#jesus is nothing more than the turkey you bought for yourself on thanksgiving and nothing more.

[snekdood]

that post about "the only good jew is a dead jew" in regards to jesus specifically is so fuckin real. the only way christians will accept anything about their beliefs stemming from judaism and worship any of the people mentioned is if they die horribly at the hands of romans. its almost like a subtle indirect threat, or a dogwhistle even- the imagery they worship is of a dead jewish man on a cross, and then i can imagine them opening their eyes after prayer, smiling, and looking directly at their jewish friend, almost as a way to be like "if you step out of line, you're next".

[shes-soparticular]

Darling, So it Goes

You take Shawn home for an American Thanksgiving. Your childhood bedroom gets more than it bargained for.

Warning(s): Heavy Smut.

A/N: A little fluff, a little smut. SlightlyOlder!Reader.

Words: 4440

It took months of begging, but you finally succumbed to your mother’s plea to make a trip home for Thanksgiving. You hadn’t been back to your hometown since your move to Toronto at the beginning of the year and you had to admit the nostalgia of an old-fashioned American holiday had gotten the best of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your family, it was your apprehension about bringing your boyfriend home. They’d met Shawn before, sure, but always on your terms and while on their best behavior. You knew the atmosphere wouldn’t be quite the same once everyone was wine drunk around the dinner table, delving into political arguments and dredging up stories of your youthful fuckups. Not to mention, you’d never really brought anyone home before despite being well into your mid-twenties. There was no telling what kind of awkward, prying questions your mom might ask, what offensive jokes your dad would inflict, or the droning on of your older brother and dead stares from your sister-in-law. You chastised yourself internally for thinking of your family so negatively, but you just really, REALLY needed this holiday to go off without a hitch. Mostly for your own sanity. You knew deep down you had nothing to worry about – Shawn’s Canadian manners would dazzle everyone and he’d be a good sport about their neurotic behavior. But you still held your breath all the way through the pumpkin pie, until you could finally sneak off to your childhood bedroom with Shawn in tow.

You’d tried your hardest to book a hotel room for the weekend but after receiving the catholic guilt trip of the century from your mother, you begrudgingly agreed to stay with them. As you flipped on the light, you instantly felt regret churning in your stomach along with the turkey. The bright lavender walls, the stuffed animals arranged meticulously on your canopy bed, the numerous photos of every awkward stage you ever went through tacked to the walls. Jesus, the plastic glow in the dark stars were even still stuck to the ceiling after twenty plus years. Without needing to look at him, you already knew Shawn had the biggest smirk on his face. He was going to eat this up.

“So…this is…words escape me.” He brushes past you to pick up a Care Bear off your bed, taunting you with it. ShareBear looked so strange in Shawn’s tattooed grip, an odd juxtaposition of two things that brought you the most comfort. Granted, ShareBear really didn’t succeed at keeping you warm late at night.

“Give me that,” You say with a huff, reaching out to wrangle the bear away from him, tossing it unceremoniously on the floor. Throwing yourself on to your bed, you grimace at the squeaking of the springs. This was certainly mid-western “roughing it” at its most cliché. At some point you had become accustomed to the plush beds and obscenely high thread counts of high-end hotels. You’d become so spoiled that just the sight of your pill-y Beauty and the Beast sheets and bleach stained bath towels made you cringe. It also crossed your mind that you DEFINITELY weren’t sleeping in Disney sheets in high school and that your mother specifically chose those as a very rude, but very creative cockblocking measure. While you got to work kicking all of your stuffed animals off the bed, Shawn wandered about your room on his own. Quietly studying the photos of your middle school birthday parties, the saved movie stubs and concert tickets still stuck to your mirror, the participation trophies from JV volleyball. Suddenly, you felt a little vulnerable. When Shawn was in high school, he was already playing stadium tours with the likes of Taylor Swift. In your high school days, you were mostly consumed with binge watching Gossip Girl and eating raw cookie dough with your girlfriends. You had an exceedingly mediocre high school career and it felt glaringly evident as you saw your bedroom through Shawn’s eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Knowing you, it’s not what I was expecting. You were so…innocent.” He turns so that you can see his bemused expression. “I mean who is this girl? I don’t think I know her.”

“Open the closet. Back right corner. Cardboard box marked “books”.” You point him in the right direction, already grinning to yourself knowing what he’ll find there. Shawn quickly unearths the box, carrying it to your bed to dump out the contents. As you expected, a half empty bottle of Sailor Jerry’s rolls out, along with several ancient, unsmoked joints, and a few other odds and ends you’d stashed away. While you reach for one of the joints, his fingers snatch something else out of the pile.

“Is this a cherry flavored condom? You hate cherry.” If he looked bemused before, he looks downright delighted now.

“Hence it being in the pile, my love. Who in the world wants a dick to taste like cough medicine?” You hop off the bed, a joint and matchbook in hand, headed for your window. “All of the strawberry ones, on the other hand, are long gone.”

His eyebrows raise comically high and you can only imagine what he’s picturing in that moment. You know you shouldn’t be leading him to believe you were some unapologetic slut in high school, considering that’s fairly far from the truth, but messing with his head is your all-time favorite hobby. Considering there’s nothing else to do with the rest of the night, he won’t be getting a break from your mind games. Lighting up the joint, you take a long, satisfying drag, blowing the smoke out into the black night sky. You pass it to him while he continues to absent mindedly tour your room like it’s an ancient antiquities gallery at the Met.

“Who’s this loser?” You glance over to see Shawn holding a polaroid of you and a short-lived high school boyfriend. A guy you’re pretty sure still works the concession stand at the local movie theater and never stopped scamming on underage chicks.

“Ohhhh, Chad, what a blast from the past.” You snatch the photo from his hand, giving it a faux adoring look. “He fingerbanged me in a McDonald’s parking lot, it was the worst.”

“You’re telling me you were a freak even back then, eh?” His smirk is growing by the second, pulling open your underwear drawer to peruse all of the embarrassing cotton panties plastered with Victoria’s Secret Pink logos and phrases. The way the joint is dangling from his lips causes a familiar stir between your legs, but you quickly remind yourself that your parents room is right across the hall.

“It was prom. Everyone gets romantic on prom night.” You shrug your shoulders with an eyeroll, plucking the joint from his lips. Looking him in the eyes while you inhale, you rise on to your tip toes and pull his face towards yours to bridge the absurd height difference. Holding the smoke in your mouth momentarily, you press your lips to his softly, letting the smoke drift from your tongue to his. Shawn groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss and casually backing you towards your double bed. But the night is young and you wriggle out of his grasp before your back can hit those Beauty and the Beast sheets. “A guy pays for your limo, you throw him a fingerbang.”

“I’ve been in several limos with you and there have been zero parking lot fingerbangs.” He looks genuinely disappointed, as if you haven’t straight up fucked him in one of said limos. However, his expression changes as he holds up a pair of green panties with the words “Irish Boys Only” written across the ass. “Oh really? I beg to differ.” Balling them up in his hands, he tosses them overhand into the small waste basket across the room. “That’s where those belong.”

