#like even the cover story is such a whopper there's no way that was happening under her nose

[s1ithers]

—Was sending an apostate to poison Eamon your duty as well?

obsessed with how fast she turns on him after the alienage quest tells you repeatedly how the templars were turning a blind eye. mother superior knows which way the wind blows. ice cold

[kurokotori]

My headcanons for Rody Soul

════════════════════════════════════════════Because honestly ever since seeing BNHA:WHM, I fell in love with this character's story and just overall development. Warning: Spoilers for My Hero Academia: World Heroes Mission. ════════════════════════════════════════════ > He's one hell of a singer. Right off the bat. I imagine since he's the type to travel a lot after the events of WHM, he needs to entertain himself somehow, so with a lot of time on his hands, he got in some decent practice. So if you ever co-pilot with him, be ready to be serenaded by those sweet vocals. > Fatherly/Brotherly type. Say you gain his trust enough, he will treat you as one of his own and take care of you. He will make sure your needs are met with what he can manage to scrounge up, and will even go as far as picking up a second job. > Wholesome partner. As mentioned in the last one, he will make sure all your needs are met, but, if you two make it past the friendship phase, prepare to be treated the way he believes you deserve. He will put his life on the line for you if it means he gets to see you smile one more time. > Daydreamer. This guy has a lot on his mind and doesn't really speak his mind, so his head is in the clouds as a result. Playing scenarios in his head, be it his next goal, how he will achieve his current one, or even what happened during the WHM, he seems a little spacy sometimes. Don't worry, a firm tap on the shoulder should bring him back. > A collector. During his trips, he will pull off to the side if something catches his eye. Rocks, Feathers, shiny things...if it looks cool, he's keeping it. The dash of his vehicle is where he displays his finds. He swears he's going to use them for something, but...never does. > Lone Wolf. He's not the most social, but when need be, he kind of puts on a façade until the interaction is over with. Forced charisma and smiles, at the end of the day, he's quiet. Only those that he's close to get to see his true emotions and hear what he really thinks. When he's alone or with someone he enjoys the company of, he's relaxed. > Pino is his comfort. He can't go a day without giving her little headpats and kisses to her forehead. If she strays too far, Rody feels uneasy, tense, anxious. He is so used to her close company that just the mere thought of her being gone or too far (albeit this is kind of impossible when she's literally a part of him.) it sets him off a bit. > Dinner? Covered. Rody is a great cook. Since having to take care of his two little siblings, he had to learn how to cook from scratch. No need for takeout with this guy around; He can make that whopper without a flaw if the ingredients are available, even then, he can get it pretty damn close! > Sunsets. His favorite hour is golden hour. His routine consists of a drink, some tunes from his car or van, and the light show just over the horizon. It's his chance to reflect, unwind, and just be him. Though, he longs to share the golden hour with someone. > Deep conversations. When he's comfortable with you, he's better able to convey what is on his heart and mind. You two can talk for hours on end once you both have a good flow going. He tries to avoid dark topics if he can and opts for more heartfelt topics like dreams, ambitions, and thoughts, wanting to end things on a more positive note. That's kinda all I can think of for now :"D I might actually add more as time goes on.

[jjungkooksthighs]

Yearn for You | jjk (m)

◊  Pairing: vice president and boyfriend!jungkook x secretary and girlfriend!reader x ceo!jimin ft. co-founder!taehyung

◊  Genre: fluff and smut / established relationship / office au

◊  Rating: 18+ / nsfw

◊  Word Count: 31.5k (honestly another whopper but are we surprised?)

◊  Summary: As a secretary, it is not proper to engage in intimate affairs with your superior, who is the one you are meant to be at their beck and call for in the business world. The world, however, means very little to Jungkook, the vice president of Bangtan Industries and more importantly, your boss and boyfriend of three years. In all that time, he has never cared for hiding your passionate affections for one another and tonight will be no different after a particularly amusing day of teasing you and watching you fall prey to your desires for him that he revels in amidst his fervid love for you. In that love that has shifted his entire globe in how completely and wholly he has fallen for you, he will do anything to make you, his beloved girlfriend, happy. So, after some efforts to toy with you, he allows you to have some playtime with a very special friend whilst he delights himself in your entertaining little game.

◊  Warnings: hard dom!jungkook, possessive/jealous!jungkook, big cock!jungkook, sub!reader, sub!jimin, lots of dirty talk, pet names,  lots and lots of teasing, praise, fingering, grinding,  thigh riding, phone sex (taehyung listens in on the threesome), masturbation (male and female), cunnilingus/oral sex, unprotected sex (reader has birth control implant in her arm and Koo hates condoms lbr), breast/nipple play, biting (there’s a bunch), marking through hickeys, sucking, pussy stretching, rough and possessive sex, anal sex, double penetration (this is a jikook threesome with reader y’all), cock riding, cock warming, begging, muscle kink, scratching, light choking, cum feeding/eating, manhandling, pinning down, multiple orgasms, wet and messy sex, degradation kink (koo calls you a slut/whore for him only like two or three times each), orgasm control, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, edging, exhibitionism, voyeurism, daddy kink, reader goes into subspace for a little bit, mild bdsm, anal fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex and aftercare (from jungkook)

◊  A/N: Gosh, this one is finally here after two weeks! This fic is not like anything I have ever written before, but I know that there will be people out there that like this! It’s very hot if I do say so myself and it was such a joy to write in my lust-filled craze that I’ve been inflicted with in the wake of D’ICON Jungkook (even though that particular look is not part of this fic lmao). I blame Jungkook’s overwhelming sexiness that always has me ready to drop to my knees for this fic because honestly it’s all his fault.

Oh, and I know some of my readers have been waiting for COC, but because I have been tight on money, I decided to write this as a commission for the wonderful @jeonsjiddies. I hope you like it, babe! Oh, and that lovely banner you see above? That is courtesy of the fantastic @nightshadevinter. I thank the both of you for your continued support of my work and do hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I was entertained by writing it.

As always, guys, please let me hear your thoughts on my work! There’s nothing that is more gratifying as an author than to get feedback on what you spent so much of your time creating! Finally, if Tumblr is crashing because the fic is so long, you can find the AO3 link right here !

The day’s hours wane amidst the sun that sets behind you as you watch the last of your coworkers slip through the elevator doors of the twenty-story building, your heels clicking against the marbled tiling of the highest floor in the corporate property belonging to Bangtan Industries, the most well-known architectural firm in the industry.

 In one hand you have papers fresh out of the printer, your eyes trained on the small font that outlines the topics of discussion and areas of interest for tomorrow’s meeting as you skim through them. As the secretary of both the vice president and the CEO of the company, you had always been the mediator of their affairs, which meant that you never had a moment of rest while at the office.

 Because your charge was attending to the ever incessant happenings between your bosses as the two most high-ranking individuals in the company, you never had a moment of respite (not that you minded). The constant hustle and hullabaloo that was dealt in their wake left you in an ever flowing state of motion and you liked the grind. It meant you never were bored by their occupancies at work, for they always ensured that you had something to busy yourself with.

 The fact that your CEO looked to have been brought to life by an artist’s brush in his beauty while your vice president (and consequently, your boyfriend after some years together) appeared to have been sculpted by the gods in his handsomeness surely was a bonus, however, for whenever your sight would begin to blur because of long hours spent drafting and writing across your computer screen, a simple glimpse at either of them had your visage instantly clearing in the clarity of attraction that perceived itself between your legs when they’d stare back at you in stolen moments of passing.

 As you scavenge the paperwork for any errs that you may have missed, you don’t notice the silhouette the crosses the cubicles hedging the floor as you navigate through the maze of them, your irises narrowing as you huff in the realization that you forgot to properly align the addendum toward the end of the files in your hurry to finish and be out of the office after six o’clock per the orders of your CEO.

 When you cross the threshold to your office, the walls of glass that are curtained with silvery gold silk are opened to allow the sun to bathe you in its comforting heat that settles warmly over your stiff bones as you drop the paperwork atop your desk and rest your hand on it as you let your eyelids fall over your irises with the sun that coaxes you to luxuriate in its golden rays in a momentary lapse of silent solace from the toils of the day’s efforts.

 Behind you, a shadow cloaks you before a deep, low-timbre voice swathes you in its hold as it teases, “Enjoying the afternoon sun, baby? You should really head on home right about now, hmm? It’s getting late,” his eyes trail down your back and drop to the swell of your ass that strains against the small, short pencil skirt it is pushed up against before he continues, “We wouldn’t want the boss to get mad because you broke rules and stayed past six o’clock, now would we?”

 “Vice President Jungkook,” you squeak, his voice stringing you up and twining you around the fingers that-after many years of dreaming about them- now touch you in your most intimate sectors of your body in his unceasing relentlessness of rapturous intent that drive him to find himself between your legs every night, morning and afternoon that he could entertain. You had once wondered how a man could possibly rival an incubus in how he seemed to thrive with the more that you gave him and before him, you’d been abstinent as a nun. He had quickly changed that once you’d succumbed to his dark promises that had been wrapped in sin’s lace as he’d covered you with them with a tongue too long to be anything but devilish. It’s been years since you first got together, but he still renders you to be in need of an exorcist in the spirit of sex that has possessed your soul in its binding to him.

 You put a hand to your chest in startlement before you turn to face him to go on, “I didn’t hear you come in. Is there something you wanted to discuss? I just was going to finish up Jimin’s,” you clear your throat under his constricting gaze that constringes you for a battle of air as you correct yourself, “the CEO’s itinerary for Wednesday after fixing up the topic outline for tomorrow’s meeting with the board of directors.”

 It was amazing how after several years together, he could still whisk your breath away from you with one glance.

 Your superior hums, “Mmm, busy girl as always, aren’t you?” He takes a step inside your office, the sun’s light beams a stark contrast to the dark suit he wears that is colored black like the night sky, the silvery stitching in thin lines along his coat shining like streaks of falling stars in the movement as he suavely exhorts, “Did you happen to have time to send to me my travel arrangements for the week? Make sure you clear time for yourself to attend the gala with me on Thursday. I meant to tell you that earlier when you were feeding me my lunch in my office,” he confides lowly as two hands grip the edge of the chair that sits in front of your desk while he carries on, “Thank you for that, by the way. My hand was so sore from constructing the miniature model of the new tower we are building. I’m so glad you were there to assist me in erecting it and that you could sate my hunger earlier today. I was ravenous, you see.”

 Your cheeks flame in remembrance of the way his deft, long tongue had wrapped around the fork you’d presented to him, the creamy alfredo sauce coating his pink lips suspiciously similar to the cum he’d expertly and easily draw out of you every time he ravaged you or the essence you’d taint yourself with during the forbidden hours of the night when you touched yourself to fantasies of him in the midst of his absence due to the longer hours that he was required to work at the firm.

 You’d never heard anyone groan from ‘the succulent taste of the meal’ as your vice president had, but you’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy every delicious sound that had dripped from his mouth as he’d opened his lips to welcome you when you’d draped the noodles across his tongue.

 Needless to say that after that particular encounter, you’d had to escape to the bathroom for about twenty minutes to relieve the ache between your thighs that had garnished and cooked your insides for him until you burned with the need to release the steam that wouldn’t escape you without his guiding hand.

 In all of that, you’d been entirely oblivious to the two sets of eyes that had been fixated on you while they watched you with utter absorption. With the visage of your cheeks that had reddened from the blood that had rushed to them and the slow, uneven walk you’d taken back to your office amidst your thighs that stung from your efforts, it had been all too apparent that you hadn’t really gone to use the restroom for the purpose it was intended to be used for.

 Jungkook himself had smirked at that and when his irises had switched away from you and to his own boss, the CEO, whom had his own workspace directly next to his own, Jimin’s teeth had gnawed on his lower lip until you disappeared behind the curtains of your office before resuming with the Skype conference with one of the company’s chairmen.

 With your head full of your illicit indecency that the man standing in front of you now had caused earlier, you try to fight past the fluttery feeling in your chest as you splutter, “U-um, well, it was no problem at all!” You croak as one of his brows lift in amusement as you fidget under his all-encompassing stare to blurt, “Always a, uh, pleasure helping you, Jungkook.”

 Truly, you don’t know how you managed to acquire a degree in English with how eloquence seems to suddenly be a foreign concept to your mind, but your vice president seems to be wholly unbothered and oppositely entertained by it as one side of his lips lift while he cocks his head to the side to divulge, “A pleasure indeed, Y/N,” his voice dips as he comes ever closer to you, his palms now splaying over your desk as his long, iron colored tie swings forward to dangerously dangle close to your own hand that twitches in the want to grasp it and pull him forward until his lips have nowhere to go but on your own as he urges, “You always take care of me so well. I want to return the favor to you, but I just,” his irises lower from your eyes to your mouth as you draw your lip between your teeth and when they rise back up once more, he professes, “can’t put my finger,” he drums his index and middle fingers along the timber of your desk, “on how I want to repay the favor.”

 Memories of last night filter through your mind like an echoing song as they tune your brain to the way he’d pummeled into you, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he’d ravished you after you’d begged him to let you ride his face and you’d dared to sit back and grab his cock in the midst of his attentions to your pussy. You’d screamed through the delicious pleasure that was too much to bear and he’d been more than eager to leave you a mess of limbs and cum on the bed in his wake as he’d fucked you so crazedly, his efforts guided by the need to see you ruined with his seed a success in how mercilessly he’d given it to you and how greedy you’d been to take it all.

 Heat floods your core at the anything but holy thoughts, for your boyfriend surely became a demon in bed that you would gladly fall to your knees to be taken by over and over again.

 “You,” you swallow past the lump in your throat and have to remind yourself to keep your legs locked together lest you succumb to the urge to rub them against each other as you give a choked answer, “you don’t have to do anything. My salary is payment enough.”

 “Oh, but is it? Is there nothing else I could give you to show you how much I appreciate you?” He looms closer, his raven’s wing hued hair kissing at the tips of his cheeks while tenderly embracing the sides of his forehead amidst the hands of oils that part it down the middle and slick it in their essence as he inquires, “Is there not some kind of bonus that you desire? Say it and it is yours, my beloved secretary. After all,” his eyes glint tellingly, “you’ve always been such a good girl for me. I want to reward you, beautiful. Will you let me?”

 “Jungkook,” your cheeks heat up as you whimper, “Please.”

 You try not to think about the implications of what your response might lead one to believe, but under his heady gaze, there’s little you can do but let your words tumble from your mouth.

 He’s called you beautiful a number of times whilst in the presence of other clients and coworkers and each time, your heart had done a flip against your ribcage. The fifth month after he’d become your boyfriend, you’d once questioned him why he called you that and he’d simply shrugged his shoulders before offering, “I should think you would know, pretty girl. It’s because I find you attractive.”

  You’d gone home that night after he’d vowed to bring you your favorite takeout food to make up for having to stay longer at the firm and you’d hugged him with the dumbest smile stretching across your features before turning to leave while he’d smiled fondly at you as you’d skipped like a lovestruck teenager all the way back to your apartment and wondered all night long what he might have been doing while you’d put on your favorite k-drama and bundled yourself up in blankets for your nightly binge of the show, your thoughts void of anything and everything that was not Jungkook in your straying attention from your tv session that was entirely your boyfriend’s fault.

 When he’d come home to you that night, he’d made sure you victualed atop his lap while you’d fidgeted with an ulterior motive leading your body, your moans of enjoyment for the soup he spooned to you all too loud and drawn out amidst your purposeful movements that had been quick to have him hardening beneath you and before you’d known what had happened, he’d thrown you atop the table and fucked you well into the morning hours.

 Now, in the silence that has seeped through the office in the lack of occupancy that is limited only to you and your two bosses, the word has an entirely sinful meaning in the deepness he’s pillaged it with.  

 When he darkly chuckles, mischievousness and everything that promises lasciviousness colors the sound as he pushes off your desk and stalks damningly closer to you, his much taller frame engulfing your own as he hovers before you to lowly inquire, “What do you want, beautiful? Say it,” he steers himself around the desk until he stands in front of you, anticipation welling up within you as he wraps one arm around you until one palm is pressed against the small of your back and in one fluid motion, he streams your body against his, your breasts cascading along his chest as you suck in a breath at the rocky plane of muscle laid over him even through layers of clothing, your hands-as if siphoned forth to him-planting themselves along his pectorals as he utters, “Tell your boss how bad you want it.”

 “Vice President,” your breath hitches when another hand boldly finds purchase along your ass before it slides down to cup your thigh as he pulls your leg up and around him so that it is wrapped around his slim, hourglass waist as you fight the mists of lust that cloud your abdomen as you try, “we c-can’t. This isn’t…it’s not proper.”

 “Do you think I give a damn about niceties when you’re fucking tempting me with how short that little skirt that barely covers your ass is?” He growls as he ducks his head, his lips ghosting along the sensitive junction just under your ear as the hand on your thigh trails upward, his digits just grazing your panties as you shakily sigh out while his other hand dives under your blouse before he husks, “Do you think it is proper to go in the bathroom and fuck yourself with your fingers after you fucking fed me with them? Huh?”

 “You were watching me, vice president?” You gulp at the realization that he knew, “I thought I had been discreet…”

 “Such a dirty little girl,” he muses as the fingers he’s snuck under your V-necked linen shirt run along your skin in languid circles before he blows a puff of warm air against your neck, your skin prickling in his wake as he noses at your jaw, “Did you honestly think that when you went to the ladies room for twenty fucking minutes that I timed on my watch that I didn’t know what you were doing?” His lips brush against the column of your neck as you let your head fall back in silent offering to him as he goes on, “Did you honestly believe that when you walked out of there and wafted the smell of sex across the office that I couldn’t fucking tell what you were doing in there as you fucked yourself while you thought about me?”

 Caught as you are in his hold, you cannot escape the mortification that drops like an anchor to your shoulders and then down through the bowels of your body in its infinite heaviness at the realization that he’s got you red-handed. Embarrassment is what has your lids closing in your inability to see the source of your lust swim in the knowledge of the waters of your sins that streamed from him.

 Despite it all, his digits draggle along your southward lips as he rubs them against your pussy, your walls clenching around nothing as he groans at the wetness that begins to coat your panties as he coos, “Fuck, you’re so naughty, babygirl. Look at that pretty cunt cry for me because it’s been neglected without the only one that really satisfies it,” his finger pulls the ruined cloth away from you and suddenly the hand that had been exploring the ridges of your spine dips in its exploration to pool around your hip and with a dangerous flash of his eyes, he pulls you down over a semi-hardening bulge between his legs, a moan slipping from your lips as he impels you against his member to grunt, “You like this, baby? Does it turn you on to know that I’m aware that you got off to me in the bathroom? Would’ve been so fucking hot to see you get fucked with your fingers, baby. God, it’s making me hard just thinking about it.”

 His dirty words soil you in as he covers you with them just as tangibly as you’d been spoiled by your own juices, your brain short circuiting in the jolts of heat he wracks you with as his touch thunders over your skin that begins dewing with the beads of sweat in the high temperature that he flusters you with.

From the very first time you’d seen him years ago in the shabby little bar where time had seemed to stop as you’d locked eyes with him while he passed you by, you had been under his spell and now, as he holds you to him with desire simmering in his gaze, you’re struck with that sensation of beating wings in your chest as you let him finally lay his lips over the junction of skin along your collarbone, the pillow of his lips bedding themselves over you lightly as the fingers of one of your hands curl inward into his shirt in your effort to hold onto something to ground yourself against the lightness lifting at your insides as you manage the only word that your mind can possibly internalize in the midst of your fading cognition with a whisper, “Jungkook.”

 Your vice president smirks against your skin as he bedecks you in his osculation. Saliva is left in his aftermath as featherlight kisses are flitted along your collarbone and when the hand on your waist pushes you down onto him to urge your hips into moving, you whine as he combines this with the stroke of his fingers at your steadily swelling bud of nerves that gardens the flower of your pussy.

 “Answer to me, beautiful,” he brings you both back until his back hits the glass wall, his hips instantly rolling into yours as he coaxes your other leg to join your other around his waist before he flicks a long, hot tongue along your mastoid that cords your neck as he declares, “If you want me to fuck you like I know you’ve been craving for me to,” he mouths against you, “Tell me how much you fucking want me, beautiful. Let me hear how badly you need me to take you because you can’t possibly be pleased by anyone else, pretty girl.”

 Heat swirls in your belly as he lazily draws shapes into your clit, his member hardening impossibly more for you when you grind yourself against him while you wrap both arms around him to brace yourself as you hump him like an animal in rut, the hand he’d had on your hip quickly cupping your ass to hold you up while he stares hotly at you.

 Knowing that you will face punishment in the bedroom later if you do not do as he asks, you try to wrack your brain for the string of words that you need to scramble out of their jumblement amidst the need that throws them into a whirl as you breathe, “Want you, Jungkook. I want you so badly. Please, let me-“

 “Oh, but do you think you deserve it, Y/N? Do you believe you should be allowed to have my cock when you denied me for so long today?” He taunts, his teeth taking your earlobe between them as he continues, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to put my cock inside that little cunt of yours? How many times I thought about bending you over this damned table and fucking you into oblivion?” You gasp in the risqué admission as he sweeps you over him, his wrist disentangling from your clit to pull your skirt up so that he has no obstructions while he shamelessly ogles your dripping cunt before you lower yourself down on him to earn a cautionary hiss from him, “Watch it, beautiful. If you can’t control yourself, I’ll take you right fucking here in the middle of your office. If I can wait all day to finally have the chance to fuck you again after you denied me, so can you.”

 "Why did you, ah-" he slots one thick thigh under you, a cocksure grin spreading over his features as he helps you thrust yourself over the thatch of muscles lining every inch of his leg, your voice cracking when both hands clutch your ass as he pulls you down and over him to brokenly whisper, "Why did you take all day to finally fuck me, sir-" your lips are suddenly captured in a heated kiss, his mouth roughly claiming yours as your head falls back while he flicks his tongue along the roof of your mouth to claim every bit of you before he pulls away to leave you heaving as you try again- "I-I wanted you to come to me earlier when I was in the b-bathroom,” your breaths are labored from the air he’s thieved from you to leave only your wanton admission, “wanted you to give me your cock and t-take me against the wall while I begged you to let me have your cum inside me...”

 "Such a little slut for me, aren’t you? You didn’t have enough cock this morning when I stuffed it between your hungry little lips and fucked your face? You know," he groans when one of your hands slides down his defined chest as you drag it to its destination before settling over the fully hardened member as you gyrate your hips atop him, " I taught you that when you want something, you ask, yeah? Could’ve had what you needed if you’d just been obedient and used that fucking mouth to request a good fuck, but instead, I had to use my fucking hand to imagine it was your pretty little cunt that my cock was in," you whimper at his confession, your fingers curling over his member as you swirl your hips up and down his leg in a frenzy, your core heating like a wildfire when his eyes darkly flash, " You're going to suffer as I did, pretty girl. You're going to feel how fucking desperate you made me while I jacked off to pictures and videos I recorded of you when you were innocently batting your eyes at me from all the way over here while I was in my office with my hand on my cock."

 “Jungkook,” you whine, “I don’t know if I can take that. Not agai-“

 "Oh, but you will, baby. You will do what I say because I'm the fucking boss, yeah?" One hand gropingly lifts from your ass to grasp at a bra-clad tit, a whimper falling from your lips when he squeezes hard and with his other hand, his fingers sink into your side as he pivots your waist down on his thigh, his muscles jumping at you and catching at your core as he urges you over him and in response, your fingers constrict around him to earn a hiss, "God, it was too easy to make you fall apart on me. Come on, baby," he challenges as he takes your lip between his teeth to nip at you, "Show me what you've got, yeah? Fuck yourself on me. You have sixty-nine seconds to finish before I pull you off me and go back to my office."

 With his demand, you’ve no choice but to obey and instantly, you bear your hips down on him with renewed fervor, the firm and solid thew tautening beneath you as clamp him between your legs while you sway yourself back and forth like a seesaw, a moan stuttering from you when he pushes aside your shirt to grip one breast in his hand, his digits expertly rolling your nipple between them as you teeter precariously atop him, your waist stammering amidst his ministrations when slams his mouth against yours once more, his tongue thrusting inside your warmth as he captures you under his osculation and possessively wraps his wet muscle around yours as he steals your breath away.

 When he pulls away, you chase him with growing hunger that latches itself to you, your mouth connecting to his in a softer kiss as you kittenishly lick at him while he kneads at your breast.

 Your core clenches around nothing when he pairs this with a harsh propulsion of his thigh into your cunt as his sinewy skin slides deliciously along your clothed cunt, the tingling friction finding every inch of your pussy as you avidly grind against him.

 You compress your fingers over his rock hard cock that has your salivary glands producing excess spittle in want of him and when you dare to start rubbing him there while you busily buss his jawline that you think might cut you in its sharpness if you aren’t careful, that’s when he growls out, “God, you’re such a fucking minx,” he angles his head back to welcome your lips against him, “Time’s ticking, princess. You have ten seconds.”

 “Jungkook, please, I…I’m almost there,” you cry out, “Please don’t leave me,” you blurt as you bounce on his thigh rapaciously while you fervidly litter his neck with the stains of your crimson lipstick, “I’ll do anything,” you beg as he smirks while he watches you with interest, “I’ll let you do anything you want to me later, just…please, let me cum. I’ve thought about this all day long, thought about you fucking me all day long,” you blabber as your pride is burned away by his searing gaze while he pushes his thigh impossibly deeper into you as you whine out, “let me finish, sir.”

 Perhaps it the fact that your boyfriend is quite honestly the hottest man you’ve ever seen walk the earth (really, how could you ever be satisfied with anyone else when your boss and boyfriend is a literal incarnate of sin and sex) or maybe it is because he’d edged you this morning in the shower, for his much longer and larger fingers had played with you like you were his favorite toy and that had you quickly winding up around him. Despite your cries, he’d not let you come after disobeying his orders to speak after he’d all but fucked your brains out following round four of your sexual escapades with each other on the kitchen table, the couch and the wall and then the bed. Maybe it is both of those, but you've never been so quick to rile up and Jungkook, the one who has his strings attached to you like you’re his damned puppet, well… it is easy for you to see why you are at the edge of the precipice he dangles you over with his strong threads.

 He observes with amusement the way that you work yourself avariciously over him, your lips insistent in lavishing him with your attentions as you line his throat with the red coloring you’d put on your mouth until he’s decorated with it like a painting you’d artfully drawn yourself. He lets the seconds pass beyond what he’d told you, delight lighting at his eyes as he sees the relief wash through yours in the slow surety that streams in your irises beside it in your thoughts that he’s going to allow you to find your end.

 It’s when your thighs begin tremble from the labors of your efforts and a low pant starts to push itself between your lips as you undulate yourself against him that the large hand on your breast twirls your nipple between deft fingers, fire flaring through your core as you moan out his name.

 “That’s it, baby. Say it louder for me,” he groans as he bucks his hips against you, a devious glint in his eye gleaming at you that only has you burning hotter for him as he husks, “Let Jimin know who you’re fucking yourself like a dirty little girl on.”   

 Your end is near and you’re so close to plummeting into your end, but he holds you from it and refuses to let you fall into it. Not yet, anyway.

 “Jungkook,” you whimper, “touch me.”

 Your boss hums, “Mmm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He pinches your nipple only to cause you to squirm, the slight pain shooting sparks down to your pussy that clenches for him. He growls at this, for the flutter of your southward lips against his thigh has his cock throb beneath your fingers that still stroke him and suddenly, his hand is gone from your tit and instead finds its place in your hair that he clutches and yanks you forward with so that your chest is pressed flush against his front as his eyes flash darkly and he hisses, “Too bad, baby. I let you fucking use me so I could see how desperate I could make you while you tried to get yourself off. Now that I have you,” he torturously extricates his thigh from between yours and you all but sob at the loss of him as he sets you down on the floor, the hand in your hair wrenching forward until he crashes his lips to yours and sucks your tongue between his teeth as if he wants to devour you and all the while, the hand on your hip sidles down and, while he’s got your eyes falling closed, they shoot open as you moan into his mouth when he cups your sex, his middle finger prodding your hole and when he pulls them both away, carnality dilates his pupils as he declares, “I’m going to make you my fucking whore.”

 Air evades you, but the fire lighting up in your core sustains the need for him as you attach your hands to his shirt to hold on for dear life in the midst of your weakened, feeble knees that have lost their strength in how much of it he’s sapped from you in your kisses. You shakily exhale what little of it remains as you bury your head in the crook of his neck, your shyness starting to return now that the haze of hormones clouding your brain is gradually rescinding in the lack of his touch.

 Breathlessly, you whimper, “Need you now, Jungkook. Please-“

 You’re effectively silenced when he presses his pointer finger to your lips to quiet you, your labored suspirations wrapping warmly around his digit as he croons, “Shhh…I know, babygirl. I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” his fingers enclose your wrist to coax you to put more pressure on his member and you do, your eyes fixing on how much smaller your hand is compared to his own as you urges you to run your hand back and forth over him as he groans, “Feel that? That’s all for you, baby. God, that little mouth felt like heaven around me this morning. Did I tell you that? Did I mention how beautiful you looked with tears falling from those pretty eyes? Fuck, you were so cute with spit dripping from those lips while you sucked me off like a needy little slut.”

 You choke a strangled sound out at that while you burrow your face deeper into his neck as if to escape from the filth he wants to dirty you with, but you don’t get too far with the way that his finger taps expectantly on your lip as he prods at you and you need no further instruction than that as you tentatively open your mouth to welcome the digit he promptly slides in as he praises, “There you go, babygirl. Such a good girl even when I deny you your orgasm. You know you deserve to have it withheld from you, don’t you?”

 You lick at his finger in answer as you breathe, “Yes, sir. I’ve been bad to you today, haven’t I? I’m sorry,” you try a new tactic in effort to release some tension that has coiled into a knot deep in your belly as you whisper, “Will you let me make it up to you, handsome? Want your big, fat cock inside me so badly…”

 You let your words be swallowed within your mouth as you close it around him only to suction your wet warmth around his digit, a grunt quick to release itself from him as his pupils blow wide at the sinful sight of his finger disappearing into your mouth. His mouth parts at the lewd sounds that escape your mouth as you take him inside you, your tongue flicking against him with precision as you lock your eyes on his and in them he sees the kindling of desire that smokes and hazes them over.

 “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he watches as you innocently blink at him with your head still nestled onto his shoulder and when you swallow around him, that has him twitching under your hand that continues to palm at him, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he husks, “Are you that fucking gone for me? Shit, baby. If that’s how you are with just my finger, imagine how you’ll be with my fucking cock shoved in your pretty pussy.”

 “Want it,” you mumble around his finger as you lave at his digit,” want you so much. Please, Jungkook, take me.”

 “So desperate for me. Just how I like you, babygirl. If you want me that bad,” he pries his finger from your mouth, both of you watching the string of spittle that follows him before breaking off and only then does he lean forward, his lips just shy of touching yours as he commands, “Come to me in five minutes. I need to have a quick word with one of the representatives of the company for funding and then I’ll have the rest of the night to fucking ravage you, yeah?” He pushes off the window while he drags your hand away from him and you can’t deny the cold that is left in his absence when he moves away from you and you pout because of it while tucks your skirt back down.

 He grins at the way your knees buckle and, responsively, he helps you to sit down. One tattooed hand finds its place on your hip while the other splays possessively over your abdomen as he walks you backward and once he’s got you sitting, you catch the way his hands linger as if he doesn’t want to let you go, but with an imploring look you tell him more than your words would convey as you place one of your own hands over his while you urge him to stay with a small squeeze of your fingers over his.

 He’s utterly gone for the way you adorably purse your lips as if to plead with him and it doesn’t go unnoticed by your boss that you whine as he pulls away to chuckle to himself while he strides away from you. In his absence, your pussy yearns for him as it deposits even more of your taint into your ruined panties in his tormenting separation from you.

  By now, he’s at your door and before he disappears, he turns with his back still facing you to add, “Oh, and one more thing,” his irises dip down as he gestures to a dampened, wet patch on his pant leg where you’d been sat atop of earlier before he peers back up at you with a hooded gaze, “If I find out you finished yourself off in here without me,” his voice becomes brusque as he deepens it,” The only thing that cunt will have jammed in it for the next few months will be the vibrator you brought to work last week.”

 “How did you,” you clear your throat amidst the clog that has clumped itself in a ball within the middle of it,” you heard about that? You saw that?”

