middle of December. She was made to tell her parents that she had run away from home, was safe with friends, and she wanted the police search to be stopped.

From then on, the four kept gang-raping her continuously, they also invited and sold her off to low-ranking members of the Yakuza called chimpira and many of their other friends, encouraging them to also take turns raping her. More than a hundred men are believed to have raped her over the course of her captivity. There were instances where she would be raped by 12 different men in a single day. The men who raped her also reportedly enjoyed urinating on her.

One time, Koichi Ihara, one of the men who was invited in the house to rape Junko and who was allegedly pressured by gang members into raping her, told his brother about the incident after he left the Minato household. His brother subsequently told their parents, who then contacted police. Two police officers were dispatched to the Minato household, however they were informed that there was no girl inside the house. The police officers declined an invitation to look around the house, believing the invitation was sufficient proof that there was no girl in the Minato house, they were supposed to visit the house regardless of what the residents told them, but they didn't follow the procedure. Both officers faced considerable backlash from the Japanese community. If they had come inside the house and at least checked some clues, Junko probably would have survived and would still be alive now. The two officers were allegedly fired for failing to follow the procedure.

In early December, while the gang was asleep, Junko called the police, but was stopped by Miyano before she was able to say anything. The police called back right away, but Miyano said it was a mistake. Angered by her act, they started to becoming more and more torturous with her over time. She was repeatedly punched, kicked, struck by heavy objects, foreign objects inserted into her private parts such as broken bottles, an iron bar, scissors, roasting needles, grilled chicken skewers, a hot lit light bulb rubbed inside of her vagina until it exploded inside, had her skin burned with cigarettes and lighter fluids. They burned her eyelids with hot wax and cigarette lighters. They had fireworks forced up her anus and set them off multiple times, causing severe damages inside of her orifice. They had her left nipple ripped off with pliers and sewing needles pierced through her breasts. They also stopped feeding her. Due to both external and internal injuries and malnutrition, she could hardly walk and had to crawl downstairs to the bathroom, which took her about one whole hour. When she could no longer crawl to the bathroom, she was made to urinate into a cup and was forced to drink her own urine. They forced her to consume absurdly large amounts of alcohol and milk to the point of throwing up, as well as forcing her to smoke multiple cigarettes at once. Because of the unbearable violence and pain, Junko repeatedly begged them to kill her to end the suffering. Ignoring her pleas, they continued to torture her for days. They had heavy dumbbells dropped on her stomach while she was lying on the ground with her hands and feet tied, causing her to lose control of her bowel control. They made her stand up and beat her legs with bamboo sticks, golf clubs and many other diverse objects. They kept her hanging from the ceiling and used her body as a human punching bag, because of the intense attacks her nose was so swelled up with blood she could only breathe from her mouth. Putting her in a freezer for several hours which only infected her worsening injuries. They smashed her hands and fingernails with weights, making her unable to grip anything.

The brutality of the attacks changed Junko’s appearance completely. Her badly beaten face was so swollen that her cheeks were as high as her nose. Her burned and infected skin produced body fluid with a bad smell. The gang no longer had sexual interest in her. To ‘fulfill their sexual desires’, at around 2:30AM on the 27th of December 1988, the four abducted a 19-year-old woman on her way home. They pushed her into A‘s car, threatened her with a knife, took her into a motel room and gang-raped her. Even before abducting Junko, Miyano, Ogura and Minato had committed a similar gang-rape on the 8th of November.

When January 1989 arrived, the gang talked about what to do with Junko’s body. “Kill and bury her?” “Let’s mince her body after killing.” “We can burn her in an oil drum.” “Fill the drum with concrete and throw it into the sea. The police would never find it.”

Murder and Death:

In the early hours of the 4th of January 1989, after losing a lot of money playing mahjong, heavily frustrated Miyano visited Watanabe‘s house. Ogura and Minato were also present. After playing computer games for a while, Miyano decided to vent his anger by going to Minato’s home to beat Junko where she laid, almost dead. The attack started at around 8AM. Junko was punched for multiple consecutive hours nonstop, violently kicked, had her face covered in hot wax with two short candles placed on her eyelids. She hardly responded. They made her stand and struck her face with swinging kicks. Defenceless Junko fell onto a stereo state and collapsed. She started a fit of convulsions.

The gang knew Junko might die, but did not stop. She bled from her nose and mouth, and bloody pus emerged from her burns. Blood spattered all over the room. Reluctant to get blood on his fists, Watanabe covered his hands with plastic bags and taped them around the wrists before punching Junko in the stomach and shoulders twenty or thirty times. Miyano, Ogura and Minato imitated Watanabe and covered their hands in bags. They took turns to punch and kick Junko in the face, stomach and thighs. They also struck Junko in the thighs many times with a heavy iron ball which was part of Minato‘s kick boxing exercise machine. Watanabe dropped the iron ball onto her stomach several times. Miyano repeatedly poured lighter fuel on her thighs, stomach, hands, feet and set it alight. Junko initially gestured as if trying to put it off, but gradually became unresponsive.

The gang taped around Junko’s ankles so that she could not escape and went out to a sauna. It is believed that she died in Minato‘s room some time during the last torture or the hours that followed.

The next day when Miyano, Ogura and Minato were at a florist run by yakuza, Minato‘s elder brother rang to tell that Junko appeared to be dead. Afraid of the murder being detected, the three gang members decided to get rid of Junko’s dead body. They wrapped her body in two blankets, pushed it into a large travel bag and taped around it. During her captivity, Furuta had mentioned to her captors several times that she regretted not being able to watch the finale episode of the show she liked, Tonbo (Dragonfly). So Miyano found the videotape of the episode and placed it in the travel bag. As he later explained, it was not because he pitied Furuta, but because he did not want her to return as a ghost and haunt him. From his former employer, Miyano borrowed a cement mixer and a truck and took them to his home. They fetched an oil drum which was used as a litter bin in the neighbourhood. They placed the travel bag which contained Junko’s body in the drum, threw in some concrete blocks, and filled up the drum with fresh concrete. The drum was taped into a large black litter bag. At around 8PM the drum was loaded onto the truck. They initially planned on dropping it into the sea, but on the way they passed an empty space near a development site and abandoned it here.

The development site where they encased Junko’s body in concrete

Investigation and Arrestation:

On the 23rd of January 1989, Miyano and Ogura were arrested for the gang-rape of the 19-year-old woman in December. On the 29th of March, two police officers from the Ayase district (where Minato’s house was) came to interrogate them. Women’s underwear had been found at their addresses and the police suspected that they might have committed theft as well.

There had been murder of a mother and her 7-year-old son in Ayase district on the 16th of November the previous year, nine days before Junko’s abduction. As the case had not been solved (and remains unsolved even today), during the interrogation one officer lightly uttered a trick question to Miyano, thinking that he was a possible suspect, because of his serial offenses around the area. “You mustn’t kill someone, you know”. However Miyano thought that the officer was talking about Junko Furuta, thinking that Ogura in a separate room had already confessed. “I am sorry that we killed”, he told probably thinking that going along with it would make him have a lesser sentence. The officers were astounded as it wasn’t what they were talking about in the first place and they were surprised as Junko’s disappearance was initially deemed as a teenager runaway. They went to the empty space accordingly to the confession, where they found a drum with a strange smell. The 305kg drum was lifted onto a truck by a crane and taken to the police the following day.

Junko’s body was found in the drum, badly decomposed and disfigured as she had been dead for almost three months. Edema all over her body. Malnutrition. Facial features unrecognizable due to severe disfigurement. It had to be identified by fingerprints. On the 1st of April Minato was arrested for another rape case and was rearrested for the murder of Junko Furuta. The arrest of Watanabe and two other accomplices (Tetsuo Nakamura and Koichi Ihara) followed after the two’s sperm DNA was found inside of her.

The location where her body was found has been developed since and is now a Wakasu park.

Autopsy:

Using the fingerprints, it was revealed that the body belonged to Junko Furuta. The autopsy found so much disturbing evidence of abuse. It was revealed that Junko Furuta was pregnant at the time of her death because of the repeated rapes. Her brain shrank and reduced in size due to the dire circumstances of Junko’s final days.

DNA found on and inside Junko’s body led the police to several other accomplices, including Tetsuo Nakamura and Koichi Ihara, as mentioned earlier, and also other semen sources that could not be identified due to two reasons: it having been too long and it being too much to identify which person it belonged to.

The autopsy found cigarettes, broken glasses, vitamin bottles, fireworks and many other deadly objects inside her vagina.

Funeral:

Junko Furuta’s funeral was held on the 2nd of April 1989. Had she not been murdered, the following day – Monday the 3rd of April – would have been her start at her job at the electronics retailer.

One of Junko’s friends’ memorial address:

‘Jun-chan, welcome back. I have never imagined that we would see you again in this way. You must have been in so much pain… so much suffering… The happi we all made for the school festival looked really good on you. We will never forget you. I have heard that the headmaster has presented you with a graduation certificate. So we graduated together – all of us. Jun-chan, there is no more pain, no more suffering. Please rest in peace.’

Junko’s future boss presented her parents with the uniform she was to wear at work. It was placed inside her coffin. At the graduation, Junko’s school principal presented her with a school diploma like all the other students in commemoration, which was given to her parents.

Prosecutions:

Despite the shockingly brutal nature of the crime, the identities of the four perpetrators were protected due to all of them being minors at the time of the crime. Some media however published their names. On the 12th of July 1991, after overturning the original terms, Tokyo High Court sentenced them as follows.

A (Hiroshi Miyano to later on Hiroshi Yokoyama) : 17 years imprisonment which was later increased to 20 years imprisonment, because the judge was angered by the audacity of the culprit, who was trying to appeal to his already way too lenient sentence even after the severity of the crime he committed. (In my opinion, even the death penalty isn’t enough for these demons, they deserve the worst torture possible)

A‘s mother sent money (50 million yen≒USD425k) to Junko’s parents after selling their family home after they filed a civil lawsuit against them due to the unbelievable injustice of the crime. A was released in summer 2009.

B (Jō Ogura to later Jō Kamisaku) : Indefinite 5 to 10 year term imprisonment.

In court it was revealed that Ogura‘s father started saving money for compensation to Junko’s parents, despite Junko’s parents’ refusal to accept it. Sources of information in more recent years states that Ogura‘s father’s savings, originally meant for Junko’s parents, had been consumed by Ogura for frivolous luxuries. Ogura was released in August 1999.

C (Nobuharu Minato to later on Shinji Minato) : Indefinite 5 – 9 year term imprisonment.

D (Yasushi Watanabe) : Indefinite 5 – 7 year term in juvenile detention center.

Perpetrators Whereabouts:

In January 2013, A was re-arrested for fraud, but remained silent during interrogation. Due to insufficient evidence he was released without charge.

Here is a text which talks about information of his whereabouts after his release.

Yellow text in the bottom right corner: “His favorite saying was “I stuck it in her mouth so far that she threw up".

White text on the bottom: “When I heard the rumor, I couldn't believe it. So I asked him over a drink. The stuff about you being one of the perpetrators of the concrete-encased high school girl murder case (Murder of Junko Furuta) is a lie, right? His facial expression suddenly stopped and turned pale. This happened in August of this year. The next day, I stopped receiving any contact from [Miyano], even though I had been spending almost every day with him.”

The photographer, mister M, said this with suspicion. M presented a photo where there was a shirtless man sitting on a bench throwing a peace sign.

“That man (Miyano) called himself “K". We met around 3 years ago. I joined a gym in Western Tokyo where I was commuting. He felt like a big brother to me, and invited me to hang out with him. This picture (panel 3 with the three guys in suits with Miyano (K)’s face blacked out and the two guys around him with pixelated faces) was taken at a barbecue we had earlier this summer. It was a time when I really didn't know about the murder incident…”

The end of 1988 marked the murder of Junko Furuta. The murder case, which is described as the “deeds of savages hiding under their masks,” is well known more than 20 years later. However, after having been released from prison in 2009, what became of [Miyano] was largely unknown.

“I could have never envisioned myself being so close to such a brutal criminal. But in retrospect, realizing he was one of the main perpetrators [of Furuta's murder] isn't that surprising. He was always talking about Judo (martial arts) or sex, and would brag about how when having sex with women how he “stuck it in her mouth so far that she threw up". He also talked about how much he liked choking women during sex. He is also 43 years old, and that is certainly his face right there. Friends of mine who have also met K would send me photos of [Miyano] and say that this is unquestionably the same person.”

The photo [of Miyano] released at the time of the murder incident [in 1989] certainly bears a striking resemblance to the photo [of K] taken in August earlier in the summer. His well-featured nose, the so-called “gyoza ears" so prevalent in Judo practitioners, and his symmetrical hairline. “A hairline is like a fingerprint in that it is unique to each individual.” Like a plastic surgeon, even if 30 years have passed, such a coincidence is further deepened.

M continues talking.

“And that's not all. [Miyano] was said to have been arrested for fraud in January, and around the same time [Miyano] was arrested, K suddenly disappeared for 2 weeks. Because it was around New Years, I thought we should all go out drinking together, so I tried calling [K] but I couldn't get a hold of him. Later, when I asked [K] about where he had been, he claimed that he got in trouble with a rental car and so he was brought to the Akasaka Police Station, but looking back in retrospect there's no way that could've been true. The reason why is because K told me directly that he knew a lot of people engaging in a group wire fraud scandal.”

There is even more evidence that [Miyano] is K.

In the spring of this year, a reporter from a certain weekly publication called the gym that M was a member of asking for information about [Miyano]. This became a topic of gossip among the other gym members. In fact, the reporter actually came to the gym to cover something.

“But at that time I wasn't really paying attention. The person who told me that K was actually [Miyano] was a guy who served 12 years in Chiba Prison. This guy told me that he had met K in Chiba Prison and was like his underling. [Miyano] got 20 years in Chiba Prison too, right? That guy let loose a secret while drinking and said “brother, the media is still chasing you for the [Murder of Junko Furuta]. Must be rough, huh?””

When M last met K, K was driving around in a BMW, he had a Hermès wallet, a gold Daytona luxury wristwatch, and overall seemed to be doing well. He is engaging in [fraudulent] multi-level marketing, and there are plenty of LINE messages from him nagging at his friends to engage in fraudulent activities.

It cannot be said that he was made to pay for his crimes after serving only 20 years in prison. To kill that girl in such a sorrowful and gloomy manner, and not even apologize or explain his actions to [Junko's] bereaved family. This magazine intends to pursue more information [relating to Miyano].

Reading this, we can notice that he is trying to make others not see his identity as the culprit of the Junko Furuta murder. There’s also another article I’ve found about him after his release:

Text Translation:

“It wasn't just in the gym. He (Miyano) would have both his juniors and his friends call him “K" in private, and would even have his name recorded as K in matches (Judo/Kickboxing). He even wrote his name as simply “K" on his resumé, which I got to see.”

This is what our informant, who was treated and cherished like a younger brother by Miyano, had to say. During the summer, [our informant] happened to overhear that K was actually [Miyano]; when [our informant] questioned [Miyano], [Miyano's] face turned pale and abruptly cut all contact with [our informant].

So what has K been up to since then?