“Hey! I could have worn those to Niall’s next show.” You’re already laughing before you can finish the sentence, knowing you’re playing with fire by making such a statement. Shawn pretends not to hear you, but conveniently steps over to the waste basket to ash the spent joint over the discarded panties. Throwing you a heated glance in the process, eyes narrowed but still bright. He turns his attention back to your closet, thumbing through all of the old clothes that still hadn’t made it to Goodwill. When his fingers stop on a mass of pale pink tulle, you pray he’ll keep moving right along. Instead, he hands the joint back to you once more and reaches in to liberate the dress from the depths of your closet. You swear that monstrosity hasn’t seen the light of day since that McDonald’s parking lot.

“Oh god, I DARE you to put this on.” A deep chuckle escapes him, thanks in part to the weed, and he reaches out to grab your hip. “I can’t explain it, but I need to see you in this dress. It just. I can’t. Look at this thing!” No, you don’t know what you were thinking when you bought that dress. The strapless, fitted bodice has far, far too many rhinestones and the tulle skirt is obnoxiously large. It almost has a “Cinderella dressed by a Drag Queen” vibe and your cheeks go a little red just looking at it. Normally you’d refuse, but you’re just high enough, just content enough, that you’re willing to put on that hideous dress just to let your boyfriend have a laugh. He made it through an American Thanksgiving with your family, so if this is the least you can do to make his night, it’s worth it.

“Fine.” You throw him a pout as a last-ditch effort, but he stands firm. As the slightest bit of vengeance, you take your time peeling off your sweater and shimmying out of your jeans. “You’re going to have to help me with this demon, you know.” You reach out to unzip the back of the dress and then stand up straight in just your bra and panties, arms held up in the air, motioning for him to lower the dress on top of you. He obliges, despite a bit of difficulty, and your arms and head eventually clear the mess of tulle. You pull the bodice in place, adjusting your breasts into the right placement and then turn around. “Zip me up, please.” His fingertips are tentative against the zipper, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin at the small of your back and sending shivers up your spine. It seems to take an achingly long time, but he finally drags the zipper all the way up, hands dropping to your waist to slowly turn you around.

              “Let me see you, baby.” You’re not sure exactly how or why, but the energy in the room has markedly changed. It’s like by osmosis this dress delivered all of the nervous, tentative feelings you associated with being a teenage girl. Despite the yards of fabric, you felt naked under his gaze. His deep brown eyes traveled the length of you, his lips parted ever so slightly. Clearly, you’re not the only one being oddly affected by this dress. “You look…damn, I don’t know. This is making me weirdly soft?” He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath as if you’re standing in front of him clad in dirty French lingerie rather than a Quinceañera reject. “Come here.” His strong hands pull you against him, moving up your sides and lifting your arms to bring them up over his shoulders. “Dance with me?”

              You’re about to comment on the fact that there’s no music and maybe move to grab your phone and find a song, but before you can give it a moment’s thought, his hands are back on your waist, his forehead pressed against yours. Ever so softly, he starts humming the familiar tune of Can’t Help Falling in Love, knowing full well what that song does to you. Your body just about melts into him as he starts singing the words into your ear, the two of you swaying in the middle of your lavender walled bedroom. All at once your heart feels as though it’s going to burst out of your chest, your rib cage incapable of suppressing the unnatural amount of love you have for this man. You must have been a saint in a past life, there’s no other way of explaining how you could be so fucking lucky. It’s nearly impossible for you to let him finish the song, your lips making a trail across his jaw before you finally rest your head in the crook of his neck. You would have never pictured this moment, would have never considered doing anything with that dress other than burning it, but here you are. And you swear you’ve never been more in love.

              As he finishes the song, you can’t decide whether you’re desperate to hear more of that beautiful voice or desperate to have his lips on yours. Instead, you leave it up to him to decide and aren’t entirely shocked when his lips meet yours. His kiss is balanced between tenderness and urgency, deeply reminiscent of the first kiss you two shared what feels like a lifetime ago. That’s what’s so surreal about standing in this bedroom, in this dress, talking about a time before Shawn. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s hard for you to feel connected to a time in your life before he was a part of it. You certainly weren’t the type of woman to judge your entire existence by a man, but you could at least admit to yourself (and to the entire world, if they really wanted to know) that you weren’t fully yourself until you had him by your side. The way he’s cradling you in his arms now, you know the feeling is mutual. Barely breaking the kiss, he sighs against your lips, “You really do look gorgeous in this dress.” Your cheeks blush a deep red, as if you’re hearing this from your middle school crush rather than a man that’s seen every inch of your body a few thousand times. “And you know what else?”

You finally pull away to look up into his eyes, that signature curl falling forward onto his forehead. “Hmmm?”

He raises his hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You deserved to have been made love to that night.” You don’t break your gaze, but you’re pretty fucking surprised your knees haven’t totally given out. It’s hard to believe that these words, these delicate touches, are coming from the same man that made you listen to him burp the alphabet the day before and sometimes insisted on doggy style so he could watch the Maple Leafs highlights. You almost don’t notice one hand dropping from your face to linger on the zipper to your dress. “May I?”

              You’re absolutely speechless, so a nod must suffice. He unzips the dress almost as slowly as he’d zipped it up not long before, taking his time, making you wait. As soon as the dress has fallen into a pink pool at your feet, he picks you up in one fell swoop, laying you gently on the bed that had been covered in stuffed animals not long before. He’s not far behind, hovering over you carefully, the springs of your bed whining in protest at the combined weight of your bodies. You ignore the sound and pull his face to yours anyways, alternating between slow, lingering kisses and the needier, hungrier variety. Oddly, as though you really have regressed to being teenaged again, you could absolutely settle for just an all-night makeout session. There’s something so intoxicating about the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his solid chest pressing against yours, you just never want that feeling to end. Of course, the fire between your legs vehemently disagrees with that sentiment, aching to be touched and filled in every possible way. As always, he manages to read your body (i.e. the way your hips keep arching into his seeking friction) and he responds in kind. His lips start making their descent down your throat, grazing across your collarbone, only stopping briefly at the top of the cups of your bra to rid you of the offending garment. Just as he’s about to take a nipple into his mouth, you stop him. “Your shirt. Can you take it off?” You’re itching for skin to skin contact, the pleading tone evident in your voice. Sitting up briefly, he pulls the henley over his head, your eyes immediately glued to his abs as they appear before you. Instinctively, your right hand slips down your stomach to touch yourself at the sight of him, but he catches your hand at the last possible second.