 “I’ve heard the whispers that all the women believe they are too quiet for me to detect, but you,”  He flicks a sculpted brow up as embarrassment mutes you, your cheeks coloring themselves red as the remnants of lipstick that still remain on your mouth as he pokes his tongue against his cheek in a sight that has you instantly wanting to get on your knees once more for him as he says, “you’re such a slave to your desire for me that you just can’t keep that little mouth shut, that you just can’t help but to tend to that needy little cunt because of me,” his eyes scintillate with sin, “you thought I didn’t notice you take that vibrator to the supply closet with you after I had you massage my thighs that you like to tell the other women that you love so much, but I did, baby,” he watches you rub your thighs together, a pained sound resounding from your lips as he finishes, “You put on such a show for me on the camera I have installed in there. God, you have no idea how bad I wanted to fuck you senseless while you tried to stop yourself from calling my name.”

Your jaw just about drops at his admission, mortification causing you to wrap your arms around yourself as if that will make you smaller against the very large realization that he knew of your feral treachery and with a devastating grin, he leaves you a heaping wet mess on your chair as you try to figure out how one man could be responsible for turning you into a human succubus that needed sex with him as much as you needed air to breathe for your body.

 In the silence that follows your boyfriend and boss, all that can be heard are the perpetually unrelenting ticks of a small wooden clock atop your desk. They chink to the uneven beats of your heart that pounds against your chest as you clutch at it to count the breaths that elude your contracting lungs against the tethers that Jungkook himself had put there.

 Trying to focus now would be like attempting to look away from your boyfriend while he’s stark naked and lounging on the living room recliner in readied receival of you after being away from him for the three-week long and very lonely secretarial seminar that Jimin sends you to every now and then to keep you sharp in your duties that you were expected to carry out as the unofficial manager of both the CEO and Vice President of Bangtan Industries.

 It just doesn’t compute in your mind that has gone haywire in the wake of Jungkook that you can do anything but to keep your attention fixated on the little circular face of the clock, its spindly hands moving far too slow for your liking as you try not to think too much on the teardrops your sex cries in its grief of losing him. When you make the mistake of shifting and sibilate at how drenched you really are in the movement, you look away at your soaked skirt to find it ruined where your sex sits, a groan coming from you as you battle the urge to just bring one or two fingers to your clit to water the fire of need burning there.

 “Jungkook,” you whisper to no one in particular, “You fucking win.”

 Heat still washes you through in the fluidity and you clench your hands into fists atop the table as the waves of it try to ebb your hand down to relieve you of the need that swelters within your core and you are quick to lay your forehead against the desk in need of a colder landscape to battle the Sahara desert’s scorch that has manifested itself in your belly.

 “That’s what I thought, doll. Better not touch yourself, baby,” the familiar voice of your boyfriend chimes through the multiline phone system sat next to your computer, your eyes widening as your back straightens and you sit up with widened eyes, your hand quickly jerking away from your womanhood as you stare surprisedly at the red blinking button that signifies that presently, you are being recorded. He must have turned it on when he’d been sitting you down and, like a siren, you’d been entirely lulled by his distraction.

 “Jungkook, I-“

 “You don’t get to make excuses when I heard you fucking moan with how badly you must want to use your fingers to relieve yourself of me. It’s hard, isn’t, baby?” You can see the shit-eating smirk he gives you even from the other end of the line as he sonorously says, “I would advise that you don’t try anything without me, love. Because if you do,” his voice hardens,” I don’t think you’ll like the consequences.”

 “Need you,” you whine as you push your breasts against the wood in effort to stimulate yourself elsewhere as you try, “Please, sir, let me touch myself. I can’t take it without you.”

 “Oh, but you must, pretty girl,” he voice dips deliciously, “If you put so much as one finger on that little clit of yours,” he threatens, “I promise you’ll get none of this cock for a long time. I am a patient creature, beautiful, but you? You are not and I’m going to teach you what happens when you want to get me hard while I’m at work, you fucking vixen.”

 “But…” you don’t get to say much else because he’s fast to cut you off.

 “But? There are no buts, babygirl. Sit there and obey like a good girl. Got it?” His domineering tone captures you in its hold as you grimace in the banishment of sensation you’d been trying to quell with the aridity searing your core.

 He expertly extricates your own voice as you submissively tell him, “I understand, sir. I’m…I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

 “That’s more like it, pretty girl. Be daddy’s good girl, yeah? He’s almost finished and when he’s done,” he lowly admits,” he’s going to fuck you until you can’t tell the north from the south.”

 With that, the red button loses its light and fades with the end of the call and you don’t need to peer down to know that your skirt is beyond being saved by the air dryer in the bathroom.

 To divert your attention anywhere but at your sopping core, you open your new Macbook Pro that Jungkook had recently gifted you only to find three new messages that have come in, each sliding along the upper right hand of the screen only to glide away after presenting themselves to you.

 Two are from Jungkook and the other is from your CEO, Jimin.

 Curiosity awakens in you and has you tilting your head as you open the older one first.

          Jimin:

 [1:45pm] What were you doing with Jungkook for lunch? You two were in there awfully long just for him to eat some Italian food. I was going to ask if you could chat with me about agendas and travel plans for the symposiums, but you seemed like you were in a hurry, so…

 You chew at your lip at the memory of the way the off-white taint had dripped down the side of Jungkook’s lips and how he’d asked you to clean him up before pulling you into his lap so that you could lick it off with your tongue before he’d captured it in his mouth and given you the most passionate, intense French kiss you’d ever had as he sucked your wet warmth clean before pulling away ask for more.

 For the life of you, you can’t remember if Jungkook’s blinds had been drawn in your fixation on each other. Since his office was directly next to and connected with Jimin’s, it was possible that if he hadn’t closed them that Jimin might have seen-

 You click out of the message at the same time you cancel your thoughts from going down a network of ideas that would only make the unbearable pressure between your legs even heavier, your legs sticking together in your fidgeting movement as you hiss through the collection of your essence that coagulates there.

 When you skid your mouse over only to click down on the mousepad and the next message pops up, you nearly fall to the floor with how quick you are to lean forward, your fingers gripping tightly onto the table to keep yourself from making contact with the carpeted ground as you read the next text.

          Jungkook:

 [2:36pm] Thanks for the meal, babygirl. You took such wonderful care of daddy. That alfredo sauce was delicious, but not as succulent and sweet as that pussy when I’ve got my mouth on it. I hope that pretty cunt is ready for me later when I put my fat fucking cock inside you and split you open on top of me. I’m hard for you right now, doll, but all good things come to those who wait, yeah?

 [2:58] Oh, and I got you a dress to wear for that gala we are going to. I do believe you should have already made arrangements to attend, my precious petal. You’ll look so beautiful for me and I know you’ll be the belle of the ball. You’re going be all mine, pretty girl. I can’t wait to show you off to everyone before I tear that gown off you and show you who you belong to. And when you can’t walk anymore, I’ll carry you home and we can watch your favorite show while you lay on top of me so that I can play with your hair and tell you how exquisite you are while we eat macaroni and cheese and watch your k-drama that you like to put on so much :)

 Truly, you don’t know how your boyfriend can turn your insides to mush with just a light glance or even a few words to then, a second later, have your core fluttering in anticipation of his dark vows. You had not one inch of doubt that he would make good on his promises and excitement flits through every contour of your body as you smile fondly at the screen.

 The telltale ping that pongs through speakers set beside the two twin monitors behind your laptop bounces around the glass walls and suddenly your attention is ricocheted to those screens as your hand closes over the wireless mouse and you open the source of sound that you had chosen to alert you of incoming emails.

 Amongst the thousands of emails, the bulk of them come from your bosses and the next mass of them originate from the plethora of dealers that your bosses worked with that often had to go through you before acquiring an audience with either of them.

  Next were the intermediary reconciliations and discussions with coworkers outlining their status and progress on assignments within the firm that you were tasked with collecting and organizing before presenting it to Jungkook, who would relay it to Jimin. On occasion, you would report to Jimin first when he’d come to your office and sit down with you to discuss the overview of all the information, his eyes never straying from you even when you’d get up and walk about the room in your experiments to measure his interest in what you were talking about.

 Jungkook set your body on fire in his scalding affections and attention, but Jimin…Jimin’s soft gaze that was speckled by the sugar of sweetness around you, well…it was like night and day.

 You had come to love Jungkook as fiercely as the sun that has now ducked under the skyscrapers that rise high in the sky and Jimin had come to be someone you adored in the gracious geniality he swathed you in that contrasted so very much with Jungkook’s own feral ferociousness in how the latter had easily seized your heart in the palm of his hand.

 With tangling thoughts of the two of them in your mind, you open the new email that was just sent moments ago. You don’t really know what to expect as you watch the circling icon in the middle of both screens as the content of the email loads, but the longer that you stare at the rotating wheel that-with every pass- has inquisitiveness circumnavigating and spiraling around you, the stronger that the emotion builds in you as you wait, your eyes only now just processing the subject of message.

 Do you like this? Don’t think I forgot what you were telling me last week…

 It’s innocent enough in the initial reading of it, but your mind really can’t help but to soil a more pure intent in lieu of a darker one if Jungkook is involved, after all. The man was insatiable and had tainted you with that same craving for him during every waking moment of your consciousness (and subsequently in your unconsciousness through your dreams that had become borderline pornographic in what your mind would conjure up illicit indecencies wrought upon you by your boyfriend).

 When the spherical icon dissipates, so too does your last shred of self-restraint that is ripped away from you as you loudly whine out, your core clenching around nothing as you devour the eye candy.

    Sweat sluices every bit of skin on both your boyfriend and Jimin, who are the models of the picture, and you’re quite certain that this might be the most profanely peccable thing that you’ve ever seen.

 Jungkook smirks wickedly with his head thrown back against the wooden panel, his eyes closed and mouth parted in pleasure and the white t-shirt he wears sticks to his muscled chest to suck away its color in patches of perspiration that display wet blotches of where hidrosis has penetrated through the thin material to display musculature that the god of lust himself, you are convinced, had a hand in decorating him with.

 His bicep bulges before the picture cuts off just below the upper half of his abs and you don’t need to think to know he’s jacking himself off with his face contorted into such a satisfied expression.

 It is a sight that has your thighs rubbing together, a whimper sounding from you try to calm your breathing that has instantly become erratic in the breaths that refuse to stay lodged in your lungs as your boyfriend expels them expertly without even being physically present to do so.

 It takes some effort to pull your irises away from Jungkook, who has you now on the edge of your seat as you rub your breasts against the edge of the wooden table in your need to feel his big, warm hands on you once again as you whisper, “Please…”

 You lay your head on the table to ground yourself against something of the earthly plane before your soul descends to the fucking nether realm, but in so doing, your vision trails along Jungkook’s other arm that is pushed against Jimin’s own. The slightly older man has his head tilted so that his nape rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, his full lips open to permit sounds you wish you could hear while his eyes, like your boyfriend’s, are shut in a countenance twisted by rapture and you wonder what it is that they’re thinking about that they’ve both succumbed to.

 Distantly, you want them to have been thinking of you, but self-consciousness nips at you despite it because how could two of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen both be frozen in time like this through a picture of their pleasure amidst minds full only of you?

 You shake your head at the thought and choose to fixate your attention back on Jimin, who has you salivating in the open v-cut black shirt that, with its short sleeves, leaves little to be imagined in the mound of muscle mounted along his own arms. He’s sitting back, like Jungkook, and is in the midst of his own sinful delight in the way that one arm is curled around his body in the way that it snakes downward and just out of the frame where you know his cock is in hand.

 You make a pained sound in your solitude where neither of them can help you under Jungkook’s own order as you curse, “Damn you, Jungkook. You knew what this would do to me.”

 You really don’t know how you’re able to look away from the delicatessen that is them, but when you slide one hand under the cup of your bra to clasp your breast and tease at the nipple there while you push against the desk so that your other is not neglected, the movement disturbs your line of vision so that you see the words he’d torturously typed under the picture sent from hell.

          Don’t think that I forgot that you have a sweet tooth for our little Jimin, here, babygirl. When you got fucked against the walls in your office and I had you begging for your release, remember how I asked what you thought of him after he happened to walk in on us and then he ran away while I made you fucking scream so loud for me that he could still hear it even outside the building?

 His tongue had been four inches deep inside you while he’d knelt on the floor for you to eat you out and your cheeks burn in the memory of how he’d had you a crying mess atop of him and in that moment, with your climax so close, he’d played you like his favorite toy in the truths that had been so easy to spew with the slew of his wet muscle that had the threads holding you together weak in their stitching in your need for the one operating your body to fix it all by bringing you to your end.

 It had been purely an accident that you’d neglected to lock the door behind him when Jungkook had come to you with a dark glint in his eye that held only carnality in its iris after Jimin had kept you from him all day for meetings. The moment your boyfriend had snatched you away from your other boss, you’d fallen into his arms readily in the need for him that had tuned you like an instrument until you sung for him in your highest key.

 Lost in each other, neither of you had heard the chink of the door that had borne your coupling to an observer who had stood with his cock hardening at the sight of you both in each other’s ecstasy until Jungkook had thrown you over your desk only for him to face Jimin, your CEO. The man’s eyes had bulged big as saucers when he’d been caught and Jungkook had only grinned as he eyed the tent in Jimin’s pants that broadcasted his obvious arousal. Your walls had constricted around the cock plunged deep inside you and you’d hit your third climax with a deadly snap of your boyfriend’s hips into you all while Jimin had ogled you before running as far as his legs would carry him.

 Secure in the knowledge that you ardently cared about him after many confessions from you in the throes of passion and in the softer moments where Jungkook’s stoicism melted away in the wake of your praise and sweet utterances to him, he knew that you wanted to be with him and that you’d come to love him. It was why he had been so keen to tease you about Jimin in the following days upon realizing that you’d gotten off to being watched by the older man. If it meant your pleasure, he would gladly partake in anything and he’d professed as much to you on many nights (and mornings) in the tender aftercare he would treat you with, ever the doting yet adventurous lover that he was.

 It was why you’d been able to let it slip when he’d had his long fingers plunged in you last night that no one could make you feel as good as he could, but that you were interested in seeing what Jimin’s smaller ones could do and how delicious his plush lips might feel on you. Jimin had always been sweet as honey to you and, in his lathering of that over you in your many moments together at work, you’d discovered that you wanted to get even more of a taste for him.

 Never could you have expected that your boyfriend would do this and torture you with such hankering desire to be sated that it all but burned like a wildfire in your body, but you could hardly be expected to endure it in his absence.

 You make a pained sound as you look at the picture that has damned your sex with even more taint to drip between your thighs and you cross your legs over each other in attempt to get some kind of friction. The attempt is fruitless and when there is nothing to relieve you, you squeeze at your breast and imagine that it is Jungkook who is doing so while the ridges of the table dig into your other and you fanaticize that it is Jimin’s ringed fingers that are palming at you as you cry out in desperation’s grip for either of them to come save you from the agony of their absence.

 You moan at the cool, prickly sensation of your fingers on your skin, your nipple hardening amidst your digits that the cold air of the office has chilled as you seek more stimulation. Your boyfriend’s name falls like an icicle from your lips and when your voice pierces through the thin audio line that Jungkook had screenshared your computer to watch and hear you through Facetime with, he licks at his lips at your exposed cleavage as he watches you pop open another button as you titillate your tits and huff in frustration as you uncross your legs in some misguided effort to encourage friction that he knows you are incapable of granting yourself in your current situation by his own order.

 He feasts his eyes on you as your breasts are shoved against one another, the ‘y’ shape of them bursting from your bra now as you cup one between the fingers of one hand and the other is butted into the table as you moan once more and call his name.

 “Help me, Jungkook…” You breathe, your irises still sticking to the picture that has ruined you from wanting to do anything holy for the rest of the day, week or even month for that matter. With your head swimming in sin spurred by your boyfriend, all you can think about now is Jungkook, Jimin, Jungkook, Jimin, Jungkook, Jungkook and lastly, Jungkook.

 It is your voice that cracks your boyfriend’s fixation on the way your breasts rise and fall with your labored breaths as pulls his eyes from the trenches of your tits before peering up to your lovely face that is marred with the aching affliction he knows wracks your core, his own cock twitching with interest as you repeat his name like a mantra in what little else your mind can internalize with how your sex must be sobbing for him right now.

 Lust seeps through the rips and tears that have begun to open and enlarge your pores as it spreads through your fragile body in the trembles that have you shaking in your attempts to abstain from the slow destruction that has reduced the filling inside your core to wet, ruined fibers like a tainted toy. Without realizing what you’re doing, one hand skids over the wet patch of your essence that has stained your skirt, your palm aquaplaning through that to dive under your skirt and when you slot it between your legs and streamline it into your sopping core with the image of your boyfriend’s hand doing this to you in your mind while Jimin watches, you keen.

 “Jungkook,” you try, “n-need you. Want you to fuck me and let Jimin see how good you make me feel, daddy. Your doll is about to tear herself apart because you won’t play with me…”

 At that, there’s a low growl that booms through the speakers that amplify his voice that promises danger as it demands, “Get your little hand out of that wet ass pussy before daddy makes you regret even thinking about disobeying me,” his voice deepens as he orders, “Since you can’t keep your hands to yourself, get the fuck in my office. Now.”

 Your core contracts at his dominance that is injected into each word and, per his command, your palms shoot away from you as if you were a puppet that he’d pulled on the strings of to whisk your hands away from where he knew you would damage yourself further.

 You rise from your chair on legs that wobble both from Jungkook’s earlier ministrations and your own, your extract dyed onto your chair as you peer back and your cheeks burn at the damned deposit of it that has seeped through your panties and skirt. One knee quivers dangerously as your joints fight to hold you up through the numbness that your boyfriend had left in his wake and you have to plant a hand on your desk to hold yourself up while you steady yourself for the moment.

 From the computer, your boyfriend glares darkly at you as he brings the window that his own computer records himself with to the forefront of your tabs, your attention being sucked like a black hole into him as he declares, “You’re going to sit in daddy’s lap and if you choose to be a bad girl and not listen to what daddy tells you, you’re going to go without cock for as long as I decide to withhold it from you. Understand?”

 “I…I understand, sir.” You nod as you will the strength back in your legs despite his words that threaten to steal it yet again.

 “Good. So submissive. Just how I like you, baby,” he groans as his irises settle on the gleaning mess painting across your thighs from the field of view the camera grants him, “You’ve got me so hard already. I bet that cunt must have drenched itself for me, huh? I guess we’ll find out in a little bit when I clean it all off of you with my tongue,” he has you whining at that as he brings a hand to his chin to rest his face against it as his eyes glint with lasciviousness as he makes a sound of consideration, “Or maybe I should use my fingers? My cock? Perhaps since you’ve been defiant and tried to please yourself, I won’t touch you at all, hm? How would you like that?”

 You reach out for him even through the screen, panic coloring your tone as you implore with pleading eyes, “J-Jungkook, please…don’t. I’m ready for you. I might just break down in tears if you deny me again, so please-“

 “You’ll get what I decide to give to you, babygirl. I gave you simple instructions and I expect that you follow through with them or that little cunt won’t be the only thing that cries for me tonight, doll. Now,” he states with no room for anything but obeyance, “get the fuck in here.”

 Your sex quivers at that and you nod in affirmation as he ends the call once more, your weakened, numbed legs reducing you to a tottering mess of limbs as you emerge out of your office and amble closely to the walls, one hand held out against them to support you in the dangerous dalliance between remaining upright and falling to the floor in your shuddering ligaments that are entirely the work of Jungkook. You don’t have to walk far, but in your slow pace, the seconds stretch on and every step has your slick lewdly dripping down your legs much to your mortification that takes its form in the heat that rushes to your cheeks in the blood that manifests itself there.

 You hobble along the glass walls that offer the view of the city that blinks to life below you in the lights that wink at you while tiny specks of moving bodies bedeck the pavement and once, long ago, when you’d been but a freshmen in college, you’d stood amongst them as you stared in awe at the same building you now work within in. Time had passed but in an instant and when you’d met Jungkook by happenstance one night in a bar with your friends and he’d been quick to pay your tab before sweeping you off your feet and walking with you through the city, you’d had no idea how much your life was about to change when you’d gone home to discover the small piece of parchment he’d slipped in your purse when you hadn’t been paying attention with as distracted by his beauty both in body and soul as you’d been while the two of you had chatted about everything and anything that kept the conversation flowing as easily as the waters in a forest brook. You’d not hesitated in calling him the day after and he’d been eager to see you again.

 You’d gone on your first date with him that night and day after day, the two of you met again and again, for his company was as refreshing as the midnight air that caressed your skin after a long day of classes and before you’d known what had happened, it had been a year and it had only been after letting it out that you wanted an internship with a firm that he’d told you what exactly he did and what company he worked for.

 Your jaw had hurt with how wide your maw had opened in disbelief and when he’d offered to bring you in as part of the team, you’d been all too happy to accept. You really had tried to keep things professional, but Jungkook had not a care in the world for appearances where you two were concerned and your escapades in the bedroom soon made it to the corporate sphere. You could not deny him no matter how hard you tried. It was as if your body had been made to fall into his skilled hands and you would gladly grant him anything if it meant his appeasement.

 After all, you’d become putty in his palm while you had unknowingly wrapped him around your own fingers.  

 Perhaps that is why, when you finally reach the familiar double doors that permit entrance into Jungkook’s office, your hand quavers in the anticipation that has you in its clutches down to your very bones and there is not a moment of pause that stops you from opening them as your hand curls around the brass handle only for you to slip inside, the small clink of the knob resounding around you when you close it behind you.

 Covering the oaken floor, a rug that you’d picked to decorate the room is lain over it. Threaded and crafted in India, it was one you’d seen in the marketplace he’d taken you to on one of his business trips to meet with a dealer that had contacted the firm in their interest to have the firm build a hotel there. You’d taken one look at the ornate swirls colored black as night and red as a rose in the way that the pattern had intertwined in rotating spirals and whirls and your boyfriend had not missed your small whisper about how nice it was while you’d both walked by it amongst the bustle of street life that filled the area packed with people and vendors energetically trying to sell their merchandise.

 You hadn’t thought that he’d heard you, but he’d promptly asked if you liked it and you really hadn’t been expecting anything at all when you’d commented and that it would complement his office in his knowledge that black and red were your favorite colors. With a smile, he’d taken out his wallet (much to your surprise) and taken out a wad of cash that he’d easily passed to the unsuspecting vendor before buying the rug and turning to the group of onlooking teenage boys to pay them off in their efforts to carry it over to your lodgings on your way to the consultation with your dealer.

 Later that night, he’d taken you to a very nice and very extravagant firelit, poolside meal at the Giardino by the the Jai Mahal Palace in Jaipur that you both were sharing a room in. He’d had you giggling every other minute between the fond touches that he’d brush along your cheek or stroke your clothed thigh with from atop the high-necked silk dress that he’d bought for you and after, you’d both had taken a stroll by the surrounding greenery and woodlands beyond the pool. The stars had gleamed in your eyes when you’d peered lovingly at him and not for the first time, he’d been struck with that pang in his chest whenever you looked at him like that while you both had reminisced about how you’d met in that dingy little bar about a year and a half prior.

 When you’d both kissed under the cover of the trees, that feeling that flew around his ribcage had fluttered when you’d adoringly pecked the mole beneath his lower lip as you’d earnestly and heartfeltly thanked him for everything that he’d done for you. When you’d confessed that he’d quickly become the light of your life, he’d tenderly pressed his forehead to your own as he’d pressed his lips to yours once more, the word that had fled him for so long that foretold his own emotions finally surfacing through the depths of his mind.

 He’d declared then and there that he loved you with sincerity beating as fast as his heart through every word. He’d been quick to gently thumb away at the teardrops of joy that spilled from your eyes when he’d finally said it while you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck as you reciprocated the sentiment in a breathless voice that held so much affection for him that it made his chest swell with the emotion and in that moment, he’d decided that he wanted to give you something that-when you looked upon it and felt its weight on your skin- you would be reminded of who loved you that intricately and implicitly.

  He’d held you close with only the moon’s eye presiding over you both while he’d cutely nudged at your nose, his fingers interlacing with your own that you readily accepted and when he’d pulled away, a new resolve had settled in his pupils as he tugged you forward and soon you found yourself being ushered through the busy, bustling streets of Jaipur.

 Bordering on the desert’s boundary, it was a city that you are sure could have been taken right out of a picture in the pinkened sandstone that every store and building had been crafted out of. Ancient structures erected in times past still stood strong among the newer and more modern creations of contemporary origin and the contrast boasted of a rich diversity that had you wanting to learn more about it despite the books that your boyfriend had gotten for you in a homely little bookstore earlier in the day. Youths had run through the streets with vivaciousness tailing them like the dogs that happily ran with them while the old had shuffled along and chattered about their daily lives and it was a place that was dyed in the warm color its inhabitants adored it with.

 Distracted as you had been with the scenery that painted itself into your memory with artful amalgamation of colors, you’d not noticed where he was intent on leading until he was opening a door for you and coaxing you inside with a reassuring nod despite your confused quirk of your chin, you let him guide you inside only to have you gasping under the fluorescently lit store that was notoriously known throughout India for its high class bijouterie called Tanishq.

 Though you had never heard of it, Jungkook himself had been told about the company from a contact in Mumbai that he’d visited with you in their interest in building an additional wing within the library and, upon seeing the way that you both had been inseparable in the tendency to be joined at the hip at all times, he’d suggested the store to your boyfriend after you’d gotten up from your place on his lap to go explore the books that had been crammed on the bookshelf while they’d both watched you curiously tap your fingers against the aged spines of the books. The elderly man had seen fondness for each other well up in your gazes as whenever you and your boyfriend looked upon each other and, after telling Jungkook he only saw that kind of amity in a newlywed couple, he mentioned the name of the store that only the wealthiest of grooms would purchase jewelry for their beloveds from.

 It had purely been by chance that you both had happened to walk by the same store the gray bearded man had spoken to him of and amongst seeing the way your eyes had widened bigger than the largest diamond in the store, Jungkook had decided you were priceless in how cute you were as he chuckled and told you to pick out anything you desired.

 You’d crinkled your nose in confusion, your brows creasing as you’d told him that you were perfectly happy to just have the treasure of him, but he’d only brought his lips to your forehead as he’d mused, “You know, you really are so adorable, Y/N. I want to spoil you. Won’t you let me do that for you, baby? I want to decorate you in my mark so that everyone will know who your heart belongs to. Please allow me to do so, petal.”

 You really had not been able to resist the big bunny eyes as he’d coaxed you forward and so he’d sat down on the leather loveseat in the corner of the room, the business-suited employees quietly looking on as you moved about.

 Jewels of every size, color and cut were decoratively placed within rectangular glass casings along either side of the first floor of the trendy store swathed in white walls and artificial illumination. Set within the walls themselves were square nooks that housed singular pieces separated from the rest that were couched on plush satin. The entire place was full of glittering jewelry that beckoned the eye, but your boyfriend had been noticed the way that you bit at your cheek as you passed them all by in your indecision since the collection of necklaces, rings, earrings and bracelets were all so pretty to you.

 When he’d risen to inquire about any other pieces, the store representative had seemed reluctant at first to give such critical information, but it had taken only a moment for the older woman to retreat to the back to retrieve one of the store’s most coveted pieces that only respected customers could have the privilege of even looking at after Jungkook had, without your notice, stuck his hand into the inside pocket of his Gucci suit jacket to pull out a thick wad of American bills and rupees, his Rolex watch revealing itself from under the sleeve of the black outer garment whilst he did.

 When the woman had returned with a black lacquered box in her hand to set it down on the four-legged glass table and told Jungkook that the necklace inside was one of the store’s most prized possessions, his interest had been piqued as he called you over and, with a questioning expression, he’d chuckled as he walked over to you to gently ease you forward with a hand on the small of your back you’d come to before the little chest.

 He’d been gentle as he’d urged you to open it as you stared at the box, ever the patient man that he was as he waited for you to finally lift the lid of the chest. You hadn’t known what to expect when you heeded him, but it certainly hadn’t been the article of jewelry inside as it immediately drew your eye as your breath hitched at the sight of it.   

 Sat on bed of velvet, you’d grown fond of it the second you saw it in the way it glinted with each sliver of light that seemed to be drawn toward it. It commanded attention in the way it glittered and glistened in the rays of light that bounced off it and innocently, your fingers hovered over it yet never touched for the fear that you might destroy something so fragile and delicate.

 You hadn’t trusted yourself with it, but Jungkook had been all too eager to lift it up and off its resting place to lay it over your neck before clasping it around you and telling you to look in the mirror at yourself.

 Beset in white gold, diamonds grew within two thin metal vines that trailed and wrapped around your neck amidst buddings of flowers that intermingled along each side, the pistils of gems at their centers made of rubies. Upon the dip of the necklace along the notch between your clavicles, a slightly smaller floweret sprouted a larger one beneath it and connected to that was a falling petal that dangled prettily just under your collarbones.

 “You look beautiful in that, my precious flower. Its charm becomes you well, pretty girl.”

 Upon his praise, you’d preened as you’d thanked him for the adulation and before you could do anything else, he’d slid his black card out of black snakeskin Gucci wallet before telling the associate to simply ‘run it through’ with no hesitation as he drew his lip between his teeth as he watched you lightly skim your fingers over the ornate piece of jewelry.

 The representative had informed him when she’d brought it out that it was a grand total of $37,713 and yet, he would gladly give that small bit of money to bejewel you so that you could shine like the gem that you were to him. You never asked for any material things nor expected them of him like other women once did in your poorer upbringing that had left you destitute and in debt when you’d met him and despite all of that, you never requested aid from him and it was one of the reasons why he enjoyed lavishing such gifts on you in addition to paying off your school of his own volition even amidst your efforts to tell him that he didn’t have to (and yet he always wanted to wherever you were concerned).

 He’d assured you once more how lovely you looked, your cheeks turning red as the rubies you wore as he came behind you to plant his mouth under the clasp of the necklace along your nape, one of your hands reaching back to intermingle with his own as you’d quietly let him know how grateful you were and that he really didn’t have to expend so much effort to show you how he felt about you to which he wrapped his arms around you to seep the waters of his truth into you as he’d answered, “ Nonsense, petal. I want you to accept this so that whenever anyone looks at you and asks who got this for you,” he’d let his lips wander along flowing foliage of gems and gold as he’d soiled you with his kisses, “you will tell them that your boyfriend, whom you love so much, was the one who got it for you,” his mouth had lifted as he’d inched close to the shell of your ear as you shivered in the hot breath that prickled at your skin, “When you’re torn away from me because of work or anything else, I want you to remember that you twined yourself around me like the vines on this necklace and that I fell for you as surely as the petal that descends from it.”

 You’d been helpless to whimper at that as you’d turned your head to the side to meet his waiting lips that had been all too willing to receive you as you smiled into the kiss.

 Later that night, you’d been sure to show to him just how thankful you really were as you’d ridden him well through the midnight hours only to wake him with your lips wrapped around the very cock that, even in sleep, he’d ground against your ass in his voracious appetite that he liked only to consume from you.

 When you’d found yourself sitting atop him, his back lain against the headboard as you’d fucked yourself over his cock while the sun had begun to peek over the horizon, the jewels had glimmered enthusiastically amidst the riled rotations of your hips over him. Seven months later, the same brilliant bijou envelops your throat as you look down to the floor submissively like your boyfriend had taught you to do upon entry into his much larger and grander office, your fingers linking together behind your back just as he’d always instructed you to do.

 Two flat screen televisions are perched atop onyx oak media stands on either side of the room, their screens set alight with virtual fireplaces that blaze within them. Between them and atop the rug Jungkook had had brought over from India is a mid-sized sofa the color of mahogany and flanking that are two lounge chairs of colored like cream and in front of them is a square glass table. Jungkook had made sure to test the durability of just about every piece in the room, for he’d fucked you over just about everything as far as the eye could see and had done so too many times for you to even be able to count anymore in his constant craving for you.

 There are wooden blinds that span the length of every glass wall, each of them opened to allow the moon’s silvery beams to filter through them amidst the lamps positioned precariously around each corner of the room, the lampshades that top them covering the sides of the room in golden ambient incandescence that softly lights the edges of the office up in a yellowed hue that reminds you of much smaller rays of sunlight despite the moonlight that coalesces around the central figure in the room amid your boyfriend’s command that calls it forth upon him.  

 Presently, Jungkook is sat in an expensive and executive leather chair the color of soil, his legs thrown atop the wenge wood desk that was crafted and imported all the way from Africa in the rare material cut from the tough bark of the legume tree native to the country.