First, his whereabouts. No matter how nice and friendly [our informant] has tried acting towards K [after discovering his identity], K has refused to so much as let him enter his house.

“[Miyano] will dodge the question by saying that his house is too cluttered, and he won't even come to hang out with me when I suggest we can meet somewhere other than his house. However, I do know where he lives. He was living in a small town by the riverbank of the Tama River. At least, that's were he was living until August. That address is the one that was written on his resumé, and he would pick up the phone whenever I called the number associated with that address.”

This “small town by the riverbank of the Tama River” is not a very well-known place, and is just a residential area you'd find in any suburb with a few shopping districts around the train station. When we went to the exact address, we found it to be a still new apartment building. [Miyano's] apartment nameplate wasn't anywhere to be found, but there's no mistaking that he's here. However, when ringing [Miyano's] doorbell or banging on his door, no one came out.

There is still one clue we have to ascertain [Miyano's] whereabouts: Ikebukuro. It is said that [Miyano] frequently comes to Ikebukuro to go drinking.

“K often said that many of his juniors are there. When [Miyano] was arrested by the police in January, those involved in Ikebukuro were paying money.”

[Miyano] was arrested in January for wire fraud. We got to see the exact location in Ikebukuro where K and the Ikebukuro group were meeting. However, when we questioned the Ikebukuro group [about Miyano], they all refused to tell us anything.

“Well, I don't know. Because I don't know what kind of relationship it is, I won't say anything,” said one of the former scam group members.

[Miyano] has disappeared yet again. This time we got to see what deep, dark connections he has.

In both of these articles, we see that Miyano tries his best to hide what he has done from others, which makes this even more infuriating than it already is.

Offender B (Jō Ogura to later Jō Kamisaku) is said to have learned some IT (Information Technology) skills while in prison and worked at some kind of firm after his release from prison, but got fired because the people around him knew of his involvement in Furuta's murder and serious criminal past. He later joined a gang, where he was reported to have said the following:

“When I was a boy, I went to jail for 10 years. I had put a girl in confinement, and one day when I came back to the house from when I went out to play, the girl was dead. So I lit a cigarette and put it next to her nose, and the smoke didn't move at all. That's how I knew she was dead,” Ogura bragged while laughing.

A year after this quote (2004), Ogura would go onto kidnap and beat one of the gang members he bragged about this to in what is known in Japanese as the 三郷市逮捕監禁致傷事件. At 2:00 in the morning on May 19th, 2004, Ogura severely beat one of the members of his gang on the street named Takatoshi Isono and threatened him with a bat. He then kidnapped the man and drove him 40 minutes away from Adachi to Misato where he said the following while beating the man for four consecutive hours: “You're the one who took my woman. I'll kill you. I have killed before.” It is mentioned that the man Ogura assaulted was involved with his girlfriend.

It's almost as if he perceives his past murder as a badge of honor. So he clearly hasn't learned anything or shown any sign of remorse, not like it would change anything.

Some sources of information report that B‘s mother vandalized Junko’s grave “because she ruined her son’s life”.

Offender C (Nobuharu Minato to later on Shinji Minato) for the most part, went off the radar following Furuta's murder. He married a Romanian woman in 2006 although they soon had a divorce in which the wife took custody of their kid. However, on August 19th, 2018, Minato repeatedly beat a man on the shoulders with a baton and stabbed the man's neck with a knife. After getting arrested for this, he had the following to say about his former sentence for Furuta's murder case:

“Prison is nothing but hardships, and is not an environment where I can confront my past crimes. Even after being released from prison, society is just too difficult, so of course I couldn't face my past crimes.”

Here's another quote from Minato from the same source:

“In various articles [written about me], they say that I am beyond rehabilitation. These people have never met or spoken with me, so they have no idea how I've been living my life, so why do they arbitrarily write these things [about me]? Idiots.”

Offender D is the main culprit with the least information I could find about his whereabouts, probably because he was the only one who didn’t re-offend after his release and kept off the radar. He seems to be living with his mother after release. According to the Japanese Wikipedia page, which states the following:

[Watanabe] was released from detention in 1996 and became a hikikomori. In January of 2001, Eisuke Inoue, a reporter from the Mainichi Shinbun, contacted Watanabe's mother and began interviewing them in the spring. On April 8th, 2001, the contents of the interviews were published in an article. The article was met the both sympathy for Watanabe as well as harsh criticism, with people arguing that the material was “too sympathetic to the perpetrator” or “rubbing the feelings of the victim's bereaved family the wrong way”. In turn, Inoue said that “the pain the victim's family was going through was beyond his imagination. I looked through the court records and reports on the case as much as I could, but somehow disregarded how brutal the case was, and am still bewildered by it even after finishing the interviews. Having read my readers' criticisms, I better understand the difficulty of compensating for one's crimes.” Has also not worked since release.

Media & Public Reaction:

This case is arguably one of, if not the most popular true crime case that has happened in Japan, with so many articles and media coverage made about it. At least three books have been written about the crime. Two low-budget exploitative snuff films, have been made about the incident. The first one, Joshikōsei konkurīto-zume satsujin-jiken (The Concrete-Encased High School Murder Case) was directed by Katsuya Matsumura in 1995. The second one which followed was Shonen no Hanzai (Juvenile Crime) directed by Gunji Kawasaki in 1997. The case was also the inspiration for the film Konkurito (Concrete) in 2004, where Furuta's name was changed into Misaki. Two mangas have been based upon the case, the first one is Shin Gendai Ryoukiden: Modern Stories of the Bizarre, made by Uziga Waita (an infamous eroguro mangaka), published in 2000, the second one is the mainstream manga 17-sai by Seiji Fuji published in 2004–2005. The volume 3 of the manga Reversible Man, written by D. Natakani, is allegedly greatly inspired by this case. Songs have also been made, based or inspired upon this case such as 44 Days by Mr.Kitty, Junko Furuta by Danilla and Taino PV by The Gazette (although this one hasn’t been confirmed but many speculate it is due to the similarities). The track list of Swerslvt’s album Don’t Be Afraid Of Dying is an acrostic of “Junko Furuta”, as a tribute to her.

Due to this event, Japanese people especially at the time were concerned about a ‘US-influenced epidemic of violent crime’ which they called the “American Disease”.

Also, the case brought national attention to the adjudication and rehabilitation of juvenile offenders, especially in the context of youth tried as adults, and created a media sensation.

Note & My Point of View (about this case)

Honestly these four demons deserve worse than a simple death. They deserve a slow, painful one. For this case, I absolutely support capital punishment. These demons don’t deserve any human rights whatsoever. That also counts for these hundred boys and men who participated in the rapes. I don’t know what should I be more disgusted of, what these four abominable demon seeds did or the fact that so many guys participated in this, and they all were enjoying it?? I think the worst thing in this case is the bystander apathy, the fact that more than 100 people knew what was happening, did nothing about it and were enjoying participating in her suffering. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth should be applied in this case. All of those pieces of trash should have been executed the first day they were convicted.

#truecrime #junkofuruta #junko furuta #horror #crime

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boonedelmont · 9 months

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𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 . 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 . 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

[cis man & he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [BOONE DELMONT]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [BOYD HOLBROOK]. You must be the [THIRTY SIX] year old [BOAT DRIVER AT AIR BUBBLES SCUBA DIVING CLUB]. Word is you’re [PROFICIENT] but can also be a bit [VOLATILE] and your favorite song is [GENTLE ON MY MIND BY STEFIE SHOCK]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [FISHERS COVE]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

———— ◽️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

government name. booker nelson delmont

preferred name. boone

current age. thirty six

birthdate. december 23rd

height. 6'2"

identity. cis male, he/him

sexuality. heterosexual

moral alignment. chaotic neutral

language(s) spoken. english, very little spanish

occupation. boat driver at air bubbles scuba diving club

residence. inherited house in fishers cove

———— ◽️ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏

without having a hope in hell from the get go, boone was raised in the sweltering depths of louisiana in a household that always had some form of drugs or alcohol ( usually both ) at his parents' disposal at any given time. so he was exposed to these addictions at a very early age and would eventually follow the same path, but to a lesser degree.

as the apple of his parents' eye, for some reason, he could do no wrong. when, in fact, he did very wrong, at any given moment. boone was labelled a problem child by his teachers. it started off with him being an annoying punk kid, disrupting class and clowning around with his friends. but as he got older, the problem grew with him.

fist fights were a common occurrence whenever he was in attendance at school. so if he didn't skip, he was sent home regularly. however, he never let his parents know the difference ( if they'd even notice anyway ) and he'd stay out on the streets all day -- drinking, smoking, wreaking havoc on the small town -- until school was let out and it'd be time for him to go home. as a result, he was held back a couple times in different grades.

eventually, boone would flip a final fuck you to the system and drop out of high school. who needs big brains?? certainly NOT him. instead of pursing a fruitful career like every other kid on the block, he acquired the necessary license to become a long haul driver because 1) he wanted to travel and 2) what else was he gonna do.

rootin great rapport via walkie talkie channels with all his trucker buds, tootin his loud ass horn down the highway at every little car that tried to cut him off, boone was content with this way of life. until he met some girl at some bar, somewhere along the way home. then he was apparently in love.

when word spread of this, he inherited ( rly was given ) a whole ass house in aurora bay from a relative. rumor has it some shady business was going on in there and so having boone and his aforementioned gf live there was all a cover up to keep the cops from sniffing around. but whatever the reason, he didn't care. he got a free home, away from his parents.

while boone wasn't exactly your all american, golden boy or best big brother, he felt guilty ditching his younger siblings, and made a point to keep his door open for them if they ever needed a place to crash. he wasn't the affectionate type by any means, but he tried to be a better influence than their parents ever were.

without ever having any real big bills to pay, thanks to the inheritance, boone did well to save up a huge chunk of his earnings. so when his girlfriend ended up having a baby, he quit his long haul job and bought a boat, eventually landing a solid gig with the local scuba diving club. all the rich people loved disrupting the ocean life, so he thought it was a great investment. big brains.

having been the boat driver for air bubbles for nearly a decade, he's been through all kinds of ups and downs. his girlfriend left him for an accountant and moved across the country with their kid, he lowkey became an alcoholic by trying to drink his sorrows away, and his house was broken into one night by a couple guys he used to run with ( he thinks ), which resulted in him almost getting shot for trying to fight off the assailants. safe to say now, he keeps a shotgun tucked away for future intimidation ( which he may or may not legally own ).

———— ◽️ 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

he's lowkey insane. like homeboy has no qualms when it comes to protecting his territory and his people, and is no stranger to violence.

however crazy he may get, he has a soft spot for his family & co-workers. to make up for being so shitty when he was younger, boone does his best now to help out where he can and looks out for his own.

drives an old ford bronco, but also owns a loud af dirtbike that he rips around on at night to 'clear his head'.

checks in on his parents every so often bc as much as they tainted his childhood, they also showed him some sort of love in their own fucked up way.

still drinks almost every night, so he's always at a bar or lounge. would probably sing karaoke if he was drunk enough.

does a video call with his kid every day ( or every other day ) and faithfully pays out child support. while he misses his daughter, boone knows she's better off growing up away from his family's antics.

( @aurorabayaesthetic )

#aurorabay.intro #drug mention tw #alcohol tw #gun mention tw

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boonekeller · 10 months

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𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 . 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 . 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

✦ BOYD HOLBROOK, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ✦ BOONE KELLER the THIRTY SIX year old has been in Hidehill for HIS ENTIRE LIFE. Whispers on the streets are that the OWNER OF FAST GAS who lives in HORWICK are said to be PATERNAL and VOLATILE but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. { CAMI, 30, AST, SHE/HER. }

———— ◽️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

government name. booker nelson keller

preferred name. boone

current age. thirty eight

birthdate. december 23rd

height. 6'2"

identity. cis male, he/him

sexuality. heterosexual

moral alignment. chaotic neutral

language(s) spoken. english

occupation. owner of fast gas

residence. inherited house in horwick

———— ◽️ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏

without having a hope in hell from the get go, boone was a raised in a household that always had some form of drugs or alcohol ( usually both ) at his parents' disposal at any given time. so he was exposed to these addictions at a very early age and would eventually follow the same path, but to a lesser degree.

as the apple of his parents' eye, for some reason, he could do no wrong. when, in fact, he did very wrong, at any given moment. boone was a labelled a problem child by his teachers. it started off with him being an annoying punk kid, disrupting class and clowning around with his friends. but as he got older, the problem grew with him.

when word spread of this, he inherited ( rly was given ) a whole ass house in horwick from a relative. rumor has it some shady business was going on in there and so having boone and his aforementioned gf live there was all a cover up to keep the cops from sniffing around. but whatever the reason, he didn't care. he got a free home, away from his parents.

without ever having any real big bills to pay, thanks to the house, boone did well to save up a huge chunk of his earnings. so when his girlfriend ended up having a baby, he quit his long haul job and bought the gas station in hidehill. everybody needs gas, so he thought it was a great investment. big brains.

having owned fast gas for nearly a decade, he's been through all kinds of ups and downs. his girlfriend left him for an accountant and moved across the country with their kid, he lowkey became an alcoholic by trying to drink his sorrows away, and the gas station got robbed one night, which resulted in him almost getting shot for trying to fight off the assailant. safe to say now, he keeps a shotgun tucked away for future intimidation ( which he may or may not legally own ).

———— ◽️ 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

he's lowkey insane. like homeboy has no qualms when it comes to protecting his territory and his people, and is no stranger to violence.

however crazy he may get, he has a soft spot for his family & employees. to make up for being so shitty when he was younger, boone does his best now to help out where he can and looks out for his own.

drives an old ford bronco, but also owns a loud af dirtbike that he rips around on at night to 'clear his head'.

checks in on his parents every so often bc as much as they tainted his childhood, they also showed him some sort of love in their own fucked up way.

still drinks almost every night, so he's always at a bar or lounge. would probably sing karaoke if he was drunk enough.

does a video call with his kid every day ( or every other day ) and faithfully pays out child support. while he misses his son, boone knows he's better off growing up away from hidehill.

#hidehillintro #drug mention tw #alcohol tw #addiction tw #violence tw #gun mention tw

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foodandfolklore · 4 months

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The legend of the gallery hunt

As a Canadian, I like to look for folktales from around the world. But I also like to find stories a little closer to home. This is a Quebec Folktale about Lumberjacks on New Years eve wanting to go visit their girlfriends for the season. So they make a deal with the devil to fly their canoe there and back. It's probably one of the earliest tales that has a "Don't Drink and Drive" message. Which is saying something as this story dates back to the 1800s.

Since this is a Quebec Folktale, it is written in French. As I'm not fluent in French, I used Google Translate to help understand the story. If you are fluent in French, and want to read the original text, feel free to do so here. I also had a friend who lives in Quebec fill in some of the blanks for me. One of the most important ones that we English speakers should be aware of is the style of Curse Words the people of Quebec use. Most curse words in Quebec are apparently tied to the Church. Not because they are a religious Province. Just the opposite. Quebec has a tumultuous relationship with the Catholic church and just religion in general. So, when they swear they're "Taking the Lord's name in vain" Multiplied by Fuck, Shit, Cock. If that makes sense. Though, I still giggle at Sacrament and Tabarnak. But apparently it's worse so.