“Let me take care of you, honey,” He chuckles, knowing all too well how impatient you get. Kissing the back of your hand, he pins it above your head, resuming his pathway down your body. The warmth of his tongue encases your nipple, followed by the grazing of his teeth. It elicits a moan out of you, loud enough that you can barely hear his hushed voice. “Babe, you can’t be loud.” There’s a severity in his voice but you can see the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He lives to drive you wild, and even if he doesn’t want to clue your family in on what he’s doing to you, he can’t help but be satisfied with drawing those noises out of you. Seemingly in direct opposition to his warning, his fingers find their way under your panties, pulling them aside and running up and down your already slick folds and teasing your clit. It’s nearly impossible for you to keep your mouth shut, but somehow you manage, keeping it to a quiet gasp as his first finger enters you. You’re already wondering how the hell you’re going to stay quiet as his finger curls upwards inside of you, when you feel his tongue begin to trace your clit, adding insult to injury. Gritting your teeth, you swear you can feel him smiling against your pussy, already smug with how you’re coming undone before he’s really gotten started. You’re about to protest when he removes his finger, but he quickly replaces it with two, pumping them into you slowly, stretching you in preparation of what’s to come. His mouth continues its assault on your clit, alternating between gentle licks and sucking until your eyes roll back in your head. You’ve never talked about it, but you’re fairly certain he has a habit of tracing his name on your clit. His full name. Over and over. It isn’t long before you can feel your orgasm building, your throat almost burning as you try to stifle your moans. He holds your hips to the bed, his biceps bulging with the effort to keep your bucking at bay. While he may be able to squat 300lbs, he’s almost no match for your hips when his tongue is ravaging your clit that way. When it’s clear you can’t hold on any longer, he presses his fingers against that sacred place inside of you and ruthlessly sucks your clit, hard, until you come so hard your legs spasm and you have to bury your face into your pillow to stop from screaming out. Deviously, he flattens his tongue with one last lick as you start to come back down, causing a shudder to run through your entire body. Chest heaving, you glance down at him, shaking your head. “You’re such an asshole.” But the enormous, satisfied grin on your face contradicts your admonishment. “Get up here.” You crook your finger in a come-hither motion, already pulling at his arms to coax him back up your body. Ready to roll him over so that you can return the favor, he stops and pins your hands behind your head once more.

“You know how much I love that smart mouth of yours, but right now? I’m dying to be inside you.” Part of you wants to argue, wants the opportunity to showcase your own oral talents, but you can’t exactly deny that you’re equally as anxious to have him buried deep in your core. So instead, you nod a little too enthusiastically and frantically reach for his jeans. It’s a bit difficult to get rid of them, considering he’s already grinding into you and not allowing you much room to work with, but somehow you’re able to free him from all clothing. He manages to kick off his jeans and Calvins on to the pile of your discarded stuffed animals, quickly pulling your panties down to join them. Once again, you shamefully feel like a horny teenager, unable to keep your hormones in check. Surprisingly, he manages the restraint to slow down for a moment, one hand coming up to rest under your head. He gives you a long look, as though he’s trying to memorize your face in that moment, the placement of every freckle, the shape of your swollen lips, the dazed, post-orgasm look in your eyes. Pressing his forehead against yours, your lips barely brush. “I’m so in love with you. In case you didn’t know.” As you lift your chin to kiss him, you feel the slow, satisfying burn of him entering you. You have to swallow a moan as he inches his way inside, stopping only when he’d bottomed out. He stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, before setting a slow and steady pace.

Raising your legs to wrap around him, you let one hand tangle in his hair while whispering sweet words of admiration and encouragement in his ear. “God, you make me feel so good. So, so, so good.” These words urge him to increase his pace ever so slightly, but your childhood bed immediately objects, squeaking with all of its might. He freezes on top of you, using every ounce of strength not to return right back to his thrusts. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We just have to go slow.” He takes a deep breath and nods in agreement, returning to his former pace, trying to be as slow and deliberate as he can to appease your mattress. Several minutes pass as you grind into one another carefully, the friction still immensely gratifying. Regardless, you need more, you need to feel him pounding into you the way only he can. “Fuck this. Carpet?”

“Oh god, thank you,” He sighs in relief, picking you up without pulling out of you. Placing you carefully on the carpeted floor, he instantly plunges into you with the speed you’re both craving. Not expecting this, you cry out his name without thinking. This time he doesn’t stop his movements, but he does bring up a hand to cover your mouth. “If you do that, it defeats the purpose of us being on the floor.” Nevertheless, he thrusts directly into your g spot, knowing full well you’re not going to be able to keep your composure when he does that. Rather than letting out another cry, you stop yourself by sinking your teeth right into the swallow tattoo on the hand covering your mouth. Not hard enough to draw blood or leave a lasting mark, just enough to teach him a lesson. However, the joke is on you as the bite only spurs him on, his hips driving into yours with renewed energy.

Incidentally, you’ve reached a point of such reckless abandon that you don’t care who hears you. You couldn’t care less whether your screams woke up the entire family, or the entire neighborhood for that matter. Your parents could have easily let you stay in a hotel as you’d begged to. So truthfully, they were getting what they bargained for. What did they expect from their adult daughter and her fucking underwear model boyfriend? There was no way a noisy mattress and Beauty and the Beast sheets were ever going to stop you two from finding an opportunity to bang. Chanting Shawn’s name, quietly at first but growing louder, you dig your nails into his back hoping that will somehow stop you from full on shouting. You can tell by the way the veins in his biceps are pulsing and the set of his jaw that he’s not going to be able to hold out much longer. Needing release for both of you, he brings his thumb to your clit, massaging it in quick circles until he feels the telltale sign of your orgasm as your walls contract violently around him. That’s more than enough to bring his release, as your name falls from his lips with one long moan as he fills you. Weak, he lets himself collapse on top of you, still twitching inside of you as your sweaty chests heave together, desperate for air. Once you’ve both had a chance to breathe, you pull him in for a long, appreciative kiss. “I’m so in love with you too, in case you didn’t know.” He smiles against your lips, returning the kiss until you both hear someone shutting the bathroom door down the hallway.

“I’m not going to be invited back after this, am I?” He laughs quietly, reluctantly moving off of you and breaking your connection. Carefully, he pulls you up off the floor, taking a minute to inspect the rug burns on your back. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry, does it hurt?” As he gingerly runs his fingers down your reddened back, you try to hide a wince.

“It was worth it, trust me.” You reassure him with one more loving kiss before taking his hand to pull him back into bed with you. “And yes, you’ll be invited back. They know we’re a package deal now. They can’t deny that you make me very, very happy.” Curling up together in those old, scratchy sheets and looking upwards to the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, you can’t help but feel overwhelmingly thankful. Completely exhausted, you snuggle into his chest, letting out one last yawn as you prepare for sleep to overtake you.

“Babe?” You assumed he’d already fallen asleep, but you manage to let out a hum to let him know you’re still listening. “I think I love American Thanksgiving.” You can’t help but giggle softly into his chest, giving him a soft love bite.

“Oh yeah? Just wait until Fourth of July…”

tagging @fourtristattoos for boyfriend!week

[crue-sixx]

Is This A Zombie?

Title: Is This A Zombie?

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue Movie)

Summary: The reader is a zombie, but with all of her senses in place.  How will she explain to her crush Tom Zutaut that she's the living dead?

Note: Tom Zutaut needs some love.  Also, reader is bi-sexual.

Warnings: zombies, dead things coming to life, swearing, drinking, drug use, sexual references, mention of self harm and abandonment.  If you are sensitive to any of this, please don't read.

DEATH:

You woke up with a gasp and you were utterly confused.  One second you were in nothing but darkness but now you were in a well lit semi-medical place.  You heard a scream of fright as you whipped your head around to see a person in hospital scrubs sprawled out on the floor, their equipment scattered around them.  "Jesus Christ shut the fuck up already!" you shouted above the person's screams. Your voice sounded hoarse like you'd been sick or something. They stopped and stared at you in total horror.