 You see none of this and fidget uncomfortably in the steadily oozing taint of your arousal that continues to percolate down your thigh while a voice low as a baritone emits itself from the iPhone lain over Jungkook’s desk as your boyfriend eyes you with interest, a smirk twitching at the side of one lip as he takes in your debauched state while the caller on his phone fills the room with his thick voice in the midst of the business call that he’d been made to make.

 It’s not the first time he’s had you come to him in the middle of a phone call, but you have to fight the whimper that wants to wheedle its way out of you at the memory of how he’d called you in here but a month ago to suck him off while he’d been in the middle of one with a client, his need for you too strong for him to lay to bed when he’d watched you hungrily gorge yourself on a banana from your seat in your office.

 “Jungkook, I need answers as we near the end of the fiscal year. You had many opportunities for appraisals this quarter and those preceding it and as such, I want to know where our dealers and contributors were most dense and what their appeal was so that we can draft out potential areas of interest to focus our fixed assets on. Surely in all of the trips and consultations you had for the last several months, you already have a response on the tip of your tongue.”

 “On the tip of your tongue,” your boyfriend makes a sound of thought as he taps his finger against his chin while he devours you with his roving gaze, “Perhaps I do, co-founder Taehyung. Speaking of evaluations,” your boyfriend’s voice darkens, “my secretary has been quite valuable to us.”

 At the mention of you, your heart does a flip in your chest as you fix your eyes somewhere between your feet because you know if you dare to look anywhere else, you might just become a fucking puddle of limbs on the floor.

 “Come here, Y/N,” Jungkook orders, your back straightening straight as an arrow at the instructions.

 You don’t know how you manage it with your legs as feeble as they are, but you move forward unsteadily despite the threatening numbness that leaves your ligaments dangerously close to giving out on you in the strength that has been stolen from them by your boyfriend.

 The clack of your high heels reverberates along the walls and is loud amidst the blood that pounds in your ears, your heart racing amidst the heavy, hot attention that is as warm as the sun’s rays over your bared skin as your boyfriend looks on at you.

 You move as drawn to him like he’s some kind of magnet and in the attraction for him that pulls away any rational thought, you find yourself standing before him, his hands rising to swaddle your hips in his hold. His touch, even through the black button down linen shirt that you wear, is warm and has you melting the instant his palms leisurely drag themselves up and down your sides as you relish in his attention.

 Taehyung continues with an impressed snort, “Jungkook, Jimin has informed me all about your little secretary many times over,” your boyfriend’s digits curl inward to sink into your soft skin at that as he informs, “This is not the time to be rambling about how she’s snatched both your heart and cock in each of her hands. I want facts, not sentiments.”

 “Oh, but that’s the thing, Tae,” Jungkook lilts, his grip on you tightening as he ushers you between his legs that he spreads for you, your own bones liquifying like goo under his strength that he’s spent many hours in the gym working to acquire as you make a sound of startlement when he suddenly turns you around and whisks you into his lap, your ass sitting down upon the hardened bulge that readily receives you as Jungkook chuckles in the mess of your taint that darkens the fabric of his pants where your core is perched over him to amusedly offer, “ She has erected more than just my cock, however many times it has been, I’ll have you know. She was the one who orchestrated dealings with, hm,” one hand lifts from your side so that long fingers can coax your chin up and to the side so that the two of you lock eyes, “how many dealers this year did you have coming for me, darling? Tell Taehyung here. I think he’s underestimating how useful you’ve been to me.”

 “S-sixty nine,” you blurt as the hand on your chin descends down the ‘v’ of your shirt, his deft digits popping open the small buttons without pause and the plummet you’d taken in his dilating irises that promise nothing but sin, you have to climb along their edges only to realize what you’d said and quickly you stammer as you amend, “I-I mean, 669 contractors, T-Taehyung. I helped to orchestrate that number of dealers that were taken by the company.”

 “Everything alright, baby?” Your boyfriend husks into the shell of your ear, his teeth taking one lobe between them as the last button is undone, your shirt opening to reveal your bra-clad breasts as his hand flows freer than water in the way he draggles it along your abdomen until he possessively wraps it around one breast to give you a harsh squeeze, your head falling back against his shoulder as you bite at your lip to keep quiet while your skin pebbles at his touch.

 “Jungkook,” you breathe, “do something. Please.”

 “Mmm, you’ve been so good for me, so good for the company, petal,” He emphasizes as he trails his lips down the column of your neck and you turn into the featherlight touch of his lips and between them, he utters,” Don’t you agree, Jimin?”

 Your eyes widen at the name despite the heat that fertilizes your arousal deep in your core, but you don’t dare look away from Jungkook without permission. Your boyfriend nips at the tender spot along the base of your neck where the garden of jewels wrap themselves around you that he’d bought for you months prior and it is only when the hand on your breast slowly streamlines downwards to slip under the waistline of your skirt to slide between your sopping folds that he hisses into your ear, “Fuck, baby, are you that turned on in the knowledge that he just watched me do all this to you?” You moan, but it is trapped behind the hand he covers your mouth with while his fingers prod at your hole, your entrance begging him to find himself in your wet warmth in the way you clench around nothing as he rasps, “Look at him, babygirl. I want you to see what you’ve done to him because you just can’t resist me, can you? Go on, doll. Make him fall to his knees for you just like I did.”

 With your head still laid against his shoulder as he lavishes you in the brush of his soft lips against you, you shift your visage away from your boyfriend with some effort, your irises wandering from Jungkook’s deadly distending ones that are colored black as a shark’s in the predatory way he looms above you to those of the only other man in the room that might just be a puppy in disguise with the way his light brown irises implore your own for some much wanted attention.

 Dressed in a plain black suit that contrasts his unique beauty, your CEO wears a tie over a white dress shirt that you wish you could see through to gage which of the pair of them is more muscled between the two of them. His hair is carefully styled in its parting that leaves his entire forehead naked to your sight amidst the thick tufts that arch up along the left while the right side is pressed loosely along his scalp, his sideburns extending to the middle of his ear that is ringed with three hoops along each side. Perfectly sculpted brows frame almond eyes that beg for yours and lips that rival your own boyfriend’s decorate him below a straight nose. His lower lip is slightly thicker than his upper one and they are quite shapely around the thumb he currently gnaws at much like a chew toy, his tongue longer than a dog’s as it curves under the digit while he waits for his master to give him notice.

 Jimin is entirely lost in the way that his other hand is presently wrapped around the tie as if it is a leash that keeps his hand from going lower so that he can rut into himself like you know he must want to given the white of his knuckles that mar his skin as he clutches at the thin piece of silk. His hand appears so much smaller around the article of clothing, his fingers so much shorter than your boyfriend’s that clamp down over your mouth as one finger pushes into your hole, your walls clenching around him and the whimper that wants to escape never makes it out of you and when you see Jimin’s digits begin to tremble with how tightly he holds onto the tie, you wonder what they might be able to do to you despite their littler size.

 “That’s it, babygirl,” Jungkook tells you as he runs his tongue at the sternocleidomastoid muscle cording the base of your neck, your walls contracting within you as he drives his digit back and forth with his middle finger while using the others to run along your folds as he does, your face contorting into one of pleasure as your hips buck atop him all while Jimin bites hard onto his own thumb as he watches the both of you and it is then that Jungkook mutters lowly, “Keep doing that. He’s getting hard for you, petal. He could never get as hard for you as I do, but he’s getting there, doll,” your boyfriend nibbles at your now exposed shoulder to stifle the groan when you press your ass more insistently on him as he pulls your shirt off of you to give a sotto voce demand, “Use my fingers and get yourself off with them, pretty girl. Fuck yourself on me and let him watch you fall apart on top of me, Y/N.”

 You don’t need to be told twice and, following his instruction, you plant both hands in front of you with each on one of this thighs, your fingers curling inward to pitch themselves into the grounds of built up muscle that compose his legs to lift yourself up only to sink back onto his digit that easily goes all the way down to his knuckle in how deep his digit is plunged inside you. Your whine is captured by the hand he replaces with his lips in a passionate kiss that draws all your attention back to him before they flutter closed, his mouth overtaking your own as he glides his tongue along your lower lip before twisting around your own as he feasts himself on you.

 Taehyung’s voice cuts through it all as he huffs, “I don’t know what is going on over there, but someone better give me some answers,” there’s a pause and the sound of fabric rustling when your moan writhes itself between Jungkook’s lips that are held over your mouth when a second finger is added and he deliciously curls his fingers in a come-hither motion as your hips jerk atop him and when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth only to release your mouth and leave you in a dizzied daze amid the loss of oxygen he’d taken from you,  his lips lower to graze the nape of your neck as your head falls forward amidst the sudden jerk of your hips over him as Taehyung clears his throat, “Jimin, is what Jungkook said what you know to be true? If so, have you any idea where most of her accounts were set up so that we can look into stimulating more in those areas?”

 “So sensitive for me,” your boyfriend mouths at your skin, this thumb brushing your clit to have you stutter your hips as he works you open on top of him,” So fucking wet, too. Come on, babygirl. Show them how bad you want me. Make them wish they could fuck you every night like I do,” he husks as he impels his fingers back and forth inside you, your pussy clinging to his fingers in the lewd squelches that permeate the room and all the while, Jimin’s visage is tugged to the sight of your boyfriend’s digits disappear within your cunt as his own member begins to weep precum in want of you.

 “S-she um, well…yes, correct,” he flounders as words scramble in every direction within his mind as he observes a sex film right in front of him that is infinitely more arousing than any porno he has seen before in how receptively submissive you are to Jungkook who has you looking fucked out when he’s only just begun his ministrations on you.

 You, who has been in Jimin’s dreams and thoughts during many nights when he has been alone in bed with his only company being the pillows he’d rut into for some semblance of relief when his hand would become too tired to bear the burden of lust that you had inspired without even knowing.

 Helpless as an abandoned puppy, he can only look on as a rumble razes from between his lips s you raise yourself off of Jungkook’s digits only to fall back down on them as he scissors them into you with precision, each finger stretching you out around him as your own hands tighten their hold on his thick thighs amidst the whimper that is heaved from your lips when his thumb flicks at the bundle of nerves foresting your core to have your jerk atop his rock hard member that strains against the confines of his trousers.

 The fingers on your side bite into your skin as he constringes them around you while he leans forward to growl, “Watch it, baby. I never you said you could ride me yet,” you whine only for him to connect his lips to the spot just under your ear to suck the skin into his mouth and that has you keen as your hips careen into the fingers that have deliciously started to thrust into you as he hisses, “You want daddy’s dick, huh? Do you think you can fucking take it, doll? I’m not so sure… I think,” his thumb pressurizes itself into your clit in slight palpitations that are too calculated and measured against the rapid beats of your heart while a third finger is inserted and propelled inside to have you cry out as his tone bottoms in pitch amidst the way your back bows against him, “I think that since you were two minutes fucking late in getting here, you need to be taught a lesson about coming on time. Jimin, come here.”

 “You guys act like such children over your toys, fuck. I just wanted to have a normal business call for once,” Taehyung’s voice drones on, but there’s a slight tick to it that suggests he might not be as irritated as he wants to sound while he grumbles, “I don’t want to be privy to this. I’ve only heard Jimin’s voice get like that once when I took him to a strip club and I’m not going to stick around for your little threesome or whatever the fuck you all are about to do.”

 “Oh, but you will, co-founder Taehyung,” Jungkook’s hand rises from your hip to unclasp your bra and when he divests it off of your writhing body, it falls with a thump to the floor with the last of Jimin’s self-restraint, his fingernails digging into the silk of his tie to leave crescent moons in his palms as he rises to lick at his lips in the way that your tits sway temptingly to the motions as you jounce atop your boyfriend while Jungkook smirks, his lips hovering only an inch from your own shoulder as his irises flash darkly at Jimin when he asserts, “Jimin here has some nice, big lips and he likes to put them to use and run his mouth around me,” Jimin’s eyes widen as his teeth come down on his cheek while Jungkook’s smile lethally widens, “He’s told me all about what you did the night you came to the office in the supply closet with one of my receptionists and how you told him that you let a particular name slip from your mouth when you had your cock in someone else’s.”

Jimin’s back goes rigid as a rod and he stops midway in his journey toward you, the filaments of his tie near their tearing point with how tightly his hand is wound around it as his cheeks puff out while he peers pleadingly at Jungkook who simply ticks his head to the side, one brow arching in amusement as he asks, “What was the name again, Jimin? I’ll let you touch her if you tell Taehyung the truth. I know you must want to see how responsive she is under your fingers, yeah?”

 “For fuck’s sake, Jimin, do not listen to Jungkook-“

 “Y/N,” he softly says despite the rough hold on his tie in its stitching that has started to tear. With Jungkook’s heavy ultimatum resting on his shoulders, it really hadn’t been possible for him to crumble under its dense weight with the sweet serendipity of you that was so near that he could almost taste it.

 Your face lifts at the mention of yourself, your eyes meeting Jimin’s and in them there is surprise that is flecked by lifted brows, but it is soon smeared away by the desire that blotches them as Jungkook chooses that moment to let his tongue peek from between his lips only to trail it along the nape of your neck before closing his mouth around you to siphon you once again between them, your neck gradually becoming a woodland of reddened petals that rival the color of a rose in the passion that had been emitted in the making of them.

 Appeased, Jungkook hums, “Mmm, good boy. I knew you would listen to me. Come and claim your reward,” he husks as he circles your clit with his thumb the way he knows you like it, your end rapidly nearing as your boyfriend shoves all three fingers into you without pause at the same time that you frenziedly meet his ministrations in faltering jolts of your hips over him and when you watch Jimin tortuously pull his lower lip under his perfect buck teeth as he moves mercifully closer, you moan out when Jungkook’s middle finger prods at the cluster of nerves deep within you as your boyfriend groans at the way your slick drips down his fingers with how much taint you produce in want of them both before he goads, “Go on, Jimin. Touch her. Her tits were made by a fucking succubus. God, they’re so good for a nice cocksleeve aren’t they, babygirl?”

 “Yes, Jungkook…yes,” you breathlessly reply as your nipples harden in the cold air that prickles at your exposed skin, a dangerous jab of his fingers deep into you drawing a guttural sound deep from the recesses of your body that he expertly forges you with as his thumb swirls over your clit to leave you panting.

 In your labored suspirations, your chest heaves back and forth, your tits being pushed out and in to have Jimin’s fingers shuddering from their prison of their cage in his tie while his other hand mindlessly reaches for you.

 As he nears you, Jungkook speeds up his ministrations inside you, his fingers curving dangerously to rub against your walls that clench around him and it isn’t until Jimin hovers awkwardly by the side of Jungkook’s desk that he notices the way that Jungkook drags one hand away from your side to snake it around your abdomen and pull you flush against his chest as he clucks his tongue, “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Jimin… did I tell you when you were allowed to touch her? Did you think you could just come over here and have what is mine without my permission?”

Jimin’s hand shoots away from you as if he’d been burned as he shamefully casts his visage to the floor as he speaks haltingly,” I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…she’s just pretty as a doll on your lap, Jungkook. Please, let me have her. I’ll be good to her, I promise.”

 “Did you both forget that I’m still here? Christ. I can’t believe you told Jungkook that I said the name of his damn girlfriend while I was getting sucked off, Jimin,” there’s a sound of a belt buckle opening as his voice hardens, “I guess I can’t really help it. You do have quite an eye for women, Jungkook. None more so than this one, though,” You feel the grin against you amidst the skin that is currently being suctioned between his lips as he decorates you in another necklace that blossoms in blots of purple and red under the one made of gems gleaming enticingly around you as Jungkook suddenly brings your ass down onto his clothed, yet colossal cock in time with digits that pierce you all the way to your g-spot, your eyes rolling back with your head that lands on your boyfriend’s shoulder as Taehyung cavils, “It’s her fault for getting my dick wet whenever I come to visit the office. You should thank whatever god is up there that you found such a loyal little girl to give herself to you," You preen at the words despite the fingers currently driving themselves ferociously into you as Jungkook agrees with a nod while he rambles, "I will say I tried making a move on her when I last came to the office and when she refused and instead went to your office, that's how I found myself in that supply closet."

 “So I heard from Jimin, Taehyung,” Jungkook muses as while he helixes his digits inside you without fail, the arm that still is enclosed around you pulling you back into him so that there is no space that remains between you as he hotly intones into the shell of your ear loud enough for them all to hear, “I fucked her maybe seven different ways that night because of that. She just couldn’t get enough of me, could she, babygirl?”

 You agree as you hoist yourself up only to heft yourself back down with a broken moan as Jimin turns to the table in the absence of you to rut himself into it, his face contorted into one of concentration as he tries to think about anything but how your pussy would feel around the cock that cries wantonly for you.

 “Look at him, baby,” Jungkook urges as he swirls his thumb over your clit, “he can’t even contain himself for you anymore,” he speaks up, “He just can’t take it, can he?”

 “Can…can take it, Jungkook, please. I need to feel her. Need to touch her,” Jimin manages despite the obstinate grooves of the desk that scuff and scrape his member rigidly as he tries, and fails, to simulate some semblance of relief without you as he attempts to say, “You’re t-torturing m-me. Let me do something to her, anything to her.”

 “Do you think you should be allowed to touch what isn’t yours so freely? She’s mine,” Jungkook growls as he curves his digits purposefully inside you, his own cock throbbing at the way your juices have now coated his entire hand whilst your walls flutter tellingly around him as you submerge yourself on his digits with thighs that now tremble with your rigorous efforts, a moan slewing from your lips as he slides his fingers so deep inside that they press skillfully at the bundle of nerves that has your back arching against him while he possessively wraps his hand around your throat that had been on your abdomen to keep you in place and when his thumb twiddles itself around your clit, that’s when you cry out for your boyfriend who then smirks knowingly, his eyes flitting from you only to sear into Jimin's as he arches a brow to ask, “She’s almost there, isn’t she, Jimin? How badly do you want to touch her? Beg for me and maybe I’ll let you have a small piece of her before she fucking gets stuffed full of my cock for the fourth time today.”

 Your end is so close, yet so far away. Like the waters of an ocean, it washes over your feet, but the waves of pleasure in the distance that roll deeper in the seas of rapture are too far away from you to reach as you sink into the sands that are grained with Jungkook’s control over you to keep you from moving toward it. With your end so close, you hardly even process what is said when Taehyung talks under his breath that has quickly become erratic in your sounds of ecstasy that have wrapped around his cock as he jacks himself off on the other end of the line.

 “Tell him what he wants to know, Jimin,” Taehyung advises, his voice strained through the strenuousness of his own indecent actions as he wishes it was your cunt that his cock was enveloped in while his voice deepens, “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

 “You’ll both wait until I decide when Jimin can play with what belongs to me,” Jungkook professes, his fingers speeding themselves inside you and when you whimper at the way he slides his digits deliciously inside you at the same time his thumb strikes your clit, it’s enough to have you buck your hips as he tightens his fingers around your throat in warning while he orders, “You’re not allowed to cum yet, babygirl. Don’t even think about it. I want to put my cock in you so you can warm me up for later, yeah?”

 “Jungkook, I can’t hold on for much longer,” you confess through elusive breaths as his fingers constrict around your throat for daring to admit that.

 “You’ll hold on as long as I tell you to, baby. That cunt won’t get off on its own, will it?” He husks whilst his fingers deftly stroke your walls in curled motions as his thumb falls from your clit to ream the outer lips of your sex and you sob out at the loss of stimulation to the nerves crowning your womanhood as he watches your expression change in a myriad of different countenances before you settle on submission and nod knowing that you won’t get what you want if you disobey him after many lessons imparted to you in the bedroom.

 “That’s right, baby. Obey,” Jungkook groans as you clench around him and it’s when he hears Jimin call for him in a hushed tone that a devious idea unfurls itself in his mind and he doesn’t have to look over at Jimin to see that the older man is bent over the desk and is mindlessly grinding into it to resolving none of the tension that coils around his hardened member.

 This little game was far too fun to end so soon and so Jungkook chuckles darkly as you stretch yourself open atop him, his digits tracing the sensitive skin around your hole despite the three fingers that are knuckles deep within you as he starts, “As for you, Jimin, I believe I said you’d need to beg for her if you want her that badly You do want her, don’t you?.”

 The older man stops his movements at the referral of his name, his eyes glinting pleadingly as he turns his head to lay his cheek on the table, the bones of his hands pressing taut against the whitened skin he grips the sides of the desk with as he wracks his brain for anything resembling a coherent sentence and it is the sight of you with your eyes closed and mouth parted as you rebound up and down on your boyfriend’s fingers that has his own quiver in the wish to feel you himself as he swallows to comply, “I-I want her so bad, Jungkook. I’ll…I’ll do anything you want, but please, let me touch her.”

 Jungkook seems to be satisfied with that as he nods, his irises blazing in acknowledgement as he demands, “Kneel for her, Jimin. That’s what all men eventually do for her and this precious little cunt.”

 The words are barely out of his mouth before Jimin falls before you, his hands closing around Jungkook’s knees just inches below your own that squeeze your boyfriend’s thighs in a vise-like grip.

 Need saturates his eyes and shaking fingers as he waits patiently for Jungkook to give him the green light and like this, the view he is granted might just make him cum untouched in the way that Jungkook sinfully shears his fingers in your cunt as you come down on them in frantic sweeps of your hips, his hand entirely drizzled in your essence that glistens as if to tempt him in the soft light of the room.

 He doesn’t realize that he’s salivating like a fucking dog until Jungkook gruffly commands into the shell of your ear that he flicks his tongue against, “Open your eyes, babygirl. I want you to see how fucking desperate you’ve made our little Jiminie. God, you’re fucking hot, doll. I’m so damn hard for you right now.”

 Not wanting to disobey him, you let your lids flutter open, your breath catching at the sight of the pretty boy that is on his knees for you. His once perfectly styled hair is tousled after he runs his hand through it, his tongue darting between his plush lips as he stares at you like you’re food he wants very badly to eat.

 And how you’ve wanted him to do just that for weeks, though you know deep down that Jungkook would always take you to the seventh heaven without fail.

 Your hips stutter yet again at the visage of him when you lift your head, one of your hands lifting so that your fingers can trace the outline of his shapely mouth. You are slow to make contact with his lips that are softer than a feather yet rival those of the Bratz dolls you’d play with when you were younger. He relishes in your touch and even leans into you as if to grant silent permission for more and when you run your digit down his lower lip to watch it snap back up against his teeth, you moan at the thought of what it would feel like if he-

 Your hand is suddenly pulled away as your boyfriend’s long fingers enclose themselves around your wrist as he brings your arm back to marionette it behind you and when he brings your palm down on his weeping member that sobs for you even through his trousers, that’s when you suck in a breath whilst the fingers on your throat release you to grasp your chin so that your head is turned to the side, your visage instantly being pushed back to him as he gives a devastating blow to your pussy through the twist of his fingers in your cunt to have you whine out when he jams them inside you.

 “I believe I taught you to wait for my approval before I let you do anything, didn’t I, babygirl?”

 “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disobey,” you try even knowing that the last time he went unheeded by you, he’d left you on your bed to finish yourself off with your own hand.

 “And yet you did, baby. Do you think you deserve to cum now?” your boyfriend inquires, his fingers slackening inside you to have you whimper when he extricates them from you only to bring all three digits to his lips, his tongue laving at them as his eyes scintillate with fervor to have you clench around nothing and Jimin watches the way your essence oozes out of you without Jungkook to clog you now as your boyfriend’s irises simmer hotly into yours that he trails down your body and everywhere his gaze goes, the ire of fire is stoked in every crevice of you as he decides, “I think you need to be reminded of who really owns you. Take my cock out, babygirl. Do not make daddy wait.”

 With your back still flush against his chest, it’s hard to fight past the haze of arousal that clouds your mind. Your boyfriend knows this just by peering down at you and, taking pity on your afflicted state, he helps guide your hand to where his zipper is. With how unbelievably large he is, you don’t need to search for his cock in its obscene girth and lewd length. You don’t have to work at it his zipper for long, for it opens to you easily and really, you can’t think too much on the fact that he’s not wearing any boxers underneath his pants as his cock springs free and your fingers slip along it until you hold him in your palm.

 He’s heavy in your hand with the blood that engorges his member and your walls contract at the way his veins all but bulge out against your hand as you drag your hand down all the way to his base before gripping him to earn a groan from him that you swallow down your own throat when he draws you forward into a French kiss that leaves your tongue numb in how roughly he sucks it into his mouth.

 When you’re on the verge of losing what little breath you had left and you squeeze his cock, that’s when he releases you to rasp, “Good girl. Now, sit the fuck down on me and ride me.”

 Needing no further prompting, you raise yourself off him to line yourself up with him and when you sink down onto him and welcome him into your wet warmth, your head falls forward in the lack of ability to hold it up anymore, your mouth dropping open with the way that he fills you so wholly and completely that there is no room to think of anything but him.

 It is a lucky thing indeed that you have a birth control insert so that you don’t have to worry about anything in times such as these and it is pure bliss that pangs through every corner of your body the moment he finds his home inside you and you can only repeat his name with how deep his cock is lodged inside you.

 Below you, Jimin raptly observes how your boyfriend disappears inside you as you start to grind atop him, your hips eagerly canting him as he sits back and enjoys the show.

 “P-please, Jungkook, can I?” He questions, not caring at this point what Jungkook will let him do so as long as he can do something.

 “You know, you do have some really pretty lips, Jimin,” Jungkook considers, his irises burning into Jimin’s own in the view of him he’s given with your head down between your shoulders as you unthinkingly sweep your hips over him to have him grunt, “How about you kiss her with them?”

 A shaky breath trembles as it is dislodged from between Jimin’s lips, your eyes irises drawn to the source of the sound as you gaze into eyes that widen bigger than a Boston Terrier’s and you don’t have time to process what has just been said before a familiar hand wraps around the underside of your breast, a groan falling from your boyfriend’s mouth at how supple your skin is between his fingers as he holds one breast as if to offer it to the older man, your nipple hardening as his digits that have been chilled by the cool air cause goosebumps to raise themselves up over you.

 You watch as Jimin’s sight becomes entirely transfixed by the way that Jungkook’s hand completely closes around your tit whilst you continue to gyrate your hips atop him, a wantful moan releasing itself from your throat when Jungkook leans forward to take the clasp of the necklace he bought for you between his teeth as he pulls it back with him so that you follow him when he seats himself against the backrest of the chair once more.

 In the movement, your breasts sway while you pirouette your hips around Jungkook and, as if to entice Jimin, your boyfriend swirls his thumb around your areola that puckers itself out around the cold digit that draws itself around it.

 Jimin makes a sound akin to a wail and it’s what has Jungkook smirking wolfishly behind you as he taunts, “I bet it must be so difficult to just sit there and watch her get fucked so well, isn’t it? You want her, Jimin? Kiss her.”

 You observe the way that Jimin’s tongue swipes itself along his lips and the blonde haired man before you does not need to be told again before he slants himself forward and, all in one movement, opens his mouth to take the breast your boyfriend holds inside it.

 “Ah…please,” you whimper as his warm lips heat your cooled skin and your boyfriend chooses that moment to constringe his fingers around your breast to the same time that Jimin’s agile tongue flicks along the underside of your tit. His mouth and tongue are smaller than your boyfriend’s, but you’re beyond the point of caring as both men make it their motive to please you.

 When your boyfriend plants hot kisses to the tip of your spine right under your nape and below the fastener of the necklace he’d just been tugging on, Jimin seems to notice and suddenly, he’s hollowing his cheeks as he suckles from your tit like a newborn babe.  

 You splutter as your waist stammers atop of your boyfriend once more as he drives his hips into you, a grin lifting at his features as Jimin hums in satisfaction at the way your flesh melds around his mouth, the vibrations shooting like an arrow straight down to your cunt as your boyfriend impels himself inside you with a powerful thrust that had been drawn from the bow of his own hips.

 It’s enough to have you keen, one of your hands lifting behind you and back to tangle in the roots of your boyfriend’s tresses while your other cards through Jimin’s locks as you encourage both of them while you plead, “Please, don’t…don’t stop. I’m getting c-close.”

 “What are you guys fucking doing to her? She sounds like she’s about to break,” Taehyung comments against the slick sounds of his hand fastening its pace along his length as he chides, “Jungkook, it’s rude to ignore your superior when he’s asking you questions.”

 “You should consider it a privilege that I am allowing you to be part of this at all considering that you tried to take what will never be yours,” Jungkook groans when you pull at his hair while you swivel your hips erratically over him as you turn your head to the side to peer at him with a gaze that appears as fucked out as he will soon feel and he makes haste to attach his lips to the spot beneath your ear, his tongue darting along your sensitive skin while Jimin doubles his efforts on your breast to have you whining and when your boyfriend releases you, his other hand latches onto your neglected breast, his fingers expertly tweaking your nipple between them to have your own fingers tightening along your boyfriend’s thigh at the same moment that your walls contract around his member in warning whilst he amusedly discloses, “Since you’ve you been so complacent today, however, I think I will be merciful and let Jimin, your dear best friend, explain.”

 With your breast still in his mouth, Jimin’s eyes have become clouded by the lust that hazes them and Jungkook grins at the sight of the elder man’s ruin while he manages, “I…I’m sucking at her tit, Taehyung. Jungkook was right. They’re so soft in my mouth,” he draws shapes along your areola as he swallows and it’s only when you let your fingernails trail along his scalp that he is coaxed into continuing, “Jungkook is, well… she’s riding him and facing me so that I can see everything. You’d probably c-come if you saw this, Tae. She’s…she’s absolutely heaven in my mouth and her pussy just keeps swallowing Jungkook like it can’t get enough of him. It’s hotter than anything we’ve ever seen at the s-strip club.

 “Good boy, Jimin. So obedient for me. You may have your reward now,” Jungkook grunts while you bear yourself down on him at the same time that he slams his hips up into you all while he gropes at both breasts in his mission to have as much of you as he possibly can before he instructs, “Kiss her where she needs us most, Jimin. Taste her for yourself and see how fucking divine she is and understand why all men eventually get on their fucking knees for this cunt of hers.”

 The sounds of sluiced skin reverberate through the phone that lays innocently on the desk despite the sin unfolding around it and Jimin does as he’s told like the perfect little student and before you realize what’s happening, he liberates your breast from his mouth and delivers devastating osculation down your chest in flurried busses amidst lips soft as snowflakes as he descends down your body slowly.

 Your own movements atop your boyfriend’s member quicken in the rapid anticipation driving you back and forth on him and when you watch him pause his ministrations when he gets to the apex of your thighs, for you are entirely fascinated by the way that Jimin draws his lower lip between his teeth as he stares at your sex that greedily clings to your boyfriend’s dick.

 When his eyes roam upward and he meets your own, something flares in them to stoke the already fierce fire within you and when you curl your fingers in his locks to encourage him toward you, he relinquishes to you as if he’s merely your own plaything that you can do with as you wish.

 When his mouth finally affixes itself to the bundle of nerves that sit above your glistening folds, you cry out as your cunt closes around your boyfriend’s member, your fingers tethering onto them both as your thighs begin to tremble once more in the attention that is lavished on you between them.  

 Your boyfriend’s fingers find themselves winding around your neck once more as he draws your back against his chest and he croons, “Are you close, my love? Do you want Jimin to help you cum on me?” He hums when you nod frenetically to say, “I bet it must be really difficult not to let go and get daddy all dirty with your cum, huh? That’s alright. I’ll let you finish on me soon, but first,” his fingers constrict around your throat as he breathes into the shell of your ear, “What did I tell you that you need to do when you want something?”

 Language lurks somewhere in your addled brain and, as if to save you from punishment, Jimin lightens his ministrations to your cunt and instead airily pecks at your clit as you search your mind for what your boyfriend wants to hear.

 The longer you take, the more compactly his fingers curve around your throat and it’s when the hand still around your breast possessively squeezes you that breathe the air that begins to threaten to enter your airway as you respond,” Words, sir. You have taught me that I need to use my words to get what I want.”

 “That’s my girl. You’ve been so good for daddy, haven’t you?” He asks as he propels his hips into you in a harsh sweep of his hips that you readily receive as your walls welcome him.

 “Yes,” you suspire when his fingers release you around your throat to dive down and rest on your hip as he eagerly pulls you back down on him to earn a whimper from you, “I want..want to cum on you, daddy. Will you let your babygirl have her release, please? Want it so bad. Want you so badly, sir.”

 “Mmm,” your boyfriend hums, “I like it when it you beg for me. Since you’ve been so well behaved and let daddy do whatever he wanted with you, I will give it to you,” he says between kisses down your spine that his own bones will allow him to grant you before he straightens and speaks up, “Jimin, take her into your mouth once more, but this time, make love to her with your lips while her boyfriend fucks her tight little cunt, yeah? I want to see if she’ll squirt for us.”