The legend of the gallery hunt

It was the evening of December 31, just before midnight. The loggers were preparing to celebrate the start of the new year. The site cook had prepared New Year's Eve. The site manager had given a small barrel of rum to his lumberjacks. Outside it was freezing cold. The cook was a bit of a “hottie”; he lay down on the bed.

The cook was sleeping when, suddenly, Baptiste, the head of the pickers, woke him up and asked him if he wanted to go see Lise, his girlfriend.

Seeing my Lise, said the cook, it's not possible. She lives in Lavaltrie. It's near Montreal. It's 400 km from here. A trip of almost a month on foot in the snow!

Baptiste replied: “No question of going on foot. We will travel by canoe in the air. We will go to the village ball and tomorrow at six o'clock we will be back at the construction site.

I understand, replied the cook. You suggest I go hunting; to risk my eternal salvation to go kiss my girlfriend in the village...

Yes that's it ! And we need an even number of men; you will be the eighth!

I'm a bit of a drunk, not very religious but selling my soul to the devil...

Create sissy! There's no danger! With the gallery chase, we do 200 km per hour. It's simply a matter of not pronouncing the name of the good Lord and not hanging a church steeple while traveling.

Yes, but you have to swear an oath to the devil...

It's a simple formality. If we hold our tongues and steer our canoe well, we will come back here without any problem.

Without thinking too much, the cook headed towards the boat. Baptiste warns his men that at the dance, they should not drink in order to have a clear mind to steer the canoe properly on the return trip. Baptiste, standing behind the boat, said: “Repeat after me: Satan, we promise to deliver our souls to you if, within six hours, we pronounce the name of your master and ours, the good God, and if we let's touch a cross during the journey. On this condition, take us over the mountains and you will bring us back to the construction site. Sheep! Acabras! Acabram! Take us over the mountains! »

The canoe rose into the air to a height of 500 or 600 feet. He darted through the air like an arrow, fleeing faster than the wind. The men saw the course of the rivers and, flying above the Ottawa River, they soon arrived in Montreal. Then, the villages passed by and they very quickly saw the village of Lavaltrie. It was two o'clock in the morning.

“Be careful,” Baptiste shouted, “we’re going to land!” » Five minutes later, they inquired about the place where the vigil was being held: at Battissette Augé's house. People were surprised to see them. Baptiste said to them: “Let us dance, we will tell you about our trip tomorrow. » The men danced for two hours. Baptiste, breaking his word, took a few glasses of white whiskey. Very quickly, the time of departure arrived. The men left without attracting attention. Even the cook left without saying goodbye to his girlfriend.

Even though Baptiste was a little drunk, he was the one steering the canoe for the return trip. He took the wrong route and passed very close to the Contrecœur bell tower. Further on, he almost hung the cross on the top of Mont Beloeil. So, to get back on the right track, Baptiste turned the canoe so quickly that it overturned in the snow on Mount Royal. As soon as his feet were on the ground, Baptiste began to worship. The men thought at that moment that if Baptiste was still dying when they got back into the boat, it would be hell for everyone! Then, the men tied up Baptiste and gagged him before leaving towards the construction site.

They were almost there when Baptiste began to want to break away. Very quickly, he managed to remove his gag and “released a coronation” [Info: Swear] which caused the boat to fall. Fortunately, the canoe remained snagged in the branches of a large pine tree. The men fell into the soft snow. The cook lost consciousness and woke up in his bed the next morning. He had a few scratches on his hands.

The other guys on the site reported that they had found the cook, Baptiste and the six other men simmering their white rum in a snow bank near the site. Nobody denied them. The guys would never have told about their trip: it was a shame to have almost sold your soul to the devil to go kiss your girlfriend!

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miaikon · 1 year

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I was exposed to a lot of not-age-appropriate media during my childhood in the 80s/ 90s. Anyone else share this experience?

This is not a try to explain or excuse my mental issues, or to complain. It's just a kind of vent since I'm thinking about this a lot, on and off. For context, I was born in the 1980s and reached 18 years of age in the early 2000s. My native language is German. Also, apart from a few nightmares, I don't know how much this affected me.

My earliest memory of catching something I maybe was too young for was when I was six or seven. My stepfather liked playing videotapes of musicals while he did the house chores (he was our stay at home parent). This got me glimpses of "Hair", "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" and also "Jesus Christ Superstar". I remember asking my stepdad why Frank'n'Further was dressed like he was, and him answering "because he likes it". Also, I was a big fan of the big dance scene at the beginning of "Hair" (set to "Age of Aquarius").

I don't think this chapter, while probably not stuff you'd usually show a seven-year-old, affected me too much. I watched all these musicals later as a teen and was able to re-contextualise what I saw in my head after I learned English and understood what was going on.

The nightmares came later. I must have been nine or ten. My bio father had me every weekend then, but apparently didn't want taking care of me to stunt his social life, so he brought me along to the big sci-fi watch parties he had with friends every Saturday. In retrospect, I think my mother made him take me for the weekends, and he wasn't a fan. Before that, he used to leave me with friends, who also had kids, or his then-girlfriend a lot and just go off do his own thing.

Anyways, I was present for the sci-fi screening. I don't know all the names, but three of the series they watched were some form of "Star Trek" (it definitely had Data and Picard), "Deep Space Nine" and, I think, "SeaQuest". They watched one episode of multiple series a night, and I wasn't allowed to ask any questions and usually fell asleep on the couch. Scenes from some episodes haunted my nightmares for years after (remember, my age was in the single digits!). As a teen, with the help of my now-fiancé, I managed to hunt down and re-watch some of these episodes for context.

Quick interlude - the man is a sci-fi enciclopedia. He managed to figure out not only the series, but the EPISODE, from clues like "Woman with psychic powers enters brain of serial killer, sees all his murder victims", "half-machine woman tells pale guy to rip off his own skin" and "two people scream at each other while a woman is giving birth in the same room. They argue about the symbolic value of the baby".

Paralell to all that, nobody really cared what I read. Starting with "Discworld" at age 13 was probably the most age-appropriate thing I ever did XD. I learned to read at age five, before being enrolled in school at age six. According to my mom, I wanted to learn. According to my memory, she taught me so I could read my own bedtime stories.

Anyway, anything that said "Fantasy" on it was fair game. The same way anything animated was DEFINITELY for kids of all ages ("Watership down" also lived in my nightmares for years). I got given books quite randomly. Some noteworthy ones are: me reading "The never-ending story" at age six (before I could read a clock. I refused to learn how to read a clock for a long time because, in my kid mind, it meant I couldn't be expected to have a bed time/ know when it was time to stop reading). There was also "Sorla Flusskind" ("Sorla Riverchild"), which is a pretty decent kid's adventure book - if it wouldn't start out with our protagonist's conception via assault. Honorable mention goes to "Dracula's daugther's", which I received as an Anne-Rice-Obsessed fifteen year old. It's basically soft porn. There were probably more that weren't age appropriate, but I just can't recall.

Thank you for reading! If you had similar experiences, share please if you feel comfortable to do so. I'd like to know if I'm alone in this.

#tw mention of assault #childhood weird things #weird memories #rant post #conflicted childhood #looking back #am i alone in this?

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Hawkmoth was a bitch, and Marinette meant that with every fiber of her soul. Fu was also a bitch, and Marinette actually had good memories of the guy. Not many, but she had some. The fact that the guy got two ten-year-olds to become super heroes and fight a supervillain for him kinda soured those memories, though. But with Chat Noir not allowed to leave his house? Yeah, even as young as they were it only took about a year to find out who HawkMoth was and another year to take him down.

Except, that left Marinette alone. The final battle took her mom away, and Chat had to move out of Paris after his dad was arrested. Luckily Jagged allowed her and her papa to move into his house in Gotham, and everything was…

Well, it was okay. For about a month.

Then her dad was gone too, and she had no way to talk to Jagged, and the police were scaring her—

Yeah, that was the basic order of events that led to where she was now. Pushing fourteen years old, ex-superhero, protector of a magical box of gods, stealing the tires off of a very nice motorcycle.

Marinette was tempted to just take the whole thing, she loved bikes and knew she could drive it. But the thing had more security than she knew what to do with, and the fact that it belonged to Red Hood… she didn’t want to deal with trackers today, thanks. So the tires it was.

Should she maybe care more about the fact that she was stealing from a vigilante with a violent streak? Maybe. Did she? Hell no. For all she knew, maybe Red Hood was a bitch too. (Yes, she was still learning English slang. She was fluent by educational standards, but learning how to curse in a foreign language was fun and she still had a little bit to go. Her few street friends were very happy to help).

A shadow dropped down in front of her, and Marinette’s hero instincts kicked in. The tire iron she was using cut through the air, slamming right into the side of Red Hood’s knee.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Hood,” Batman’s voice grumbled over the comms, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone else who was on the comms. It wasn’t as gruff as he usually sounded, in fact it almost sounded like… he was trying not to laugh?

“Did you get gassed by Joker?” Dick asked before Jason got a chance to respond. “Need backup?”

“No,” Batman responded, sounding a little more composed. “Not a rogue. But Hood, I need you to join me at my location as soon as possible.”

Finally getting the chance to talk, Jason responded a little warily; “Sure, B. Wait,” he blinked at the location that was sent to him. “Isn’t that where my bike is parked?”

Batman didn’t respond at first, only the sound of labored breathing— again, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Just get here, Hood.”

Sighing, but not too mad since the night had been fairly quiet so far, Jason decided to humor the old man and head over. When he could see the cape-clad back of Batman, he easily leapt over the last roof and sauntered over.

“Okay, B,” he had his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he drawled. “What’s the issue?”

Batman was grinning. As in, actually showing amusement. And he just pointed down, straight at Hood’s bike.

Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet, turning to look. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, until he saw movement and looked harder. Oh. Oh, holy shit.

“Is that a kid?”

“Yep,” Batman’s grin grew.

“Is she… stealing my tires?” Hood was so, so glad he wore a helmet that hid his expression. Because… wow.

“Yep,” Batman finally lost his composure, chuckling. “This seems like Karma, don’t you think?”

“And you just watched her so you could rub it in,” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. Of course he would. Nobody knew it (except the other heroes who knew him) but Batman was a petty little jerk when he wanted to be. He bought the whole Daily Planet just to spite Clark, for crying out loud.

“Don’t adopt her,” Batman said as he stood up, patting Red Hood’s shoulder. “It looks like she’s almost done.”

“Shit,” Jason hissed, looking down to see that she was, actually, very close to being done. She had already had one tire completely free by the time he had arrived, and now she was only seconds away from getting the other one completely free.

He took a quick assessment— she was tiny, and really thin. Definitely a street kid, he thought, though he didn’t recognize her. He knew most of the street kids that stole to get by, nowadays, which meant she must have been fairly new. But even though she seemed to know what she was doing, her small frame made her take longer unscrewing the tires than it normally would have taken. Sure that she wasn’t a threat by any stretch of the imagination, he jumped down. His plan had been to startle her a little by showing up out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare her too badly. Just make her jump a little.

But he had underestimated her, it seemed. Without wasting a second, she jumped up and swung her tire iron at his knee. He cursed, she was a lot faster than her had been expecting. He was able to move so that the weapon only clipped the side of his knee, his knee pad thankfully taking the worst of it. She still hit hard enough to make him stumble and hiss in pain though, which was an accomplishment.

That’s when she abandoned her weapon and her tires, darting to try and escape only for Batman to drop down and block her escape. Though really, it was the grin Batman had that scared the girl most of all, apparently, making her slowly back away from him.

“Please stop smiling,” she begged with a faint French accent to her words. “It is not natural.”

That made Red Hood laugh, already recovered and right behind her. He plopped a gloved hand on her head.

“I know, it’s creepy right?” He joked. “What’cha doin’ stealing my tires, kid? I kinda need them to drive anywhere,” he was careful to keep his voice light and devoid of any anger. He wasn’t really upset, all told. It would be hypocritical of him if he was.

She looked between the two vigilantes for a moment, clear intelligence behind those bright blue eyes as she seemed to consider something. Suddenly she pulled away from Red Hood and stepped away from his reach, straightening up and trying to look tall.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as firmly as she could. “My father was Tom Dupain, he was killed in a mugging three months ago. We were living in a house that our family friend leant to us after my mother’s death six months ago, and we moved here from Paris. I haven’t been able to contact him, and the police… I don’t trust them,” she admitted, clearly seeing this as the chance she had been waiting for. “I have been living on the streets since my father died. I am sorry for trying to steal your tires, Monsieur Red Hood. But it was a risk I had to take.”

“Did you expect us to catch you?” He asked, crossing his arms as he re-evaluated the girl. She was a lot stronger than he had assumed earlier, both physically and mentally. She seesawed her hand to indicate ‘kinda’.

“Even if you didn’t, I could make good money off your tires,” she justified with a shrug. “To me, I would win either way.”

“Who is your family friend? Can he help you now, take you in?” Batman asked, moving forward and kneeling down to be closer to Marinette’s height. Neither he nor Jason had missed the part where she was an orphan, but they had expected that considering what they had caught her doing. And they both knew that she wasn’t likely to take any apologies they tried to offer very well. It was best not to show pity, or she might get angry.

Marinette frowned. “... Our family friend is Jagged Stone. He lets me call him Uncle Jagged,” she told them, clearly expecting the disbelieving grunts they gave. “I mean it! You can call him, he might even be looking for me! I—“

“We know,” Hood assured her, now kneeling down as well. Man, she was short. “Calm down, we know you’re telling the truth. Jagged has made several public announcements about his missing honorary niece, we just didn’t recognize your name right away. And Jagged doesn’t have access to very many pictures of you, those he does have the Mayor isn’t allowing him to show because that spineless jackass—“

“Language, Hood.”

“—Cares more about keeping bad press off the air than finding a kid, even if it’s a world famous rockstar who’s asking. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything, the mayor’s keeping it off the radio and not many reporters are brave enough to take the story and get on his bad side.”

“Oh…” Marinette took a deep breath, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up. “He has been looking…” she sniffled, curling in on herself a little. “Can you take me to him?”

“I think we can do that,” Batman agreed, standing up. “I’ll contact him. Red Hood, can you handle everything here until I give you a place to meet up with Jagged Stone?”

Jason nodded. “No problem, B. Come on, little rabid pixie. Step one of gettin’ you back to your uncle is to help me fix my bike back up.”

Marinette sighed, shoulders dropping. “All my hard work, undone…” she playfully complained. But in the end she didn’t argue or fight against it, she just sat down and helped him reattach his tires.

All the while, Jason’s family kept teasing him over the comms. Clearly they were also thoroughly amused by the cosmic display of karma.

“...Monsieur Hood,” Marinette asked once they were done repairing the motorcycle and he had given her his too-big extra helmet. He tilted his head a bit to show he was listening. She squirmed. “Can… can we stop by my hideout? I have something really important I have to get.”

Jason smiles gently under his mask. She might not have been a street kid for very long, but she really did bring back some memories for him. He got on his bike and held a hand out to her.

“Sure thing kid. Wanna grab something to eat after? Can’t have a reunion on an empty stomach.”