"Alright then" you swung your legs around and tried to hop off the rather uncomfortable bed but your legs buckled and snapped under your weight, the strange thing was that you didn't feel any pain.  You just marveled at your twisted legs and said "Now if you'll stop being a little bitch for a few moments. would you kindly tell me what's happening to my body?"

The person pulled off their mask and you could tell from the Adam's Apple that it was a man "Your legs broke because of rigor mortise" his fear turned into awe as he looked you up and down.  "You're dead..."

You should have been scared shitless, but you just gazed at them and asked "Can you set them right?"

"Erm...yes...I can reconstruct the bones and put splints on your legs until you can move them freely again..."

"Cool" you sat up "Now if you'll please help me back on the metal slab, could you tell me how I died?" you were now more interested in all things morbid.

LIFE:

You were visiting your cousin Vince while you were in town, the two of you tearing it up.  You two smoked, drank and injected whatever you could get your hands on.  It was always like this, even when you two were growing up.  You were his favorite substance abuse buddy and he was yours.  You did a whole lot of stupid shit together, including pissing off whoever got in the way of your good time.

You did however, have a penchant for being attracted to nerdy boys.  Where Vince loved the big titted mud wrestling blonde bimbos, you craved socially awkward males with above average intelligence.  You saw nothing but bliss when Tom Zutaut walked to your table at the Rainbow all professional like you were struck with cupid's arrow.

You laughed along with Vince and his friends when Zutaut jumped and fixed his fly, turning down a free blowjob was hilarious but you found it charming at the same time.  You, Vince and his friends were far from "normal" but even you had turned down some drunken bitch's advances from time to time because she was so trashed that she could barely walk.  In those cases, you'd help her friends get her to where she was going safely.

The royal dick sucker however, wasn't at all inebriated so after Tom had left you put your hand under the table with a crisp brand new fifty dollar bill in it and said "Hey, Sweetheart?"

The curly haired blonde poked her head from under the tablecloth "Yeah Dollface?"

"That clit isn't going to suck itself you know" all the boys around you chuckled, the curly blonde smiled and took the fifty, getting to work on you.  Nikki and Tommy both high fived either one of your hands and grinned at each other on the promise that you'd let them both watch while you were being pleasured, them slipping under the table to enjoy the show.

Later a small bottle of what you assumed to be alcohol was placed on the table, from seemingly nowhere.  You snatched it up and slipped it in your purse for later consumption when you got a private moment to yourself.  That moment wouldn't come however, as when all the rest of them but you and Vince were passed out he had went through your purse to see if you had any more crack for him to snort.  "Y/N what the fuck is this?" he teased, shaking the bottle.

"That's mine" you said, taking the bottle from him.

"Then why does it have my name on it?" he pointed to the printed "VINCE" on the label.  

"Maybe that's the name of the drink, dumbass" you teased back, taking a swig.  You didn't even swallow before you started coughing up blood.  "What the fuck?" 

"Y/N!  Fuck!" he leaped up to help you, to his horror a hole was burning through your throat.  You had drank a corrosive material thinking it was alcohol.  The smell of burning flesh was sickening, your vocal chords fried to shit, the only sound you could make was gasping for air.

The others had rousted from the noise and Tommy was on the phone with the ambulance.  You were crying as Vince kept applying pressure to the wound, him freaking the fuck out about the situation.  He lifted up the cloth he was using to replace it with a clean one, only to gag at the sight of the oozing wound in the middle of your neck.

You felt yourself sink into the floor, your vision going dark.  Vince's voice was getting distant like you were running away from him.  The last thing you saw was him being pushed out of the way and the paramedics taking over.

LIVING DEAD GIRL:

The medical examiner had said you had prevented an assassination attempt on Vince by drinking the corrosive acid in his place.  Though it was on accident, you had preferred it that way-he had a promising rock star career with the band and Electra Records.  You were just some girl living in her uncle's van while your parents didn't care what was going on with you-they turned you loose when you were twelve because they just simply didn't want you anymore.

You turned to drugs and alcohol to cope, you admit it was a bad way to cope but it was the only way that you could numb the pain of abandonment.  You tried cutting yourself, but the pain was still there even after the razor blade sliced your skin.  Of course Vince had found you during one of your episodes, cursed you out and bitch slapped you across the face to knock some sense into you.  He had set you on the path to substance abuse, but he thought it was better than you carving yourself up like a turkey dinner at Thanksgiving.

It was a few weeks before the medical examiner was able to give you artificial bones throughout your body so you'd be able to move around like normal and not clunky like a rusty robot.  In that time, you'd had your funeral, staying quiet as a church mouse in your casket.  Then you were buried in a family plot, dug up by the medical examiner (who by now you'd named Dr. Frankenstein) and had artificial bones and a showroom new set of vocal chords so you'd be able to talk normally again.

You were almost normal, except for the gaping hole in your neck that couldn't go away, even with skin grafts it just melted the new skin right off.  You had given up and decided on wearing scarves and neckerchiefs, even though you hated them.  You couldn't go out in public with that nasty wound on display.  You wanted to find that Zutaut kid, but first thing you wanted to do was scare the shit out of Vince and his friends.  A girl had to have her fun after all.

You knocked on the door to their apartment, Nikki answering the door and nearly shitting himself.  "What the fuck?!" he stumbled backward.  

You stepped over him and said "I see you finally fixed the door" Vince looked hurt and confused, him stuttering over his words like a frightened child-in many ways he was.  "Quiet now, Vinny" you cradled his head to your chest "I'm right here..."

"No" he pulled back gently "you're dead...we watched you die..."

"Dead as a door nail" you agreed and giggled "but I just couldn't stay dead" you reached out to try and touch his cheek, but he backed away.

"You're still so cold..." silent, horrified tears rolled down his face.

"Vince" you said softly "I never blamed any of you for letting me die..."  there was a hint of malice in your voice that wasn't there before.

Vince shook his head "You're not Y/N...she'd never say something like that..."

"Who else would I be Vinny?" you pulled off the scarf from your neck, exposing the wound.  His hand flew to his mouth and he fell back to the floor "doesn't this prove that I am Y/N L/N?" you straddled him and he tried to make himself smaller.  You were about to sink your teeth into him when you saw Tom Zutaut's business card covered in cocaine.

You picked it up and looked at it a little bit, then showed it to him "Call this nerd for me and tell him to meet me outside the Rainbow in an hour?"  he nodded his head in agreement and dialed.

Zutaut was there in under ten minutes, him being attracted to your confidence when he last saw you.  He didn't know you had died, and you didn't look like you were decaying, thanks to the mortician's amazing embalming job.  "Hey! Y/N!" he was happy to see you, you having put your scarf back on to hide your secret.  "Thanks for having Vince call me!  It's not very often I get asked on a date by a pretty girl like you!"

"Well, when I want something I grab it before anyone else can" you said, taking his arm.  "Where do you want to go?"

"Just walking is fine with me" he said "I was eating dinner when I got your call, but some ice cream sounds good" he led you through the park to an ice cream stand and bought you both a cone.  As you licked it, you felt the cold fall out the hole in your throat.