 Jimin does just as he’s told, his mouth closing around your clit at the same time that your boyfriend crams himself inside you whilst his hand whorls around your areola as you squirm atop him. Jimin is tentative in the way he brushes the bundle of nerves with his tongue, but your boyfriend is surefire in the way he pistons himself up into you, your cunt fluttering around him in warning as you blurt,” C-close, Jungkook. Please-“

 “Cum all over me, babygirl. Get daddy all fucking wet and cream all over these pants that you fucking ruined because you need me so bad,” your boyfriend declares, both of his hands reaching for and trapping one breast in their hold as you fuck yourself over him before he husks, “Let Jimin see how good you are for me, doll. Show him how much you love my cock by coming around me and soaking me in your sweet juices, baby.”

 It is with a devastating swipe of Jimin’s thick tongue against your clit while your boyfriend tweaks your nipples between his fingers as he drives his hips purposefully into you that you throw your head back, your eyes rolling as you careen off the edge of the release you’d been dangling over for so long. It hits you like a watery wave that cascades over you and you scream out your boyfriend’s name as your walls swell around him and he throbs inside you while your walls clench repeatedly in their need to keep him locked within you until the last of your release has deluged you.

 Your essence pours down from the rainforest of your sex and you don’t know how long your womanhood ebbs and flows with it as your body is flooded with endorphins that liquifies your insides as Jungkook fucks you through it whilst Jimin sucks at your clit without pause, his tongue lapping at your sopping center that is doused with your taint like he’s a starved man eating away at the delicatessen that is you.  

 “That’s it, babygirl. Let him taste how fucking delectable you are,” your boyfriend croons, his lips securing themselves to your exposed shoulder to bring your flesh between his teeth as he too suctions you within his mouth as he coos, “She’s getting me all wet, isn’t she, Jimin? Does she taste as good as she looks? Come on, tell me, pretty boy.”

 Jimin releases you once he runs his tongue between your silken folds, his entire chin smeared in your essence as wipes it away with the back of his hand before licking away at that which has soiled his own skin as he peers with a hooded gaze up at you to confirm, “She’s sweeter than honey, Jungkook. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted pussy that appetizing. I…I could eat her out all day.”

 “Of course you could,” Jungkook amusedly replies, one hand settling on your hip to still your shaking limbs as his aching cock sobs for more within you, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your side while the digits of his other palm fondly trace the blooming petals of red and purple marring every inch of your throat and shoulders as he muses, “And what of you, babygirl? Did daddy take good care of you?”

 “Yes,” you try between labored breaths despite the way you lean into your boyfriend’s wandering fingers, “You treated me so well, sir. Felt so amazing.”

 Your boyfriend watches you lay your head back onto his shoulder, a smirk rising along the edges of both lips in amusement as he observes how your eyes flutter closed, your body sagging back against him despite the cock that is still lodged balls deep inside you.

 “I do hope that’s not all that you’ve got to give me, babygirl,” Jungkook tells you, the fingers along your nape ascending until he’s grasping your chin to urge your head to the side so that you stare into his simmering irises that are quick to light the fire of desire within you anew before he darkly declares, “because daddy’s not done with you yet.”

 Your breath hitches at that and Jungkook finds it adorable that your eyes manage to widen so largely while Jimin’s own just about bulge from his head at the insinuation.

 “D-daddy, I don’t know if I can take it,” you hardly manage to get out before he roughly consumes them himself, his mouth attaching to yours and drawing what little breath you had left away from you as his tongue glides across your lower lip before he nips at you in punishment.

 When he pulls away, you’re left entirely breathless as he taunts, “You will do what I tell you to because you want to please me, don’t you? You say that you can’t handle more, but you’re the same person that begs for my cock every night because you’re such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?”

 “I…” You trail off when his irises dip languidly down your body until they souse themselves where you are still connected to him and underneath that, the collection of your slick that you’ve deposited over every inch of his nether region.

 “Cat got your tongue, baby? Or should I say cock got your tongue because of how needy for me that little cunt is?” He asks with a flick of a dark, sculpted brow.

 Despite the release that has just washed over you, you find the tide of lust soaking you through  with each word he speaks, your core dripping even more of your essence onto the pool of it that has accumulated over Jungkook.

 Jimin only looks on in rapt interest, his own cock quivering with the want that strikes him through at the spectacle of you spread open atop of your boyfriend.

 “Did she get off on you, Jungkook? Shit, that’s got me hard again,” Taehyung curses through the phone that had long been forgotten by you and Jungkook in the rapture that had befallen you both.

 “She did, Taehyung. She loved it, too,” your boyfriend affirms as you nuzzle him affectionately before he chuckles at your adorability, “She’s ready for round two now, I think. Jimin,” Jungkook’s blackened irises sear into the elder man’s, “You are to go to the couch over there and strip for her, but keep the tie on. Once you’re done with that, lay down on your back and wait for my precious doll to come to you when I tell her to. Got it?”

 “I-I understand.” Jimin responds as he stands, his knees sore from being on them too long as he leaves the two of you and begins divesting himself of his attire much to none of the notice of the both of you.

 Jungkook allows you to nudge his neck with your nose, your warm breaths tickling his skin and when you make the mistake of shifting, he hisses, “Careful, baby. You wouldn’t want me to take you right here again, now would you?”

 You lick at your lips while you stare openly at his, the hand that still is entrenched in his tresses sliding down to cup the base of his neck as you apologetically blink up at him to admit, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to.”

 “I know you didn’t, petal,” he caresses your cheek with the knuckles of his hand before he helps you off of him only to turn you around in his lap, his still hard cock springing back against his chiseled abdomen and it is only when you face him that he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear to praise, “You’ve been so good for me, baby. Do you want me to give you a reward?”

 “You already have, my love,” you whisper as you lean forward to kiss the freckle beneath his bottom lip that you love so much before you tell him again, “You already have.”

 “So wonderful for me,” he adulates as he cups your cheek and runs the pad of his finger along it to utter, “Wanna make you come again, beautiful. Will you let me?”

 You nod, your own hand taking his tie between your fingers and twirling it around them as you bite your lip, “You already know the answer a thousand times over, Jungkook. I want to please you, too. Can I?”

 The hand on your waist wraps around you to pull you close so that you hover only an inch or so away from him and he groans at the way your hand closes around the base of his member to stroke him tortuously, his eyes flashing perilously as his own fingers enfold themselves around you to hold you in an iron hold as he husks, “You want to make me feel good, baby? Fine. Take off this shit covering my chest. I want feel you against me when I fuck you so good you’ll beg for me never to stop.”

 The ire of desire blazes at that within you, your fingers quickly moving to unknot the tie wound around the base of his neck. You make quick work of it, for you’d been the same one who had put it on him this morning after he’d taken you in the shower and bed. The coat is next and he has to let go of you for a tormenting amount of seconds that drag on agonizingly slow in the loss of you, but once you get rid of the suit jacket he’d had you pick out for him, the black dress shirt is mercifully the last piece of clothing that separates you from him.

 You salivate as you pop open the buttons that had already been opened down to the middle of his chest and with each iota of flesh kissed by the sun that is revealed to you, your salivary glands reproduce within your mouth to birth even more spittle as you hurriedly undo the fastenings of his garment. When the last button has been unsecured, that’s when you wet your lips amidst the aridity of desire that has dried them, your irises drinking him in as if drunk off of him as hunger coils low in your stomach.

 Muscle cords every inch of him and the six pack that proudly ridges itself along his abdomen boasts its vigor in the way that they jump against your fingertips that lightly trace along the tautened skin that is so eager to receive you against it.

 You push the shirt open thirstily amidst your throat that suddenly has become dryer than the Sahara desert as your irises roam upward to pectorals that must have been crafted by the gods in the thew of musculature that surrounds them.

 His darkly colored nipples stand to attention as you draw your fingernails over them to earn a growl from him as he takes both hands and pins them behind your back in one of his own while his other coaxes your chin up as he lifts your head so that you have nowhere to look but his eyes that burn with want into your own as he warns, “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to handle myself. Don’t you want to play with Jimin? If you want to toy with me instead,” his voice hardens as your walls contract around nothing, “I’m more than happy to entertain you myself.”

 You whine at his restraint and he simply clucks his tongue at you, “ I know that it’s hard to control yourself around me, babygirl, but wait just a bit longer for daddy, okay? Look,” he urges you to peer over at the couch that presents Jimin to you both and the man lies on his back as he’d been instructed to, his hand on cock as he palms at himself while he watches the two of you, “he’s waiting for you, doll. See what you’ve done to him?”

 You can only whimper at the sight of the erect dick that sticks out of the pants he’s left open, his own coat long discarded with his dress shirt to leave only his black tie that dangles just before his cock. He’s about half the size of your boyfriend (of whom has the most monstrously made cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of having inside you), but you have not a care in the world about that as you observe the precum that he swirls around the head of his member, his eyes hooded as he gazes at you and calls for you, “Y/N…please…”

 You hardly realize what you’re saying before the words leave you in stilted whisper, “Want you both. Want you to fuck me so well like you always do while I play with him, daddy,” you pull your sight away from Jimin to glance back at your boyfriend who is smirking cockily as you ask, “Can I have your permission?”

 “Since you asked so nicely,” Jungkook ghosts his lips along your jawline, “go ahead, baby. Go warm yourself up on him and get ready for me, yeah?”

 “Yes, sir,” you answer breathily whilst he attaches his mouth along the edge of your maw and flicks his tongue devilishly against you before pulling away to help you up, the hand that had been holding your own prisoner releasing you to find the zipper amid your backside only to pull it open, your skirt sliding down your legs to puddle around your feet.

 You thank whatever force of nature had made you decide on your white lace thong for the day because Jimin’s gasp from behind you is audible to your ears as you preen at Jungkook’s own hitched breath that is fast to deepen into a growl as each thumb hooks under the sides of the panties he’d bought for you, his irises dilating at the sight he’d been denied when he’d been fucking you earlier.

 “Can’t believe you were wearing these for me, babygirl. You really do want to tempt daddy into losing his fucking mind over that pussy, huh? Such a fucking whore for me,” he rasps as he pulls the pearled strings of the panties apart so that they too join your skirt on the floor as you rub your thighs together amid the finger he slides between your glistening folds, your own hands finding his shoulders and clutching onto him as you moan, your head falling back as he rubs his digit along your slit.

 “Only for you, Jungkook,” you tell him as he spreads your legs apart with his other hand whilst the one currently nestled between your folds drags along your labia.

 “As you should be, baby,” he announces as he collects your juices and brings two fingers to his mouth only to suck on them as heat floods your core at the damning view of that as he groans at your succulent taste, “Now go and prepare yourself for me. Rub yourself on top of Jimin’s little cock and when I’m ready, I’ll join you.”

 He waits for you to take a step away from him, your knees buckling under you as your weight makes them wobble after what your boyfriend has allowed to be done to you and before you have time to let fear grip you in your descent toward the floor, his hands are there to grasp each side of your waist to steady you whilst your own grapple for each of his wrists as you cling to him for support.

 A strong chest melds itself to your back once more as he chuckles, “Everything okay, baby?”

 “Yeah,” you nod, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

 “Think nothing of it, doll,” he lowers his head to whisper hotly into your ear, “When I’m done with you, you won’t even be able to walk, let alone stand, my love. Now, hurry along,” he ushers you forward and watches you stumble forth amidst the heels that you kick off in effort to reorient yourself with using your feet, a grin rising along his lips as he takes in your cuteness before his eyes flick down to the phone still sat atop his desk, “You’re being awfully quiet over there, Taehyung. Has the masturbation brought you that much satisfaction while you imagined it was my girlfriend that you were trying to fuck?”

 “Shut the fuck up, brat,” Taehyung huffs in annoyance.

 “Brat? Is that what you call the man that let you listen in while he fucked his soon to be fiancé? Interesting,” he muses as he runs a hand through his hair, his tongue poking against his cheek in visage that is not missed by you, your heart fluttering at the words he’d many times uttered to you in the tender aftercare of passionate lovemaking and you smile at that despite the gruffness to which your boyfriend speaks with next as his irises find and melt into yours, “Such an ungrateful prick that you are, Taehyung. Since you want to act like a dick, I think I’ll just leave you to trying to keep your own hard while I ravage my girlfriend. How does that sound for being a brat?”

 “Jungkook, do not hang up on me,” Taehyung cautions, “You’ll regret it. As co-founder of this company, I can take her from you.”

 Jungkook growls, his jaw clenching at the same time that you sex contracts around nothing as he ticks his head to the side in a habit you’ve grown fond of whenever he’s especially unappeased with something as he bites out, “You dare to threaten me, Taehyung? You have the audacity to challenge me for what has always been mine and that which fucking ran from you and into my waiting arms when you tried to make advancements on my fiancé? You’ve just awoken the fucking lion, co-founder Taehyung,” Jungkook spits out, “Try me and you’ll get the fucking claws. She is mine and I decide where she goes, got it?”

 “Such a child,” Taehyung laughs mirthlessly from the other end.

 “Such a fool,” Jungkook jabs, “to lose to the likes of a child that will now ravish what you’ve sought after for years and yet, she chose me. She’ll always choose me.”

 “Jungkook, if you end this call, I’ll-“

 The man never finishes his sentence, for Jungkook terminates the call with the press of a finger, his chest puffing out in a show of virility that has you wanting to whimper for him as his eyes lift from the screen to your own to raze your insides with heat of a wildfire as he demands, “Get on Jimin right now before I change my mind and take you home to screw you senseless into our bed until I’ve fucked all this irritation out of me.”

 Desire flares in your sex as you quickly plant both hands on Jimin’s much narrower chest and swing your leg over him until you sit astride him on the couch, your irises pulled into the magnets of your boyfriend’s eyes that attract you so even when you’re straddling another man.

 He stalks forward towards you and, needing to relieve some of the knotted tension between your thighs, you shift and seat yourself over Jimin’s smaller cock, your mouth parting as you rub yourself along his length only to plead for you boyfriend, “Jungkook…more. Come to me, please.”

 Your voice wraps around your boyfriend like cool water on a stinging wound and, promptly, the anger that had begun to well up within him is drained by you as you implore him with begging eyes whilst you drag yourself over Jimin’s hardened length and Jungkook is helpless to watch as Jimin’s veiny member slides between your still sopping folds as you draw yourself along his dick.

 The elder man stays quiet, his hand rising to cover his mouth to stifle the sounds he’d make so as not to bear the brunt of whatever Taehyung had done to Jungkook, for he knows full well that Jungkook could snap if you do not completely calm the storm that had begun to brew within him.

 Your boyfriend looms ever closer and, like a predator to its prey, he stands tall above your much smaller body as his irises distend over you and he devours the sight that is you as you work yourself over Jimin and lather him in your essence. His already rearing member prods at your hole on one particular sweep of your hips over him and your boyfriend catches the way your breath is shakily exhaled from you as you peer up at him and only him, for you do not dare to look away when he’s looking at you like you’re a five course meal he’d eagerly eat.

 And gorge himself on you he does, because in the next moment, he’s behind you and sitting on his knees as his fingers spread your ass apart to reveal a puckered hole for him. His dick twitches at the thought of what he will soon do, one finger tracing the rimmed entrance that borders the back of your ass and when his finger is replaced with his mouth, that’s when you moan only for him to shove his tongue inside you as he suckles at your asshole.

 “Fuck, you’re still so tight even after the many times I’ve fucked you right here. Relax for me if you want my cock, Y/N. You want it, don’t you?”

 “Yes,” you breathe, “want it so much, sir. Please, give it to me. I’m ready.”

 Jimin, utterly enticed by the way your breasts bounce in your movements, leans up to take one in his mouth while your boyfriend opens you up for him, your walls rigid at first yet soon they soften to grant Jungkook greater access as he preps you.

 The tight ring of muscle around Jungkook’s tongue loosens around him when Jimin dances his tongue along the floor of your tit that he welcomes into his mouth, pleasure lighting you up inside like dynamite as you buck your hips over the elder man’s length.

 “You’re not ready if daddy has to work this much to get you to open up for him, baby. No matter,” he hums even with his tongue still stuck inches deep within you to send vibrations at sonic speed to your core as he goes on, “I don’t mind fucking you with my mouth if it means you’ll be able to take my big, fat cock.”

 When Jungkook pushes in a finger to join the tongue that swirls around your asshole, that’s when your back bows inward as he strings you like the puppet your body is for him around his digits, his finger curling inside you devastatingly as his tongue whorls around it to have you stutter, “P-please. Don’t want to wait for you anymore, daddy. Need you inside me now.”

 “You want something to fill that little cunt of yours?” Jungkook’s tongue extricates itself from you only for two fingers to take its place beside the one he’d already put into you as all three scissor you and you can only make a choked sound until he orders, “Then try and see if you can fit Jimin’s fucking dick inside it and keep his cock warm until mine joins it in your fucking ass.”

 Your boyfriend’s fingers shear into you with precision as you obey, your fingernails biting into Jimin’s pecs as you align yourself with his thinner cock and finally sink down on it to sit obediently on top of him in wait of your boyfriend’s next set of instructions. When your boyfriend takes you like this, usually you feel like you’ll burst with how large he is and how wholly he fills you. Jimin, however, is a miniature version that is much easier to maneuver yourself on without the colossal member attached to your boyfriend that you’ve known to satisfy you for so long now.

 Jimin’s eyes shut as he releases your breast from his mouth only to litter the underside of it with light kisses. He’s careful not to mar your flesh with his mark, for you do not belong to him and he knows that doing so will only stir Jungkook’s wrath later on, so he chooses to be wiser and avoid that as your hips still upon the final inch of him that you seat yourself on as Jungkook’s hands grip your sides roughly for leverage as the three fingers he’s plunged in you are impelled into you in forceful motions that have you whining in want of him.

 “You listen so well, baby. Your ass is so fucking tense, but I guess it’s been a while since I fucked you back here, huh? I’ll have to keep it in mind to put my cock in your ass more often, I think.” He draws his fingers out of you, his fingertips grazing your walls on the way only for him to propel them roughly within you as you fight the urge to ride the man beneath you as Jungkook asks, “Are you ready for me? I don’t think I can wait for you any longer, baby. I’ve been without you for long enough.”

 “Please,” you beg as you present your ass to him the best that you can while you’ve got a dick nestled between your netherlips, “Want you so badly, Jungkook. Let me have your big cock. You always take me so well with it.”

 The words have hardly left your mouth before the fingers inside you are pulled out, the tip of his well lubricated dick prodding at your hole as his fingers tighten along your sides for him to apprise, “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop until you’re milking the dick inside you while you beg for the mercy only I can give to you. This is your last warning.”

 You feel the shift of the couch behind you as your boyfriend rises to his knees, his tip poking at your hole as he hovers over you.

 Your hand closes around his wrist as you look back at him to offer, “I won’t stop you. I won’t ever stop you, my love. Do it. Let me feel you inside me once again, for the absence of you is too difficult to bear,” you release a sigh of satisfaction as he inches himself inside you as you breathe,” I yearn for you, Jungkook. Let me have you.”

 You watch your boyfriend’s eyes darken as he taunts, “You want me, baby? You can fucking have me.”

 With that, he plunges his cock into you without pause, a slight burn searing your walls as he stretches you out with his member as you cry out his name. You’re jostled atop of Jimin in the power that Jungkook sheathes himself into you with, your sex riding Jimin’s member without either of you doing anything in the aftershocks of what Jungkook quakes your body with as his teeth bite at the nape of your neck whilst he pummels you ruthlessly.

Pleasure pangs through you as your boyfriend rocks into you from behind and, wanting Jimin to do something to quell the need that smolders within you, your fingers wrap around the tie still draped around his neck as you pull it so that he’s made to sit up as you narrow your eyes, “Fuck me, Jimin. Let me see if you can please me like my future husband can. No one has ever made me feel as good as he has. Show me what you can do to me, Jimin.”

 He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the movement and when your boyfriend thrusts violently into you to have your back arching and your eyes rolling to the back of your head, Jimin’s irises set determinedly before he impetuses his hips within you to have you moan out for them both.

 “No one fucks you like I do,” Jungkook hisses as he rams into you, your fingers constricting around the tie as you inhale the same air that Jimin releases in what little space settles between your lips as you bounce on the blonde-haired man while your boyfriend grunts, “And when I have you in our bed later tonight, I’ll make sure to fucking remind me you of that. The only reason he’s here right now is because I can’t say no if it means my babygirl will be happy.”

 You bob atop of Jimin as Jungkook continues to pound you, his dick far too little for your cunt that has become too used to the fullness of your boyfriend who splits you open every time he’s inside you and you whine in desire of more, your forehead resting against Jimin’s as you release his tie and drag his hand up so that it envelops your breast, his tiny fingers a stark contrast to Jungkook’s much longer ones as they stroke your supple skin while you part your lips for him and wait for him to take the offering you give to him.

 “Kiss me, Jimin,” you plead, your other hand laying itself over his cheek amidst the jerking field of vision your boyfriend wracks you in as you breathe, “Let me prove to him that your lips are as pretty as they look.”

 “My…my lips are pretty?” He swallows as you nod and he meets you willingly with soft, plushy lips that are soft as pillows against you and he’s much gentler than Jungkook as his tongue tentatively drapes itself over your own as it asks for entrance and when you grant it, his warm muscle dances with your own to the rhythm of your rapidly beating heart, his digits splaying themselves over your breast to rub soothing circles into them as he holds you close, your whimper taken into his mouth as your hips rotate atop him so that his length brushes the very edge of the cluster of nerves deep within you that your boyfriend aids in pushing him further into you with alongside the shove of his own cock into your ass.

 Jungkook swivels his own hips into you while he watches Jimin tilt his head to the side to receive you, the two of you soon becoming enraptured with each other as he traces your lips with his tongue whilst you nibble at his bottom lip.

 “Keep going, Jimin, you’re making her feel good,” Jungkook husks.

 With each kiss, Jimin seems to grow bolder, his lips soon traveling southward as he busses your chin and then down the column of your throat as you lift your head to give him access. He’s sure to let his tongue brush your flesh as he goes, your core clenching around him when he laves his tongue over your nipple that you lower into his mouth.

 “That’s it, Jimin, keep going. She’s getting wet again, isn’t she?” Jungkook inquires, one hand dipping from your side so that his fingers slide through your soddened folds as he groans, “Fuck, she’s so wet for us, Jimin. She likes what you’re doing, doesn’t she, babygirl?”

 “Ah-“ you gasp when he attaches his lips to your abused breast, his tongue lapping at your nipple as he you gyrate your hips atop him before Jungkook pounds into you once more, “I like it so much. Your mouth is so much better than I ever thought it would be, Jimin, fuck.”

 “I’m glad you think so, Y/N,” he mouths from around the tit that is presently within his mouth, his lips caressing your sensitive skin as he says, “You don’t know how long I thought about doing this,” the hand that still enfolds your other tit warmly kneading at it as he licks at your hardened bud to continue, “You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you here, how much I wanted to feel you like this.”

 “Consider yourself lucky that I’m the one allowing you to do what you are to her, Jimin. If it were any other man she’d asked me to do this with, I’d have said no. Want to know why?”

 “Why?” Jimin mutters against the slick ‘pop’ that his mouth makes as he relinquishes your breast only to focus on the other, his hand draggling down your stomach to catch on the press of his cock against his palm from within you as you moan when he bucks up into you as Jungkook burrows brusquely inside you.

 “Because,” Jungkook smirks knowingly at the blonde-haired man as he damns you with his cock through a devastating blow of his hips into you, the sounds of skin slapping sluicing the air around him as Jungkook confesses, “ You’re the only male that’s been around her for more than a week and not succumbed to her fucking charms that she likes to cast on just about everyone that owns a dick.”

 “It’s not my fault,” you pout and Jimin takes the opportunity to sweep his thumb under your lip as you turn your head into his touch so that he swipes his digit along your lip that you eagerly pucker your lips against in a fleeting kiss to his finger before you take his wrist to tug it down the line of your chin and along the column of your throat until he’s descending among the valley of your breasts while Jungkook jostles you forward and back. When Jimin’s fingers nurture the bud of nerves hedging the garden of your pussy, you moan, “How can I be blamed when I don’t even do anything but get their cocks wet for me, daddy?”

 “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? God, you look like a fucking ragdoll with how rough you’re being handled, babygirl,” Jungkook says as he slams his hips into you to give a grunt, “Of course it’s your fault when you look like such a pretty little toy that they want to fucking break. You only opened your seams for me, though, yeah?”

 “Yes, Jungkook,” you laboriously get out and it is only then that you feel your boyfriend’s chest press down over yours, his arms falling forward to cage you into the solid plane of Jimin, your own breasts falling over the blonde-haired man’s pectorals as you as you’re melded to lay flush against him. Your hips jerk when Jimin’s cock grazes the clump of nerves deep inside you at Jungkook’s powerful ministrations, your mouth dropping open and your eyes fluttering closed as your breath hitches, “O-oh…Jimin…”

 The blonde-haired man’s cock twitches inside you at the mention of his name, but in the following moments that Jungkook screws you without abandon, he watches your face contort into one of unadulterated pleasure as he whisks his middle finger over your clit that has become engorged with the blood that pulsates needily for him and the male above you. It is a wonder that the space between your bodies is just small enough to allow him this and he touches you like you’re a glass figurine while your boyfriend fucks into you like you’re his puppet.

 “Jungkook, you should see her. She’s so hot. Shit,” Jimin doesn’t know he’s said what he’d been thinking aloud until there’s a dark chuckle that consumes any other sound as it emits itself from between your boyfriend’s lips as he rails you against the elder man and when Jimin drives his hips into you the same way he’d seen your boyfriend do to meet him halfway in reducing you to a mess of limbs between their chests, you give a guttural scream that has the windows around you shaking in the shrillness pitching your voice that has them threatening to crack.

 “Ah, there it is,” Jungkook husks, his hot breath drifting over the crook of your neck as he teases, “I’ve got you screaming for me just as I promised I would,” his tongue laves at the nape of your neck before teeth nip the tender spot as he forges forward into you all while Jimin ogles you from beneath him as your boyfriend utters, “What of my other vow to you, baby? Can you fucking tell which direction is which or have I turned that upside down, too?” You shake your head as he plows into you, your world spinning as he corkscrews himself within you as he taunts, “Can you even remember anything beyond my name anymore, doll?”

 Your walls clench around Jimin, who hisses at the sudden succumbing of his member to your sex as you’re knocked repeatedly into him like the pendulum of a seesaw, one side of your thoughts swinging to the other as you try, “J-Jungkook…Jimin …I-again…n-need-“

 “Mmm,” Jungkook hums,” She’s close. She can’t even fucking talk anymore. Jimin,” black eyes raze his own, “let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

 “What,” Jimin swallows as he watches the way your digits quiver around him as he skillfully skims his finger along the bud of nerves cresting your sex and your chest slides against his in the sweat that slickens you along him, the knot of pleasure deep in your core tightening just as your own hand does over the blonde-haired man’s wrist whilst your other grabs onto the twisted nodule of fabric at the base of his neck in your effort to hold onto something as you whisper his name pleadingly and Jimin is helpless to give you what you ask for at your glassy eyes that so resemble a priceless statuette as he adds a second finger to join the first to stimulate the button decorating your treasure as he asks, “what can I do to your beautiful little doll, Jungkook?”

 “Look at me while I fuck you, babygirl,” Long fingers curl around your jaw as he turns your head to the side so that you’re granted a glorious view of them both, your breath hitching at the way beads of sweat clamping to thick strands of tresses black as a raven’s wing falling perilously over your boyfriend’s eyes that glint dangerously at you, his own lips red as a rose from biting them too much as he snaps his hips ferociously into you, a moan drawn forth from you at the sight of him in combination with the frisk of Jimin’s shorter fingers along your clit as your boyfriend smirks, “As for you, Jimin, you may keep touching her where she needs it. I’m going to help you ruin her needy, pretty cunt and when I do,” you skin pebbles when Jungkook’s hot breath billows over it as he orders, “You’re going to damn her with your cock at the exact moment I decimate her with mine. Understand?”

 “Can she handle that, though? What if she-“ Jimin never finishes because Jungkook’s voice that is draped in certitude covers it.

 She will take it because she was made for me and will do whatever I ask of her, won’t she, babygirl?” As if to prove a point, his cock converges with your sex, your nipples poking into Jimin, who makes a choked sound as you rake your fingernails through his hair as satisfaction strikes you through whilst Jungkook’s fingers constrict just enough so that your attention does not stray from him and look away from him you do not when a familiar calloused thumb joins the two of Jimin’s that had been measuredly swiping themselves over your bud as Jungkook flicks a brow up in expectation, “Come on, baby. Tell Jiminie here that you can take it for daddy.”

 “J-Jungkook,” you implore with a nod, for the only language that you can possibly speak at this point is his name as he rocks into you while his thumb circles languidly at your clit alongside Jimin that are slower and softer in their ministrations, your eyelids drooping amidst the dark bliss the heavies them.

 “Good girl,” Jungkook praises and you preen at that, a dopey smile crossing your features in the vapors of lust that have settled over you while Jungkook’s thumb fastens its movements to reward you as he commands, “Jimin, match your pace with mine, yeah? Playtime is almost over for this one.”

 Jimin doesn’t need to be told twice with his own end on the horizon. With determination that twines itself through his eyes, his two digits that he has attached to you mirror Jungkook as if your boyfriend is the puppeteer of you both. Jungkook swirls his thumb expertly along your button while he marionettes his cock into you with fervor and you clench as he licks his lips to husk, “So beautiful, doll. You look like you’re about to fucking break,” he gives a sharp shunt into you, his balls slapping against your ass as you clench around Jimin, a strangled sound coming from between his lips and Jungkook doesn’t have to be in your cunt to know that you’re just as near as Jimin looks to be with the way that drool pools along the sides of his mouth and, with a grin, Jungkook’s irises string from yours to the blonde-haired man’s as he winds you up around him and when he hastens his fingers over you to have you whimper, that’s when he orders, “Now, Jimin. Screw her with your cock while I fuck her with mine until she cums all over you.”

 “Fuck,” Jimin curses, his hips twisting up into yours at the exact moment that your boyfriend deliciously drills his own dick with into your plushily lined sex as you’re reared against the blonde-haired man and geared like a fucking machine between the cogs of them both that grind into you and when Jimin’s cock throbs tellingly within you while your boyfriend stares down at you with danger flashing in pupils that dilate automatically for you, that’s when you fucking scream.

 The glass rattles as your voices pierces the air around you while you’re battered like a stuffed animal between two rough children and Jungkook’s eyes strike you deep with the cocks that fill you up as they devastatingly pair their thrusts together and when your boyfriend’s fingers intertwine with the one you’d unknowingly been clutching at the couch with, that’s when he grunts, “Come on, baby. Want you to come for daddy. Can you do that for me? Can you show Jimin how beautiful you are when that pretty little cunt finishes all over his cock while you look at me?”

 With the wind that is continually knocked out of you, all you can do is blink up at him in answer as you wrap your fingers around his at the same time the digits of your other hand tighten and tug at Jimin’s scalp only for the blonde-haired man to peer up at Jungkook as you’re dangled over the edge of your precipice once more, your walls fluttering in warning and Jimin, through irregular breaths that are drawn out of him in the rigorousness of his efforts, understands enough to let your boyfriend know, “She’s about to meet her end, J-Jungkook. Sh-She’s squeezing my dick. It feels so good.”

 “Feels like heaven around your cock, doesn’t it? Of course it does,” Jungkook groans as he plunges himself into you while Jimin rolls his hips, your head falling forward so that your temple rests against Jimin’s forehead while your mouth parts as their fingers quicken against your clit as you moan only for him to husk, “Shit, you’re so good for us, baby. I think I’ll let you cum for me in a minute, but first, what do you say when you want something from daddy?”

 Your mind has become wired only to the pleasure that pangs through you with each sweep of their cocks within you, but somehow, you wrack your brain to find the only other words that you know always appease him to pant, “Please, Jungkook…n-need you.”

 “That’s it, baby,” he rasps as your boyfriend runs his finger ruinously between Jimin’s own digits that draw shapes into your button and when Jungkook’s digit suddenly drags itself in hard figure-eight motions along it to the same time that his cock cataclysmically crashes impossibly deep into your ass, that’s when you’re thrashed against Jimin. The elder man perfectly times the buck of his hips into you so that his cock arcs against the clutter of nerves hidden precariously inside you, your irises jerking over the him before they’re threshed to your boyfriend that lodges his cock once, twice and then three more times within you to finally command, “Cum for me, babygirl. Get Jimin all fucking soaked because of what I let him do to you. Give me your fucking orgasm, doll. Give it all to me and let him watch you, yeah?”