She gave him a lopsided smile— not quite overjoyed, but definitely hopeful and thankful. Maybe this was the end of her streak of bad luck, she could only hope.

“Only if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hood,” she agreed before taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bike.

“No skin off my back, pixie,” he assured her. Then they were off. He followed her directions until they got to an abandoned building about three miles away, not in a good part of town at all but at least not in crime alley. Marinette easily led him through the building, skirting around other piles of ratty blankets and up broken stairs until they got to the badly-maintained top floor. She led him over to an almost invisible door in the concrete wall that pulled out to reveal what was probably a broom closet once upon a time. It was crowded with what looked like junk and empty boxes, along with a few blankets and two or three changes of clothes that were clearly her’s. A few belongings scattered around— a book, a small pink purse, and… Marinette came out of the pile of mess holding what had clearly been a very carefully hidden box. She also grabbed the purse and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t seem worried about anything else.

Jason frowned at the box. It wasn’t that big, but it was clearly made of old wood. There were intricate carvings that were painted pink, in a symbol that was itching at the back of his mind. He recognized that symbol, but from where?

“Ready to go, kid?” He asked as he thought about it, getting a nod from Marinette. Twenty minutes later they were at a Batburger, sitting in a shaded booth that couldn’t be seen from the street.

She never let the box out of her sight. She kept it on the seat next to her, and Jason noticed that she tried to keep one hand on it at all times. But when she spoke, now her French accent stood out to him even more than before. But why—?

And then it clicked. Paris. Hawkmoth. Ladybug, Chat Noir, magic artifacts called Miraculous. Wonder Woman had raised a fuss when the heroes disappeared, declaring that something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Then the magic users they trusted were called in, and returned from Paris with the grim news that the former Guardian of those artifacts had activated a failsafe and passed the guardianship on to someone else while erasing his own memories at the same time. But nobody knew who he could have passed it on to, so Batman had been given the green light to do all the research he and his team could into the Miraculous box to try and help track it down.

And here it was. The carvings were in pink now, which might have been the “cosmetic change” that Constantine had mentioned might happen when the box changed guardians. He had found the box full of super powerful magical artifacts… in the hands of a newly orphaned street kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen at best.

What the hell?

“...” Red hood reached into his pocket and pulled out an old receipt and a sharpie. He scrawled on the back of the receipt and handed to Marinette. The girl was halfway into a bite of her burger when he did, and blinked at him owlishly before swallowing and cautiously reaching out to grab it. She frowned at the numbers scrawled there.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“My contact info,” he explained. “I won’t ask questions about why you have that box,” he watched her instantly stiffen but continued as casually as he could; “but it doesn’t matter. You can call me if you ever need help with anything, kid. Help with that box, help if you get in trouble in Gotham again, or even if you’re having a bad day. You can call me for whatever, got it? I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, if you can’t talk to anyone else in your life you can always call or text me and I’ll do whatever I can. Got it?”

“...” Marinette sniffled for a second and looked down at the table in silence for a second. “... what if I want your motorcycle?” she joked, but the watery tone of her voice gave her away.

Jason laughed, patting her head. “I need my bike, but we can talk about getting you your own once you are old enough to get a license. You almost done? Bats says that Jagged is ready to meet you, I can take you to him right now.”

“Yeah, lets go!” she was newly energized and shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth greedily. “And Red Hood?” She asked as they headed out to where he had parked.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Permanent tag list (I remembered it this time!)

@rosalineandrosemary @neakco @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @trippingovermyfeet @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @bigpicklebananatree @fantasylover-92 @prongs-flowers @jumpingjoy82 @prettylittlebutterflie @queenz-z @literaryhiraeth @waffelyunsure @deathssilentapproach-blog @waiting247 @theirlmikan @unoriginalmess

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #soulmate-game #platonic jasonette

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quindolyn · 3 years

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heyyyyy, can you do harry imagine where when they fight with the death eaters fem reader rescues sirius from bellatrix because she know he is the only relative harry has and gets hurt, so in the hospital harry visits her and thanks her and she tells him that she loves her? like lots of fluff😻

To Be Lovable || Harry Potter

Word Count: 4069

A/N: Hey love, I hope you enjoy this! It was a lot of fun to write.

Warnings: mentions of a broken bone, let’s just pretend that Sirius’ name has already been cleared, obviously not canon, I believe that that is it.

Masterlist

Life had fucked Harry Potter over, that was for sure. It basically said “fuck you” and gave him the responsibility of saving muggle and wizardkind alike. Robbed him of a family, of a childhood, of any semblance of the confidence he so desperately needed.

But life always outs. Life will always find a way to straighten itself out, even the scales. Life had given Harry Sirius Black, so it was doing a pretty good job so far. Just as life had fucked Harry Potter, it’d fucked Sirius Black too.

When life gave them each other it slowly started mending its wrong doings with Sirius’ false imprisonment, Harry’s lack of a father figure, their shared lack of affection of any sort. In Harry Sirius had found a friend, a son and in Sirius, Harry had found a father, someone to care.

You had spent the last five years watching Harry suffer trial after trial all while you suffered a trial of your own, the trial of loving him from afar. As much as you adored Harry, and you really did, how could you not? From the blush that painted his cheeks at the slightest compliment, to the way his glasses sat crooked on his nose, to the messy black mop of hair that sat upon his head the boy was completely and utterly loveable. But it was because of the love you harbored for the boy that you refused to confess your feelings to him, he had more than enough on his plate. The Boy Who Lived most definitely had better things to do with his time than deal with the feelings of a hormonal teenager. Perhaps that was life’s way of fucking with you, making you love a boy who didn’t have it within him to love you back.

Life didn’t get to fuck with Harry Potter anymore, he’d done more than his fair share of suffering, of grieving, he’d more than served a punishment he’d never earned. That’s all you could think about as you saw Bellatrix point her wand at Sirius’ form, laughing maniacally as a jet of green light shot from the tip of her wand, aimed directly at Sirius.

Head thrown back in laughter, eyes closed, it was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to dodge the curse leaving you with no other option but to full on tackle him. You threw your body at him, aiming to take him down at the knees but failing rather miserably instead wrapping your arms around his chest and instead of knocking him to the ground, making him stumble backward.

Regardless, on the floor, or a few inches to the right, you still managed to knock him out of the curse’s path. Sirius hadn’t realized who was on top of him or that their intentions were good rather than evil, in the heat of the moment, with curses flying to and fro you were flung from his body as he knocked you onto the floor.

As you landed on your side, your arm trapped beneath you, you heard the distinct, sickening snap of what couldn't have been anything other than bone. The sound rang through the din in the room, impossible to miss but yet no one seemed to offer you so much as a glance, anyone except Sirius that was.

“Shit” He swore, bending down to access the damage, gently turning you on to your back so that he could get a better look at your arm, “I’m so sorry (Y/N).”

“It’s fine Sirius,” You slurred, not daring to look at your arm, the pain you were feeling was enough, you were more than fine without visuals to match. Having never broken a bone before you were not ready for the immense pain that festered in your arm, sharp and stabbing it felt like every single nerve in your arm was being bludgeoned over and over again, mercy be damned.

“You’re slurring your words (Y/N),” Sirius scolded, not angry at you but rather at himself, “You’re not okay and it’s not fine. Now did you hit your head too?”

You thought for a moment, had you hit your head?

Yes, you remembered the thump of your skull against the hard stone of the room hidden deep within the Department of Mysteries, and the more you thought about it, the more clearly you could feel that the dull thrum of pain was still present where the initial impact had occurred.

“Y-yeah,” You stuttered out, your vision blurring as the man kneeling above you started to fade, “I think so, it hurts.” Black spots began to dance through your vision, the cacophony of noise in the room became a low buzz as the sound of your blood rushing through your veins overwhelmed you. It became the only thing you could hear.

You heard the faint noise of Sirius letting out a slew of curses, not all of which seemed to be in English as his hands moved to your scalp, gently pressing down until a sharp pain coursed through you.

“Fuck,” Someone, swore, him or you, you weren’t sure. It was very possible it had been either of you as Sirius pulled his hand away from your head and back into your visage. His middle three fingers were soaked in blood, your blood. Crimson and dripping from his digits the metallic scent flooded your nostrils making you work not to gag as you found the stench to be truly nauseating.

He spoke again, or at least you thought he did as you could faintly make out the whisper of his voice and the moving of his lips.

Faintly you wondered if you heard the familiar voice of a certain bespectacled boy, frantic as he approached you, and the glimpse of dark, messy hair you caught almost convinced you of such. But as more and more blackness took over your vision it became harder and harder to tell until you were completely swallowed, and your eyes blinked closed into a dark, dreamless sleep.

“She’s not exactly asleep,” Someone was talking.

“Well she sure as hell isn’t awake,” There was someone in the room.

“If you’d let me finish Mr. Weasley-”

“Oh shut up,” This voice was new, deeper than either of the previous ones, its posh accent distinctly different than the other two, “No need to condescend the boy just tell us if (Y/N)’s going to be alright. Harry’s going to want to know when he finishes his business with Dumbledore.”

Harry? Was Harry alright? Stupid question, if precedent was anything to go on, he probably wasn’t.

At the mention of his name you felt a wave of energy surge through you, it was only with that energy you were able to blink your eyes open. They desperately wanted to close as the harsh white light of the room flooded your irises but you refused to let them, instead squinting so that the light entering your vision was limited.

“As I was saying,” The first voice continued, “She’s in a medically induced coma, this isn’t a restful sleep this is because she can’t afford to be conscious right now and when she wakes up she’s going to be in a whole world of pain and having the six of you here isn’t going to help her.”

No one seemed to notice your new state of consciousness as they continued their conversation, voices tense with worry as they batted back and forth in a game of verbal racketball, a question met by an answer which was countered by another question.

You were too out of it to take offense to their neglect as you felt that surge of energy start to slip away from you, like sand through your fingertips. Grasping onto the last whispers of it before it drifted away from you entirely you cleared your throat, the sound minuscule but apparently just loud enough to catch the attention of a certain red headed girl.

“(Y/N),” This voice was unmistakable Ginny. You turned your head to face the source of her voice, met by the blurry outline of unmistakable Weasley red, they really should just patent it at this point, hair surrounding a pale face. “(Y/N) you’re awake!” She lunged towards you gripping your arm in her hand, albeit a little painfully, but all pain, and sound, and sight seemed fuzzy, like remembering a dream from the night prior.

At Ginny’s words, all heads in the room snapped to your form where you laid in the hospital bed, looking as though you’d seen better days. Which granted, you had.

It took a second for them all to register the meaning behind what Ginny had announced, but as soon as they did they went into a flurry, a healer rushing to take your vitals, moving her wand up and down your body, muttering incantations under her breath. Molly was at your side, gazing at you with brown eyes swimming with worry as she ran a hand down the side of your face which was still lolled to the side. Two identical boys stood at the foot of your bed while two girls, the previously spoken of redhead and her curly haired friend stood back, giving the Healers space to move about.

Sirius stood over Molly’s shoulder, his eyes drowning in guilt as he failed to return your gaze.

“Where am I?” Godric you sounded awful, and it felt like there was gravel in your throat, irritating you even as you merely swallowed.

“St. Mungo’s darling,” Molly answered promptly, trying and failing to suppress a sniffle, “You were hurt at the Department of Mysteries.”

You remembered, oh you undoubtedly remembered. The ache in your arm and head was more than enough to remind you of what had occurred, it was reinforced by the dark haired man looming in the corner refusing to meet your eyes.

After a good deal of fussing both by the Healers and Molly people finally started to stream out of your room, first Ginny and Hermione, followed by the twins and finally the Healers and Molly.

That left just you and Sirius, who still refused to meet your eyes, in the small room which smelt of dittany and blood.

It was silent for a minute, then two, before you simply couldn’t take it anymore, if he wasn’t going to say something you would, “S’not your fault Sirius,” Your voice was still rather hoarse but it had improved significantly after downing the three cups of water than had been placed in front of you.

“You were just trying to save me, you did save me and now you’re hurt.” His head which had previously been hung raised to finally meet your eyes, the shame he carried in his eyes was palpable, remorse etched into his face. A face which reflected every year he’d lived on this planet and then some.

“M’gonna be fine Sirius, you didn’t know it was me I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” You shook your head lightly to refocus your eyes but that just amplified the pain already pounding in your skull.

Reluctantly Sirius trudged towards you before pulling a chair up to your bed and eventually resting himself in it, not looking at your face but rather at the foot of the bed. “Why’d you do it (Y/N)? Why’d you go to all that trouble to save an old man like me?” There was none of his usual humor in his voice, only a sorrowful curiosity.

“You’re all he has left Sirius,” This drew his attention, craning his neck to look at you, his eyes, accompanied by his continued silence urged you on, “You can’t die on him because then he’ll have no one.”

For the first time since you’d tackled him in the Department on Mysteries however long ago, Sirius Black smiled. Unlike his usual smirks or grins, the one that graced his face was gentle, and perhaps a bit hopeful as well.

“Not so sure about that love,” He let out a laugh so light it was barely a laugh, more like a puff of air, “He’d still have you, wouldn’t he?”

You willed yourself not to give away your true feelings for Harry to his godfather of all people, but the nervous grin that adorned your face was a dead give away to his already good guess.

“He cares about you (Y/N),” Sirius was merciful, sparing you from verbalizing the feelings that the both of you now acknowledged existed, “We had to drag him away from you at the Department of Mysteries.”

“That was Harry?” You perked up, “I didn’t just imagine him?”

“Nope,” He replied, popping his p, “He almost punched Moony when tried to drag him away from you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that you simply didn’t.

“He had to meet with Dumbledore to discuss something, that’s why he wasn’t here when you woke up,” Sirius explained.

“Oh, its okay, I’m sure he has much better things to do than come visit-”

You were cut off mid sentence by the sound of feet thumping down the hallway outside your room. Both you and Sirius turned your heads to watch someone fly by the cracked door of the room, his voice booming as he called out for you, then Ron, then Hermione.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to be a little quieter,” The stern but kind voice drifted into the room from the hallway.

“Where is she?” Yup, that has Harry. The sound of his voice was ingrained in your head and had been for countless years now.

You and Sirius stayed silent, still watching the door, listening to the tense conversation taking place between Harry and the St. Mungo’s staff member before you heard Hermione’s voice cut in, trying to calm the two men down.

“Well it sounds like he’s going to be in here soon,” Sirius said, standing up from his chair, gazing down at you.

“It does,” You agreed.

“I will never be able to thank you enough (Y/N), not only for saving my life today but for being such a good friend to Harry, giving him the love that he deserves.” Tears brimmed at the raven haired man’s eyes as he laid his palm atop your hand.

“Of course Sirius,” Your voice cracked mid sentence as you too were gulping down tears.

Leaning down Sirius pressed a fatherly kiss to the crown of your head just as Harry burst through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” The older chuckled, pulling back to his full height as Harry bounded towards you, completely ignoring the presence of his godfather.

“(Y/N)!” His long legs got him to you in no time at all, when he reached you his eyes snagged on your broken arm before meeting your own.