"Shit..." you whispered to yourself and cleaned up, thankful your scarf was absorbing the flow.

He stopped and looked at your scarf "It's almost 100 degrees outside, why are you wearing that thing?  Do you have some hickies you don't want me to see?"

"No" you said quickly "I have a rather nasty rash that's only contagious if you touch it, but it still looks unsightly so I don't want to gross you out"  you looked away shyly.

"Oh..." he turned away "so you like to party like a rockstar?"

"Hell yeah I do!" you laughed "but I can turn it off if you'd like.  I want to quiet down some..." you looked up at him with your big doe eyes "I wouldn't mind if it were with you. Tom" he gulped, leaning down to go in for a kiss.

It only took a few seconds of tasting you for him to roughly push you away and say "You taste like death!"  

You couldn't keep it together anymore-your mind and body.  You softly began crying to yourself, then the cries turned into a cackling witch's laugh.  You began to scratch at your face, the skin falling off in shreds.  "Damn it!  Damn it, damn it, damn it!"  Zutaut looked on in horror as you lumbered toward him.  "Just when I find a respectable boy, I just HAD to go and die!"  At this point, your mandible was starting to rot off and was hanging by a thread of skin.

You couldn't form words anymore, even if you had your mouth fully intact.  Your brain had been slowly rotting from the time you "woke up" to now, and your body was just catching up.  Tom had the good sense to run away when you started to change, but from behind the medical examiner took the sharp end of the shovel to take off your head.

He then took out a recording device and spoke "Professor Greene.  The reanimation experiment was a complete failure from the get-go.  The intended test subject was unable to be collected, the test subject we obtained was incompatible with our technology and deteriorated at a slow pace, which was to be expected from a fresh corpse.  I was shocked when she first woke up-I wasn't expecting the experiment to even get off the ground.  The concept was so far fetched that I thought it impossible.  At the time of termination, the subject had withered away into a rotting shell of her former self.  I was able to convince the gentlemen at the apartment she visited that they were having a very bad drug induced dream.  I will now suspend the experiment until a later date, but will keep an eye on subject Vince Neil until we are able to update the technology.  Signing off" he stowed the device and buried your body in the shallow grave he'd dug a few feet away.  He'd followed you to the place to observe you.

He had failed, but he'd just have to keep on trying.

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 236

In this we celebrate Thanksgiving from New Orleans to Long Island, and some have a jollier holiday than others!

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull for all of your amazing help and support <3

“Not too late to back out,” Bianca said, as their car service pulled up to her parents’ house outside New Orleans.

“It sort of feels like it’s too late…” Courtney answered.

“Nahh…” Bianca slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her close. “We can be at the Ritz in 25 minutes...room service...a fireplace…” Bianca kissed her neck as the driver unloaded their luggage.

Courtney rolled her eyes. “Let’s call that Plan B.”

Bianca grinned and let Courtney drag her out of the car. She held her hand, leading her up the walk, pausing for a second to say, “Brace yourself,” as she pushed open the door.

Courtney’s stomach was in knots. She had met a few of their family members before while she and Adore were in college, but this was different. She didn’t know whether it was good or bad that Adore wasn’t here - she’d chosen to spend the holiday with Alaska’s family in Pennsylvania. On the one hand, she’d have been another ally, but on the other hand, it may not help her cause for everyone to have a constant visual reminder that she’d started out as their baby sister’s best friend and was now dating their oldest sibling. She had a moment of panic when, swept up by a flurry of siblings and nieces and nephews and cousins, Bianca dropped her hand.

“Courtney! You look great, how’s it going?”

Courtney turned gratefully towards the familiar voice, giving Eddy a hug. “Hi! Thanks, how are you?”

“Pretty good, no complaints.”

“Congratulations, I hear you and Rose got engaged last week!”

“Yeah, well...you know, I finally accepted that you would never return my love, so…”

Courtney laughed, shaking her head. “Please stop, you’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

“Baby!” Bianca wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from Eddy. “Jesus Christ, I thought I’d never find you again. Come meet my sisters.”

Vanessa and Liz were polite, if slightly icy, looking Courtney up and down. “It’s lovely to meet you,” Vanessa said.

“That’s a cute dress, reminds me of that designer B’s friends with...what’s her name, Bianca?” Liz asked pointedly.

“Her name is Miss Fame, and that dress is Marc Jacobs. You nothing literally nothing about fashion,” Bianca replied, then turned to one of her cousin’s kids. “Chloe! Hi, pumpkin! How’s school?”

Courtney forced a sunny smile. “I don’t know the designers either. I just liked the print.”

“Right,” Liz said, with a slight eye roll.

“So Courtney, my daughter really likes your album,” Vanessa added. “I told her she had to wait a few years to watch the videos, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t listen.”

Courtney’s cheeks reddened a little. “Sorry.”

“I mean, it’s not your fault. They’re just a little racy for a seven year old. Hey, Maddie!” She beckoned her daughter over to them.

“Yeah…” Courtney cleared her throat as a girl with dimples and dark curled bounced over, hugging Bianca around the waist and looking up at her shyly.

Bianca lifted the seven year old off the ground.

“You’re Courtney, right?” she asked shyly.

“Hi, yeah, you must be Madison.”

The little girl’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”

“Well, I mean, I follow your mother on Instagram. So I get to see pictures of you all the time.”

“You /do/?”

“Yeah, I think your dog is really cute.” Courtney smiled, relieved to have someone else on her side, even a seven year old.

“I think YOUR dog is really cute! Oh my gosh, can they be friends?”

“Kylie would love that!”

Madison grinned. “Wanna see my American Girl Doll?”

“Definitely.” Courtney allowed the small child to lead her by the hand into the other room, thrilled to be stepping away from the mayhem.

***

“Sit still little man.” Katya smiled as she took a step back to admire her handywork.

Ivan was all dressed up, his chubby little cheeks red and his blonde hair water combed. Katya had bought his blue dress shirt and pants so he could match his daddy, Katya herself wearing the blue sky dress Trixie had made for her so many years back after she got out of rehab. Katya knew she should properly connect the dress to something sad, her time in upstate New York at the rehab clinic one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, her family abandoning her and the memories of the kind brown eyed man keeping her up at night as she had twisted and turned, but she didn’t. It had been made for her by a man that loved her, and she was going to wear it to every joyous occasion she could, and the first thanksgiving with her son was definitely just that.

Katya reached over and picked Ivan up, the little boy smiling his cute mostly toothless smile filling her with joy as he grabbed her hair. Katya laughed, gently freeing her blonde locks from her son’s grib.

“Let’s go show daddy how cute you are, huh?”

“Dada!”

“That’s right little man.” Katya kissed Ivan’s head and made her way towards the kitchen where Trixie was cooking up a feast with the help of Laila and Pearl.

***

“Apa kebar, are you sure I’m saying it right?”

“You’re saying it perfectly lovely eyes.” Sutan smiled as he walked up the steps to his mother's little yellow house, Violet’s hand in his, his girlfriend holding Frida’s leash and the small box that contained her gift to his mother. Sutan had tried to tell Violet time and time again that she didn’t have to bring anything for his mom, but his girlfriend still insisted every time, just like she stumbled through the greeting ritual of his culture, her words clumsy but her intend so clear you couldn’t do anything but love her.