 With the sin he spews, you release is swift to unravel you as you come undone, your walls spasming violently over Jimin and he hisses at the way you contract around him as if to pull him in, his own end quick to follow yours as your sex shudders around him amidst your trembling thighs that shake with the rest of your body as you shriek shrilly, your fingers constricting around Jungkook’s own as you hold onto him for dear life.

 When Jimin shoots a hot rope of seed inside you as his member twitches erratically, you hardly have time to moan at the sensation of it before your boyfriend possessively curls an arm around your front to pull you up and against his chest as he sits back on his heels to have Jimin’s own dick slip out of you and the other man throws his head back against the armrest of the couch to stroke himself needily as he hastens to replicate the feel of you around his member while he continues to spill all over himself amidst the pool of your own juices that you’ve splashed all over his dick.

 “You’re mine,” Jungkook’s other hand releases your own to wrap around your throat so that your head falls back against his shoulder as he crazedly crams himself into you again and again, the palm on your abdomen resting where his much larger cock pokes against it before trailing up to grab one breast as you whine while your own orgasm still forcibly strikes you through in unending sparks that electrify you as your boyfriend powers into you from behind before he growls, "Let him fucking see you fall apart for the only cock that you'll ever love, baby. You belong to me. Say it."

 “Y-yours, Jungkook…yours,” you cry out and it is that that has your boyfriend descending into his own end as he gives a guttural groan that you engulf when he urges your head to the side so that you can swallow the sound through the attachment of your mouths and he keeps his sealed against you until you kittenishly slide your tongue against his lower only for him to open his mouth to you and suck your tongue, along with any remaining air that you had, between his lips as he feasts on you until you have no oxygen or saliva left to give him.

 Jimin observes it all, heat stirring in his abdomen as he rubs furiously at his softening length that even now still oozes with the cum both you and he have drenched it with.

 Infatuation influxes the blonde-haired man at the way desire rings itself around the corner of your eyes from you in the cords of pleasure you’d been fibrously instilled with whilst Jungkook holds you close, your brows scrunching together as you bite your lip between your teeth in the aftershocks of your orgasm as your chest heaves over your boyfriend’s, the petalled marks that Jungkook had left over you blushing your flesh in your labored breaths.

 It’s captivating as a current and Jimin is pulled asunder for you all while Jungkook watches the emotions ripple across the blonde-haired man’s face, amusement lifting at your boyfriend’s lips at how easy it had been for you to capture yet another man in the palm of your hand.

 When Jungkook carefully extricates himself from to lay back on the opposite side of the couch with you still in his arms, he chuckles to himself as you silently nestle yourself against his side to snuggle up to him, one arm draping over his chest as you peer adoringly up at him while he makes room for you beside him to entwine his own limb around yours as he croons, “You’re so adorable after you get fucked, baby. Always have to cling to me afterward, huh? You know,” he traces the marks he’d left behind and you sigh with satisfaction as he does, “You’re cute, petal. Have I told you that today?”

 “Mhm,” you purr as you turn on your side to give innocent pecks to his chest while your eyes close as fatigue pulls at them and you affirm, “All the time.”

“I think someone’s a little tired, doll. Do you want me to carry you to the car?” Jungkook asks as he brushes an especially red mark that has purple smearing itself around it and you lean into the touch as a smile lifts at your lips while you stare at the brands he’d left on you.

 “’S fine. I can stay awake a-“ you yawn, your mouth opening only a little as you stretch your arms out before settling back next to your boyfriend –“little while longer.”

 “Yes, you sound awfully convincing, don’t you?” He teases as he sits up and you immediately whine until he laughs and helps you onto his lap as he urges, “I think it might be best to take you home now, baby. You’re about ready to fall asleep. Help me zip myself up, will you?”

 Responsive to him as ever, you tuck his member away before fastening his pants so that he looks presentable should someone see you and when he tucks you inside the blanket you’d hand-stitched and made for him for his birthday, you link your hands around his neck as he cradles you, his irises softening as he peers down at you while you whisper, “Thank you.”

 The double meaning is not lost on him as you have always said those words whenever he’s done just about every single thing for you and he drags his knuckles along your cheek as he offers, “You’re welcome, baby. Anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”

 You giggle as you beam up at him with the toothy smile that still has his heart flipping in his chest to let him know, “I do. Do you know that I would do everything for you?”

 He kisses you along the tip of your charming little nose as he nudges at your cheek, “And how could I ever forget that?”

 He carefully swaddles you in the fluffy fabric until you’re completely covered and all the while, his fingers lovingly caress your sides as he gathers you up and stands with you swathed in the safety of his arms. With his attention captured by your irises that swim with devotion for him, he starts moving forward and with his back to the other man that still is splayed along the couch, he glances back to say, “Ah, and I did not neglect to acknowledge that you’re here, too, Jimin,” he winks, “You did well. I can tell she enjoyed herself. I’ll be in touch. Please make sure you lock up, for I have more important things,” he peers back down at you with affection crinkling his eyes for you, “to attend to.”

 Jimin waits until the two of you vanish until he allows his own lips to lift out of joy born from watching such domesticity manifest itself in the form of two individuals that clearly were in love with each other with the way the emotion had so colored both of you and, with that emotion lifting his own heart, he dresses and locates his phone amidst the piles of clothes (both yours and his) that had long been forgotten.

 Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to walk, Jungkook had decided that foregoing your outfit would be best and so, as he carries you through the halls like the bride you will soon be to him, he smiles as he gazes tenderly at you, your eyes closed as you snooze comfortably in the cushions of his body as he holds you.

 You sleep peacefully in the passenger seat of his Mercedes S-Class Coupe and he glances at you every so often, your skin glowing amidst the emerald greens and ruby reds your skin shines with under the traffic lights as the city passes by in a whir with the constant to it all being your slumbering figure that gives him so much strength and stability in a ceaselessly churning life.  

 You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen even from the first time you’d caught his eye and now, after so much time has passed, you still remain the most priceless jewel to ever gleam for him amidst the dull, dim passersby that pale in comparison to your transfixing bright light.

When he’s pulled into the quiet mansion that stands tall in front of the richly hewn garden you have tended to that borders an impressive watering fountain that cost him thousands, none of it holds a candle to the treasure he takes into his arms as he withdraws you from the car and gently brings you upstairs. He’s careful not to make sound so as not to wake you and when he sets you smoothly on the bed, you do not rouse until the sound of water from the shower in the adjoining master bathroom trickles over your ears.

 You divest yourself of your covering in search of the kind of warmth only your fiancé can grant to you and when you join him in the shower, he welcomes you and washes your hair before his hands trail along your body to clean that, too. You sigh in satisfaction as you thank him once more and with some insisting on your part, you do the same for him even in his concern that you might be too sore to do so. Mindless touches turn into something not so sinless as your hands wander along his chiseled figure that has the power to have you salivating with only one glance.

 He’s hesitant at first because he knows you ache from the strenuousness of the night’s illicit activities, but in your want to reassure him that you are not as fragile as you appear, you fall to your knees before him and take him into your mouth, his groans heating you up as you rut against his leg while you suckle him. You eagerly devour his seed that you’ve come to love so much when he is ready to feed you and once he helps you rise from the ground, he’s sure to give you a kiss that would rival that of the one in the most beloved romance story before he dries you both against your ailing and feeble legs that are weak for him and when he sweeps you off your feet once more, he still kisses you like his hunger will never stop its craving for you.

Even when he lays you down like you’re a glass doll that might shatter if he’s not careful, he still treats you like a piece of art as he looks at you reverently whilst he makes love to you amid your breathless admissions of love for him while he fills your canvas with his seed until he can give you no more of his paint to taint you with.

 And when the breeze blows against your sweat sluiced skin as you lay over him, your chin resting on his sternum while you innocently let the pad of your fingers brush his chest, he asks you, “Did I please you tonight, my love? Did you have fun?”

 “Sweetheart,” you press your mouth to the dip between his collarbones before you breathe, “whenever I am with you, those two things are always a given.”

 His heart dances in his chest at your admission and the fingers that skim your sides splay out to hold you closer as you stare fondly at him.

 “Such a wonderful girl for me. Have I told you how perfect you are for me lately?” He questions, his thumbs drawing shapes into your skin as he goes on, “I don’t know if I have or not. I suppose you’ll have to remind me.”

 "Every morning," you brush your lips against his own in a soft kiss before you pull away, "and every night, my love. Not a day goes by that you don't tell me that or how beautiful you think I am," you smile at him.

 "It's because it's true. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and this, "he holds up the phone to show a text from Jimin you’d both missed in the middle of your lovemaking as he kisses the crest between your brows, "was for you, pretty girl. Whatever you want, I will always give it to you."

 "You're too good to me, Kookie. I really am so lucky to have you," you caress him, your knuckles tracing his jawline as you stare tenderly up at him, "You've always been the best for me and when we marry," you coax him toward you and he heeds your urging fingers along his maw as he meets you halfway to connect your lips to his own, but this kiss is one that he takes control of and you let him, your lips parting for him as his tongue dips low into your mouth to reclaim every contour of you in his touch before he disconnects from you for you to vow, "I enjoyed messing around with Jimin, but once marriage binds us together forever, I will love you and only you until the end of my days. No matter what, I will always yearn for you."

 "God, I love you so much. I can’t wait to marry you and put a ring on your finger so that everyone knows that you’re all mine," he ardently declares as he rests his forehead against yours to breathe in your air as he confesses, "They say that happy marriages look to the future and not the past," he lays back and brings you with him so that you're lain across his chest, his heart beating to the same rhythm as yours as he grins, "but baby, you are what I want my time to be filled with. You're my past, my present and my future and what we have together, my beloved flower, will never wilt."

[twilightfansofcolor]

Secret Admirer pt 2 (Caius Volturi x black reader)

for @prettyvintageafternoon

Caius fiddled with the sleeve of the gray pull over sweater he borrowed from Edward. Never in the centuries that he knew Carlisle did he ever think he would need his family’s help yet here he is, sitting in the backseat of the Volvo as they drove to your apartment; the blue contact lenses irritated him but according to Bella they were necessary. “Remember you two, no funny business. Stick to the plan or I’ll rip your heads off,” Caius hissed at them. The cover story was that he was an old childhood friend of Edward’s who lost contact when Caius oved to Rome after his parents’ divorce; they’d run into each other at Dartmouth. This would be difficult for him since he never cared that much about Edward and only spent a few minutes in the other vampire’s presence.

Soon enough, they were pulling up to the gate of your apartment complex; Caius whipped out the keycard and waved it in front of the sensor and the gates pulled open. Meanwhile you were putting on the final touches of your outfit: a final swipe of your favorite lip gloss, laying down your edges and fluffing out the curls from your recent twist out, the diamonds of the Tiffany bracelet your parents got you for Christmas glittering in the light. After a once over in the floor length mirror, you deemed yourself ready. You were packing your purse when the knocks came, throwing in a few tampons, your cell phone, checking your wallet. You rushed to the living room to open the door.

Caius looked stunning in the gray pull over and khaki pants; his lips turned up in a smile when he saw you. “Good evening Y/N. You look absolutely stunning.” Your glossed lips pulled back from your teeth and he took in your dazzling smile as you answered, “thanks Caius, so do you. So your friends are waiting downstairs?” “Yes, I hope that’s okay with you. It’s a childhood friend of mine and his wife.” You could feel his nervousness and guessed that his friends’ presence would keep him calm in any case of awkwardness.

Truth be told, you were a little nervous too, it had been awhile since you’d been on a decent date. The last guy who took you out promised fine dining which made you put on the most beautiful (and most expensive) midi dress only for ole dude to pull into the Burger King drive thru, and you ate Whoppers in the deserted parking lot with the car light on. That was six months ago. The ride to Port Angeles was light and fun and Caius asked you questions the whole way. Inside the upscale Italian restaurant, his friends Bella and Edward asked you questions as well: if you were from Forks, what college you graduated from, hobbies and interests.

When the waiter brought your drinks out, it was your turn to ask questions. “So, how long have you two been married?” “A little over a year now. We also have a daughter, Renesmee,” answered Bella. Wow, already married with a kid and they looked to be your age, early twenties. “Well congratulations,” you said a little stunned. While you loved the idea of marrying your first love, you couldn’t imagine settling down so young.

While your parents are college sweethearts, they didn’t get married until they passed their certifications and exams, and had you almost ten years later in their early forties, and that’s how they raised you: focus on building the life you want for yourself before finding someone to settle down with. When it came time to order, Bella recommended the mushroom ravioli. “It’s what I had on my first date with Edward, plus it’s amazing.” If it worked for them, you hoped it would work for you and Caius; you were absolutely obsessed with him as he spoke about Italy, and he sounded like he had almost centuries of life experiences. Caius seemed very well versed in the arts, well traveled, and you told him about the places you went to on vacations with your parents.

“My parents and I usually spend Christmas in France and we’ll go to the Disneyland there,” you told him. You also told them how your parents are thinking about moving to Paris full time since they’ve had enough of America. You and Caius seemed so engrossed with each other that you forgot that the other couple was your ride home; he was a perfect gentleman the entire night, pulling out your chair, opening and closing the car door for you, and he even got you a nice slice of chocolate cake to take home with you. When the night was over, he told Edward to drop the two of you off at the gate and he walked you back to your door. Spring was in the air and you could smell the flowers planted in front of the leasing office.

“I had a wonderful time tonight Caius,” you whispered as you reached your door. You really did mean that. “As did I Y/N.” He gave you a soft kiss on the cheek before walking to the bank of elevators and getting in one. Did Bella say anything about falling in love with Edward over mushroom ravioli? Because you were sure that’s what was happening.

[popculturebuffet]

Pride Month: The Owl House: Wing it Like Witches

A good pride to you all you out and happy people! And welcome to my SECOND Pride Month! Last year was my first, both on this blog and in general as it took me a few years to come out publicly. So as such I was excited as hell and celebrated in style covering two full arcs, smaller ones than the whopper one’s i’ve done sense but still full stories: The Sam and Luna storyline from Loud House and the Red and Enid one from OK KO, to celebrate some bi characters, along with a few brucey extra reviews.

This year will be slightly different. The only thing close to a dedicated  arc is a two-part look at Queer Duck for Kev, and yes that is a very real thing, Otherwise i’m just doing some one offs instead, as well as kickstarting a retrospective. This is really for practicle reasons: I didn’t really have anything in mind that fit within a month, as unlike last year, I now have ongoing retrospectives, patreon sponsored reviews, and plain old comissoins to look out for. I don’t MIND any of that mind you, I like having responslblities and stuff to do. It’s why I promote my pateron reguarly. It just means adapting and evolving. So one shots instead of arcs. Everybody good? Okay. 

So it’s back to the Owl House as we wait for season 2! ... I DID not know Season 2 would be airing this month when I put this on the schedule, but serendipity’s worked out for me so far so far. I originally planned to save enchanting grom fright for this month, but decided to move it up to valentine’s day, and thus saved the other incredibly gay episode for this week. Which also happens to be the sports breather episode on a week where I could badly use a review that isn’t a good 150+ pages of comic. 

And we’re picking up exactly where we left off: The episode after Grom with it now open to the audience Amity has a crush on Luz.. granted there were hints before but now i’ts out there and Dana won over the executives, fun fact disney got slapped with a discrimination suit on the first day of pride... now that.. that’s game right there. Slapping your bosses with a discrimination suit for being homophobic right when it’d hurt the most, that has my utmost respect, she did not have to be subtle anymore. This episode is the result of that and some other stuff we’ll get to as we go so join me under the cut!

So we open with Boscha

For a refresher Boshcha is that bullying asshole what was “”””””Friends””””””” with Amity, with as many quotes as it is because it was more friends in the sense her parents said “Dump your actual friend and hang out with this triclops or we’ll do bad stuff”. 

Grudgby season has started up: it’s like Rugby but somehow even more horribly violent. It probably involves as many cats though. 

I mean I think the boiling Isles has cat people. it’d honestly be weirder at this point if it didn’t. Point is it’s sports ball and she’s good at the sportsball so everyone in town is excited and as Boscha prepares to enter with her girl posse of Skara and...

She finds no one fawning over her or anything. Instead their all gathered around WILLOW. Willow is actually.. popular now... as it turns out just being nice, having a neat talent and some confidence can work wonders. She even makes a head eggplant for a guy.

Boscha takes this entirely nice person not meaning to steal her thunder the way you’d expect: by making a cruel jab about “needing to make friends out of plants”... that is also nonsensical as Willow has two very close friends, one of whom is about as subtle as a frying pan to the face. 

Make that three as Amity keeps her word from “Understanding Willow” about not letting Boscha get away with this... and utterly destroys her with a sentence. 

Amity:  You know, I used to be like you, Boscha. Obsessed with status, challenging my competition, but I grew up. When will you?

So everyone naturally laughs at that burn and Boscha swears even more vengance on Willow because that makes perfect sense.

After the credits Eda drops Luz off at school. Luz is excited for Grudgby season and she has more school spirit than the actual school spirit.. whose depressed at this. oh come on Jeremy your trying your best.. she was just being peppy> It’s her primary personality trait. Turns out Eda was the star player for the Zanarkand Abes Hexside Banshees when she was in school, and got in despite being a freshman. Mostly by cheating, nature’s great equalizer. So while Luz goes off for a day of learning Eda wakes king up so she can talk him into going over old memories.. and since the plots don’t overlap after this let’s go ahead and go through that one now shall we? 

So Eda puts on her old Jersey, credit to her it stillf its, and shows off to King, but is interupted by Hooty bringing in something he found in the woods... but this time it’s not a giant dead mouse or a giant dead mouse person, they had to get a LOT of bleach that day, but Lilith. She was hiding in the woods because she’s a creep naturally her first order of buisness is to read Eda her arrrest warrant.  Her and King take this as you’d expect...

Seriously LIlith you’ve tried the “The Emperor wants what’s best for you” bit for what’s clearly been years. If Eda wasn’t gonig to buy it THEN she’s not going to buy it now. 

Lilith then notices Eda going over her old Grudgby stuff and being the former captain and already having an inferiority complex with her little sister outright claims she was better and that Eda couldn’t win without cheating. Eda decides to take that bet: Eda wins, Lilith gets the fuck out of her house, Lilith Wins, Eda goes quitely. 

King serves as Ref and Hooty serves as the field hazard, and proves he can both be suprisingly impartial and suprisingly versatile, stretching to block eda’s goals and creating a giant stygian mouth hole at one point, a nice bit of show don’t tell as it shows off WHY he could capture someone at Lilith’s level and why next episode he can EASILY own the gaurds: he is really powerful.. he’s just also won’t shut the fuck up. 

It’s neck and neck ending up tied, with eda deciding “Fuck it i’ll cheat”.. only for Luz to have emptied her cheat box because she’s consdierate... and because payback for cheating when Luz asked her NOT too way back in episode four is a BITTTTCHHH ain’t it? Still Eda proves she has the skills to not end up in indentured servtude and wins... but then Lilith breaks down. Turns out giant sized assholes wearing creepy masks don’t take kindly to repeated failure.  So Eda gives Lilith her ring and while Lilith is greatful she’s still coming back, setting up the finale. But for now their square and this subplots done...

So winding back to the main plot, our heroes are in history and Luz marvels at the school’s outbreak of Willow Fever. Willow contributes her new popularity to confidence from patching things up with amity. At first I THOUGHT this was a bit fast. .but as the episoide shows she’s not 100% there yet confidence wise. Case in point Boscha starts bullying her and naturally Luz stands up for her friend and is confident Boscha can’t follow them around and torment them all day. ONe smash cut later and she has indeed followed them all day. 

Willow explains why Boscha can get away with this: as their star player she can get away with murder.. which leads to a great gag of Principal Bump saying i’ts okay, even if he dosen’t approve. Good stuff. 

So Luz asks a passing and now weirdly nervous Amity for help since she and boscha are friends. 

Amity points out that Boscha works on Grudgby terms during the season... Luz gets what to do here, having brought up a sports theme Azura story earlier.  As if on cue Boscha picks then to dump garbage on willow saying it “belongs with the other trash”

So Luz challenges her to a children’s card game sports ball game grudgeby match: Willow wins, she backs the fuck off, Boscha wins she gets to use them as water people.. and target practice. So this has suddenly become An Extremely Goofy Movie and i’m here for it. 

So Willow isn’t exactly stoked about this being called on her behalf, but Luz talks her and Gus into it for valid reasons: They really can’t just IGNORE Boscha. It’s why I say Willow’s development isn’t sudden: she has SOME new confidence, and her popularity isn’t unwaranted as we saw her making flowers for Grom last episode, but she also dosen’t have it in her to stand up to Boscha on her own and is content to just ride it out because that’s what she’s always done. But Luz is right that she won’t stop and it’s not right to just let her go on tormenting Willow for the rest of her life.. look Boscha just screams peaked in High School to me, she’s not going to have anything but sniping at Willow after this.

Luz tries to recruit amity but well.. let’s face it you all know how this goes “You.. and me... in cute uniforms.. sweating?! I GOTTA GO”. I’m mixed on how. blatantly obvious Amity’s feelings are in this one. On the one hand... it’s fucking hilarious. Adorable but still comedy gold, and Mae Whitman really dosen’t get to show off her funny side often in her roles, so it’s nice to get some good comedy out of her. But it also feels sudden.. while we KNOW she has a crush on Luz now it’s still a weird jump up from “won’t admit it at all and no one can tell” to “Luz must have some brain damage not to notice how much Amity wants to go out with her. “ It’s not BAD but it feels artifically accelerated and hopefully will be dialed back slightly. Don’t get me wrong some dumb lovestruck amity moments here and there would be great, we just don’t need her at this level in every episode. 

So Luz herself learns how to play> Grudgby is essentially rugby but with horrifying traps on the field. So MILDLY more dangerous. Luz decides they can speed up learning it via montage.. and we get a hilaroius montage of her EXPLANING what a montage is including them in animal pajamas “what happens in the montage stays in the montage”. 

Actual practice goes worse though as Luz pushes too hard.. not in an overcompetivie way she just dosen’t give them a break and expects too much too fast so the two end up bailing after Willow’s flower hairclip and gus’ flag gets broken and before their necks do. 

So Luz laments things having gone south and Amity comforts her and ponits out the real reason she dosen’t want to play besides...

Amity was captain once, but pushed her own team, Boscha and ...

And got them hurt. Which really is a common backstory: not bad but i’ve seen “I can’t play there’s a demon inside me” a LOT. The only time i’ve really seen it used creatively was with The Great North recently, instead having the character BADLY want to get back in but being far too unstable when playing the game and even coaching proved too much for her. 

So after getting in Amity’s personal bubble Luz decides to forefeit and take it all herself. Boscha acts how you’d expect and starts throwing FLAMING BALLS AT HER as target practice for a well meaning gesture, something even her minions can’t get behind. 

So Amity not wanting to see her crush flambed goes to Willow and Gus for help, pointing out that while Luz was a bit overzealous it’s because she cares and is currently out there in mortal danger in pentiance. She also keeps stumbling into how much she loves her and angrily denying it, with Gus completely lost and Willow just like “Wait so she’s into Luz?... yeah that tracks”. 

So Willow comes back and declares the game back on. Their still down a player as Gus’ flag is on an IV, and that’s not my joke but there’s, but Amity naturally steps in. Boscha says “you just destroyed your social life”

 Amity takes it in stride and the game is on, with our heroes naturally stomping them and slowly winning over the rest of the team minus Upstart Triclops Bitch, as you know, Luz and Willow are genuinely nice and not just using them as minons for petty bullying. 

Luz also picks up a new spell and in her fastest time yet as all she needs is to see the fire rune burned on a ball to learn it. This does showcase something I like about the series: even breather episdoes feel VITAL. Only two episodes in season 1 really feel inssesntial (Really Small Problems and the writing one, if only the main plot there), and while this one is again just a breather both plots naturally feed into the two part finale and provide curcial setup: Luz gets her Fire Spell, Amity breaks a leg keeping her out of events and Lilith both shows how bad things have gotten with her and the empereror and vows to come back.  It’s just nice to remember that especially when Ducktales SERIES FINALE had the lead in of a terrible trial episode that really didn’t add anything or set up anything major for what came next. This episode proves you CAN have a breather before the finale, AND still naturally lead into it. 

But yeah so Boscha sweeps the leg...

And breaks Amity’s leg out of her leg, but Willow voluntarily goes for teh Thornball, a move she and Luz suggested earlier and it wins them the match.. for about a second. Then Boscha finds the rusty smidge and wins anyway.  Look given what this series involves a magical school a harry potter joke was both expected and inevitable. The timing was both perfect and awful as the episode aired Two Months after JK Rowling choose LAST PRIDE MONTH to try and justify being a TERF. And despite a year having passed still has not been released from any position of creative control at Warner nor gotten public backlash, probably in part because the UK is deeply transphobic as I horrifingly found out recently. The perfect part is it takes the piss out of her moments after she decided to do something so utterly loathsome. None of this was PLANNED obviously, but I love the irony. And I will not stop bringing up JK”s actions any time soon , as her work is deeply engrained in pop culture, so it’s impossible to avoid entirely, especially since I LIKE the actors that were in it and some parodies, but I still won’t let her get away with it or let it quitely sink away as part of her personality that she hates trans people and has the GALL to say she dosen’t when she doesn’t TREAT them as women for no reason other than pure bigotry. 

So in far less fuck this woman who brought me so much joy and has now ruined all that joy and my memories, news, BOscha has won.. but it’s a hollow victory: her teammates are more than impressed and actually invite willow to join, meaning not only can’t Boscha collect on the bet.. but that Willow is better at her. Willow further wins by refusing it, actually taking Boscha’s feelings into consdieration and being the bigger woman. 

Amity’s still injured though, so we get one last bit of hilarious gay panic as Luz offers to carry her which naturally sends Amity into her now famous lines of “I’m fine.. who’se amity”. Luz just scoops her up, and Willow smiles proudly accepting this is happening. But it’s the final montage that really sells things as our heroes party... and most importantly the final shot has Amity warmly welcomed into the Owl House, finally at home. Now let’s hope her parents don’t entirely fuck this up in two weeks. 

Final Thoughts:

Wing it Like Witches is a decent episode with some good gags, character progressoin and gayness, but that’s about it. it’s GOOD it just has nothing to really put it over the top to great. As i’ve said i’ve seen this plot a LOT, and done better at that, so it just dosen’t feel that new or intresting, and Eda’s subplot, while still necessary for the finale, feels tacked on. It’s not a bad episode, just a decent one in the middle of the season’s high ponit, literally: Grom and the two part finale are the high of the season and hopefully that quality will carry into season 2, while this is more buisness as usual.

Next Time on The Owl House: Season 2 starts next week with a sea adventure! Hoot motherfuckin hoot! 

Next time on this blog: I make this precious as I do another pride review and start my look at Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye as a bunch of misfits set off into space on a quest to find the knights of cybertron but end up just kinda stumbling around into misadventures, self discovery and energon loss. 

If you really enjoyed this review, consdiering becoming a backer RIGHT HERE.  Even if you can only kick in a buck it not only helps but gets you access to exclusive reviews, my discord, and to pick a short when I do a shortstacular, my celebration of a character from the theartical short’s day’s birthday. You also help me reach stretch goals: 20 has been changed from monthly reviews of darkwing duck to reviewing, also at a monthly or more if I feel like it pace, THE OWL HOUSE. all the episodes but the two i've already covered all for everyone if you pony up 5 bucks along with  2 Ducktales mini as well as a brucey bonus Danny Phantom: The Ultimate Enemy review, while 25 will have me reviewing 3 MORE disney movies (The Recess, Proud Family and best Kim Possible Movies), and allow you the backers to pick a review. And the best part is like this review EVERYONE, wether you can afford to pay or not, gets the review. So if you end up liking this review and want more, hop on.  And if your consdiering becoming a 5 dollar backer and thus helping meet my next goal automaitcally you not only get a review a month but if there's a reward down the line you'd rather swap one of the current ones for the 20 dollar tier with let me know. If it's within reason i'll gladly do it.

[cinema-tv-etc]

‘The Crown’ Stokes an Uproar Over Fact vs. Entertainment

Dramatic liberties in the latest season of the Netflix series, covering the turbulent 1980s, are annoying Britons who wrote of that period, even among those who disparage the royals.

By Mark Landler Nov. 27, 2020 LONDON — On a Saturday night in July 1986, a band of bureaucrats in raincoats — one contingent from Buckingham Palace, the other from 10 Downing Street — converged on a newsstand in a train station to snap up The Sunday Times, fresh off the presses with a bombshell headline: “Queen dismayed by ‘uncaring’ Thatcher.”

It’s a dramatic flourish from the latest season of the “The Crown” — except, according to Andrew Neil, the paper’s editor at the time, it never happened. “Nonsense,” he said. “All first editions are delivered to both” the palace and the prime minister’s residence, making a late-night dash to buy the paper superfluous.

Mr. Neil, who published the famous scoop about tensions between Queen Elizabeth II and Margaret Thatcher, said the invented scene had allowed Peter Morgan, the creator of the hugely popular Netflix series about the British royal family, to depict 1980s London as a place of “squalor and vagabonds.”

Through four vivid seasons of “The Crown,” Mr. Morgan has never denied taking artistic license with the saga of the royals, playing out their private joys and sorrows against the pageant of 20th-century British history.

Yet “The Crown” is now colliding with the people who wrote the first draft of that history.

That has spun up a tempest in the British news media, even among those who ordinarily profess not to care much about the monarchy. Newspapers and television programs have been full of starchy commentary about how “The Crown” distorts history in its account of the turbulent decade in which Prince Charles married Lady Diana Spencer and Mrs. Thatcher wrought a free-market revolution in British society.

The objections range from the personal (the queen’s brittle, coldhearted treatment of her emotionally fragile daughter-in-law, which the critics claim is unfair) to the political (the show’s portrait of Thatcher-era Britain as a right-wing dystopia, in the grip of a zealous leader who dares to lecture her sovereign during their weekly audiences). Historians say that is utterly inconceivable.

“There has been such a reaction because Peter Morgan is now writing about events many of us lived through and some of us were at the center of,” said Mr. Neil, who edited The Sunday Times from 1983 to 1994.

Mr. Neil, who went on to be a broadcaster and publisher, is no reflexive defender of the royal family. Suspicious of Britain’s class system, he said he had sympathies for the republican movement in the 1980s. But he grew to admire how the queen modernized the monarchy after the upheaval of those years, and has been critical of renegade royals, like Prince Harry and his wife, Meghan.

The events involving Mr. Neil did happen: The queen became frustrated with Mrs. Thatcher when she refused to join the 48 other members of the British Commonwealth in backing sanctions against the apartheid regime in South Africa. This highly unusual clash spilled into public when The Sunday Times published its front-page report, attributed to palace officials, which said the royal family viewed Mrs. Thatcher as “uncaring, confrontational and socially divisive.”

But Mr. Neil disputed several elements of “The Crown’s” retelling, not least that Buckingham Palace made the queen’s press secretary, Michael Shea, the scapegoat for the incident. The show depicts his being fired for having leaked the story, even though it suggests that he did so at the queen’s behest. There is no evidence of this, Mr. Neil said, but it fits Mr. Morgan’s “left-wing agenda.”

“He gets to depict Thatcher as pretty much an ally of apartheid while the queen is the sort of person who junks loyal flunkies when things go wrong, even when they are just doing her bidding,” Mr. Neil said.

The brickbats are not just from the right.

Simon Jenkins, a columnist for the left-leaning Guardian, regards members of the royal family as artifacts of celebrity culture irrelevant to a country grappling with real-world challenges like Brexit. “They are practically defunct,” he said. “They are like anthropomorphized figures of a head of state.”

Yet he, too, is angered by how “The Crown” portrayed the events of the 1980s, when, as political editor of The Economist, he wrote about how Prince Charles had been drawn to the now-defunct Social Democratic Party. (He based the report on an off-the-record interview with the prince.) Mr. Jenkins said that because this season of “The Crown” deals with contemporary history and people who are still alive, its liberties with the facts are less a case of artistic license than an example of “fake news.”

“I find it offensive when people dump standards of veracity in relating contemporary history,” Mr. Jenkins said. “If I did that as a journalist, I’d be hauled up before the press council while these people get prizes.”

Like others, Mr. Jenkins pointed to an episode-by-episode analysis by Hugo Vickers, a royal historian, which found whoppers large and small in the series and has become Exhibit A for its prevarications.