Sirius sent you a silent wink as he slipped from the room, you hadn’t noticed him even make his way towards the door. He made sure to shut the door tightly behind him so that you and Harry would be granted some privacy.

“Hi Harry,” You let out a watery chuckle as you took in his appearance, he looked like he’d gotten caught in a wind tunnel with his hair all messy, and the fabric of his tight fitting t-shirt clinging to his chest.

“Don’t laugh,” He frowned down at you as he settled himself next to you on the bed, “You might hurt your lung or something.”

You smiled at his clueless, over protective behavior, “S’not my lungs that are hurt H, just my arm and my head.”

“There’s nothing just about it,” He countered, “You’d be fine without your arm but you need your head (Y/N/N), can’t go walking around without it.”

You opened your mouth to say something but you didn’t get the chance before he started talking again, pushing himself off up the flimsy mattress to pace next to your bed, “What the hell were you thinking jumping on Sirius like that?”

You rolled your eyes at his outburst, “Bellatrix had cast the Killing Curse at him, Harry, he was going to die if I didn’t do something!” Your voice raised against your will as you got defensive, you may have loved Harry but that didn’t stop you from getting aggravated with him when he was being an idiot. Take now for example.

“You could’ve died (Y/N)! Don’t you understand that? You could’ve died and I-”

“But I didn’t Harry! I didn’t die and I’m fine now.”

“The hell you are! You’re lying in a hospital bed at St. Mungo’s with a broken arm and a concussion, if that's your definition of fine then I’d hate to see what not fine is!”

“I’m a big girl Potter, I can take care of myself,” You argued, pushing yourself up on the bed so that you were sitting upright, independent of your pillows. How was he being so daft? You’d saved the closest person he had to real family and now here he was, completely railing on you.

He was so caught up in his own head, continuing to pace up and down the length of the room that he didn’t seem to notice when you started swaying, no doubt because you had lifted yourself up too quickly and your head should’ve been resting on your pillow.

“You may be a big girl (Y/N), but clearly you shouldn’t be left to your own devices because what would possess someone to do something so idiotic?”

You tried to swallow the anger you felt bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to explode in an eruption of words you weren’t quite ready to say out loud. But as he went on and on you found it harder and harder to swallow your feelings until they inevitably bubbled over.

“You idiot,” You cut him off, too fed up with him to listen to what he had to say, “I wasn’t going to let Sirius die because he’s the only family you have Harry! You love him and it would kill me to see him ripped from you, just like so many other good things have been ripped from you, because…”

You went silent, all of a sudden your voice seemed very loud in the sterile room and you realized it’s because he finally shut up.

“Because why?” He asked turning so that he was facing you, “Because why?”

“Because I-” You felt a rush of heat flooded your face and quickly averted your gaze from the boy, focusing instead on the clock hung on the wall opposite your bed.

You were quiet for a moment, hoping he would show you mercy and continue on with his ranting but he didn’t. Harry never did stand down from a fight, especially not one that he could win.

Coming to terms with the fact that the only way this was ending was with a confession from you, you gulped. And with your saliva you swallowed your pride, turning back to face the boy who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you.

“Because I love you, okay?” You admitted to him, letting your vision glaze over so you wouldn’t have to see the eventual look of guilt wash over his features before he gently turned you down, apologizing, calling you beautiful, telling you how you deserved someone better. Even though there was no one better than him.

You thought he looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared at you, unblinking.

Eventually, after what could’ve been a couple of seconds or could’ve been a couple of hours, he spoke, “Y-you love me?” He sounded incredulous like he didn’t really believe you.

And that’s when it hit you, he didn’t really believe you.

As a wave of indescribable sorrow washed over you, at the notion that the beautiful boy in front of you really had no clue just how beautiful he was, you maneuvered yourself so that you could stand up, throwing one leg over the edge of the bed, and then the other.

Pushing yourself up into an upright position you were immediately swaying, ready to collapse onto the floor, and Harry must’ve observed that as he came back to his senses as he looped his arms under yours, pulling you into his toned chest, hard from countless hours of Quidditch practice.

“What do you think you’re doing (Y/N/N)?” His voice was softer now, meant for only you to hear.

“Was gonna show you how much I love you,” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt as you abandoned all of your inhibitions, you needed to tell him how you felt, “You clearly don’t believe me when I tell you and that’s ridiculous Haz because you’re lovely and wonderful and you light up my day every time I see you. I can’t imagine my life without you,” You paused your ramble, not noticing the brilliant shade of vermillion his face had turned.

“No, I can imagine it without you Harry and it’s horrible, it’s not a life worth living.”

“Don’t say that (Y/N),” He cut you off, a frown gracing his enviably red lips.

“Would you let me finish Potter?” You sniped playfully, “I love you, Harry, I’ve loved you since we were first years and it kills me that you don’t see how lovable you are. Because you are lovable Harry,” You pulled back a bit to rest your chin on his chest, gazing up at him, “You are completely lovable, and that’s why I put myself in harm’s way today, because if it meant saving someone you love, then it is worth it. It will always be worth it.”

You watched as tears spilled down his cheeks, but you could tell by the smile pulling at his wobbling lips that they were happy tears, “Y-you love me?”

How your heart could break at three simple words baffled you but it did, “I love you, Harry, I have loved you and I will always love you.”

A smile overtaking his entire face split it in half, a toothy grin you’d like to see on him more often, “I-”

“You don’t have to say it back H, the fact you’re not turning me down right now is more than enough. You don’t have to say it back, we can take it slow,” You cut him off, not wanting to rush him.

“I want to though, I want to say it back.” He insisted, sounding like an eager puppy.

“Really?” You couldn’t suppress the optimistic lilt to your voice.

He nodded surely, still grinning down at you. “I love you (Y/N).”

You had to stop yourself from crying, or screaming, or jumping in the air, or some combination of all three, but that’s all you wanted to do. You wanted to scream and jump and cry but you preferred being in Harry’s arms much more.

“May I kiss you?” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper you could barely hear.

“Yes please,” You giggled, standing up on your tippy toes as he leaned down to capture your lips in his.

You poured all the passion of the past five years into that kiss, all of the stolen glances at him, all of the nights spent sobbing, thinking that he could never love you back. All of the sacrifices, all of the hugs, and the smiles you shared. They were all poured into the kiss and they all meant so much more now because being part of something so beautiful could only make those memories better.

Harry wrapped his arms around your back, pressing your body to his while being careful to mind your hurt arm. You dug the fingers on the hand of your healthy arm in his thick hair, using it as an anchor to pull yourself closer to him.

You pulled away first, taking big gulps of air in an attempt to refill your empty lungs.

“You love me,” Harry stated simply, staring down at you adoringly.

“I love you,” You agreed with a small nod of your head.

“I can’t believe you actually love me.” He smiled again, this grin even goofier than the last, making his emerald eyes shine.

You smiled at the look of childlike happiness that adorned his face, “And I can’t believe it took me this long to tell you.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst

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ladyeliot · 3 years

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Are you happy? [2/2] +18

Part One

Pairing: Ex!Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Summary: After almost two years without seeing each other, fate brings you together again, each of you has your own reason for the reunion, which brings your feelings to the surface again.

Warnings: Angst. Sentimental confusion. Infidelity. Unprotected sex.

Word count: 3975

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

John Steinbeck once said 'One can find so many pains when the rain is falling', you had never understood that phrase, never until that very moment. The drops seemed to descend fiercely, crashing firmly against your face, you hardly realised at what point the intensity of the rain had become so extreme, as you continued to be completely blocked from contemplating the face before you, and time never stopped.

The red brick of the Victorian houses, decorated with colourful flower boxes, seemed to create an idyllic scene of which you two were the protagonists in that narrow alley, but neither of you noticed. Words that could not now be erased from your mind had come out of his mouth, a mouth that was at that moment half-open as if it wished to express something else, but did not. You had had to deal with enough events in your life to know how to deal with any new moment that came your way, at least you thought you had, but you would never have thought you would have to face this. A dilemma opened up in your mind, but also in your heart, you were sure that you loved Chris with all your heart, you had loved him for as long as you could remember, he was your childhood friend, you never knew when your feelings became romantic, he didn't know either, but you had your assumptions.

Anyway, that love had never gone away, and it was never going to go away, it was going to be there for the rest of your lives, but things were not as simple as they might seem. Your love might have worked during your adolescence, during your youth, but when things got serious, somehow or other the relationship didn't move forward. There were no third parties, no cheating on either side, just different paths. Each of you had your own dreams that pushed you further and further apart, so far apart that you decided to end the relationship, which was not in the most amicable way possible.

The last two years were difficult for you, your smile had vanished from your face, but Garret appeared to give it back to you. You believed again that love was possible, and of course, although you always used to keep Cjris in mind, for which you used to blame yourself all the time, life seemed to be much simpler. Partly because of that, and because you loved him, you had accepted Garret's hand a month ago, but unfortunately you couldn't help imagining Chris the moment you said 'yes, I want to marry you'. And now there he was, Chris, in front of you, telling you that he was still in love with you and you could barely say a word because you had no idea how you felt, you didn't want to hurt anyone, you didn't want to suffer or anyone else to suffer because of you, but apparently it was too late.

Raindrops slid down your face, wiping away tears that you barely realised were flowing from your eyes, which were staring into Chris's. The radiant rays of sunshine had disappeared, bringing gloom to an autumnal morning, only the sound of the thunderstorm could be heard. The radiant rays of sunshine had disappeared, offering the gloom of an autumnal morning, only the rumbling of the storm could be heard. Chris finally lowered his face, nodding to himself, as if he had assumed defeat by not saying anything in the situation.

"Alright," those words came from inside him with a sigh. "I guess there's not much more to say," there was a moment of silence, in which he offered you one last chance to speak, but you could not. "All the best Y/N."

The lump in his throat that had been present since Chris had left his feelings open was massified when you heard your name forming on his lips. Before he turned away and continued on his way through the alleyway, he returned his eyes to yours in the hope that you would take control of yourself and stop him, but again you didn't. So you stood there, letting the rain wash over every part of you. So you stood there, letting the rain wash over every part of your body, watching as his figure gradually disappeared until he turned the corner and you lost him, lost him completely.

You had lost track of time since you left that coffee shop, you were stopped in that place for minutes, until your lower limbs mechanically carried you back to the car, where you remained silent for fifteen minutes. Your senses didn't seem to react, perhaps because you didn't want to feel, because you knew that if you felt you would be capable of doing something crazy, which would surely hurt someone a lot and you didn't want that to happen. His words played over and over in your brain, you glimpsed the blue of his eyes, the smile as you entered the cafeteria, his scent flowing into your nostrils, and his touch as you snuggled into his arms. It was like an internal torture that you couldn't get rid of, that you didn't really want to get rid of. Because who would want to get rid of the love of their life?

It was when the moisture on your face dried up that you realised that the wateriness of your eyes was not because of the raindrops but because you were broken. That revealed a large part of your feelings, your true feelings, which you had kept hidden, you loved him, with all your heart, as you had never loved anyone else, you had loved him for as long as you could remember, how could you not continue to love him?

A click made you connect again and brought you back to the real world, maybe your emotions were running high, but for once in your life you decided to act in the moment, leaving rationality aside, which had not allowed you to act before. You started the engine of the car, you knew perfectly well which direction you were going to take, you had travelled that road so many times that you hardly had to think about how to get to his house, where you hoped he would be. Your heart was racing and your adrenaline was pumping, but your hands around the steering wheel reminded you of that engagement ring on your left ring finger, causing you to slow down and stare at it. What the hell were you doing? If you did what you had in your mind two options were open to you, one was to make the biggest mistake of your life, the other was to win back the love of your life by breaking Garret's heart. Whichever you chose, someone would lose out.

Cars overtook you on the left as you kept wondering what to do, while the sky was still overcast and the rain was pouring down. Time became your enemy again, causing you to arrive in front of Chris's house without clearing your mind. You felt like you were back in the coffee shop, wondering whether or not to go in, whether or not to confront Chris. You turned off the engine of the car and dropped your forehead on the steering wheel, you could hear the drops falling hard on the roof of the car, which seemed to help you relax, strangely. You turned your face, staring at the front door of the house through the window, completely wet. The cafeteria had been a neutral place, this house was not, too many memories enveloped those four walls to go inside and not be affected by it. You were lost if you went in there, you knew what was going to happen and that you were going to let your feelings take you.

As if you wanted to give it one last chance you looked at the engagement ring that Garret had given you a month ago, you hoped that something would tell you that the best thing to do was to start the engine of the car again and get away from there as soon as possible, but it didn't. So you played your last trick. So you played your last trick, a very dangerous one, you asked yourself the same question that Chris had asked you and that you had answered systematically without thinking, were you happy, does Garret make you happy? Then you knew. The next thing you did, you did it with all the pain in your heart, but you needed to think about yourself, the future you wanted, who you wanted to spend it with and most importantly, you wanted to be happy, so there was only one possibility.

Looking at the ring you slowly pulled it off your finger, your eyes started to water, you wanted to do it differently, but Garret was thousands of miles away, so you did what you felt at that moment. Again the rain came down on you as you stepped out into the open, but you didn't care at all, your gaze was fixed on that white door that was going to open the way to your past. As you walked steadily you let the air invade your lungs giving you the strength to face what was about to come. A faint light came through the curtains of the window that overlooked the living room, that erased the doubts that invaded you in case he wasn't at home, and without knowing why your heart skipped a beat.

There you were, a metre between you and his door, a single gesture away from letting him know you were there, and you did it, your index finger approached the doorbell, a squeaky melody sounded inside the house, and you took a step back, marking a distance for when the door opened. You looked down at your hands and fiddled nervously with your fingers, which were dripping from the rain. It was thirty-six seconds before you heard the lock turn and the door open, presenting the figure of Chris before you. You looked up nervously, not knowing what gesture you were going to get from him, but what you could glimpse was a state of confusion and hope mingled in his eyes. You parted your lips, still playing with your fingers.

"I..." was the only thing you could say before a lump rose in your throat and your tears wandered and mingled down your cheeks.

You turned your face and placed the palm of your hand on it, as if to hide the fact that you were crying. At that very moment, arms wrapped around your body and pulled you inside the house, making their body heat and that of the interior of the room cover your body. You broke down emotionally, you knew it was one of the things that could happen, too many emotions to keep them all hidden inside you. So soft sobs began to come out of your throat, you kept your eyes closed and your forehead resting on Chris's chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body.

"It's okay," he murmured against your head, letting out a sigh. "I'm here. I've got you."

After those words he placed a kiss on top of your head and then rested his hands on your cheeks, pulling away from you a few inches to search your face with his gaze. That was the last thing you wanted to do, because you felt confusingly embarrassed about the situation that was happening, he knew it, he knew you hated crying in front of people, but it was him after all. Chris gently lifted your chin to force you to look at his face, where there was a longing smile on his lips, but you averted your gaze, causing his smile to widen and he moved closer to your forehead to kiss it before he hugged you again.

"You're completely soaked," he whispered. "Come with me, the fireplace is lit, I'll get you some towels and some dry clothes."