Violet nodded, and Sutan reached out to ring the doorbell, his mom opening the door, a big smile on her face as she hugged them, Sutan getting kisses and warnings that he was getting too thin, Frida even treated to a gentle pet as his mom accepted Violet’s gift of a simple, but beautiful vintage headscarf in a pale yellow with a kiss to Violet’s cheek as well.

“Com in com in.” Mani stepped aside, letting the couple and their dog step inside. “Dinner almost done, eveyone in livingoom.” Mani opened the door, Raja and Raven already on the couch.

“Fame, what are you doing here?”

Sutan was so surprised to see his friend sitting in the armchair by the fire, that he didn’t see Violet’s face at all, his girlfriend's eyes widening in horror when she realised that it was indeed her boss, none other than Miss Fame herself, that was in the living room, her gigantic Great Dane napping on the carpet, the three woman playing cards while they waited for dinner.

***

‘’Can everyone go home already? My head hurts.” Betty was draped over the couch, her arm over her forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Kitty, hate to break it to you, but they’re not here yet.” Shane set some more plates on the table, preparing for the Thanksgiving dinner they were hosting for members of Bach Street Boys with their plus ones. Ruby had nearly suffocated Shane in a hug earlier when he told her that of course she can bring Max, no question about it.

The turkey was still in the oven, but mashes potatoes were already ready, along with gravy, cranberry sauce and an array of other delicious dishes they spend the entire morning making (Or, Shane did. Betty helped cut some vegetables until she announced her cold was getting better of her and she settled on the couch, downing her cold medicine with half a bottle of wine). She was currently half-sick, half-drunk and fully in an awful mood.

“What do you mean they’re not here? Are you making that much noise all by yourself? Ugh.”

At that exact moment, the doorbell rang and Shane hurried to the door to let in Raga and his girlfriend Evah, who carried a tray of pumpkin pie.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Are we first? I brought Ruby the cutest skirt from Japan, I swear she is going to /die/ when she tries it on. Is she really bringing that mysterious boyfriend of hers? Hey, Shane. Long time no see.”

“How was Japan, Evah?” Shane asked as the blue-haired girl climbed to her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Amazing as always. I brought stuff for you guys too, so no worries. Where’s Betty? Take this to the kitchen, will you, babe?” Evah practically shoved the tray of pie into Raga’s arms and pranced into the living room, leaving the men behind in the hallway.

“Must’ve missed her a lot, huh?” asked Shane, a little sarcastically. Evah was Raga’s high school sweetheart, a rising star of the e-sport community who made money hosting gaming livestreams. She was very into Japanese fashion and pop culture. Somehow Betty has learned the word ”weeaboo” and rarely called Evah anything else since.                                                                          

“House was quiet without her,” shrugged Raga, handing Shane the pie.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Betty craved death. Even though her fever went down slightly from the meds, her throat was in flames, her head ready to burst open and she also felt nauseous and dizzy from the wine. Evah was showing her photos from the convention in Tokyo she went on, but Betty could barely see anything because of her watery eyes.

“You know how many makeup Youtubers want to collab with me all of a sudden? I only do cosplay makeup, it’s a whole different world, you know? Bets, you okay? You don’t seem well.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m dying.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear about that. Maybe I’ll go help the boys in the kitchen then?” Evah awkwardly patted Betty’s arm, a gesture Betty completely ignored, and bounced away to the kitchen, her frilly skirt dancing in the air the last thing Betty saw before her eyelids closed.

The next time she opened her eyes, a freakishly tall man dressed in all black was standing right above her, pointing at something. ‘’Sorry, but what the hell is this?’’

“Max, come on. It’s Betty. She’s a little sick, obviously not her best day, give her a break,” winked Ruby from the table, raising a glass Betty’s way with a brilliant smile, visibly way too proud of her joke.

“Can everybody please fuck the fuck off?” Betty whined, grabbing the nearest blanket  and wrapping it around her arms.

“Not really, you invited us, remember?”

“Ugh. I guess.” There was a loud noise and a curse coming from the kitchen which Betty ignored, instead opting for getting up and making her way to join everybody by the table. The cold meds made her hungry.

“That doesn’t answer my question. What the hell is that… statue? Is it like a statement? Does it… mean anything?” Max pointed at the Poseidon statue by the window. It was wearing a scarf wrapped around its head like a turban and was as ugly as ever.

Raga raised his head from a half-finished serving of mashed potatoes and snorted. “That’s Shane’s best friend.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I think he loves that ugly thing more than he loves me.”

Shane was in the kitchen making noise, unable to confirm nor deny the statement. With a shrug, Betty reached for a bottle of red wine that stood alone in the middle of the table, but when she felt a coming coughing fit, she wasn’t able to do anything to stop it. She knocked the bottle over, the wine immediately spilling all over the table and onto Ruby, who was closest, staining her cream white skirt. Ruby jumped to her own salvation, knocking over some glasses and screaming, and caused Evah to cry out, “What the fuck, Ruby, you stepped on my foot!” The guys tried to save the situation but they only managed to make it worse, flailing around. Betty slowly but surely moved away from the table and she was the first to notice Shane in the doorway, defeated, black smudges on his face and white t-shirt.

“Guys?” Nobody heard him. “GUYS!” he screamed.

All the heads turned towards Shane.

“What?”

“I burned the turkey.”

***

Courtney walked down the hall, trying to find her way back to the living room through the maze of the Del Rio’s house, when she paused, hearing her name. One of Bianca’s sisters was chatting with someone, probably a cousin. She stopped to listen.

“...well yeah, it’s just, she’s never taken anyone home before so, you know, I always figured Bianca was holding out for someone, like...I don’t know…”

“I get what you’re saying. She’s like, sweet, but it’s a bit anticlimactic. Liz keeps calling her a gold digger, but that’s not really the vibe I get. It’s more...just...I don’t know…”

“Right? I’m not trying to be mean but I sort of expected B to bring home a supermodel who happened to be a nobel prize winner.”

Courtney closed her eyes, having heard enough, and walked quickly back to their room.

COURTNEY: Your family hates me

ADORE: Yeah, well, they hate everyone. Why do you think I never go home? Did they try to put you in a mental institution?

COURTNEY: No

ADORE: OK so what are you complaining about?

COURTNEY: lol

ADORE: Eddy loves you

COURTNEY: Yeah. We’re BFFs. He was totally my type, when I dated guys. Except he appears to have a moral compass, so...maybe not

ADORE: HA! I’m telling him you said that.

COURTNEY: OMG DON’T YOU DARE I’M ON THIN ICE AS IT IS

“Hey! There you are!” Bianca walked into the bedroom, wrapping her arms around Courtney’s waist.

“Hi, sorry.”

“We’re about to sit down for dinner. I have to warn you...they promised they would make vegan-friendly stuff but my mom just said ‘vegans can eat eggs, right?’ So I can’t really promise that this food is safe.”

“Oh, that’s...that’s alright. I’ll just eat vegetables.”

“I mean, right, but you know you’re in the South. So we count mac and cheese as a vegetable.”

“Well, that’s insane.” Courtney hugged Bianca around the waist and laid a head on her shoulder. “I guess it’s a cheat day?”