Not everybody faults Mr. Morgan for filling in the missing pieces with conjured scenes, even if he jumbles the facts in the process. (Mrs. Thatcher’s son, Mark, was not lost in the desert during the Paris-Dakar auto rally just as his mother was preparing to go to war with Argentina over the Falkland Islands; hostilities broke out a few months after he was found.)

Charles Moore, a former editor of The Daily Telegraph who wrote a three-volume biography of Mrs. Thatcher, praised Gillian Anderson’s performance as the prime minister, putting it on a par with Meryl Streep’s Oscar-winning turn in the 2011 film “The Iron Lady.” Even a much-criticized episode in which a snobbish queen plays host to a fish-out-of-water prime minister and her husband, Denis, at Balmoral Castle in Scotland, struck him as having “the ring of truth,” despite some embellishments.

Charles Moore, a former editor of The Daily Telegraph who wrote a three-volume biography of Mrs. Thatcher, praised Gillian Anderson’s performance as the prime minister, putting it on a par with Meryl Streep’s Oscar-winning turn in the 2011 film “The Iron Lady.” Even a much-criticized episode in which a snobbish queen plays host to a fish-out-of-water prime minister and her husband, Denis, at Balmoral Castle in Scotland, struck him as having “the ring of truth,” despite some embellishments. 

“The Crown,” Mr. Moore said, is trying to have it both ways, selling itself to audiences as a true story while clearing out the extraneous debris of facts that would gum up its dramatic narrative. “There is this thing called the tyranny of fact,” he said. “But as we get to modern times, it gets harder to avoid.”

Mr. Morgan declined to respond to the criticisms, though he told The New York Times this month that he was mindful that this season would be held to closer scrutiny. The producers mined the copious news reports of the period, as well as biographies of Charles and Diana, which contained firsthand accounts of their misbegotten union.

What is depicted in the family’s private moments, however, is “an act of creative imagination,” Mr. Morgan has said.

Behind the frustration with “The Crown” is a recognition that, right or wrong, its version of the royal family is likely to serve as the go-to narrative for a generation of viewers, particularly young ones, who do not remember the 1980s, let alone the more distant events covered in earlier seasons.

“They’ll watch it and think this is the way it was,” said Dickie Arbiter, who served as a press secretary to the queen from 1988 to 2000. He took issue with parts of the plot, including a scene in which aides to Charles question Diana about whether she is mentally stable enough to travel alone to New York City.

“I was actually at that meeting,” Mr. Arbiter said. “No courtier would ever say that in a million years.”

The biggest problem, said Penny Junor, who has written biographies of Charles, Diana and Mrs. Thatcher, is that “The Crown” is a prodigiously effective piece of entertainment. That, she says, poses a particular threat to Charles, who arguably comes off worst in the series and who is likely to ascend the throne before memories of his grim, hunched portrayal have completely faded.

“It is wonderful television,” Ms. Junor said. “It is beautifully acted — the mannerisms are perfect. But it is fiction, and it is very destructive.”

Royal Skulduggery and Palace Intrigue

‘The Crown’ Has Had Its Scandals, but There’s Nothing Like DianaNov. 12, 2020

Companies Abandon Prince Andrew After Calamitous Epstein InterviewNov. 19, 2019

Prince Andrew’s Friendship With Epstein Joins a List of Royal ScandalsNov. 21, 2019

Harry and Meghan’s Hard ExitJan. 19, 2020

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Shares Her Miscarriage GriefNov. 25, 2020

Mark Landler is the London bureau chief. In 27 years at The Times, he has been bureau chief in Hong Kong and Frankfurt, White House correspondent, diplomatic correspondent, European economic correspondent, and a business reporter in New York.  @MarkLandler

A version of this article appears in print on Nov. 27, 2020, Section A, Page 12 of the New York edition with the headline: ‘Nonsense’: Witnesses to the Actual Events of ‘The Crown’ Have Some Criticisms.

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https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/26/world/europe/Crown-Royals-Fact-Fiction.html

[eiirisworkshop]

Untitled O Human Star fic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

I read the first chapter of O Human Star for a class on comics and graphic narratives, loved it, and read all the rest of what was already posted--then I started writing a fic because that’s who I am as a person.  O Human Star was, itself, a work in progress at the time, and I felt like I needed to see where the story went before I went further with my fic.  O Human Star has now finished, and it’s beautiful, but the plan I had for my fic now feels out of place, and I just don’t feel like doing the retooling it would need for me to continue.

***

Sulla needed to find a book—she knew what book, and where it was supposed to be, just, actually getting it was a bit slow going since she was trying and failing to stare at the purple haired synthetic curled up in a beanbag in the corner.  He—she assumed he, definitely human shaped and flat chested under the baggy graphic tanktop, sharp jawline, black and white flannel tired around narrow hips, so he had a book propped in one knee, chewing his lip while he read, and a braided cord running from an outlet in wall next to the nearest shelf to plug in at the nape of his neck, parting his sleek bobbed hair.

He looked up and looked her dead in the eye.  Sulla squeaked in embarrassed surprise and hid behind a shelf.  When she peered out around it, he was still looking and he raised one lilac-tinted hand in a little wave.  She waved back sheepishly.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” the purple-haired, purple-eyed, just overall purple synthetic said with a touch of a smile playing at his lips.

“I didn't mean to stare, I just—” Sulla stammered, stepping fully around the shelf, “—you don't usually see people just kinda plugged in to charge out in public, you know?  Or I don't.  I haven't.”

“Uhuh.” He plinked placidly.

“Sorry. I, uh, I'm Sulla.”

“Aytrin.” He closed his book around one finger and held the other hand out to her.  “Nice to meet you.”

She hesitated slightly, grinned, tucked her books under one arm, and stepped forward to shake his hand.  “So,” she sank to her knees next to his beanbag, “you plug in.  Do you not have a respiratory engine, or…?”

“No.” Aytrin's cheeks glowed faintly blue.  “I was a hobby build and I'm old enough there was no way most hobbyists could afford that kind of thing.”

“Oh! That makes sense.  I'm a hobby build too—well, sort of.  And my, uh, my dad's a roboticist, so it's a little different, I guess.”

“A little, yeah,” Aytrin chuckled.  “I'm guessing by that stack of books you're not just at the library to meet strangers, though.”

“Oh,” Sulla glanced down at her books, “no.  I—sorry…. I didn't mean to bother you.”

“You're okay, I'm just, like, two pages from the end of a chapter.”

“I have one more book I need, so I'll go get that.  Yeah.  I—can I leave these here?”

Aytrin smiled.  “Sure.”

Sulla neatened her little stack then ran off to find her last book.  When she got back, Aytrin had set his book aside—it had a shirtless man with a sword in a cave on the cover—and had grabbed one of her books to read the back.  He glanced up at her as she approached and dropped the book back on the stack.  “[INSERT TECHNOBABBLE HERE] Unless these are for your dad, looks like you're the roboticist here.”

Sulla smiled shyly and set her new book on top of the others.  “I'm homeschooled and my dad lets my study whatever I'm interested in so...yeah.  What're you reading?”

Aytrin cast a sidelong look at his discarded novel.  “Oldest queer robot romance I could find. Was pretty good until about about a chapter ago.”

“What happened a chapter ago?”

“Author lost the plot.  I was hoping it would get back on track but it only seems to be getting worse. I've given up.”  He moved to stretch, arms over his head, and knocked his charge cord out in the process.  “Ah, crap.”  He grabbed the end of his cord, cheeks lighting blue again, and he looked at Sulla.  “Can you do me a favor?”

“Do you need me to plug you back in?”  She reached for the cord.

“No, I can do it, but sometimes when I plug in, something shorts out or something, I go limp and I can't move.”

“That's not good,” Sulla said, mentally running through and discarding guesses as to what could cause that kind of failure mode.

“If that happens can you unplug me?”

“Yeah, of course..”

Aytrin held his hair aside with one hand and carefully fitted the connector to the port at the nape of his neck with the other.  For a tense moment he was still, then he looked at Sulla and flashed a smile. “All good.”

Sulla sighed, relieved.  “Good.  I can't think what would cause that, but only some of the time.  It's dangerous for you to plug in if you're alone, isn't it?”

“Yeah. If I overcharge I overheat, too.  It's a problem.”

“You're not here by yourself, are you?”  Sulla looked around.  There was no one else in the section.

“No, I'm here with my boyfriend.  He's over—” Aytrin gestured to one of the mezanine levels, “—over, he's over, over in—he's over in, in the, he's over in the, over in—over in the, in the—”

“Are you okay?” Sulla asked cautiously.

Aytrin held up a finger.  “He's over in the, in the law section.  He's over in the law section.  Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Sulla asked again.

“I get stuck sometimes and have trouble—I have trouble finishing sentiences.”

Sulla frowned.  “You're kinda glitchy, huh?”

Aytrin shrugged.  “Like I said, I'm an old hobby build.  It's fine.”

“It's not fine if it's hurting you.”

“I don't hurt,” Aytrin said simply, cheeks glowing.

“Causing you problems, then,” Sulla insisted.  “You could go to one of those debug shops on—”

Aytrin laughed once, coldly.  “Do you have any idea how much it costs to actually get anything done at those shops?”

“Don't they do free diagnostics…?”

“Free or a dollar diagnostics, yeah.”  He folded his arms.  “To fix any of the problems they find, though, the costs start adding up so, so fast.  I'm worth less sold as parts than they'd charge to fix me.”

Sulla blinked.  “I never thought about that.”

“I have plenty of 'glitches' I wouldn't want fixed, anyway, because to me they're not problems they're quirks, but even the ones I would want fixed I can't afford to do anything about.  Between me and Kash we don't make enough to cover rent in the city, let alone enough to drop a few hundred or thousand on maintenance, for me or him.”

“Kash is your boyfriend?”  Sulla hugged her knees.

“Yeah.”

“And he's synthetic too?”

“No, he's human.”

She tilted her head, hair slipping over her shoulder.  “Then what do you mean by maintenance for him?”

“Going to the dentist, things like that.”

“Oh.” Sulla looked askance and fiddled with the corner of the top book in her pile—a coding manual.  “I can't help with dentists and stuff, but maybe I could help you?  I could call it a school project.”

“I'd appreciate that.”  Aytrin smiled warmly, cheeks aglow.  His eyes flicked up behind Sulla and his smiled widened into a grin.  “Hey, Kash.”

Sulla almost fell over herself turning to see a dark skinned young man with a shock of wavy, blond-tipped hair walking up from behind her, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder.  He nodded a greeting.  “Who's this, Ay?”

“Sulla,” Aytrin said brightly.  “Um, Sulla, what pronouns do you use?”

“She,” Sulla said a little more sharply than she meant to.

Kash chuckled.  “Don't be offended by him, he sucks at gender.  Ay, we've been over this, boobs and long hair is usually a girl.”

Aytrin held up his hands.  “I'd rather ask than guess wrong.  Anyway, she's offered to fix some of my glitches.  Her dad's a roboticist and she's studying it.”

“Yeah.” Sulla stood.  “I can ask my dad if it's okay for you to come over sometime.  Or, I'd have to bring stuff with me, but I guess I could come to you if you don't live to far.  Aytrin mentioned you don't live in the city.”

Kash looked intensely down at Aytrin, who shrugged.  “All I said was that we can't afford rent here.”

Kash sighed.  “You're very kind, Sulla, but we'd have to come to you.”

“That's okay, I just have to ask my dad.”

“Of course,” Kash agreed.  He poked Aytrin gently with his foot.  “You got enough juice to get you to class with me tomorrow?”

Aytrin pressed the crook of his wrist, his cheeks lit along with a series of three dots on his inner arm.  “Not quite.”

“Well,” Kash jammed his hands into pockets, “I need food, so I'm going to go grab myself dinner—you charge.”

“Okay,” Aytrin agreed, drooping slightly.  “I think Burger King is doing that thing again where if you order on the app from next to a McDonalds you get a Whopper for a nickel.”

“I'll try that.”  Kash stooped to kiss Aytrin quickly.  “I'll be back.”

Sulla and Aytrin watched him walk away.  Sulla ran her thumbnail under one of her fingernails.  “Money's really tight for you guys, isn't it?”

Aytrin nodded.  “Law school's expensive.”

Sulla lowered herself back down to the floor.  “Kash doesn't like to talk about it, does he?”

“Nope.”

Sulla looked him over and pressed her lips together.  “You can't charge at home.”

“We live in his car,” Aytrin said shortly.

Sulla's eyes widened.

Aytrin shrugged.  “His school fees cover a parking pass for the campus deck so that's where we stay.  We usually manage a little better than right now but the semester just started so all his, all his books, the semester just started so all his books and start of term expenses have sunk our budget.”

“That...makes sense.  I don't think he'd want you to tell me that, though.”

“You were most of the way to figuring it out yourself.”

~*~

The front door banged open, announcing Sulla's return home.

“Brendan!”

“Up here, sweetheart,” Brendan called through his open office door without pausing in typing the email he was working on.

Sulla zoomed up the stairs and touched down lightly just as she came through the door.  “Can I have some friends over for a project?”

“Which friends?  Titus and everyone?”

“Um, no.  New friends.”

“New friends?”  Brendan hit send and swiveled his chair to face his daughter.  “Do I know these friends?”

“Well, no….”  Sulla rocked on her toes, hands folded behind her.  “I just met them.”

“You just met them, and you want them to come over.”

“Yes.”

Brendan rubbed his temple.  “Sulla.”

“One of them's synthetic and he's a hobby build and I don't think he's been updated at all—I know he's hardly had any maintenance—and he's got some really nasty glitches he can't afford to get fixed, but I can fix them!”

“Sulla….”

“Their names are Aytrin and Kash.  They're really cool and Kash is a law student and they're dating and they're homeless because rent and school and everything costs so much.  We're really lucky we have a house and money and all the stuff it takes for you to do maintenance on me and Al, and I'm really lucky I've always been able to count on you for that.  They can't count on anybody for it and it's not fair, but I can help!”

Brendan settled back in his chair, looking at Sulla.  Her hands had balled into determined fists at her sides.  Law student meant mid twenties at least, and he was pretty sure he didn't like the idea of Sulla befriending random men, but apparently that's what he got for letting her go into town alone.  And now she had her mind set on something.

With a sigh, Brendan turned back to his computer.  “Let me make sure there's nothing too worrisome about these guys online.  What did you say their names were?”

“Aytrin and Kash.”  Sulla leaned on the back of his chair.  “Aytrin doesn't have a last name but Kash's is MacAodha. Here, I've got his Insta.”

~*~

Al just about spat out his synth tea.  “And you're letting her?!”

Brendan crossed his arms.  “She's as stubborn as you and, honestly, I'm not inclined to talk her out of doing a good deed.”

Sulla wooshed through the living room, dropping her laptop on the couch as she passed.  It bounced lightly on the cushion.

“I looked these kids up,” Brendan continued.  “There's just about nothing online about the synthetic one besides the public record of his emancipation in 2020 and a few pictures on the other one's Instagram; that one, though, the organic one, Kash—he's in law school, he works for a nonprofit that provides legal aid to displaced women and youth. I was hesitant, but these really seem to be good guys in a tough spot.  Sulla just wants to help.”

Sulla flew through the other way and dropped a tool case next to her laptop.

“You've had three days to tell me this is happening,” Al grumbled.

“I didn't know until this morning.”  Brendan shrugged.  “Apparently Aytrin had to get his work schedule before they knew when they could come.”

“You at least could have told me people might be coming over.”

“It's my house, Al—”

“I know that.”

“—and you've been nose to the soldering iron all week.  Even if I had told you, you'd've given a monosyllabic answer, forgotten I said anything, and we'd still be having this same conversation.”

Al glowered at him and sipped his tea.  “How long til they get here?”

Brendan opened his mouth, paused, and turned to call, “Sulla, when are we expecting your friends?”

“Umm,” Sulla popped over the railing of the stairs, checking her phone, “in, like, five minutes.”

~*~

Kash's car was an old Honda minivan, still in good shape but showing its age in the outlines of old bumperstickers left in varying degrees of less-sunbleached than the rest of the paint.  It pulled up, parked in front of the garage, and the old converted engine cut with a descending whine.  The driver's side door opened and Kash got out. His door closed with a hollow thunk just as Aytrin got out of the passenger side wearing the same black and white flannel he'd had tied around his waist at the library, carrying Kash's laptop bag.  Aytrin hipchecked his door shut, the headlights flashed once as Kash locked it, the two young men looked at each other then up at the house.

Aytrin took Kash's hand, then a step toward the door—which Sulla then burst through.

“Hi!”

“Hi, Sulla,” Aytrin returned brightly as her feet touched down in front of him.

“Is it weird if I hug you or…?”

“Not weird.”

She hugged Aytrin, pulled back, held out a questioning arm to Kash, then hugged him, too, when he shrugged.  

“Come in,” Sulla beckoned, trotting up the front steps.  She held open the door and the boys stepped over the threshold.

Brendan was waiting just inside with a fresh mug of tea cradled to his chest. “Hello, there.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Kash said politely, then turned sharply to Sulla. “This is your dad?”

“Yup.” Sulla bounced energetically.

“You didn't mention your dad is is Brendan Pinsky.”

“Well, no,” Sulla admitted, “but he is.”

Aytrin cocked his head toward Kash.  “She did say her dad does robotics.”

“A lot of people do robotics, not a lot of people are CEOs of the foremost company in robotics—it's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Kash segued abruptly.  He held out a hand.  “Kash MacAodha.”

[punished-lamb]

Mob’s Bizarre Adventure

Summary: This is a short spin-off story that involves Mob and Reigen preventing an evil demon from taking over MobDonalds. There are many exciting twists and turns as our heroes deal with this great mysterious threat. It’s very tongue and cheek.

Word Count: 2098

a/n: This is a goofy story contained in the Mob Psycho world that involves wacky high jinx and plentiful amounts of corn. This is my first posting, so enjoy the show and please leave any comments you want, thank you.

All was normal in Seasoning City, there hasn’t been a huge psychic threat in a while. Mob and Reigen only had to worry about the small exorcism work around town, so they could enjoy their personal lives better. The steady work flow isn’t much of a bother to either of them as it allows for a nice daily task.

Recently, Mob has been tasked with a daily mission, where he must exorcise a recurring demon at the local MobDonalds. Every day he is required to wear a corn cob costume and spin a sign to scare off the looming demon, or that’s at least what Reigen told him. Mob spends a few hours each day outside the establishment with him levitating the sign above his head as he wiggles his fingies in the air for extra flare. The sign reads “MobDonalds limited time exclusive Corn Mobs on a stick” for their new promotion.

Mob tries to stay enthused during his current assignment, but it’s starting to get him after doing it for the past 4 days. He just moves that sign like a good little boy for what seems like forever. As time passes more and more people are attracted to the establishment by Mob’s twirling. Luckly, Mob hasn’t encountered anyone he knows as he does this act, especially not Tsubomi. As Mob begins to doubt how much the is helping the demon problem, Tome spots him in his Corn Mob set up. She walks over with her sexy pink DS in her pocket. She asks, “Uhhh...Mob, why are you a corn?”

“Master said that if I do this, it’ll deter the demon that wishes to demolish this restaurant chain” said Mob in his usual monotone voice.

Tome gives a smug look, like if you rated her out of 10 on how smug she looked, that bitch would be SMUG. “You’re still taking those wack ass jobs, look at yourself, you’re a corn Mob, a corn.”

“I guess this task was a little out of the ordinary” Mob says as he looks down at the ground with the corn costume™ hiding his mouth in slight shame.

“Did he even tell you what the name of this “demon” was, Mob?” Tome asks, doubting the entire assignment.

Mob looks back at Tome and says, “Burger King”. Tome can’t believe how dumb that sounded. She tells him to get out of that costume as she goes to get them two corn mobs.

Mob walks to the bathroom that is located on the side of the building to get out of the corn costume™. He enters the men’s section and squeezes out of the costume from the head whole. The bathroom looks quite immaculate with every surface shining. Mob washes his face by the sink to get some of the sweat off from standing in the sun all day. He wiggles all the water off so he is no longer damp. He takes his corn costume™ and leaves the bathroom.

Mob sees Tome stand outside the MobDonalds with two corn mobs on a stick. She is already suckling hers because of the butter melting on it. “There you are Mob, took you long enough, your corn mob is drippy '', Tome calls out. Mob stares at the melty corn mob admiringly. “Uh, Mob. Get rid of that raggy costume already, it smells like ass bro.”

Mob throws the corn costume™ into its designated costume bin by the mobdonals gate. He then snags his corn mob from Tome’s delicious buttery hand. Mob thanks her for getting him a nice little treat as they walk around town together. The two suclke their corn mobs together as they chat about after school clubs.

As the two continue to chat, Mob’s phone begins to ring. Mob answers only to hear Reigen’s shouting voice, “Mob!!! Where’s the Corn Mob, Mob!!!”

“Uhhh...Corn Mob got a corn mob” said Mob hoping master won’t be as mad.

“YOU WHAT!!! Mob this job is of utmost importance, all these people are around this restaurant without a powerful corn esper to protect it. Think of the kids Mob” Reigen said angrily, clenching a corn mob in his hand

“Not to be rude but you never told me how a corn and esper hybrid was supposed to ward off a demon” Mob asked as Tome is devouring the corn mob in spectacular fashion.

“Mob, babycakes, you know demons work in unique ways” Reigen sighs, “Besides, you should have at least told me you felt for today, the MobDonalds manager is flipping out without its corn mob.”

“Sorry master, I guess it was spur of the moment,” Mob said  while nibbling his corn mob.

Reigen responds with slight disappointment, “It’s okay, I’ll go take over, I’ll see ya later Mob.”

“Okay, see you, master” Mob hangs up and continues his hangout with Tome. They plan on heading to the shopping center and hanging out for the rest of the day.

As Mob goes on to enjoy the rest of his free day, Reigen is stuck in an undersized corn costume™, sweating his ass off with an advertising sign. “Oh my god, I didn’t know this suit was such a pain in the ass,” Reigen exclaimed with sweat covering his forehead. He had been taking Mob’s spot for what seemed like hours, but in reality was about 37 and a half minutes. Reigen passed the time in the by suckling as many corn mobs as he needed. And boy did he suckle them good…...what, anyways he was out there for a long time.

Reigen struggles to pull in as many customers as Mob did due to him not being able to spin the sign as skillfully. In fact, he keeps fumbling it on the ground. As he goes to pick up the sign, a little boy points at him and tugs his mother’s skirt. “Mommy, mommy look. There’s an old bum dressed as a corn mob,” yelled the snot nosed boy.

“Now, now, don’t make fun of the homeless Timmy,” the mother reprimanded her son as she dragged him away.

Reigen overheard the mother and boy duo and shattered his ego more than it was before. He grits his teeth and in that moment he decides that he is done for today. He angrily atoms to the bathroom area with his corn leaves rustling. He plops out of the corn costume™ and throws it in the outside dumpster. “Humf, serves that thing right.” He kicks the dumpster and stubs his toe. “Ack!!!”

Reigen proceeds to scream at the dumpster. But little did he know the chain reaction he just started. Although he didn’t take the Burger King demon seriously, there was trouble brewing there due to there not being a Corn Mob guardian in front of the MobDonalds establishment during its limited time offer.

Reigen notices a cold waft of air behind him. This alarming feeling causes him to turn around. He sees a burger king crown laying on the ground. His eyes widen as the ground starts to shake. Panic spreads throughout the MobDonalds line as the establishment begins to sink into the ground. A tiny mountain emerges with a Burger King on top of it. Reigen freaks out and calls Mob.

While all that was happening, Mob was still hanging out with Tome as they had a fun and exciting day in an Ikea. They have just exited the Swidish furniture store with meatball platters in hands. Mob’s phone starts playing Shawty Like a Melody as a ringtone for Reigen. Tome is quick to blurt out, “Oh my, it’s not who I think it is is it”

Mob just stares directly into Tome’s eyes as his eyes get increasingly bigger. Mob answers his absurdly tiny phone to hear Reigen freaking out. “Holy...MOB,MOB,MOB listen! You need to get over to MobDonalds right no…” Beep Beep Beep. Reigen was cut off due to an unknown reason.

“Tome, I think I need to go to MobDonalds now, master seems to be having trouble,” said Mob as he threw away his meatball platter.

Tome squints in confusion“Wha...alright, well imma head back home. I have to put these meatballs in the fridge for later.” The two say their goodbyes and part ways. Tome seems a little annoyed Mob had to be taken away for work on such short notice.

Mob rushes like Sonic down the street back to where the mountain has erected itself. He sees Reigen at the bottom of the mini mountain with the Burger King on top. Mob greets his master as Reigen fills him in on what happened

After Mob hears the story about the mini mount Burger King, it’s clear that there is only one thing left to do. Mob retrieves the corn costume™ from the dumpster and flies up to the Burger King door with both hands in the air. He slowly opened the door to see the man behind it all. A vocaloid voice can be heard from the shadows, “Haha, I see we have a corn mob on the loose, looks like it's time to double down on the serving.” It was none other than Hatsune Miku holding a whopper, standing while a smug smile.

“Miss Miku, why did you want to destroy the MobDonalds?” asked Mob with his wittle voice.

Miku scoffed, “Noob, can’t you see, MobDonalds’ new promotion only stands in the way of my new promotion with Burger King-sama.” Her face looked very evil with her smile going ear to ear as she took a bite from her whopper.

“Miku, can’t you see, nothing but harm was brought to the people you're trying to sell to. Look at them, down there. They’re screaming for their lives.” Progression toward Mob’s explosion has risen to 69% due to Miku's neglectful actions.

She laughs in vocaloid. “Nothing more than a minor loss to my profit margin, HEHEHE MWAHAHAHAHA”

“No! Don’t you see, they’re more than a profit margin. They’re more than loyal and valued customers, they’re the life and soul of this community. And I’m beginning to think that they don’t need this so called whopper,” progression toward Mob’s explosion had risen to 76%

Miku cracks her knuckles and lets out a high pitched squeal that shatters the windows. “You’re just like one of them, esper or not. Nothing more than a little bug for me to squash.” She throws her whopper at Mob and starts to float and glows purple.

Mob’s corn costume™ got stained from the mess of a burger that was thrown. Progression toward Mob’s explosion grew to 90% as he stared at the pile of tomato, onion, lettuce, and meat. Miku proceeded to laugh at Mob, taunting him further. “Alright, it’s time to end this man’s whole career!!!”

Miku begins to float across the Burger King floor toward Mob as the progression toward his explosion reaches 100%. Mob goes and does the only thing he can think of. He reaches down into his pocket and throws a corn mob at Miku. It knocks her on the forehead, leaving a buttery mark on her head. It starts to sizzle and boil causing Miku to scream in immense pain until she turns into dust and blows away.

Mob floats out of the Burger King as it sinks back into the Earth. He lands near Reigen and Dimple while MobDonalds rises back up and everything goes back to normal. “Woah Mob, that was quick,” Reigen said with a thumbs up

“Yeah, Miku wanted Burger King to rule the world but I had to stop her,” Mob explained while looking intently at his master.

“Well regardless, let's take a break, it’s been a long day” Reigen patted Mob’s little corn head

“Wait a minute, Dimble, when did you get here. Why did you appear so late in this story?” Mob questioned while staring at his floating green friend.

Dimple explained, “Well ya see, the author forgot to write me in earlier because he was too busy thinking of Tome’s feet to include me,” Mob and Reigen just stare at him like he has no idea what he is talking about. “What!? It was his fault not mine.” Dimple crossed his arms in anger.

Mob and Reigen are still confused but just shrug their shoulders and go along with it. “Anyways, let’s go relax at the office, maybe there might be a new job wait.” They all walk off as the credits roll.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to get back to playing animal crossing new horizons on nintendo switch.

[cruzrogue]

Into the future partI

Doing 31 prompts. #fictober19

There is no rhythm or reason just the beloved characters in short or multi-chapter stories.

#arrow fanfiction @fictober-event  #olicity Rated; general 

Chapter 1 prompt: “It will be fun, trust me.”

Hope you enjoy!

 Entering the old bookstore situated just off Quincy Market, the seemly gothic girl glances at an old bookshelf that needs a good dusting. With Halloween coming this month she and a college roommate decided to finally enter this establishment that has given both girls the heebie jeebies. Like a summoning that could not be resisted.

“It will be fun, trust me.”

Those famous words always used before the fun would vanish and despair and fear will win over. As Felicity finger swipes at an old book cover as she tries to make the words out. She doesn’t see a pair of eyes glancing her way from the open balcony observing the girls in a quaint little shop that seems to only be opened around the Autumnal Equinox.

Her fingers hoover over a certain book. The way her heart speeds up it seems as if she can’t help but touch the really small scripted Latin words on the binding. “saecula saeculorum diligit animarum” She has no idea what it truly says. She understands some of the words like ‘Souls’ and the word ‘love’ It’s the deep sultry voice of a woman who tells her that she has invoked a vision of her future love.

“A what?” says the seventeen-year-old confused, she just came in because her roomy said it would be fun to go into this cryptic store during the Halloween season. There was no way she cares to find love of any sort. Love isn’t anywhere in her top ten priority list as she’s studying at M.I.T. Her passion is technology. She has no room for silly love notions. “I’m good. No need for any…” she doesn’t get to finish her sentence as she’s transported into a purple haze and a man she’s never seen before welcomes her.

He looks old, has a very distinct haircut and seems to favor metallic clothing. She gets a good look at his cape and she can just tell right there that this man is really not her type. “Who are you?”

“For you should not be here. You have created a paradox. It is your offspring who should be standing by my side.”

“My what?” Felicity glances around and its really devoid of anything. “Mister? I don’t know who you are? I actually don’t really care. I’m not into you so bring me home right now!”

“I am the Monitor.”

“Yea, well I’m Felicity Smoak and I’m a minor so you freaky robo-man that lives in a bookshelf take me home right this instant!”

“I know of who you are. You are actually of great significance. Though you being upon this dimension before 2040 is of great concern.”

“Buddy, it’s 2006 I think you’re off your rocker.”

“Mrs. Queen, I make no mistakes. You are destined to be of great importance but towards the crisis you helped facilitate bringing in the wrong people into your circle. They are your greatest threat.”

“So, I become a queen? What the dark ages happen again and I get my own castle?” Rolling her eyes at her own words. She must be dreaming because this is just to wild and way too far out then any reality could ever muster.

“No, you aren’t a queen per se. You marry a queen and it is your child…”

“Wait! Wait. Hold on. Your telling me I’m married to a woman. No offense to that but are you sure? I mean I’ve never been attracted to any friends in that way. Oh my gosh… Is this like a coming out party in my own head? I… I need to sit down.”

The Monitor hardens his fists. This conversation isn’t particular going according to any plan. He needs to just state facts before this child before him brings on certain doom. “Your destiny is always parallel to your husband, Oliver Queen as long as you find each other in each dimension it is a love of ages.”

The teenage girl just glares at the out of place dressed man. She is relieved that he’s not her future love interest she would seriously think of what her life choices have been to be into a tinman. Yes, she always loved the movie Wizard of Oz but come on, she’s also a teen that enjoys grunge music and her gothic look. This man is just so futuristic and he makes her feel queasy so hopefully that isn’t how love supposed to feel.

“Okay, so I’m married. I guess there are worse fates. I mean I’ve always seen myself fighting the man.” With his stare on her she shrugs. “Hey I have ambitions. Becoming a cyber-fighter for good. It must be relevant because I’m talking to you. Aren’t I?”

His sigh tells her enough. She must be annoying him. He turns to a new haze and she just watches as it becomes more fluid and wonders if they are going to go through.

Instead a man walks out and stops short. Felicity can see that somehow she is recognizable to him but she doesn’t know him at all.

“What is she doing here?”

“It seems your wife found a way to cross time and space. She’s looking for you.”

Felicity gives the tinman the stink eye. She never came looking for anyone. Particularly older men. Just yuck. She just wants to go back to where she comes from and run out of the crazy bookstore.

“This version of Felicity is to young. She’s not my wife.” Oliver looks at the younger version of his wife. He doesn’t know what dimension he is in but no one can replace the love of his life.

“Hey buddy. You’d be lucky to even have me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just you’re a kid. I…” Oliver turns to the Monitor. “What is going on?”

“It seems that she is here to help you. Her fiery spirit opened a gateway.” The Monitor than begins to walk towards the still fluid gateway that Oliver came through. “It seems she is another key once placed by design. Rather fascinating. I must gather intel on this phenomenon.” The man disappears.

Felicity now observing her so-called future husband, “What year are you from?”

“It’s 2019. I left you with our child.”