Again the proximity was broken, but not the contact, Chris intertwined his fingers with yours, realizing something, you saw how he looked at your intertwined hands and then stared at you with his lips parted as if he wanted to ask, but he didn't, he preferred to ignore it. Your steps took you to your memories, when you entered the living room it was inevitable not to think about the times you both had occupied that sofa, or the times you had made love on that carpet next to the fireplace, it was an open diary.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back," he said, unlacing his fingers and heading upstairs via the staircase.

Your decisive mood with which you had left the car had collapsed at the mere sight of him, the little plan you had improvised in your mind had been cut short, putting you back on your own in the face of destiny. But what you were really sure of was what you felt, at least it was something you were sure of, it was him, only him, at that moment looking carefully all around you you realised that you never wanted to live again without him in your life, in whatever way it was, because in truth you were also in love with him, although you had tried to erase him from your mind during those two years.

His footsteps coming down the steps made you alert again, Chris entered the room holding two folded towels in his hands along with a sweatshirt you knew perfectly well and a pair of sweatpants, he stood in front of you.

"You can go and change in the bathroom, or if you prefer in the bedroom," he said offering you the set of items, "you know where everything is... if you want to give me your coat, I can put it in the dryer."

You nodded softly, still looking into his eyes, the warmth of the fire in the fireplace to your right washed over you, and the shadows created a pleasant ambience against the darkness outside. Slowly you undid each button of your coat and removed it from your body, offering it to Chris who took it in his free hand. You didn't know what happened in that instant, whether it was the intensity of your gaze, or the silence that was only broken by the raindrops and the sparks from the firewood, but you didn't stop. Just as you had undone the buttons on your coat you began to undo the buttons on your blouse, Chris's eyes shifted from yours to your hands and every movement they were making. As you finished you let the soaked blouse fall down your arms and onto the carpet, exposing your bare skin, covered only by a black bra.

In those moments, Chris's limbs seemed to be locked as he continued to hold the clothes and towels in his arms, still looking at your body with a look on his face that you couldn't describe. You offered him a few seconds of time to see how he reacted, but he said nothing, your hands slowly moved to the button of your trousers which you undid without looking away from his face, unzipped the fly and pulled your legs out through his thighs, leaving him again next to the blouse. That was the moment when Chris let everything he was holding fall from his arms and without a second thought he wrapped his hands around your body, pulling you closer to him, breaking the tension of the moment, wrapping your lips around his, kissing you as if his life depended on it. A gasp came from inside you as if the physical contact you were having wasn't enough, as if your chest was going to explode from one moment to the next. He brought his hands to your face pulling you away from him, needing to look at you to make sure that what was happening was real and not one of the fantasies wandering through his head.

"Don't stop," you murmured feeling weak as he pulled away from you.

As if on direct order Chris closes the distance again, but this time gently, caressing your lips tenderly, but the wetness of his lips and the roughness of his beard causes a moan of need to be reborn within you. His hands roam over your bare shoulders, gently down your arms, resting on your hips, as yours rested on his neck, preventing him from pulling away from you again. You felt small shivers of pleasure with every touch of his fingers on your skin, you knew that the situation would go as far as you wanted it to, that at that moment you had the reins, but really you had already lost them a long time ago. You dropped your hands until you reached the top of his sweatshirt which you pulled up indicating your need for him to disappear from his body. Chris acted, exposing his body to you.

Your fingertips scanned every nook and cranny that you thought you had lost, that you thought would never be yours again, but there they were before you. Chris brought his lips to your neck, making you lose your reason for being again, as he caressed your back and took the liberty of unclasping your bra, causing it to fall to the carpet. You knew then that you would never tire of the fluidity of his tongue running along your collarbones until it came to rest on your breasts.

A contraction arose in your intimacy making you realise the need you were exploring for him at that moment. Without hindrance you took it upon yourself to undo the button of his jeans that slid down his legs revealing his need for you.

"You can't imagine how many times I've thought about this moment," he mumbled against your lips, undoing his trousers as best he could.

His arms curved to grasp your thighs and encircle his hips, letting your naked bodies collide, that movement alone an action that brought you to lie on the woollen carpet. The softness of his fibres and warmth enveloped your back, as Chris's lips trailed across your belly while your panties trailed down your thighs until they disappeared from the scene. The shadows wandered between you, the fire seemed to want to be part of the moment and you appreciated it, it was warm, but no more so than his lips resting on your centre, sliding his tongue between your folds, making you lose your composure, letting him know the pleasure you were feeling at that very moment. The throbbing in your core began to intensify as his tongue brushed against your clit, until you could take no more and became a prey to your own pleasure, calling out the culprit's name over and over again.

But before you could even relax, before the throbbing could stop, you felt Chris want to be a part of it and gently thrust inside you, causing a deeper moan from both of you to fill the room. It had been too many years together, you knew to the millimetre the sensations the other person experienced, what made them feel the most pleasure, what they liked. Chris loved to feel your throbbing when his tongue made you orgasm around him, and that was a sensation he extrapolated. Inside you, however, he just felt you around the stiffness of his member, he barely made any movement, he just kissed your neck, lying on top of you, waiting for the calmness to take over and transport you back to paradise.

"Move, please," you begged, hoping to prolong the moment of pleasure you had just experienced, preventing him from leaving at all.

His movements began delicately, keeping himself propped up on his elbow while his other hand cupped your hip. Having him on top of you, the two of you lying on that carpet which had been part of your love on so many occasions felt like you had travelled through time. His ragged breaths came against your face, you wrapped your legs around his waist so that the depth of his member was greater. You could feel the rapport between the two bodies, the need to have each other again. Nothing seemed to matter in those moments, you felt his movements erase all the worries that were present in your mind, the only thing that mattered in those moments were the two of you.

His lips were pressed to yours, letting out gasps as his movements increased in speed. Your fingers were lost in his hair, as you kept your eyes closed, exploring how the pleasure continued each time his member slapped against your inner wall. And you felt it, his stiffness swelled inside you, you knew that's what it meant, he was close. You opened your eyes to find that his gaze was focused on you, that he was waiting for some sign from you that would prevent him from carrying out his release, but you merely trapped his lips between yours and placed a hand on his hip to keep him going.

A much smaller free fall than the first one you had felt engulfed you next to him, his moans projecting your name into the inside of your head, his movements becoming irregular and deep, making your bodies move across the carpet.

Calm, after a few minutes, came over you, making you feel the burn of your back from the rubbing of your nakedness against the carpet, making you feel the dampness of your hair still present and the flush of his cheeks from the heat of the fire in the fireplace. After Chris came out from under you and settled right behind you, you curled up sideways facing the fireplace. You felt his lips kiss every part of your reddened back and his arm went around your waist pulling you to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he placed a kiss on your bare shoulder.

"I think so," you replied contemplating the sparks from the firewood.

Fortunately you didn't have to project your feelings, he knew how you might be feeling right now, though he didn't get half of what you were really going through.

"I think you know that," he began in a soft tone that matched the atmosphere, "but I need to tell you that I love you," there was silence, as your torturous feelings came over you. "I know your head will be a complete mess right now, I don't want to burden you, I just want you to know that I'm here, that I'm still in love with you and that I intend to never part from you, if you'll let me."

Vulnerability came over you as you heard those words, you felt like you were a child again and you were faced with a decision you weren't capable of facing, you just wanted to feel protected, so you turned your body and came face to face with Chris. His legs wrapped around yours, agreeing to an even more intimate moment if that was possible. When you looked up into his face his smile was waiting for you to relax, to make you see that he was there with you, that everything was okay.

"Everything will be fine," his voice was confident, warm, his voice denoted the future.

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rosesgonerogue · 4 years

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How to be a Dad 101

Chapter 1: First Meetings

Jasonette July Day 1

Masterlist

It was soon after Jason had agreed to Bruce’s pansy “no killing” stipulation. He could operate as Red Hood in conjunction with Batman and company but separate as long as he complied with that one very specific rule.

He hated it. While he’d rediscovered most of himself since his stint with death, that didn’t necessarily curb any of his bloodlust. Parts of him were damaged irreparable and one of those was the understanding that you shouldn’t want to kill people just for the sake of killing people.

While he complied, apparently causing someone the maximum amount of pain possible was also looked down upon. Bruce gave him quite the lecture, and afterwards Jason just needed to escape. He wandered around Gotham’s streets, hopefully to blow off some steam before going back to the manor. Maybe he could -

His train of thought was interrupted by someone bumping into him sharply. Irked, Jason turned around to bite their head off, maybe get a decent fight in, but he was completely caught off guard by empty air. He glanced around, confused until he looked down about a foot and a half. He was met by a shade of blue he didn’t know the name of, but he desperately wanted to. Pale skin dotted with freckles was framed by inky hair, a combination that Jason should have been used to but seemed to be an assault on his emotions.

Rapid words spewed out of the tiny girl’s mouth, and Jason would have sworn that his brain had simply stopped working until he heard the words, “Excusez moi.”

Ah, so she was French. Jason straightened up, wracking his brain for what little French he remembered from high school. “Uh, je m’appelle Jason. Uh…”

“So sorry, I spoke in French without thinking,” the girl said in only lightly accented English. “But I’m sorry for bumping into you. It was an accident, forgive me.”

Finally freed from her bewitching blue eyes, Jason took a moment to scrutinize her and her apparent companions. The girl was distinctly shorter than the others, and she looked almost like a pixie with her hair tied up in pigtails. She was accompanied by two men, one blond clearly wearing designer clothes, and the only remarkable thing about the other was his chunky headphones. Behind them a girl with glasses and ombre hair was holding her phone up like she was recording or something.

“It’s… fine,” Jason eventually said, realizing the pixie was waiting for an answer of some sort from him. “But if you don’t mind me asking, what are you all doing here in Gotham? I mean, you’re obviously not from here.”

She grinned, face alight with mischief. “And what gave it away? Was it the fact that we actually wore a color other than black in Gotham?”

“Nah, it’s the hope in your eyes. It doesn’t belong, especially when you four are headed to Crime Alley as we speak.”

“Are we really? I told you we were lost, Adrien!” the girl said, nudging the blond.

“Nino is the one who lost the map,” he said, pointing to Headphones.

“But you were the one who claimed to remember the way and wouldn’t let us use GPS.”

The one with ombre hair said, “But is Crime Alley completely out of the question? If I got some footage of something going on I would get a great grade for my Criminal Journalism class.”

Headphones groaned. “Babe…”

Pixie patted the other girl’s arm. “I’m not getting mugged for your project, Alya. Besides, it’s Gotham. I’m sure you’ll find something without needlessly endangering ourselves.”

Jason couldn’t stop staring at the Pixie girl. She was gorgeous. Even with her tiny stature, she emanated confidence and poise. Somehow her movements reminded him of Dick, a surety and grace that came from knowing your own body. She was clearly the leader of their little group, and the thought of her wandering through Crime Alley left Jason unexpectedly feeling angry and a bit… possessive, which was insane.

He couldn’t help but eye the blond. He wasn’t dating the Pixie, was he? The other two seemed to be in a relationship, but…

“So what is this, some kind of couples trip or something?” Jason asked, shamelessly inserting himself into the conversation once more.

“No,” Pixie and the blond said in perfect unison.

“We’re just friends,” he said quickly. “Alya and Nino are dating, but the four of us have been friends since high school, and we just wanted to take a fun, celebratory trip.”

“It’s a miracle we found the time to do it at all,” Pixie continued. “Alya is the one that picked Gotham because apparently she misses Paris being a dystopian hellscape overrun with masked weirdos.”

“You can’t be telling me that all of that akuma crap was real,” Jason said, leaning against a nearby wall.

Almost perfectly in unison, all four foreigners scoffed, trading looks with one another.

“Gotham isn’t the only city with issues, pretty boy,” the reporter one said. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss what you hear.”

Damn, Jason had let his curiosity over Paris’s heroes get the best of him. Since he knew Pixie was available he was supposed to work on charming her pants off.

“Look, I’ve got nothing to do the rest of the day,” Jason said, determined to change the subject. (He could make the Replacement investigate things later.) “I could show you back to your hotel, or even show you around Gotham without getting robbed.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, I wouldn’t want to take all of your spare time,” Pixie said, blue eyes worried. “If you could just point us in the right direction-”

“You promise to make sure we’re not attacked or mugged?” Reporter demanded.

“Alya,” her boyfriend cautioned.

“You don’t want to go to Crime Alley because it’s dangerous, right? Well I’m sure we’ll be fine with six feet of muscle on our side.”

“Alya, no.”

“I’m not risking our necks at Crime Alley,” Jason said with finality. “But chances are that you’ll see at least something that might work for your class.”

“Okay, it’s a deal,” she said decisively.

“We don’t know him, Alya,” the blond hissed, surreptitiously glancing at him.

Pixie was shamelessly scrutinizing him - she was staring him down intently enough to make Jason feel uncomfortable. He knew he looked a bit like a thug - between his sheer size and his usual scowl, it was easy to send people running. Most of the time he liked it and the fear he inspired, but he couldn’t tell whether or not he scared her, one of the first people he didn’t want to scare. What did she think of him? Why was he so nervous about a little girl who’d decided pigtails were totally age - appropriate at twenty-something years old?

Her face cleared and she smiled widely like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Don’t worry guys, we can trust Jason.”

He nearly startled when she said his name, but he shoved the reaction down. Even more surprising was the way the two men relaxed, totally willing to follow the girl’s lead.

“We appreciate your help, Jason. These are my friends Alya, Adrien, and Nino. My name is Marinette.” Pixie - no, Marinette - was still smiling like he’d just given her the world. “We really appreciate your help, it’s very kind of you.”

“Whatever,” Jason said, ignoring the slight blush on his cheeks. “Now let’s get the hell away from Crime Alley. I’m not your babysitter.”

Taglist: @jasonette-july-2k20

Notes:

After Daminette December last year I didn’t see myself doing a month-long challenge again, but then I somehow got 500 followers??? As a thank you I’m putting myself through the ringer again, and I hope you all enjoy it! Not all of the prompts will be connected to this story, but the majority of them will. This is going to be another Mominette fic (because I haven’t been able to see my nieces and nephews for weeks and I’m deprived). If you want to be tagged just leave a comment and I’ll make it happen! I don’t have the mental capacity to keep a permanent taglist, but I’m happy to tag anyone that’s interested.

#jasonette july 2k20 #jasonette #jason x marinette #mominette

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natexarnoult · 3 years

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hey all!! my name is mads and i’m 23, use she/her pronouns, and live in mst! i’m so excited for y’all to meet nathan - he’s a char i’ve had in mind for a while and i’m stoked to finally bring him to life! i’ve included some main points about him under the cut, along with his bio and a couple extras for him - please message me if you’d like to plot :D

Nathan comes from a single-mother household... at least, until he was in high school.

Nate knows who his father is and is trying to build a relationship w/ the man but is still hurt from his mother hiding his father’s identity & not hiding the truth.

He is very much a ‘trust-fund’ kid but is working hard to distant himself from his parents’ wealth and build a name that isn’t connected to his parents.

Nathan truly is a sweetheart but has a hard time expressing this to those he cares about - he grew up in a home that wasn’t welcoming to affection and is still trying to break this habit.