“I guess so. Sorry, baby.”

***

“Mmh.. You’re such a good kisser.” Katya smiled, her and Trixie were on the bed, Trixie on top of her, his weight comfortable, her hand in his hair, his shirt open, Trixies soft, plump lips between her own. Katya had taken one look at her husband in his pink Thanksgiving shirt, and she had jumped his bones straight away.

“My sweet bo-” In that moment, Katya realised that the sour smell in the air wasn’t Ivan’s diaper, but rather a very different unpleasant smell. “Is something burning?”

“Oh fuck, the pie!” Trixie sprung up like a pig that had been bitten, racing to the kitchen, a surprised scream coming from outside their room.

“Dude! No! Keep your man boobs in your room!”

“Sorry!”

Katya laughed, the holiday peace truly settling over the little home on the Upper East Side.

***

“We’re flying flowers in from Fiji, they look /amazing/, I can’t wait for all of you to see it at the rehearsal dinner.”

Violet smiled to herself, Raven had been talking about her wedding all through dinner, the woman so excited about the party that she was practically vibrating out of her skin, every conversation with her somehow ending up on the subject.

“Vey nice, vey nice.” Mani stood up, the old woman reaching out to take the dishes, but Violet quickly jumped in. “Let me.”

“You good gil Violet, you vey good gil.” Violet blushed slightly, still proud of the fact that Sutan’s mom liked her so much.

“You’re welcome.” Violet picked up the pitcher of water and the wine glasses before she left the room, Mani and Raven staying behind, but as Violet walked out into the hallway she saw that the door to the backyard was open. Violet felt her heart drop, sure that Frida had somehow gotten out but when she got there she saw Sutan, Raja and Fame all standing together, the three of them passing around what looked like a cigarette. Violet could hear Raja and Sutan laughing together and the low voices of the group chatting. Violet turned around, ready to go to the kitchen Frida that had left the living room came bolting down the hall, the little dog smelling the night air.

“Frida! Frida no!” Violet ran after Frida, not knowing if the gate in the yard was open as she bursted out through the door. “Frida!” Violet grabbed the little dog, the pitcher in her hand emptying out on the grass, the water splashing and hitting Fame’s pants.

“Violet!” Violet looked up, her eyes wide as Fame raised her voice. “What do you think you’re doing-”

“I’m sorry Miss.”

“I don’t care about your excuses!” Fame’s tone was sharp, and Violet felt her stomach clench as she stood up, the pitcher on the ground, Frida in one hand, the stack of plates in the other, Raja and Sutan starring at both of them. “Have you hit your head? When did you become incapable of doing the simple task of not spilling like a toddler? Are you a toddler Violet?”

Violet was just about to respond when she was interrupted.

“Hey, Fame, I know you showed a giant stick up your ass when Patrick left you, but don’t be a fucking bitch okay? Nothing happened and Violet didn’t do it on purpose.”

Violet could see Fame’s chok, the woman’s eyes wide at the way Sutan had just spoken to her, but Violet turned her back, escaping before she could hear Fame’s respons. She knew she should be happy that Sutan was standing up for her, but it just felt humiliating. Like he didn’t trust her to stand up to herself. Violet could hear the talk in the garden pick back up again, Raja clearly mending the situation, all three of them soon laughing together like the old friends they were.

“Eveyone! Time for pie and TV! You come watch movie with Mani.”

“Yes mom!”

***

“Bianca,” Liz defended herself with an eyeroll, arm around her older sister. “I’m not saying it to be a bitch.”

“Right, I know, you being a bitch is just a fun side effect.” Bianca sipped her wine, rolling her eyes.

“I’m trying to look out for you! Look, I’m sure everything is just sunshine and rainbows right now, but really think about this...do you think this girl, this 22 year old, would be with you if you didn’t have money?”

“Well, I don’t know, Liz, I mean, if I didn’t have money...what would I be doing? Like actually no money? I don’t really think she’d be with a homeless person, if that’s what you’re asking, so...what’s your fucking point, exactly?”

“My point, B, is that this girl is clearly playing you. How long into your relationship did she get a recording contract? And now she’s on Housewives? Adore said she was only ever with guys before, and then she meets you, and all of a sudden, she’s a lesbian, overnight? Because of someone old enough to be her mother? More like she saw dollar signs--”

Bianca stood up. “Okay, you’re done now. Thanks for the advice, now you can shut your fucking mouth.”

“Bianca!” Aida exclaimed, passing by her daughters, collecting empty plates. “Watch your language, there are children here.”

“Tell Liz to stay out of my goddamn relationship,” Bianca said angrily, “Or I swear, we’re leaving right now! I am not staying and listening to this bullshit about my girlfriend being a gold digger. Fuck you, Liz--”

“Mija, mija, please…” Aida soothed, putting an arm around Bianca’s waist and a hand on Liz’s shoulder. “Elizabeth, why are you antagonizing your sister?”

“I’m NOT! I’m just trying to help her!”

“No, actually, you’re just being a CUNT--”

“Bianca! Stop!” Aida cried. “You know she’s just projecting because of her divorce, honey.”

“Mom!” Liz said, offended.

“Well, sorry, mija, but you’ve been very bitter. Courtney’s a nice girl.”

“Thank you!”

“I mean, she’s too young for you, but that’s not her fault.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Bianca threw up her hands.

***

“Oh god I want to die.” Pearl groaned. She was laying on her side, her stomach growling with all the food she had eaten, the top she was wearing almost painfully tight but she couldn’t phantom getting up to change,

“That’s what happens when you have four helpings of green bean casserole.” Pearl opened an eye to see Laila stand at the edge of the bed, her girlfriend in a band t-shirt and panties, her short legs on full display and if Pearl could have felt hungry in any way she would have fucked Laila into next week.

“You’re not being a very good girlfriend right now…” Pearl knew she was pouting, but it didn’t matter when Laila laughed and got underneath the covers with her, her girlfriend pulling her into a hug

***

Bianca climbed into the bed, wrapping Courtney into an embrace, sucking gently on her neck. “Hi,” she murmured, caressing the skin of her waist.

“Hi yourself…”

Bianca’s hands continued to wander, and her kisses grew heated. She let out a whimpery sigh, tangling their legs together.

Courtney shifted, hands stroking her back, looking up at her with an amused expression. “Seriously?” she whispered. “Are you really trying to have sex right now? There’s like 40 people in this house…”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a very stressful day.”

“No shit. I’m fucking exhausted, B.”

“Please, baby, I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” Bianca wheedled softly, fingertips trailing down her arms.

Courtney closed her eyes. “That’s all I need, for your family to think I’m a nympho in addition to being a gold digger.”

Bianca laughed. “You can bite on a pillow.”

“B…”

“Do you remember Thanksgiving last year?” Bianca breathed into her ear.

Courtney bit her lip, suddenly bombarded with the sense memory of their first kiss, the surprising softness of Bianca’s plush lips, the pressure of her full hips against the kitchen sink, the shivers that raced through her body, the nervous anticipation, the feeling that her whole world was about to shift. If only she knew just how much…

Bianca cupped Courtney’s face in her hand, a thumb tracing her lips in the same gentle way she’d done a year ago, voice an urgent whisper. “I’d never wanted anyone more in my entire life, than the way I wanted you.” Her hips began to roll, pressing Courtney into the mattress.