“What do you mean left? As abandoned? Because that is just super sleazy. My dad…”

“Felicity? I had no choice. Saving my family is my top priority.”

She looks at the void they are in. She doesn’t feel the confidence he does. Somehow she states it, “Wow! That is just some whopper that you must feed yourself. You abandoned your family! There is always a choice.”

Oliver just looks at the teenage version of his wife-to-be. She really does have this fire inside of her. Knowing now that her story about Cooper and how her resilience dimmed somewhat actually pains him. That she’ll coast along until his mission gives her something to fight for again.

“You’ll always be amazing.”

She’s looking up at him and for the first time since meeting tinman she’s actually comfortable. “I’m not one to be bashful to complements but I don’t understand any of this.”

“I need you to go live your life.” With a head tilt she makes, it has him reading her, knowing it is an inquiry. “You said you’d always find me. I’ll hold you to that.” Her eyes seek his and she smiles for the first time since entering this weird dream. His words soft but she can tell he means it, “I will always love you.”

“Even if this is the weirdest fantasy ever. I will find you… again.”

He just winks at her. “I’m counting on it. Goodbye Felicity Smoak Queen.” Without her noticing the strange bubble that is wrapping around her, he just pushes a stain of her dark hair from her face needing some small contact with her. It brings a newfound hope in him once again. They’ll find one another again. He knows it. Then poof she is gone. He just takes a moment and walks through the portal there is much to do and he can’t wait to see her again, hopefully in her older version form he has come to love.

Felicity gulps as she takes in her surroundings again. She back in the forsaken bookstore and just looks to hightail it out of there.

A strong woman’s voice stops her before truly departing. “A glimpse of things to come. Though you’ve been granted a way to change an occurrence for that future is dreary my child.”

“How?”

“Take this key. On any keyhole you’ll be granted this world.”  Felicity looks around. There is a lot of books in this tiny store. She notices her friend isn’t in the store anymore. “Do as you will and heed to protect those you love and our world.”

“Our world?” The girl shakes her head at the nonsense but just as quickly there is an understanding. She has a chance to save the love of her life. If that makes any sense? She just met an older good looking man that she supposes she marries in the future. She now wonders about this Oliver Queen? She’ll have to take a look at what the internet says about him. Taking the key and saying her goodbyes.

Leaving the shop to look for her roommate. The moment she steps out the brightness of the day’s sun has her squint her eyes and as she quickly turns to look for the name of the bookstore. She gawks as she is now standing upon a small vacant alley. There is nothing there.

As she stands there confused, the world around her is bustling with people walking around not particularly noticing the small alley. Her fingers dig down a pocket and only with her hand wrapped around a brass key does she know that everything that just occurred is real.

Her eyes still focusing on the emptiness before her that when a hand reaches her shoulder she jumps startled. Facing the perpetrator.

“Felicity, where have you been?”

“What do you mean? We went into the bookstore together.”

“I know and I have no clue where that place is anymore but while I was browsing some old looking books you basically left. I said it would be fun but the place was a total bore. No tech books in sight.”

Felicity just nods her head. “You know what we need?”

As her roommate looks to where her friend is regarding and they both call out, “Ice Cream!” Yep, ice cream will make things better. As she takes one last look at the empty lot she knows the strangeness in her life is just beginning. Whomever this Oliver guy is… he is now her field of study. She will find him again.

[monstersandmaw]

Dullahan ‘Choose Your Own Adventure Story’ - Part Nine (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Whuff!! I did it! First that whopper of a story for November’s Patreon ‘monthly story’ yesterday, and now this! *cracks knuckles and flexes fingers!*

Ok, here we have Part Nine. Everyone voted overwhelmingly for taking the unusual-looking path to the left, so that's where we went! No D again this week (I miss him! We need to get out of these mines!), but I promise that whatever you vote for at the end of this, he will appear again next week! (Maybe even sooner to make up for the lack of post last Friday...)

Last time we blew up the tunnels containing the mysterious and harmful crystals, but we suffered a tunnel collapse, and Kravik got left behind!! This week, we get to the heart of what has been going on in the tunnels, and why! And we meet a new character... (spoilers, I already love him)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

Left. You knew that right would lead out - eventually - into the sunlight, and there would be people there who would detain you, demand information, and possibly blame you - however rightly - for the explosion. No, left it was: into the unknown.

The runes thrummed slightly as you walked past them, and it occurred to you that perhaps they had been put there to disguise a tunnel that had been there all along.

Tears tracked down your face as you made your shaky way down the passageway away from the settling clouds of dust and chips of rock. “D…?” you sobbed to yourself, knowing he couldn’t reach you, but still, it brought you some degree of comfort to think of him. Would he have felt the explosion? Would he think you’d been hurt? Oh gods, Ten was going to be furious with you when you made it out. If you ever made it out. “Gods, please let Kravik be alright…” you prayed as you made your way along the uneven tunnel, wondering if this would help your cause or hinder it. Something told you that you were getting close to the heart of all this, and that same something, that tenacious knot inside you, drove you on.

If Ten had truly and willingly given you the gift of her true name, she could hardly be angry with you for using it now, could she?

The passageway led downwards at a steady gradient, and by the feeble light of your lantern, you saw that the walls of the tunnel were even more roughly hewn than those of the main mineshaft. It was an older tunnel then, and just as you had begun to wonder what on earth lay up ahead when a faint light up ahead gradually began to eclipse that of your own as you approached, growing ever brighter, until you emerged tentatively into a larger cavern, lit by warmly glowing alchemical lamps on the walls. To your astonishment, it was comfortably furnished with tables and dressers, a wardrobe, and a desk with piles of what looked like research notes and heavy tomes on mineralogy and alchemy.

What seized your attention next, however, was a row of iron bars which fenced off half of the room on the left, creating a single, large prison cell in a spacious alcove of the cavern. Lying on a comfortable looking bed behind the bars was a figure.

He sat up as you entered and stared at you with big, black eyes. He wore a simple, white, linen shirt despite the chill, and dark brown trousers covered his slim legs. A loose, dark blue, cotton scarf was wrapped around his skinny neck. At first you took him for a goblin, but a moment of dumbfounded gawking at him revealed that he was too large to be a pure-blooded goblin. A halfbreed? Half goblin and half human? Such combinations weren’t completely unheard of, but they were certainly rare.

He looked at you with his face full of fear and then gasped, “Who are you? What are you doing down here? What’s happening out there?”

“Who am I?” you asked stupidly. “Who are you? And what are you doing down here in a cage!” You raced to the door of his cell but discovered instantly as you rattled it that it was locked. “Who’s locked you in here? Was it the mayor? Why?” Questions tumbled out of you in a torrent as the young half-blood stood up from his bed and came over towards you with a curious expression now on his handsome face.

His skin was the dark grey of a goblin’s, and he had a prominent nose and dark eyes, but his face was almost more human than goblin, and while he was short for a human, at around 4’11”, he was very tall for a goblin. He also had the slightly gnarled bone structure of a goblin, and their sharp cheekbones and jawline. His black hair was tied back off his face in a neat plait that fell to his shoulders, revealing slightly pointed ears. “The mayor?” he asked quietly. He was very softly-spoken. “You know my mother?”

That stopped you dead in your tracks. “What? The mayor is your mother?” You were appalled that she could do something so hideous to her own son, and you felt the world tilt on its axis. “Gods, what is wrong with that woman? First she poisons the goblins in this town and then she locks up her own flesh and blood?”

The half-goblin turned away, looking ashamed. “It’s not her fault,” he muttered dejectedly, his warm tenor voice cracking. “It’s mine.”

“Yours? Why?” You put your hands to the bars of the cage and fixed him with an attentive stare.

He sighed. “My senses are attuned strongly to magic,” he said, still staring at a distant corner of his cage. “I can feel that amulet you’re wearing, for instance. It’s very powerful.” He sighed again and continued, holding up his palms to gaze blankly at them. “But I cannot access my magic. It’s to do with my goblin heritage. My father…”

His bony shoulders dropped and he laughed sadly as he glanced back at you over his knobbly shoulder.

“My parents were very much in love, believe it or not. But my mother comes from a long line of very powerful mages. To bear a half-breed child is shame enough, but one with stone-bound heritage? One who cannot wield magic? A goblin?” he let out a bitter snort. “I’m a blight on the family name. So… if she can get me to open up to my magic, I can at least wield it. I’ll no longer be an embarrassment to her, and perhaps she can redeem herself a little in her family’s eyes.”

He cuffed up his shirt sleeves and you saw blue tattoos all over his skin. They pulsed and glowed in resonance with the amulet around your neck, and he clenched his fists. The bright blue markings stood out in livid contrast with his smoky grey skin, and he ground his sharp teeth before he went on.

“She’s been injecting me with the phorosnykum that she’s had excavated here in the mines. Raw, it can be lethal, and it’s almost impossible to do anything with it, but she knows how to process it here in her lab. She tattoos me with it, in the hopes that it will bypass my stone-bound blood and allow me to channel magic. It’s been done before, apparently, to halfbreeds like me.”

You swayed on the spot, and he looked up, concerned.

“You had no idea, did you?”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I have to get you out of here,” you murmured once you’d recovered your senses. “Gods, I have to get you out. Is there a key?”

He nodded, clearly debating whether to tell you where it lived.

“Please,” you insisted, clutching the bars. “This is wrong!”

His dark eyes flitted back and forth. “I want to be able to use my magic,” he said very quietly. “But… you say she’s poisoning people?” You nodded, and he shook his head, looking sick. “Not at that price…” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“There has to be another way she can do this without using the goblins like this?”

He nodded. “Of course there is. She could do it in the open, and mine it all herself, but she’s too ashamed of me to let it be known that she bore some dirty halfbreed who can’t use magic. That’s why she’s covering it all up. Magic is everything to her family. If you’re not powerful, you’re practically not worth the air you breathe…”

You scowled. “That’s disgusting.”

He shrugged and took a deep breath, focusing. “Alright. Her laboratory is through there,” he said, pointing at a doorway at the other end of the rough-hewn chamber. “There’s a ward on the door, but I think that amulet will negate it. It feels like it will. The key is on a hook on the wall just inside the door.”

You nodded and turned away, heart thudding with the maelstrom of emotions. Kravik could still be lying buried under all that rubble, D and Ten must be aware that something had happened now, and you were about to break out the son of the mayor who was being used as a laboratory experiment by his own mother. It was almost too much to bear.

Halting suddenly, you turned back and looked over your shoulder as you asked, “What’s your name?”

He beamed you a gorgeous little smile, his eyes crinkling. “Will,” he said. “I’m Will. You?”

You told him, and his smile broadened. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re the first person I’ve seen, apart from my mother, in over a year. Thank you for helping me.”

“How old are you, Will?” you asked, hesitantly. He looked like he could be anywhere between thirteen years old and twenty five - there was just no way to tell at all.

“Eighteen,” he said.

“I can’t believe she’s done this to you,” you said, shuddering, and turning back towards the laboratory.

As your palms pressed against the wood of the door, a violent flash of light burst from the point of contact, and you were thrown back onto the ground with a hard grunt of surprise.

Will yelled your name, darting to the front of his cage and grasping the bars. Your ears rang and everything hurt.

You managed to push yourself upright and, blinking, you shook your head to clear it of the ringing. The amulet, it seemed, had protected you from the full blast of the ward, but it had not negated it in the way Will had hoped. His voice reached you after a moment or two, faint and muffled still.

“…you alright? Please! Tell me you’re alright!”

“I’m alight,” you confirmed, standing shakily. “Doesn’t look like I can get in though…”

“Dammit,” he hissed. “I thought the amulet would let you in.”

Before you could think any further, he went rigid and turned towards the door. “Someone’s coming,” he said, scowling.

Your stomach dropped. “The mayor?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like her… Small feet… unsteady…” He raised his nose and snuffed exploratively at the air. “Goblin… and… dwarven black powder…?”

“Kravik!” you screeched, spinning on the spot and bolting for the entrance to the cavern.

You didn’t stop to think. It could have been anyone, anyone who had been accidentally caught in the explosions, but there, making his way slowly along the corridor, his clothes ripped and torn, his face smudged with rock dust and running with blood from a small cut on his forehead, was, improbably, Kravik.

You ran at him and swept him up in your arms, crashing down on your knees to hug the little goblin tightly to you. Sobs wracked your whole body. “I thought you were dead!” you wailed as he embraced you fondly, if a little carefully due to the bruising in his ribs. “Oh thank the gods you’re alright.”

“I’m a tough little shit,” he cackled weakly. “Takes more than twenty tons of rock falling on me to kill me.”

“How?” you breathed, leaning back to let him have a bit of space and air.

He grinned. “There was another tunnel,” he said. “It was guarded by runes or something, but the explosion must have damaged them.”

“That’s how I got in here!” you said. “Gods, how many more tunnels are there like that?”

“This whole mine must be honeycombed with them,” he said. And then his eyes landed on Will in the cage and went wide with horror. He whispered your name and looked at you. “What’s going on?”

You introduced him to Will, who seemed fascinated to meet a full-blooded goblin, and Kravik seemed equally fascinated by the mix of human and goblin features in the person before him. You told him everything you’d learned in talking to Will, and Kravik listened quietly, occasionally wincing and shifting his weight as his injuries from the rockfall pained him.

“So you can’t get into the study?” he asked when you’d finished, and you both shook your head. “You think it’d work if I try?”

You hadn’t thought of that. “You mean with your immunity to magic?” you clarified.

He nodded. “Give me that amulet though, just in case. If it protected you from the worst of it, I’d rather have it on than not…”

You drew it up over your head and handed it to Kravik, who slipped it on and shivered. “It’s cold,” he said grimly. He was limping badly and his breathing was ragged from his bruised ribs, but he was right: he was one tough cookie.

Will shot you a look as Kravik made his unsteady way over to the door. “I like him,” he whispered with a cheeky grin.

“He’s my best friend,” you muttered back. “I thought he’d died in the tunnel collapse. Gods, I’m such a wreck right now.”

Will stretched his hand through he bars and gripped your arm warmly in his thin, knuckly fingers. “You’re doing fine,” he said. “We’ll get the key and get out of here. I’ll go to my mother and tell her to stop all this. I’ll leave, abandon her name. She’ll have no connection to me any more, and no reason to want to keep doing all this.”

“You’d do that?” you asked. “You’d just abandon your family?”

He snorted and looked around at the cage. “Does family do this to its own?”

You scowled. “I suppose not. You think she’ll let you go?”

Will shrugged.

From the other side of the room, Kravik called, “Here goes nothing… Wonder if my luck will still hold…?”

He placed his hands on the door and pushed.

The same flash of lightning blasted out from the point of contact, but the door opened this time. Kravik, however, was hurled back across the room, flying much further than you had, due to his smaller stature. He landed heavily, awkwardly, and cried out. You hurried to his side, but he waved you away. “Get the key,” he wheezed. “I’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, you left his side and stepped into the laboratory. On the desk was an open journal of experimental notes, you realised, and you grabbed it before turning and finding the heavy, iron key hanging on the wall, exactly where Will had said it would be. You snatched it down off the hook and returned to the room. Your eyes went first to Kravik, who still lay curled and moaning on the floor, but you figured that once you’d freed Will, you could tend to your friend.

You turned the key in the lock, but just as you went to swing the cage gate open, Will seized your wrist through the bars, his eyes wide and frightened. “Someone’s coming!” he hissed. “Oh gods, it’s… it’s her! Hide!”

A thrill of fear ran through you, and you found yourself rooted to the spot.

“Hide!” Will snarled. “Grab Kravik and hide!”

You turned and bolted to the fallen goblin’s side, but as you got there you realised with a jolt of horror that the key was still in the lock.

She was almost in the room.

Her shadow filled the entrance way.

You had two choices: grab Kravik and hide, or go back for the key.

______________

Hope you enjoyed Part Nine! If you liked this part, don’t forget to leave me a like, comment, and/or reblog/inbox. You have no idea how happy that makes authors and creators like me, and it makes all of this worthwhile.

And don’t forget to vote!!!!

Voting is open to everyone, so… the options are:

Pick Kravik up and carry him to a hiding place?

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Part Ten 

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[aion-rsa]

Doctor Who Holiday Gift Guide: A Holiday in Who-ville

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The Doctor is in, and it’s about time. Although, it should be noted that the Doctor is also in a maximum-security prison, and time is running short for Earth with the return of the Daleks. Thankfully the Thirteenth Doctor, played by Jodie Whittaker, has her Companions, as well as the newly returned Captain Jack Harkness, on hero duty on our little planet.

That is all happening on New Year’s Day in the Doctor Who holiday special, “Revolution of the Daleks.” Debuting on BBC-America at 8 p.m. ET, the January 1 episode picks up from the action following the twelfth season of the revived 56-year-old series, which aired this year from January to March.

Just to recap, that canon-shaking season brought The Master back, regenerated once more as a male human; traveled to Gallifrey, reduced to ruins (again); introduced Time Lord Cybermen, aka CyberMasters. The season ended with the whopper that the Doctor is the Timeless Child from another realm – with a lot more regenerations than previously confirmed — and that she is a being from whence all Time Lords emerged, thanks to DNA splicing. And all that happened before the cliffhanger of the Doctor being imprisoned for life by those intergalactic rent-a-cops the Judoon.

So yeah, a lot happened, and that doesn’t even cover the epic decade in the making surprise return of John Barrowman as Captain Jack Harkness, who is back again for the holiday special.

With so much happening in the world of Doctor Who, it seems like a great time for a themed holiday gift guide, a season in Who-ville, if you will. The items that follow are perfect goodies to wrap up, and stuff in a TARDIS-sized gift bag (bigger on the inside, of course) for all the Whovians in your life. And if you shop for something for yourself, that’s ok; just say you got it for one of your other regenerations.

David Tennant Does A Podcast With … Jodie Whittaker (Free)

You don’t need to spend money to let the Whovian in your life know you’re thinking of them this holiday season. And trust me, if they don’t already know about David Tennant’s podcast, they’ll be thanking you. Tennant, aka the Tenth Doctor, is a delightful human being, and a genuinely engaging conversationalist. And in his podcast – which just wrapped a second season – he converses with famous friends, costars, and newsmakers, such as Neil Gaiman, Ian McKellen, Billie Piper, and Stacey Abrams. His episode with Jodie Whittaker in February 2019, following her first full season as the Doctor, is a special treat. The two discuss getting to know one another on Broadchurch, but also discuss the unique role on Doctor Who – and what it was like for her to be the first woman to step into the part.

Listen to the podcast episode here.

Thirteenth Doctor Mug ($8.95)

Blue shirt, rainbow stripes, and suspenders. If the Whovian in your life is like me, occasionally you want your fandom served up simple along with a cup of coffee. This orb-like mug captures the essence of the Thirteenth Doctor’s outfit with a few basic elements immediately recognizable to other fans. And it looks like it holds a lot of coffee, which is a perk.

Buy the Thirteenth Doctor Mug on Amazon.

Big Finish Audio Plays ($9+)

“I don’t want to go.” These last words of the Tenth Doctor are relatable for most Who fans when they see a character depart from the show, but thankfully there is Big Finish Productions. For more than 20 years, the company has produced Doctor Who audio plays starring cast from the show, including six of the nine living actors to have played the Doctor (with Christopher Eccleston set to reprise his role as the Ninth Doctor in stories to be released in 2021). In addition getting more adventures from favorite characters, Big Finish also has characters collide who never met on screen — such as Missy and River Song, played again by Michelle Gomez and Alex Kingston, in The Diary of River Song. And while Captain Jack Harkness may only be returning to Doctor Who for the holiday special, John Barrowman voices the character in more than two dozen Big Finish dramas.

Listen to the audio plays here.

Doctor Who Face Mask ($12)

Bowties, fezzes, Stetsons; the Eleventh Doctor (Matt Smith) was especially known for his pursuit of the cool fashion – and a lot of hats — and 13 seems to be keeping the pattern going (see the tuxedo and ear cuff listings below). But if it’s one thing that’s cool in 2020, it’s face coverings, and it would not at all be a surprise for the Doctor to exclaim, “I wear a mask now. Masks are cool.” So this item from Liesl Schulz of Sewn by Liesl on Etsy is a timely entry for the Whovian on your gift list. They can also feel like a Time Lord out to protect humanity and can do so with the most minimal of effort by sporting a TARDIS-blue mask emblazoned with 12’s quote.

Buy the Doctor Who Face Mask here.

Thirteenth Doctor Action Figure with Red Top ($13)

I remember the moment we were all treated to the first look of Jodie Whittaker as the doctor in her cool coat, and that blue shirt with rainbow stripes. But by the third episode of Season 11, “Rosa,” the Doctor had switched things up with a red shirt. Even though this wardrobe change is a bold choice — considering red shirts are just bad luck in other sci-fi universes – I’m more partial to Jodie’s crimson shade. As such, this 5.5-inch Doctor action figure with bum bag and sonic screwdriver is a cool collectible for Whovian fans who like a different color on 13. (Although you can get the figure in blue as well, and a TARDIS playset she can fit in.)

Buy the Thirteenth Doctor action figure on Amazon.

Doctor Who Psychology: A Madman with a Box ($15)

What makes an ancient time-and-space traveler tick? How does an immortal deal with death? And why did he once say she “got on very well” with Freud? This book edited by Travis Langley, Ph.D., the fifth in the psychology professor’s “Popular Culture Psychology” series, explores the minds of the Doctor, her Companions, and villains. And while you may not think the Whovian in your life has a lot in common with a Time Lord, Madman delves into what Doctor Who says about human nature, and humanity. Full disclosure: I am a contributor to the book, which contains my interviews with Matt Smith, and David Tennant.

Buy Doctor Who Psychology on Amazon.

Thirteenth Doctor TARDIS Distressed Rainbow T-Shirt ($16+)

Combine the Thirteenth Doctor’s TARDIS, her signature rainbow (which doubles as a symbol for pride and acceptance), with a distressed design, and you have this happy, colorful shirt from Hot Topic. It feels like a retro design out of the 1970s (back when some older Whovians were watching the show on PBS) but celebrates the new Who. Just looking at it puts me in a better mood.

Buy the TARDIS Distressed Rainbow T-Shirt here.

Doctor Who 13th Doctor 3 Piece Gift Set – Journal, Mug & Superbitz Plush ($16.99)

This officially licensed trio of goodies packs a lot of holiday cheer for less than $20. The Thirteenth Doctor Superbitz plushy collectible is incredibly cute, while the 16-page lined journal features a rainbow striped hard cover with the phrase “The Future Is Not Written.” Meanwhile the “13 Is My Lucky Number” sporting a golden TARDIS graphic rounds out this happy little set.

Buy the 13th Doctor 3-Piece Gift Set on Amazon.

Doctor Who Friends and Foes of the 13th Doctor Set B ($25)

Nearly as soon as the Doctor regenerated into 13, she began gathering a family of four with Bradley Walsh’s Graham, Tosin Cole’s Ryan, and Mandip Gill’s Yaz. Yet, in a November interview with the BBC, Jodie Whittaker revealed “the fam as a four is no more,” and that Walsh and Cole would be leaving Doctor Who after the holiday special. But just because Graham and Ryan’s adventure on the show is coming to an end doesn’t mean their characters have to leave the world of your Doctor Who fan. Instead, if you picked up the Doctor 5.5-inch action figure above, you might as well couple it with this “Friends and Foes” set with all three of 13’s original companions.

Buy the Friends and Foes of the 13th Doctor Set B on Amazon.

Ian Leino Doctor Whoville T-shirt ($25)

Artist Ian Leino’s Doctor Whoville tee has been an evolving work for several years now. His Seussian design of all the regenerations of our favorite Time Lord gathered around a holiday TARDIS initially ended with Matt Smith’s Eleventh Doctor. But over time, he has included John Hurt’s War Doctor, Peter Capaldi’s Twelfth Doctor, and now Jodie Whittaker joins the Whos for a snowy celebration. Full disclosure: Ian has become a friend because I love this nerdy mash-up design so much, printed on a high-quality Bella + Canvas shirt. The design is likewise available on a hoodie, and holiday greeting cards.

Buy the Doctor Whoville T-Shirt here.

Hero Within TARDIS Woven Shirt ($45)

Across the globe, the TARDIS is more recognizable as the Doctor’s ultimate companion more than the police call box it’s disguised as. It is iconic and serves as a great inspiration for creative fans. Enter Hero Within, the apparel company that has been killing it with officially licensed, and well-made, nerdy fashion. Currently celebrating its new Doctor Who license, Hero Within has recently unveiled this woven TARDIS button-up shirt that calls to mind a work shirt while unmistakably inspired by the best ship in the universe.

Buy the Hero Within TARDIS Shirt here.

John Barrowman Cameo ($125)

There are few entertainment spectacles quite like a John Barrowman panel at a comic con. The man is a showman, and truly one of the funniest people to encounter at an event. Unfortunately comic cons are on hold at the moment, and the Doctor Who fan in your life might be craving the con experience — and jonesing for John. Thankfully, Barrowman is on Cameo, where he delivers pep talks, sends well wishes, and even sings a tune. And a custom message from Captain Jack Harkness himself is a great way to prepare for the New Year’s Day Special.

Subscribe to John Barrowman on Cameo.

Doctor Who Galaxy Single Ear Cuff ($150)

Jodie Whittaker is not only the first woman to play the Doctor, she is also the first to wear an earring. And what a great earring she debuted with! Designed by Alex Monroe, and available for purchase, the Galaxy Single Ear Cuff is a sterling silver piece that begins on top with a cluster of shooting stars, connected to a 22ct gold plated hand grasping another in harmony. The elegant design conveys much about the Doctor’s philosophy, but this jewelry is striking even absent any knowledge of the show. Monroe likewise created a Doctor Who Companion single stud earring of clasping hands, and a Galaxy necklace to complement the other pieces.

Buy the Doctor Who Galaxy Single Ear Cuff here.

The Thirteenth Doctor’s Tuxedo ($247+)

When Doctor Who returned for its twelfth season earlier this year, the Doctor sported a tuxedo that evoked the wardrobe of her previous generations, and basically had fandom freaking out with excitement. The outfit was likewise a nod to James Bond for the “Spyfall” espionage episodes. Well, Tamsin Hartnell of the “The Ultimate Guide to the Fashion of Doctor Who” has done an impressive job assembling the items for the Doctor’s tux for those who might want to recreate it. The Doctor’s double-breasted opera coat by Paul Smith runs for about $1450 alone (if you can find it). However, Tamsin helpfully suggests alternatives to creating an everyday cosplay of the outfit starting around $160, with the official black and gold bowtie by Blue Eyes Bowtie costing about $87. This will take some work to put the look together, but it’s time well spent. Also, take a look around the Ultimate Guide blog as it is chockful of interesting Doctor Who fashion info.

Assemble the Thirteenth Doctor’s look with this guide.

GeekOrthodoxArt TARDIS Stained Glass ($750)

For a thousand years the art medium of stained glass has been used to honor iconic figures and commemorate grand moments of historic and religious significance. And in the 21st Century, pop culture institutions can hold near religious importance, and are worthy of representation in this art form. So why not take your giftee’s Doctor Who fandom to the next level? This custom-made TARDIS stained glass artwork uses the medium’s traditional copper foil method and is composed from over 75 pieces of hand-cut glass. Crafted by GeekOrthodoxArt, the piece measures 12″ x 24″. The stained-glass design is likewise available as a $20 high-resolution professional grade vinyl window cling. (Also, if you want to make this gift even cooler for your Who fan, you can let them know that John Barrowman loved it so much, he bought one at the Pensacon event in 2018.)

Buy the TARDIS Stained Glass here.

TARDIS ($5800+)

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Much to this writer’s dismay, there is no pre-owned time machine lot to buy a working TARDIS for the Whovian on your gift list. But you can get pretty close. Iconic Studio Creations can build a custom, officially licensed, full-size TARDIS replica (well, technically, it’s a replica of the TARDIS in the guise of a police call box, thanks to the craft’s chameleon circuit). While not bigger on the inside, this is as close to the real deal as you can get, and ISC has worked with the BBC in building these babies. Sure, it’s a little expensive, but you can’t put a price tag on love – or time traveling ships. Iconic also creates replicas of Daleks, and a remote-controlled K-9, who would fit nicely in a new TARDIS. And if you prefer your time machine to have more practical applications, you can always get a DeLorean for your giftee.

Visit Iconic Studio Creations here.

The post Doctor Who Holiday Gift Guide: A Holiday in Who-ville appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[unsettlingshortstories]

Nightcrawlers

Robert McCammon (1984)

1

“Hard rain coming down,” Cheryl said, and I nodded in agreement.

Through the diner’s plate-glass windows, a dense curtain of rain flapped across the Gulf gas pumps and continued across the parking lot. It hit Big Bob’s with a force that made the glass rattle like uneasy bones. The red neon sign that said BIG BOB’S! DIESEL FUEL! EATS! sat on top of a high steel pole above the diner so the truckers on the interstate could see it. Out in the night, the red-tinted rain thrashed in torrents across my old pickup truck and Cheryl’s baby-blue Volkswagen.

“Well,” I said, “I suppose that storm’ll either wash some folks in off the interstate or we can just about hang it up.” The curtain of rain parted for an instant, and I could see the treetops whipping back and forth in the woods on the other side of Highway 47. Wind whined around the front door like an animal trying to claw its way in. I glanced at the electric clock on the wall behind the counter. Twenty minutes before nine. We usually closed up at ten, but tonight—with tornado warnings in the weather forecast—I was tempted to turn the lock a little early. “Tell you what,” I said. “If we’re empty at nine, we skedaddle. ’Kay?”

“No argument here,” she said. She watched the storm for a moment longer, then continued putting newly washed coffee cups, saucers, and plates away on the stainless-steel shelves.

Lightning flared from west to east like the strike of a burning bullwhip. The diner’s lights flickered, then came back to normal. A shudder of thunder seemed to come right up through my shoes. Late March is the beginning of tornado season in south Alabama, and we’ve had some whoppers spin past here in the last few years. I knew that Alma was at home, and she understood to get into the root cellar right quick if she spotted a twister, like that one we saw in ’82 dancing through the woods about two miles from our farm.

“You got any love-ins planned this weekend, hippie?” I asked Cheryl, mostly to get my mind off the storm and to rib her too.

She was in her late thirties, but I swear that when she grinned she could’ve passed for a kid. “Wouldn’t you like to know, redneck?” she answered; she replied the same way to all my digs at her. Cheryl Lovesong—and I know that couldn’t have been her real name—was a mighty able waitress, and she had hands that were no strangers to hard work. But I didn’t care that she wore her long silvery-blond hair in Indian braids with hippie headbands, or came to work in tie-dyed overalls. She was the best waitress who’d ever worked for me, and she got along with everybody just fine—even us rednecks. That’s what I am, and proud of it: I drink Rebel Yell whiskey straight, and my favorite songs are about good women gone bad and trains on the long track to nowhere. I keep my wife happy. I’ve raised my two boys to pray to God and to salute the flag, and if anybody don’t like it he can go a few rounds with Big Bob Clayton.

Cheryl would come right out and tell you she used to live in San Francisco in the late sixties, and that she went to love-ins and peace marches and all that stuff. When I reminded her it was 1984 and Ronnie Reagan was president, she’d look at me like I was walking cow-flop. I always figured she’d start thinking straight when all that hippie-dust blew out of her head.

Alma said my tail was going to get burnt if I ever took a shine to Cheryl, but I’m a fifty-five-year-old redneck who stopped sowing his wild seed when he met the woman he married, more than thirty years ago.

Lightning crisscrossed the turbulent sky, followed by a boom of thunder. Cheryl said, “Wow! Look at that light show!”

“Light show, my ass,” I muttered. The diner was as solid as the Good Book, so I wasn’t too worried about the storm. But on a wild night like this, stuck out in the countryside like Big Bob’s was, you had a feeling of being a long way off from civilization—though Mobile was only twenty-seven miles south. On a wild night like this, you had a feeling that anything could happen, as quick as a streak of lightning out of the darkness. I picked up a copy of the Mobile Press-Register that the last customer—a trucker on his way to Texas—had left on the counter a half-hour before, and I started plowing through the news, most of it bad: those A-rab countries were still squabbling like Hatfields and McCoys in white robes; two men had robbed a Qwik-Mart in Mobile and been killed by the police in a shoot-out; cops were investigating a massacre at a motel near Daytona Beach; an infant had been stolen from a maternity ward in Birmingham. The only good things on the front page were stories that said the economy was up and that Reagan swore we’d show the Commies who was boss in El Salvador and Lebanon.