He’s been in Heartsdale for several years and I’m so open to creating some pre-existing connections with him! Friends, ex friends, exes, enemies - anything! Please just message me so we can chat :)

He graduated from UCLA with an art history degree but is more interested in actually making art than learning about it - he travels a lot as he likes to make his show room diverse and brings in pieces from all around the country.

Nathan lives above his gallery but spends most of his time outside of both his gallery and his apartment - it’s either a midlife crisis and he regrets his choices or he’s just trying to meet new friends, who knows?

His pinterest is here and is constantly being update; please follow me if you feel so inclined!

Annnnnd: bio here as well:

Nate’s parents met while his father was on a school trip. A senior studying art history at Harvard, he’d taken the trip as an excuse to ‘see the world’ - if that world meant England, sure. His mother was the manager at a museum they visited on the trip & his father found himself returning to her canvas filled institute daily. They spent hours talking, sharing their love of paintings and critiquing some of the pieces her museum had chosen to display. Neither of them wanted to admit that their time together would be coming to a close - his trip was only for 3 weeks over the winter holidays - but on his last day in the country, Nathan’s father left a note within her bedside drawer, his address and phone number scrawled sloppily across a spare receipt & he snuck out before the sun was up. Saying goodbye would be too hard.

He returned to the States. He graduated. He got a job. He went years without hearing from the woman he’d met. One day, when his father was leaving The Met - he’d become a director of programs - his eye landed on a woman who looked so familiar, her hand clutched by a child, no older than 10. That moment was Nate’s first memory of his dad.

He remembers sitting in his dad’s house, a wide and bright space that was 20 minutes from where they’d met on those huge steps. This man had given them a ride and was now setting tea in front of his mother, but Nate was playing with his dog. He remembers snippets of the conversation - his mom was apologizing a lot. Apparently she hadn’t wanted to see him. They were in the States to visit her sister, Nate’s aunt. He remembers that this man kept looking between his mom and him & he looked so confused. Finally, he remembers a silence falling over the room and the man asked a question. Nate couldn’t make it out but his mother’s response was clear, definite; “Yes. He’s yours.”

At the time, Nate had no idea what that meant. He hadn’t yet been given the talk and his mother didn’t explain her relationship to this man. She introduced him - Nathan couldn’t remember his name - and said that he was an old friend from college. But soon, he found himself with this man more often. His mother invited him to join them at his aunt’s birthday party. When they flew back home to England, his mother would often be stuck on the phone with her old friend from college. One day, a year or so after their New York trip, his mother was picking him up from school, nervously pressing her thumb nail into the steering wheel. She asked if he remembered her friend from college, the one they’d seen while in New York. Nate did. She asked if he’d like to take another trip to New York to see his aunt, to see her old friend from college & maybe stay longer this time - like maybe the whole summer holidays?

They stayed the whole summer and when fall came around and it was time for Nathan and his mother to return home, he was sad - he was going to miss his aunt, he was going to miss the excitement of living Stateside. The rest of his year was almost a blur - his school year went by relatively painlessly, though he had begun to feel the hurt of being one of the only brown kids in school - and eventually spring had returned. His mom, again, sat him down and began asking questions. Eventually, and now Nate was smart enough to see where this was going from the start, she asked Nate how he would feel about moving to the States, about living with his aunt for a while. The move itself was quick and before he knew it, Nate and his mother settled in the States. He spent his days at school and his afternoons in extracurriculars - his new school had an art program that Nate was excelling in. They spent nights hanging out with his aunt or his mom’s college friend and for the first time in his young life, Nate felt comfortable. His mom’s friend had begun taking him to the museums, explaining the complexities of the canvas hanging on the walls and asking for his opinion on the work.

When Nate was about halfway through his junior year of high school, his mother and her college friend were both in the car when he was picked up from school. It wasn’t entirely all that weird - he wasn’t dumb enough to think that they weren’t dating, but Nate did always wonder why his mother never broached the subject with him. It’s not like he was a little kid anymore, for fuck’s sake - if your kid is old enough to date, they’re old enough to know who you’re dating. Nate probably couldn’t tell you the rest of what happened that day. He remembered getting home and grabbing a snack, as he always does, and he remembered getting told to sit down by his mother, that she had something important to tell him.

Nate’s life split into the before and the now - before Stephen was his father & now. While typically a rather well-mannered teenager, Nate was furious. Sure, his mom didn’t have to disclose her love life if she didn’t want to, but to know that Stephen was his That they’d known since the start and never told him? He thought back to their first visit to New York, when they ran into Stephen on the steps of the Met - he remembered his mom was surprised, thrown off her guard, but never uncomfortable, never not wanting to be around this man.

He slammed the door on his way out of the house, hopping on his bike and riding off. That night was the first night he ever acted out - Nate made it to his friend’s place out in the suburbs and snuck in their basement window. The rest of his friends, along with a couple girls he knew from his English Lit class, were circled around a small table, upon which sat a small tray & a bong. Nate welcomed the small act of rebellion, in the face of such shocking news, & spent his night testing his limits.

His parents, as he now so affectionately referred to them as, soon regretted telling Nate at such a volatile age. He soon spent all his evenings with his friends, sneaking into the house after midnight (if he’s early) and going straight up to his room. They tried not to push it and Nate was torn between appreciating being left alone and pissed that no one cared how he felt. His mom had tried to address it a couple times but Nate always shut down, refusing to give her more than a two word response.

It went on like that for 2 years, silence, short answers, tension. At 18, Nathan found himself going off to college, moving across the country to attend UCLA. He lived off his parents money, figuring the least they could do after years of absconding from the truth. And he lived lavishly - drinks on him every time his friends went to the bars, new clothes, new shoes, everything he could want.

He graduated with minimal rule infractions, an MIP here, possession of controlled substance there. But his parents always paid for a lawyer, flew out for the week and handled everything for him. After college, Nathan bounced around for a year, spent a couple months in LA, three in New York, and another 6 or so in a van his parents had financed, driving around the US.

Six months on the road proved to be exhausting, however, and Nathan found himself back in one of his first stops at the start of his trip, Heartsdale. It wasn’t long before he signed a lease on an apartment downtown and spent his days as a barista at Legal Grounds. He didn’t necessarily need the job - his parents still financed his whole life - but it was nice to have something to meet people in town. After a while, however, being a barista became boring. Nate spent his time admiring the local work they had pinned for sale on their walls, admiring the fine line work and critiquing in the way he’d spent four year training to do. On a walk, he found himself fantasizing about owning his own gallery, having his space to curate an experience. Nate’s eyes caught on every single ‘For Lease’ sign downtown, pausing and forcing himself not to take a peek inside. It wasn’t reasonable, he told himself. Irrational, at best. He had no experience managing anything, no experience building something from nothing.

And yet… he couldn’t help. One brisk morning, the sun was bright against a For Lease sign, practically screaming the numbers at him. His fingers were typing the numbers into his phone before he even realized what he was doing. It was 4:23am, the downside of an opening shift at a coffee shop, and he wasn’t expecting anyone to pick up anyway. “Morning, uh,” he paused - was he really doing this? “My name is Nate Arnoult and I’m interested in the space you’ve got on 1st and..”

Moving in was quick, it only took 6 months before Nathan settled in the space above the retail spot. He spent his first night with his friends, drinking and dancing. His friends, just as ecstatic as he, commended him - Nate had been hemming & hawing about opening a gallery space for months and to finally have a space, a place to start… Nathan was on cloud nine. And it went better than he thought it did. The art scene extended out of his small town and he was able to show pieces from all over Georgia. He even flew out to other states, offered small artists a space in his show room. The rest, he supposed, is history. He’s been living a comfortable life and still maintains contact with his parents, despite their rocky past - not friendly, but not fatal either.

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cto10121 · 3 years

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The bad Shakespeare takes keep coming, I see. This one had the cleverness to couch itself as a personal narrative (makes it much more interesting, tbh). But as bad Shakespeare takes are my bread and butter, my boon and bane, mamma mia here we go again, with Merchant of Venice.

“But those who thought the play was irredeemably antisemitic were, the consensus went, vulgar and whiny—and, completely coincidentally, they were also Jewish, which somehow magically invalidated their opinions on this subject.”

I’m glad (is that even the right word?) this author found scholars that don’t think this play is anti-Semitic, but my experience with scholarship has been way more mixed than that. Suffice to say, this is literally all the play is known for these days, and views of the play as anti-Semitic are everywhere (Rosenbaum even had a hot take that since the Nazis liked it, it must be anti-Semitic). Didn’t know Harold Bloom thinks this play is anti-Semitic, though. That in itself is a bit of a red flag, as Bloom is a notoriously poor reader of Shakespeare.

“[I]n Merchant, Portia unhappily fulfills her father’s requirements of her suitors, while in Il Pecorone, the lady enjoys drugging her suitors and robbing them blind. By removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the suggestion that malicious schemers come from all walks of life.”

Or, by removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the clear and abhorrent sexism of his original source that turned a woman robbed of her autonomy by her father’s will into a criminal. It’s almost as if you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Dr. Lopez, one of the most respected physicians of the 16th century, had indiscreetly revealed that he once treated the Earl of Essex for venereal disease. The earl took revenge by framing Dr. Lopez for treason and arranging for his torture; while on the rack, Dr. Lopez “confessed”—though “like a Jew,” as the court record states, he denied all charges at trial, while the attorney for the Crown referred to him matter-of-factly as “a perjuring murdering traitor and Jewish doctor.”

This is a very twisted account of the Lopez affair and Essex’s motives in going against him, at least to my understanding. For context, Lopez was accused of receiving loads of money from the King of Spain to poison Queen Elizabeth.

According to Stephen Greenblatt, in Will of the World: “Essex had tried some years before to recruit Lopez as a secret agent. Lopez’s refusal—he chose instead directly to inform the queen—may have been prudent, but it created in the powerful earl a very dangerous enemy. After his arrest, he was initially imprisoned at Essex House and interrogated by the earl himself. But Lopez had powerful allies in the rival faction of the queen’s senior adviser William Cecil, Lord Burghley, and his son, Robert Cecil, who also participated in the interrogation and reported to the queen that the charges against her physician were baseless.” Lopez apparently had been taken bribes from various sources, and confessed (freely? under torture?) “that he had indeed entered into a treasonous-sounding negotiation with the king of Spain, but he insisted that he had done so only in order to cozen the king out of his money.” Weird.

Greenblatt isn’t a historian, though, and Essex was indeed an asshole to Lopez, (and for what is worth, I feel Lopez was innocent; I just get those vibes) but so far I can find no other source that Essex actively framed Lopez. Most likely he did some sleuthing, dug up some questionable, compromising stuff, and tried to blow a hearth flame into a firestorm.

“After all, the historical record gives Queen Elizabeth a cookie for dawdling on signing Dr. Lopez’s death warrant; her doubts about his guilt even led her to mercifully allow his family to keep his property, not unlike the equally merciful Duke of Venice in Shakespeare’s play.”

Again, Lopez had powerful allies (doesn’t get much higher than Burghley), and again, re: Greenblatt: “According to court observers, Elizabeth gave Essex a tongue-lashing, ‘calling him rash and temerarious youth, to enter into a matter against the poor man, which he could not prove, and whose innocence she knew well enough.’” A cupcake, then?

“And it is of course entirely unclear whether this trial and public humiliation of an allegedly greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian, rapturously reported in the press with myriad antisemitic embellishments, had anything at all to do with Shakespeare’s play about the trial and public humiliation of a greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian—which Shakespeare composed shortly after Dr. Lopez decomposed. Most likely these things were completely unrelated.”

Nearly all the major Shakespeare biographies and articles I’ve read literally and explicitly talks about the possible influence of Lopez’s execution on Merchant of Venice and names it as an inspiration: Greenblatt, (he even headcanons that Shakespeare watched the execution!) Bate, Ackroyd. That’s how Horn managed to ping my BS radar something awful—because I had read about it, many times, even if it was mentioned in passing. It’s solid, legit Shakespearean academic fanon. The sarcasm is really unwarranted, and childish besides.

“It was damned hard to hear the nuance while parsing lines like “Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal,” or “My master’s a very Jew; give him a present, give him a halter,” or explaining what Shylock meant when he planned to “go in hate, to feed upon / The prodigal Christian.”

The first two are the fool’s, Lancelot’s, lines, I think. As for Shylock’s hatred toward Christians, while ugly, it’s entirely understandable given the Christian characters’ treatment of him pre-play and during it (Antonio spitting on Shylock’s gaberdine and then asking him to borrow money from him is called out by Shylock himself for its sheer hypocrisy). It also fits Shylock’s character as an unassimilated Jew, resenting Christian hypocrisy and racism.

“The actor began the brief soliloquy that every English-speaking Jew is apparently meant to take as a compliment: ‘I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? . . . If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

“Wait, that’s the part where he’s more human?”

[…]“Sure,” I told my son, game-facing him back in the rearview. “He’s reminding us how he’s like everyone else. He’s a normal person with normal feelings.”

My son laughed. “You seriously fell for that?”

[…] “What do you mean?”

“Shylock’s just saying he wants revenge! Like, ‘Oh, yeah? If I’m a regular human, then I get to be eee-vil like a regular human!’ This is the evil monologue thing that every supervillain does! ‘I’ve had a rough life, and if you were me you would do the same thing, so that’s why I’m going to KILL BATMAN, mu-hahaha!’ He’s just manipulating the other guy even more!”

And then the crowd applauded, Harold Bloom cried, and the mayor gave the author’s six-year-old son a gold medal for his Brave Hot Take. Honestly, this was the most unbelievable part of the essay I’ve read. Unless this kid has been reading academic essays on MoV that posit this exact same interpretation (“Shylock was just using humanistic rhetoric to justify his ~bloodthirsty revenge!”), this one’s for a fake Internet stories anthology. Shylock may be a dour, miserable pain in the ass, but he is no Barabas, an actual anti-Semitic caricature—he has a character, and a recognizably human one, and the play bears it out that he is right in his anger.

“I reviewed the other moments scholars cite to prove Shylock’s “humanity.” There were two lines of Shylock treasuring his dead wife’s ring, unlike the play’s Christian men who give their wives’ rings away. But unlike the other men, Shylock never gets his ring back—because his daughter steals it, and becomes a Christian, and inherits what remains of his estate at the play’s triumphant end.”

Er, this is a non sequitur—that last has nothing to do with the first. The point is, Shylock doesn’t give away his ring; the fact that his daughter stole it means nothing to his treasuring it. It may be proof of the play’s marginalization of Shylock (which accurately if sadly reflects real-life systematic marginalization), but not his humanity. Shakespeare just doesn’t do backstories, even for major characters, so it is significant that he gave Shylock a wife/beloved in the first place.

“Finally, scholars point to the many times Shylock explains why he is so revolting: Christians treat him poorly, so he returns the favor. But for this to satisfy, one must accept that Jews are revolting to begin with, and that their repulsiveness simply needs to be explained.”

This makes absolutely no sense at all. If one accepts Jews are inherently revolting, then no explanation need be given for when a Jewish character acts revolting! The racist accepts the revolting Jewish characterization without qualm. The fact that the play insists on his grievance is significant.