“Bianca…”

“Did you? Did you want me too?”

A whimper escaped Courtney’s lips as she arched up against Bianca’s body, gripping her ass. “You know I did. So, so much…still do...”

Bianca nibbled a trail down her collarbone, hands sliding under her top. “Let me give you what you need, baby…what we both need...”

“Yes…” Courtney replied, breathless, succumbing to the desire that flooded through her. She closed her eyes, realizing that she’d once again been betrayed by her body, by her weakness for Bianca’s touch.

[xuchil-bara]

2

1.    What is the closest grocery store to your house?  I’m pretty-goddamn-sure it’s Food4Less but I might be wrong.

2.    When was the last time you colored with crayons?  Not that long ago, actually. I threw out all my old crayons (I loved them, but they were a gift from my birth-father so they had to go) and I can’t wait to get more.

3.    Have you ever owned a plant? What was it? I love plants. I would own all the plants. We have a garden right now and I love it. It’s awe-inspiring how much nature can happen in your own backyard.

4.    Have you met anyone famous? A few times, and I gotta say, meh.

5.    What was the worst injury you have ever had?  My god, you know, I haven’t been injured that many times. I guess when I put up a shelf improperly and it fell out of the wall and a box of power tools fell on my toe. Didn’t break, but almost did, and damn did that hurt.

6.    At thanksgiving dinner, what is the first thing you go for? M. EFFING. TURKEY. MY DUDE.

7.    When you were a kid, who was your best pal?  Mikayla was my best friend for almost 20 years.

8.    Do you have any special talents? I used to be able to sing, cook and sew really well. I loved languages. I’m out of practice with all of it.  

9.    Have you ever been to a nursing home? I worked at one for my first job. Not recommended.

10. What kind of job did your mom have when you were growing up? When I was really young she took a job at her father’s company doing accounts receivable (payable? Whichever) and she worked two other jobs. I think once my grandfather gave her an honest wage she was able to quit the other two.

11. Have you ever known anyone that’s been on TV, including you? Sure, I mentioned I’ve met famous people. I don’t particularly know why that’s an interesting fact about me, per se, since there’s nothing particularly interesting about famous people.

12. What was the most interesting animal you have seen in the wild? Hellgrammites.  

13. What holiday do you enjoy the most? Thanksgiving, but for the reasons most people like Christmas. Togetherness, being happily surrounded by the people you love, etc.  

14. What was the first video game you ever played?  I want to say an Atari game, but I can’t be entirely sure. I was super little.

15. What is the one thing you own, that if it got lost, you would be bummed?  My engagement ring. I wouldn’t just be bummed, I would be heartbroken.

16. Do you have a favorite breakfast item?  Pigs in a blanket. By that I mean sausage wrapped in pancakes.

17. What do you find yourself buying all the time?  I don’t really know. I guess food?

18. When was the last time you got a real letter in the mail? One that wasn’t asking for money?

19. Do you have a most prized piece of jewelry? Yes. My engagement ring and my heart necklace my husband gave me. I also cherish the open heart jewelry my grandparents got for all of us as teens.

20. Do you own any board games?  I do! I wish we played more of them, tbh.

21. What chore seems the most daunting right now?  Laundry and dishes. I fucking hate those.

22. Were you born in the state you live in?  Yeah, but I can’t wait to move.

23. Have you ever lived in a house that has been broken into?  Yes.

24. What is your favorite cheese? Brie, gruyere, and I really love chipotle smoked gouda.

25. Who do you know that watches the most sports?  My father in law, probably.

26. Do you like reality TV shows? There are no redeeming qualities about reality TV shows to me.

27. Would you rather have a chocolate or strawberry cake for your birthday? Strawberry, but I don’t really care for cake.

28. What color are your jeans? Blue. I only own two pairs.

29. Are you scared of fireworks? No.

30. Do you hate loud people? Hate is a huge overstatement but I really wish they’d be considerate of other people.

31. Do you get embarrassed when the buzzer at the airport goes off on you? No? I don’t know what this is talking about. Everyone has to go through those dumb right-infringing scanners these days anyway.

32. What does your last received text message say? “bye bitch”

33. Do you like drawing all over people/their belongings? No? What the hell?

34. What’s a smell that makes you feel ill? Any bodily fluids. Can’t handle those yet. I also really don’t care for the smell of reheated Italian food or fish.

35. When was the last time someone told you they loved you? This morning.

36. Do you get lonely easily? I go through periods of feeling lonely all the time, even though I’m not.

37. Do you read “texts from last night?” I used to, but I just don’t care for that culture I guess?

38. What was the last thing you ate? I’m currently eating a bagel.

39. Is there any talent you would love to have? Goddamn would I love to have a handle on my emotions.

40. Have you ever deliberately tripped someone? No.

41. Do you have any boxsets for TV shows? Yeah, I own like every season of House. Haven’t watched them in years tho.

42. Who was the first person to text you on your birthday? I don’t remember.

43. Are you tired? Persistently.

44. What was the last TV show you watched? I want to say Bob’s Burgers?

45. Is your door open right now? I work in a cubicle where it doesn’t matter whether or not I want privacy. People just walk over and demand my time. It’s exhausting.

46. What was the last conversation you had with someone about?  Anthony and I talked about the Resident Evil 2 remake?

47. What was the last parcel you received? It was a box of garbage from my mom. I mean that it was actual garbage. Ripped stuffed animals, tshirts that aren’t mine, old broken toys.

48. How are you feeling right now? Anxious.

49. Are you one of those people who talks to everyone when you’re out? I don’t even go out. Lmao

50. What are you listening to? I listen to rain sounds at work or other white noise.

51. Is the person you last texted single? No.

52. What color is your favorite bra? It’s grey.

53. What is your natural hair color? Blondish brown.

54. Do you like to sleep? Fuck yeah, dude, sleep is the shit.

55. How old will you be on your next birthday? 28.

56. Have you ever liked someone older than you? Jeez.

57. Ever cried while you were on the phone with someone? Yeah.

58. Have you ever stayed up all night on the phone? Yeah.

59. What is bothering you? Right now? This dude in my department is a blathering idiot and because he occasionally functions above and beyond that somehow means he gets to keep his job. He’s a fucking idiot and I want him to go.

60. What is the newest addition to your wardrobe? I bought jeans. But this weekend I’m getting some crop tops, shorts and a swim suit.

61. Don’t tell me lies, so is the last person you texted attractive?

Good lord.lmao

62. Do you have any currency that’s not your native country’s? Yeah, I have some Florint I’ve been keeping for some reason, along with some Jamaican money and some pesos.

63. Ever had a boy best friend? Yes.

64. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with? I try not to have conversations with people I don’t like.

65. Have you ever tried wine? Holy shit, what age group is this survey meant for?

66. Do you stay up later than ten o’clock on a week night? I’d prefer not to.

67. Do you fall asleep texting every night? No, what the fuck?

68. Were you texting someone right before you fell asleep last night?  No.

69. Did you have any unread text messages when you woke up today? No? Jesus. lmao