“We listened together as Shylock went to court to extract his pound of flesh; as the heroine, chirping about the quality of mercy, forbade him to spill the Christian’s blood as he so desperately desired; as the court confiscated his property, along with his soul through forced conversion; as the play’s most cherished characters used his own words to taunt and demean him, relishing their vanquishing of the bloodthirsty Jew.”

YMMV, but to me there are no cherished characters in this play. That’s the whole point! Everyone is so mired in this dreary capitalist materialism that denigrates genuine human connection into mere transaction. Everything to these characters is money, money, money (and class), or at least tainted by it. Shylock is simply the most overt (and honest) of the lot. Love relationships, religion are impoverished; Portia and Bassanio are scarcely more suited than Portia and her other suitors. Shylock and Antonio are Jews and Christians in-name-only: They are capitalists first and foremost. Portia is a smarter, more likable Karen. Lancelot isn’t funny. Jessica is okay, but her leaving her father is framed as a asshole moment at least in one instance. Portia is probably the most lovable, but she has her asshole moments too. There are no truly awful characters, but you don’t need to demonize and dehumanize your whole cast into two-dimensional racists just to make a point.

Merchant of Venice is not the best of plays. It is one of Shakespeare’s experiments, a proto-problem play before his Jacobean era, using dark comedy and a slight bent of farce to explore and elucidate social issues, racism and discrimination, chiefly. At least it tries, anyway. Taming of the Shrew is the first proto-problem play done completely farcical, which at least makes it compelling in a slapstick-satire way; Merchant is much more sociologically astute, but also more dull and coolly distant even from its own concerns. I don’t blame anyone, much less Jewish people, for not liking the play or thinking it a masterpiece. I myself don’t, though for reasons that have nothing to do with the usual ones. I like what Shakespeare was trying to do and I think he did some things very well. It has ambition and thought. But I feel like for most of it Shakespeare was on writing autopilot while mentally looking around for something a bit meatier to adapt and develop. It’s a jogging-in-one-place play; he has a couple of those.

In sum: Author argues for complicated play’s anti-Semitism, ends up just saying the racist slurs by the flawed/asshole Christian characters made her and her son uncomfortable (feat. A distorted and even misleading account of the Lopez affair). Plus some internalized anti-Semitism to sort through, methinks.

#the merchant of venice #shakespeare #cristina metas #shakespeare meta #kind of #cristina reviews #also kind of #merchant is not even one of my liked plays but these takes are just wearying

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guessimwritingficsagain · 3 years

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To be seen, part Six

Warnings : sex.

Author's note : Okay so this might take longer than seven chapters.

The movie about the Pope freaking out is Habemus Papam (We have a Pope, in English). I love that movie.

Chapter One ; Chapter Two ; Chapter Three ; Chapter Four ; Chapter Five

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You turned on the lights, nerves aflame. When you closed the door, you were gently pushed back against it, Frankie’s hands cupping your face to give you a soft kiss, and then another. His hands went on your neck, travelled down your shoulders and then on the curve of your breasts. His mouth followed every time, and stopped for a while to mouth at your nipples through the fabric of your dress as his hands caressed your stomach. He was crouching, the position clearly uncomfortable but he kept going until he was on his knees right in front of you. He looked up for a second. You couldn’t breathe.

You said his name with a broken voice, and he smiled :

‘I got you.’

And nuzzled tenderly in between your thighs, his hands up and down your legs, that dress still a barrier between your skin and his.

You were going to die.

‘Bed’ you croaked.

But Frankie didn’t get up, and started lifting your dress, touching your skin as he went. A man on a mission. He didn’t bother to remove your underwear, moving it aside with a deft finger. He put his mouth on you, then, and you,

You were gone.

Then he put a first finger, then a second, into you and suddenly you never ever wanted to leave this moment. He wasn’t moving his fingers, but that was enough. You eyes were closed, but the thought of him on in knees in front of you, two fingers inside yours, filling you, as he was eating you out was enough to make you come.

You slumped against the door as he got up, put his forehead against yours as you said :

‘Bed, now.’

He wasn’t moving, so you put a hand on his hard cock and emphasized :

‘Bed, now.’

———

He took his time undressing you, even though you were only wearing a dress and your panties. He took his time looking at you, too. He was still really dressed, so you whined his name.

‘Yeah ?’ Was the answer, as his hands traveled along the inside of your naked legs. When he got to your core, he put a finger inside, again, and licked again. Just one stroke. You felt like crying. Thankfully, he started undressing. He wasn’t putting on a show but if felt like one, so you tried and closed your legs to relieve the raw tension you were feeling but he nudged your legs apart in an instant.

You grabbed from a condom in your nightstand and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw the one you took wasn’t outdated. It’d been a while. Frankie snatched it from your hands and put it on. He leaned over you, then, and, hands on your shoulders, ready, he said, voice wavering :

‘I’m gonna need to know you really want this.’

You hooked your legs around his body and an answer, and though he got the message, he took his time entering you too.

You’d known, by now, where he liked to kiss and lick - the wrist, the neck … As it turned out, he liked doing that everywhere the skin was soft and sensitive. That’s how you found out that him licking your nipples turned you on, but his tongue pressing right at the junction of your breast and your ribcage set you on fire. It was at that moment too that you learned Frankie loved being praised, his grunts almost turning to whines when you mumbled about how good he was, your mouth pressed to his ear.

Time lost all meaning, allowing you to discover a new Frankie.

Sexual intimacy is very different from other types of intimacy, you’d always thought. Even though you figured Frankie didn’t hug Santi the same way he hugged you, you knew Pope knew the warmth of Frankie’s body against him. The faces and the noises Frankie were making now, though, were all yours.

You’d allowed yourself to be called Frankie’s girl even before anything happened, but now, as he came with his teeth grazing the skin of your neck and then licking, you allowed yourself to acknowledge that this moment was yours. Yours only.

After a second mind-blowing orgasm and a trip to the bathroom - peeing after this is mandatory, Francisco - you found him, standing still, in the bed, fingers tapping on his thigh, muscles tense, almost ready to jump at any sudden movement.

‘What is it, Frankie ?’ You asked, approaching slowly, but not quite touching the bed. When you found his eyes, though, you joined him without any hesitation. They were wild with desperation and fear. A hand on his arm to try to ground him, bring him back to you, you repeated the question.

‘Can we take this slow ?’ He asked, with a small voice.

He quickly added, as if he were afraid you’d get offended.

‘It’s not you I’m not sure about. It’s me. And with my baby girl, and all of the thing’s I’ve done and …’

You kissed his cheek, then.

Frankie Morales was in your bed, a man who’d been touching you way more than was appropriate for friends to touch each other and still a bit too much for a couple in public, and he was suddenly asking you to go slow. You looked at his face, put a thumb against his jaw and your mouth on his ear and whispered :

‘Of course.’

Because he’d just thrown his daughter into the mix. It wasn’t just him grabbing you in public until it made even Santi uncomfortable. It was a next step to take. And truth be told, you weren’t quite sure you were ready yourself.

———

Slow, for Frankie, meant late night talks, serious talks. You’d be lying in bed, letting your body melt into the mattress after sex when he’d pop a question that would lead to an hour of talking.

Because Frankie planned everything. In bed, he always surprised you, trying new things which you’d first thought were spur-of-the-moment ideas, but realized quickly were actually things he’d given a lot of thoughts beforehand. And, to be honest ? It made you quite hot under the collar to picture Frankie, stroking his cock, in his bed - bed you’d yet to see - deeply thinking about what he wanted to do with you and to you. You found that out a few weeks after your first date, when you shyly mentioned a man had never pushed you against a door and gotten on his knees to eat you out before.

‘Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on you inviting me in, but I thought about what I would do if you did. And I really wanted to do that.’

‘Eat me out ?’

He hummed, and, after a beat, added :

‘Get on my knees for you, too.’

He said that casually, like it was not one of the hottest things anyone had ever said to you, like he didn’t just admit it was something he’d thought about before the date. The whole thing turned you on so much you left the bed in a hurry, urging him to get up so you could repay him in kind.

Just like with sex, Frankie planned everything. And just like with sex, he always made sure you were on board. You came to understand he had a plan for every step he planned on taking with you. You let him. You let him ask questions.

Things were good.

Everyone knows what comes after that sentence when a tale is told. And this tale was no exception.

The first one, you’d been expecting : you didn’t know why Linda had come here. She told you one grey evening, as you were helping her cook, her kitchen smelling of garlic and spices.

‘I never made it to City Hall.’ She suddenly said.

You turned toward her, wondering if you’d missed a part of the conversation. You’d been worried, lately, as Frankie didn’t seem quite like himself, and that made you distracted.

’Come again ?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I wasn’t exactly honest with you, and I don’t know why I never mentioned it, but I dated someone for a while. It was serious. Like, you know, you and me used to be.’

You kept cooking, just to keep your hands busy, and hummed to show her you’d heard her.

‘But it wasn’t like you and me. You and me were always on the same page, remember ? It’s not that I fought with her a lot. It’s just that we didn’t want the same things in life. And well, you know how I feel about marriage, right ? But she kept nagging.’

She stopped pretending she was focused on cooking, at that point, and turned to you. You did the same.

‘Hey, let’s drink something.’ You offered.

Linda nodded. As you went to the fridge to get whatever she had - you saw a bottle of your favorite one but chose hers instead, feeling she’d need it - she went on :

‘So, one night, we kinda … compromised. She said yes to a thing I wanted, and I said yes to a thing she wanted.’

‘What was it that you wanted ?’ You inquired, curious, as you poured the wine.

‘A kid.’

That made you freeze. Linda had never wanted kids. She saw the look on your face and explained :

‘I never lied to you about that. I didn’t want kids either when I was with you, but a couple of years after we broke up, I had a change of heart about that. Actually tried on my own until I met Jodie. But she didn’t want kids.’

Relieved, you nodded, before the implications of what she’d said kicked in :

‘So wait, you agreed to the wedding and she …’

‘She agreed to the kid.’

Well, that was fucked up. Linda knew it, apparently, because she went on :

‘That should have been a red flag on its own, but we went for it. Obviously, it takes way less time to get an appointment to City Hall than it does to have a kid, no matter what kind of path you choose. So it’s wedding day, and I’m ready. I think I am. And then my sister shows up.’

You took a second there to remember Kara, who’d gotten you a dildo on your birthday because I know you girls will have fun with it, all in front of friends and family. She was just like that : she put you in the spotlight, in awkward positions, just enough to make you uncomfortable at the moment, but never enough not to think back with fondness (and it was a great gift, as a matter of fact you still had it, and used it). Kara always spoke her mind. Somehow, you had an idea where this was going.

‘Kara told me not to do it. We argued a lot, that day, and you know how ugly things can get when we do that. But in the end … she was right. But instead of telling Jodie that, I just … I ran. I went back to our place, took some stuff of mine, and left.’

You took your time to process that piece of information, because it was very unlike Linda to avoid honest discussions and confrontations. In answering, you settled with :

‘Why are you telling me this now ?’

‘Because she’s never stopped looking for me, and she finally found me. She’s here.’

Well, fuck.

On the one hand, you didn’t want Linda to have to go through any shit. On the other hand, you felt that the poor lady deserved an explanation.

‘Have you seen her ?’

‘No, but I’ve been told. I don’t know what to do. I owe her … I just …’

You sipped your wine as you thought about it.

‘She knows about me ?’

The grimace on her face was all the answer you needed. Yes and not a fan.

‘Meet her at the bar, on a Thursday night. It’s not too crowded, but Anna will be here with me. She can step in if you need her to. But you need to talk to that woman, Linda.’

‘I know.’

You refilled the two glasses, and then, as an afterthought, you pondered out loud :

‘So, you are Javier Peña.’

She shoved you playfully at that.

‘You’re such a nerd.’

‘Hey, you’ve seen that show too.’

‘Yeah, because you made me.’

———

This had been big information enough to swallow, and Linda’s despair was so obvious you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to be there for her and empathize with her, but apparently it was the goddamn season of couples (or former ones) with problems because two days later, James was on your doorstep, luggage in hand, and the only thing he said when you opened the door was :

‘Jessie’s fucking scumbag of a boyfriend is hitting her.’

You didn’t know what to do then, because you’d just opened a text from Pope that explained why you’d seen less of Frankie those days and your brain was foggy and you had no idea what to do with yourself because it was all in all too much. You let James in and asked :

‘How do you know ?’

And then

‘What are we going to do ?’

But your mind kept rereading that text, even though you had to push it aside because if James was right then you needed to focus on Jessie.

The answer to those questions were thankfully quite easy.

How do you know ?

‘She told me.’

What are we going to do ?

‘Beat the shit out of him.’

You both knew it wasn’t that simple, but you knew it’d end up that way, since the only solution you had in mind was to talk to Will - sweet Will who’d never hurt a fly except he had done way worse than hurt a fly in his life, and would not hesitate to destroy Jessie’s boyfriend.

With all of that, you felt like you were drowning, because your friends were hurting and you didn’t know what to do to help, but also because you had ti learn from Santi something Frankie never said.

Somehow (you repeated it to yourself in Poe Dameron’s voice to try and laugh at it even if it didn’t work) Frankie’s ex had returned.

--------

Taglist :

I'm tagging @pedritobalmando because I don't remember if she just wants to be tagged on Delightful or on everything but y'all, don't be shy : if you want to be tagged, just ask. Also, I might have forgotten people. I apologize : I'm working 50 hours this week, and I'm tired.

#frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #Pedro pascal #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie 'catfish' Morales x reader

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thecomposerofstories · 3 years

Text

Information on Amy.

(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)

~General Information~

Fandom: Toy Story.

Name: Amy the Ragdoll.

Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)

Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.

City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.

Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.

Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol

~Physical Appearance~

Height: 10 inches.

Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eye colour: Black.

Skin tone: Light.

Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.

Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.

~Speech/Language/Communication~

Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.

First language: English.

Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)

Accent: American.

Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.

~Behaviour/Habits~

Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.

Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.

Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.

Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.

Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.

Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.

Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.

Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.

~The Past~

Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.

Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.

She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)

Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.

But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.

They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)

Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?

Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.

Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)

Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.

Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.

Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.

~Family~

The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.

Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.

~Relationships~

Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.

Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.

Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.

What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.

What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.

~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~

Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.

Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.

But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.

Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.

Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.

It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”

Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.

Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.

Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.

Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.

Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.

Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.

Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.

~Likes/Favourites~

Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.

Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.

Favourite Book Quotation(s):

“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”

Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.

Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.

Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.

~Relationships with other characters~

~Rex~

- Hit it off pretty quickly.

- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.

- Both become very stressed without the other around.

- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.

- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).

- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.

~Jessie~

- Became friends pretty quickly.

- Will drag Amy along anywhere.

- Get along fairly well.

- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.

- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).

- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.

- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.

~Hamm~

- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.

- Surprisingly good pals.

- Have full conversations without saying anything.

- Like to sit and look out of the window together.

- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).

- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.

~The Potato Heads~

- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.

- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.

- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.

~Woody~

- Are aquianteces.

- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.

~Buzz~

- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)

- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.

- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.

~Mr. Prickle Pants~

- Are absolute BFF’s.

- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.

~Bo Peep~

- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.

- (She has)

- They later become good friends.

- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.

#amy the ragdoll #toy story #oc #toy story oc #character information #original character #oc's #ocs #character development #fan character

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