The diner shook under a blast of thunder, and I looked up from the paper as a pair of headlights emerged from the rain into my parking lot.

2

The headlights were attached to an Alabama state-trooper car.

“Half-alive, hold the onion, extra brown the buns.” Cheryl was already writing on her pad in expectation of the order. I pushed the paper aside and went to the fridge for the hamburger meat.

When the door opened, a windblown spray of rain swept in and stung like buckshot. “Howdy, folks!” Dennis Wells peeled off his gray rain slicker and hung it on the rack next to the door. Over his Smokey the Bear trooper hat was a protective plastic covering, beaded with raindrops. He took off his hat, exposing the thinning blond hair on his pale scalp, as he approached the counter and sat on his usual stool, right next to the cash register. “Cup of black coffee and a rare—” Cheryl was already sliding the coffee in front of him, and the burger sizzled on the griddle. “Ya’ll are on the ball tonight!” Dennis said; he said the same thing when he came in, which was almost every night. Funny the kind of habits you fall into, without realizing it.

“Kinda wild out there, ain’t it?” I asked as I flipped the burger over.

“Lordy, yes! Wind just about flipped my car over three, four miles down the interstate. Thought I was gonna be eatin’ a little pavement tonight.” Dennis was a husky young man in his early thirties, with thick blond brows over deep-set light brown eyes. He had a wife and three kids, and he was fast to flash a walletful of their pictures. “Don’t reckon I’ll be chasin’ any speeders tonight, but there’ll probably be a load of accidents. Cheryl, you sure look pretty this evenin’.”

“Still the same old me.” Cheryl never wore a speck of makeup, though one day she’d come to work with glitter on her cheeks. She had a place a few miles away, and I guessed she was farming that funny weed up there. “Any trucks moving?”

“Seen a few, but not many. Truckers ain’t fools. Gonna get worse before it gets better, the radio says.” He sipped at his coffee and grimaced. “Lordy, that’s strong enough to jump out of the cup and dance a jig, darlin’!”

I fixed the burger the way Dennis liked it, put it on a platter with some fries, and served it. “Bobby, how’s the wife treatin’ you?” he asked.

“No complaints.”

“Good to hear. I’ll tell you, a fine woman is worth her weight in gold. Hey, Cheryl! How’d you like a handsome young man for a husband?”

Cheryl smiled, knowing what was coming. “The man I’m looking for hasn’t been made yet.”

“Yeah, but you ain’t met Cecil yet, either! He asks me about you every time I see him, and I keep tellin’ him I’m doin’ everything I can to get you two together.” Cecil was Dennis’ brother-in-law and owned a Chevy dealership in Bay Minette. Dennis had been ribbing Cheryl about going on a date with Cecil for the past four months. “You’d like him,” Dennis promised. “He’s got a lot of my qualities.”

“Well, that’s different. In that case, I’m certain I don’t want to meet him.”

Dennis winced. “Oh, you’re a cruel woman! That’s what smokin’ banana peels does to you—turns you mean. Anybody readin’ this rag?” He reached over for the newspaper.

“Waitin’ here just for you,” I said. Thunder rumbled, closer to the diner. The lights flickered briefly once … then again before they returned to normal. Cheryl busied herself by fixing a fresh pot of coffee, and I watched the rain whipping against the windows. When the lightning flashed, I could see the trees swaying so hard they looked about to snap.

Dennis read and ate his hamburger. “Boy,” he said after a few minutes, “the world’s in some shape, huh? Those A-rab pig-stickers are itchin’ for war. Mobile metro boys had a little gunplay last night. Good for them.” He paused and frowned, then tapped the paper with one thick finger. “This I can’t figure.”

“What’s that?”

“Thing in Florida couple of nights ago. Six people killed at the Pines Haven Motor Inn, near Daytona Beach. Motel was set off in the woods. Only a couple of cinder-block houses in the area, and nobody heard any gunshots. Says here one old man saw what he thought was a bright white star falling over the motel, and that was it. Funny, huh?”

“A UFO,” Cheryl offered. “Maybe he saw a UFO.”

“Yeah, and I’m a little green man from Mars,” Dennis scoffed. “I’m serious. This is weird. The motel was so blown full of holes it looked like a war had been going on. Everybody was dead—even a dog and a canary that belonged to the manager. The cars out in front of the rooms were blasted to pieces. The sound of one of them explodin’ was what woke up the people in those houses, I reckon.” He skimmed the story again. “Two bodies were out in the parkin’ lot, one was holed up in a bathroom, one had crawled under a bed, and two had dragged every piece of furniture in the room over to block the door. Didn’t seem to help ’em any, though.”

I grunted. “Guess not.”

“No motive, no witnesses. You better believe those Florida cops are shakin’ the bushes for some kind of dangerous maniac—or maybe more than one, it says here.” He shoved the paper away and patted the service revolver holstered at his hip. “If I ever got hold of him—or them—he’d find out not to mess with a ’Bama trooper.” He glanced quickly over at Cheryl and smiled mischievously. “Probably some crazy hippie who’d been smokin’ his tennis shoes.”

“Don’t knock it,” she said sweetly, “until you’ve tried it.” She looked past him, out the window into the storm. “Car’s pullin’ in, Bobby.”

Headlights glared briefly off the wet windows. It was a station wagon with wood-grained panels on the sides; it veered around the gas pumps and parked next to Dennis’ trooper car. On the front bumper was a personalized license plate that said: Ray & Lindy. The headlights died, and all the doors opened at once. Out of the wagon came a whole family: a man and woman, a little girl and boy about eight or nine. Dennis got up and opened the diner door as they hurried inside from the rain.

All of them had gotten pretty well soaked between the station wagon and the diner, and they wore the dazed expressions of people who’d been on the road a long time. The man wore glasses and had curly gray hair, the woman was slim and dark-haired and pretty. The kids were sleepy-eyed. All of them were well-dressed, the man in a yellow sweater with one of those alligators on the chest. They had vacation tans, and I figured they were tourists heading north from the beach after spring break.

“Come on in and take a seat,” I said.

“Thank you,” the man said. They squeezed into one of the booths near the windows. “We saw your sign from the interstate.”

“Bad night to be on the highway,” Dennis told them. “Tornado warnings are out all over the place.”

“We heard it on the radio,” the woman—Lindy, if the license was right—said. “We’re on our way to Birmingham, and we thought we could drive right through the storm. We should’ve stopped at that Holiday Inn we passed about fifteen miles ago.”

“That would’ve been smart,” Dennis agreed. “No sense in pushin’ your luck.” He returned to his stool.

The new arrivals ordered hamburgers, fries, and Cokes. Cheryl and I went to work. Lightning made the diner’s lights flicker again, and the sound of thunder caused the kids to jump. When the food was ready and Cheryl served them, Dennis said, “Tell you what. You folks finish your dinners and I’ll escort you back to the Holiday Inn. Then you can head out in the morning. How about that?”

“Fine,” Ray said gratefully. “I don’t think we could’ve gotten very much further, anyway.” He turned his attention to his food.

“Well,” Cheryl said quietly, standing beside me, “I don’t guess we get home early, do we?”

“I guess not. Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Goes with the job, right? Anyway, I can think of worse places to be stuck.”

I figured that Alma might be worried about me, so I went over to the pay phone to call her. I dropped a quarter in—and the dial tone sounded like a cat being stepped on. I hung up and tried again. The cat scream continued. “Damn!” I muttered. “Lines must be screwed up.”

“Ought to get yourself a place closer to town, Bobby,” Dennis said. “Never could figure out why you wanted a joint in the sticks. At least you’d get better phone service and good lights if you were nearer to Mo—”

He was interrupted by the sound of wet and shrieking brakes, and he swiveled around on his stool.

I looked up as a car hurtled into the parking lot, the tires swerving, throwing up plumes of water. For a few seconds I thought it was going to keep coming, right through the window into the diner—but then the brakes caught and the car almost grazed the side of my pickup as it jerked to a stop. In the neon’s red glow I could tell it was a beat-up old Ford Fairlane, either gray or a dingy beige. Steam was rising off the crumpled hood. The headlights stayed on for perhaps a minute before they winked off. A figure got out of the car and walked slowly—with a limp—toward the diner.

We watched the figure approach. Dennis’ body looked like a coiled spring ready to be triggered. “We got us a live one, Bobby boy,” he said.

The door opened, and in a stinging gust of wind and rain a man who looked like walking death stepped into my diner.

3

He was so wet he might well have been driving with his windows down. He was a skinny guy, maybe weighed all of a hundred and twenty pounds, even soaking wet. His unruly dark hair was plastered to his head, and he had gone a week or more without a shave. In his gaunt, pallid face his eyes were startlingly blue; his gaze flicked around the diner, lingered for a few seconds on Dennis. Then he limped on down to the far end of the counter and took a seat. He wiped the rain out of his eyes as Cheryl took a menu to him.

Dennis stared at the man. When he spoke, his voice bristled with authority. “Hey, fella.” The man didn’t look up from the menu. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.”

The man pushed the menu away and pulled a damp packet of Kools out of the breast pocket of his patched Army fatigue jacket. “I can hear you,” he said; his voice was deep and husky, and didn’t go with his less-than-robust physical appearance.

“Drivin’ kinda fast in this weather, don’t you think?”

The man flicked a cigarette lighter a few times before he got a flame, then lit one of his smokes and inhaled deeply. “Yeah,” he replied. “I was. Sorry. I saw the sign, and I was in a hurry to get here. Miss? I’d just like a cup of coffee, please. Hot and real strong, okay?”

Cheryl nodded and turned away from him, almost bumping into me as I strolled down behind the counter to check him out.

“That kind of hurry’ll get you killed,” Dennis cautioned.

“Right. Sorry.” He shivered and pushed the tangled hair back from his forehead with one hand. Up close, I could see deep cracks around his mouth and the corners of his eyes and I figured him to be in his late thirties or early forties. His wrists were as thin as a woman’s; he looked like he hadn’t eaten a good meal for more than a month. He stared at his hands through bloodshot eyes. Probably on drugs, I thought. The fella gave me the creeps. Then he looked at me with those eyes—so pale blue they were almost white—and I felt like I’d been nailed to the floor. “Something wrong?” he asked—not rudely, just curiously.

“Nope.” I shook my head. Cheryl gave him his coffee and then went over to give Ray and Lindy their check.

The man didn’t use either cream or sugar. The coffee was steaming, but he drank half of it down like mother’s milk. “That’s good,” he said. “Keep me awake, won’t it?”

“More than likely.” Over the breast pocket of his jacket was the faint outline of the name that had been sewn there once. I think it was Price, but I could’ve been wrong.

“That’s what I want. To stay awake as long as I can.” He finished the coffee. “Can I have another cup, please?”

I poured it for him. He drank that one down just as fast,” then rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Been on the road a long time, huh?”

Price nodded. “Day and night. I don’t know which is more tired, my mind or my butt.” He lifted his gaze to me again. “Have you got anything else to drink? How about beer?”

“No, sorry. Couldn’t get a liquor license.”

He sighed. “Just as well. It might make me sleepy. But I sure could go for a beer right now. One sip, to clean my mouth out.”

He picked up his coffee cup, and I smiled and started to turn away.

But then he wasn’t holding a cup. He was holding a Budweiser can, and for an instant I could smell the tang of a newly popped beer.

The mirage was there for only maybe two seconds. I blinked, and Price was holding a cup again. “Just as well,” he said, and put it down.

I glanced over at Cheryl, then at Dennis. Neither one was paying attention. Damn! I thought. I’m too young to be losin’ either my eyesight or my senses! “Uh …” I said, or some other stupid noise.

“One more cup?” Price asked. “Then I’d better hit the road again.”

My hand was shaking as I picked it up, but if Price noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Want anything to eat?” Cheryl asked him. “How about a bowl of beef stew?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. The sooner I get back on the road, the better it’ll be.”

Suddenly Dennis swiveled toward him, giving him a cold stare that only cops and drill sergeants can muster. “Back on the road?” He snorted. “Fella, you ever been in a tornado before? I’m gonna escort those nice people to the Holiday Inn about fifteen miles back. If you’re smart, that’s where you’ll spend the night too. No use in tryin’ to—”

“No.” Price’s voice was rock-steady. “I’ll be spending the night behind the wheel.”

Dennis’ eyes narrowed. “How come you’re in such a hurry? Not runnin’ from anybody, are you?”

“Nightcrawlers,” Cheryl said.

Price turned toward her like he’d been slapped across the face, and I saw what might’ve been a spark of fear in his eyes.

Cheryl motioned toward the lighter Price had laid on the counter, beside the pack of Kools. It was a beat-up silver Zippo, and inscribed across it was NIGHTCRAWLERS with the symbol of two crossed rifles beneath it. “Sorry,” she said. “I just noticed that, and I wondered what it was.”

Price put the lighter away. “I was in ’Nam,” he told her. “Everybody in my unit got one.”

“Hey.” There was suddenly new respect in Dennis’ voice. “You a vet?”

Price paused so long I didn’t think he was going to answer. In the quiet, I heard the little girl tell her mother that the fries were “ucky.” Price said, “Yes.”

“How about that! Hey, I wanted to go myself, but I got a high number and things were windin’ down about that time anyway. Did you see any action?”

A faint, bitter smile passed over Price’s mouth. “Too much.”

“What? Infantry? Marines? Rangers?”

Price picked up his third cup of coffee, swallowed some, and put it down. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when they opened they were vacant and fixed on nothing. “Nightcrawlers,” he said quietly. “Special unit. Deployed to recon Charlie positions in questionable villages.” He said it like he was reciting from a manual. “We did a lot of crawling through rice paddies and jungles in the dark.”

“Bet you laid a few of them Vietcong out, didn’t you?” Dennis got up and came over to sit a few places away from the man. “Man, I was behind you guys all the way. I wanted you to stay in there and fight it out!”

Price was silent. Thunder echoed over the diner. The lights weakened for a few seconds; when they came back on, they seemed to have lost some of their wattage. The place was dimmer than before. Price’s head slowly turned toward Dennis, with the inexorable motion of a machine. I was thankful I didn’t have to take the full force of Price’s dead blue eyes, and I saw Dennis wince. “I should’ve stayed,” he said. “I should be there right now, buried in the mud of a rice paddy with the eight other men in my patrol.”

“Oh.” Dennis blinked. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I came home,” Price continued calmly, “by stepping on the bodies of my friends. Do you want to know what that’s like, Mr. Trooper?”

“The war’s over,” I told him. “No need to bring it back.” Price smiled grimly, but his gaze remained fixed on Dennis. “Some say it’s over. I say it came back with the men who were there. Like me. Especially like me.” Price paused. The wind howled around the door, and the lightning illuminated for an instant the thrashing woods across the highway. “The mud was up to our knees, Mr. Trooper,” he said. “We were moving across a rice paddy in the dark, being real careful not to step on the bamboo stakes we figured were planted there. Then the first shots started: pop pop pop—like firecrackers going off. One of the Nightcrawlers fired off a flare, and we saw the Cong ringing us. We’d walked right into hell, Mr. Trooper. Somebody shouted, ‘Charlie’s in the light!’ and we started firing, trying to punch a hole through them. But they were everywhere. As soon as one went down, three more took his place. Grenades were going off, and more flares, and people were screaming as they got hit. I took a bullet in the thigh and another through the hand. I lost my rifle, and somebody fell on top of me with half his head missing.”

“Uh … listen,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to, friend.” He glanced quickly at me, then back to Dennis. I think I cringed when his gaze pierced me. “I want to tell it all. They were fighting and screaming and dying all around me, and I felt the bullets tug at my clothes as they passed through. I know I was screaming too, but what was coming out of my mouth sounded bestial. I ran. The only way I could save my own life was to step on their bodies and drive them down into the mud. I heard some of them choke and blubber as I put my boot on their faces. I knew all those guys like brothers … but at that moment they were only pieces of meat. I ran. A gunship chopper came over the paddy and laid down some fire, and that’s how I got out. Alone.” He bent his face closer toward the other man’s. “And you’d better believe I’m in that rice paddy in ’Nam every time I close my eyes. You’d better believe the men I left back there don’t rest easy. So you keep your opinions about ’Nam and being ‘behind you guys’ to yourself, Mr. Trooper. I don’t want to hear that bullshit. Got it?”

Dennis sat very still. He wasn’t used to being talked to like that, not even from a ’Nam vet, and I saw the shadow of anger pass over his face.

Price’s hands were trembling as he brought a little bottle out of his jeans pocket. He shook two blue-and-orange capsules out onto the counter, took them both with a swallow of coffee, and then recapped the bottle and put it away. The flesh of his face looked almost ashen in the dim light.

“I know you boys had a rough time,” Dennis said, “but that’s no call to show disrespect to the law.”

“The law,” Price repeated. “Yeah. Right. Bullshit.”

“There are women and children present,” I reminded him. “Watch your language.”

Price rose from his seat. He looked like a skeleton with just a little extra skin on the bones. “Mister, I haven’t slept for more than thirty-six hours. My nerves are shot. I don’t mean to cause trouble, but when some fool says he understands, I feel like kicking his teeth down his throat—because no one who wasn’t there can pretend to understand.” He glanced at Ray, Lindy, and the kids. “Sorry, folks. Don’t mean to disturb you. Friend, how much do I owe?” He started digging for his wallet.

Dennis slid slowly from his seat and stood with his hands on his hips. “Hold it.” He used his trooper’s voice again. “If you think I’m lettin’ you walk out of here high on pills and needin’ sleep, you’re crazy. I don’t want to be scrapin’ you off the highway.”

Price paid him no attention. He took a couple of dollars from his wallet and put them on the counter. I didn’t touch them. “Those pills will help keep me awake,” Price said. “Once I get on the road, I’ll be fine.”

“Fella, I wouldn’t let you go if it was high noon and not a cloud in the sky. I sure as hell don’t want to clean up after the accident you’re gonna have. Now, why don’t you come along to the Holiday Inn and—”

Price laughed grimly. “Mr. Trooper, the last place you want me staying is at a motel.” He cocked his head to one side. “I was in a motel in Florida a couple of nights ago, and I think I left my room a little untidy. Step aside and let me pass.”

“A motel in Florida?” Dennis nervously licked his lower lip. “What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“Nightmares and reality, Mr. Trooper. The point where they cross. A couple of nights ago, they crossed at a motel. I wasn’t going to let myself sleep. I was just going to rest for a little while, but I didn’t know they’d come so fast.” A mocking smile played at the edges of his mouth, but his eyes were tortured. “You don’t want me staying at that Holiday Inn, Mr. Trooper. You really don’t. Now, step aside.”

I saw Dennis’ hand settle on the butt of his revolver. His fingers unsnapped the fold of leather that secured the gun in the holster. I stared at him numbly. My God, I thought. What’s goin’ on? My heart had started pounding so hard I was sure everybody could hear it. Ray and Lindy were watching, and Cheryl was backing away behind the counter.

Price and Dennis faced each other for a moment, as the rain whipped against the windows and thunder boomed like shellfire. Then Price sighed, as if resigning himself to something. He said, “I think I want a T-bone steak. Extra rare. How ’bout it?” He looked at me.

“A steak?” My voice was shaking. “We don’t have any T-bone—”

Price’s gaze shifted to the counter right in front of me. I heard a sizzle. The aroma of cooking meat drifted up to me.

“Oh … wow,” Cheryl whispered.

A large T-bone steak lay on the countertop, pink and oozing blood. You could’ve fanned a menu in my face and I would’ve keeled over. Wisps of smoke were rising from the steak.

The steak began to fade, until it was only an outline on the counter. The lines of oozing blood vanished. After the mirage was gone, I could still smell the meat—and that’s how I knew I wasn’t crazy.

Dennis’ mouth hung open. Ray had stood up from the booth to look, and his wife’s face was the color of spoiled milk. The whole world seemed to be balanced on a point of silence—until the wail of the wind jarred me back to my senses.

“I’m getting good at it,” Price said softly. “I’m getting very, very good. Didn’t start happening to me until about a year ago. I’ve found four other ’Nam vets who can do the same thing. What’s in your head comes true—as simple as that. Of course, the images only last for a few seconds—as long as I’m awake, I mean. I’ve found out that those other men were drenched by a chemical spray we called Howdy Doody—because it made you stiffen up and jerk like you were hanging on strings. I got hit with it near Khe Sahn. That shit almost suffocated me. It felt like black tar, and it burned the land down to a paved parking lot.” He stared at Dennis. “You don’t want me around here, Mr. Trooper. Not with the body count I’ve still got in my head.”

“You … were at … that motel, near Daytona Beach?”

Price closed his eyes. A vein had begun beating at his right temple, royal blue against the pallor of his flesh. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. “I fell asleep, and I couldn’t wake myself up. I was having the nightmare. The same one. I was locked in it, and I was trying to scream myself awake.” He shuddered, and two tears ran slowly down his cheeks. “Oh,” he said, and flinched as if remembering something horrible. “They … they were coming through the door when I woke up. Tearing the door right off its hinges. I woke up … just as one of them was pointing his rifle at me. And I saw his face. I saw his muddy, misshapen face.” His eyes suddenly jerked open. “I didn’t know they’d come so fast.”

“Who?” I asked him. “Who came so fast?”

“The Nightcrawlers,” Price said, his face devoid of expression, masklike. “Dear God … maybe if I’d stayed asleep a second more. But I ran again, and I left those people dead in that motel.”

“You’re gonna come with me.” Dennis started pulling his gun from the holster. Price’s head snapped toward him. “I don’t know what kinda fool game you’re—”

He stopped, staring at the gun he held.

It wasn’t a gun anymore. It was an oozing mass of hot rubber. Dennis cried out and slung the thing from his hand. The molten mess hit the floor with a pulpy splat.

“I’m leaving now.” Price’s voice was calm. “Thank you for the coffee.” He walked past Dennis, toward the door.

Dennis grasped a bottle of ketchup from the counter. Cheryl cried out, “Don’t!” but it was too late. Dennis was already swinging the bottle. It hit the back of Price’s skull and burst open, spewing ketchup everywhere. Price staggered forward, his knees buckling. When he went down, his skull hit the floor with a noise like a watermelon being dropped. His body began jerking involuntarily.

“Got him!” Dennis shouted triumphantly. “Got that crazy bastard, didn’t I?”

Lindy was holding the little girl in her arms. The boy craned his neck to see. Ray said nervously, “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“He’s not dead,” I told him. I looked over at the gun; it was solid again. Dennis scooped it up and aimed it at Price, whose body continued to jerk. Just like Howdy Doody, I thought. Then Price stopped moving.

“He’s dead!” Cheryl’s voice was near-frantic. “Oh God, you killed him, Dennis!”

Dennis prodded the body with the toe of his boot, then bent down. “Naw. His eyes are movin’ back and forth behind the lids.” Dennis touched his wrist to check the pulse, then abruptly pulled his own hand away. “Jesus Christ! He’s as cold as a meat locker!” He took Price’s pulse and whistled. “Goin’ like a racehorse at the Derby.”

I touched the place on the counter where the mirage steak had been. My fingers came away slightly greasy, and I could smell the cooked meat on them. At that instant Price twitched. Dennis scuttled away from him like a crab. Price made a gasping, choking noise.

“What’d he say?” Cheryl asked. “He said something!”

“No he didn’t.” Dennis stuck him in the ribs with his pistol. “Come on. Get up.”

“Get him out of here,” I said. “I don’t want him—”

Cheryl shushed me. “Listen. Can you hear that?”

I heard only the roar and crash of the storm.

“Don’t you hear it?” she asked me. Her eyes were getting scared and glassy.

“Yes!” Ray said. “Yes! Listen!”

Then I did hear something, over the noise of the keening wind. It was a distant chuk-chuk-chuk, steadily growing louder and closer. The wind covered the noise for a minute, then it came back: CHUK-CHUK-CHUK, almost overhead.

“It’s a helicopter!” Ray peered through the window. “Somebody’s got a helicopter out there!”

“Ain’t nobody can fly a chopper in a storm!” Dennis told him. The noise of rotors swelled and faded, swelled and faded … and stopped.

On the floor, Price shivered and began to contort into a fetal position. His mouth opened; his face twisted in what appeared to be agony.

Thunder spoke. A red fireball rose up from the woods across the road and hung lazily in the sky for a few seconds before it descended toward the diner. As it fell, the fireball exploded soundlessly into a white, glaring eye of light that almost blinded me.

Price said something in a garbled, panicked voice. His eyes were tightly closed, and he had squeezed up with his arms around his knees.

Dennis rose to his feet; he squinted as the eye of light fell toward the parking lot and winked out in a puddle of water. Another fireball floated up from the woods, and again blossomed into painful glare.

Dennis turned toward me. “I heard him.” His voice was raspy. “He said . . . ‘Charlie’s in the light.’”

As the second flare fell to the ground and illuminated the parking lot, I thought I saw figures crossing the road. They walked stiff-legged, in an eerie cadence. The flare went out.

“Wake him up,” I heard myself whisper. “Dennis … dear God … wake him up.”

4

Dennis stared stupidly at me, and I started to jump across the counter to get to Price myself.

A gout of flame leapt in the parking lot. Sparks marched across the concrete. I shouted, “Get down!” and twisted around to push Cheryl back behind the shelter of the counter.

“What the hell—” Dennis said.

He didn’t finish. There was the metallic thumping of bullets hitting the gas pumps and the cars. I knew if that gas blew we were all dead. My truck shuddered with the impact of slugs, and I saw the whole thing explode as I ducked behind the counter. Then the windows blew inward with a god-awful crash, and the diner was full of flying glass, swirling wind, and sheets of rain. I heard Lindy scream, and both the kids were crying, and I think I was shouting something myself.

The lights had gone out, and the only illumination was the reflection of red neon off the concrete and the glow of the fluorescents over the gas pumps. Bullets whacked into the wall, and crockery shattered as if it had been hit with a hammer. Napkins and sugar packets were flying everywhere.

Cheryl was holding on to me as if her fingers were nails sunk to my bones. Her eyes were wide and dazed, and she kept trying to speak. Her mouth was working, but nothing came out.

There was another explosion as one of the other cars blew. The whole place shook, and I almost puked with fear.

Another hail of bullets hit the wall. They were tracers, and they jumped and ricocheted like white-hot cigarette butts. One of them sang off the edge of a shelf and fell to the floor about three feet away from me. The glowing slug began to fade, like the beer can and the mirage steak. I put my hand out to find it, but all I felt was splinters of glass and crockery. A phantom bullet, I thought. Real enough to cause damage and death—and then gone.

You don’t want me around here, Mr. Trooper, Price had warned. Not with the body count I’ve got in my head.

The firing stopped. I got free of Cheryl and said, “You stay right here.” Then I looked up over the counter and saw my truck and the station wagon on fire, the flames being whipped by the wind. Rain slapped me across the face as it swept in where the window glass used to be. I saw Price lying still huddled on the floor, with pieces of glass all around him. His hands were clawing the air, and in the flickering red neon his face was contorted, his eyes still closed. The pool of ketchup around his head made him look like his skull had been split open. He was peering into hell, and I averted my eyes before I lost my own mind.

Ray and Lindy and the two children had huddled under the table of their booth. The woman was sobbing brokenly. I looked at Dennis, lying a few feet from Price: he was sprawled on his face, and there were four holes punched through his back. It was not ketchup that ran in rivulets around Dennis’ body. His right arm was outflung, and the fingers twitched around the gun he gripped.

Another flare sailed up from the woods like a Fourth of July sparkler.

When the light brightened, I saw them: at least five figures, maybe more. They were crouched over, coming across the parking lot—but slowly, the speed of nightmares. Their clothes flapped and hung around them, and the flare’s light glanced off their helmets. They were carrying weapons—rifles, I guessed. I couldn’t see their faces, and that was for the best.

On the floor, Price moaned. I heard him say “light … in the light …”

The flare hung right over the diner. And then I knew what was going on. We were in the light. We were all caught in Price’s nightmare, and the Nightcrawlers that Price had left in the mud were fighting the battle again—the same way it had been fought at the Pines Haven Motor Inn. The Nightcrawlers had come back to life, powered by Price’s guilt and whatever that Howdy Doody shit had done to him.

And we were in the light, where Charlie had been out in that rice paddy.

There was a noise like castanets clicking. Dots of fire arced through the broken windows and thudded into the counter. The stools squealed as they were hit and spun. The cash register rang and the drawer popped open, and then the entire register blew apart and bills and coins scattered. I ducked my head, but a wasp of fire—I don’t, know what, a bit of metal or glass maybe—sliced my left cheek open from ear to upper lip. I fell to the floor behind the counter with blood running down my face.

A blast shook the rest of the cups, saucers, plates, and glasses off the shelves. The whole roof buckled inward, throwing loose ceiling tiles, light fixtures, and pieces of metal framework.

We were all going to die. I knew it, right then. Those things were going to destroy us. But I thought of the pistol in Dennis’ hand, and of Price lying near the door. If we were caught in Price’s nightmare and the blow from the ketchup bottle had broken something in his skull, then the only way to stop his dream was to kill him.

I’m no hero. I was about to piss in my pants, but I knew I was the only one who could move. I jumped up and scrambled over the counter, falling beside Dennis and wrenching at that pistol. Even in death, Dennis had a strong grip. Another blast came, along the wall to my right. The heat of it scorched me, and the shock wave skidded me across the floor through glass and rain and blood.

But I had that pistol in my hand.

I heard Ray shout, “Look out!”

In the doorway, silhouetted by flames, was a skeletal thing wearing muddy green rags. It wore a dented-in helmet and carried a corroded, slime-covered rifle. Its face was gaunt and shadowy, the features hidden behind a scum of rice-paddy muck. It began to lift the rifle to fire at me—slowly, slowly …

I got the safety off the pistol and fired twice, without aiming. A spark leapt off the helmet as one of the bullets was deflected, but the figure staggered backward and into the conflagration of the station wagon, where it seemed to melt into ooze before it vanished.

More tracers were coming in. Cheryl’s Volkswagen shuddered, the tires blowing out almost in unison. The state-trooper car was already bullet-riddled and sitting on flats.

Another Nightcrawler, this one without a helmet and with slime covering the skull where the hair had been, rose up beyond the window and fired its rifle. I heard the bullet whine past my ear, and as I took aim I saw its bony finger tightening on the trigger again.

A skillet flew over my head and hit the thing’s shoulder, spoiling its aim. For an instant the skillet stuck in the Nightcrawler’s body, as if the figure itself was made out of mud. I fired once … twice … and saw pieces of matter fly from the thing’s chest. What might’ve been a mouth opened in a soundless scream, and the thing slithered out of sight.

I looked around. Cheryl was standing behind the counter, weaving on her feet, her face white with shock. “Get down!” I shouted, and she ducked for cover.

I crawled to Price, shook him hard. His eyes would not open. “Wake up!” I begged him. “Wake up, damn you!” And then I pressed the barrel of the pistol against Price’s head. Dear God, I didn’t want to kill anybody, but I knew I was going to have to blow the Nightcrawlers right out of his brain. I hesitated—too long.

Something smashed into my left collarbone. I heard the bone snap like a broomstick being broken. The force of the shot slid me back against the counter and jammed me between two bullet-pocked stools. I lost the gun, and there was a roaring in my head that deafened me.

I don’t know how long I was out. My left arm felt like dead meat. All the cars in the lot were burning, and there was a hole in the diner’s roof that a tractor-trailer truck could’ve dropped through. Rain was sweeping into my face, and when I wiped my eyes clear I saw them, standing over Price.

There were eight of them. The two I thought I’d killed were back. They trailed weeds, and their boots and ragged clothes were covered with mud. They stood in silence, staring down at their living comrade.

I was too tired to scream. I couldn’t even whimper. I just watched.

Price’s hands lifted into the air. He reached for the Nightcrawlers, and then his eyes opened. His pupils were dead white, surrounded by scarlet.

“End it,” he whispered. “End it …”

One of the Nightcrawlers aimed its rifle and fired. Price jerked. Another Nightcrawler fired, and then they were all firing point-blank into Price’s body. Price thrashed and clutched at his head, but there was no blood; the phantom bullets weren’t hitting him.

The Nightcrawlers began to ripple and fade. I saw the flames of the burning cars through their bodies. The figures became transparent, floating in vague outlines. Price had awakened too fast at the Pines Haven Motor Inn, I realized; if he had remained asleep, the creatures of his nightmares would’ve ended it there, at that Florida motel. They were killing him in front of me—or he was allowing them to end it, and I think that’s what he must’ve wanted for a long, long time.

He shuddered, his mouth releasing a half-moan, half-sigh.

It sounded almost like relief.

The Nightcrawlers vanished. Price didn’t move anymore.

I saw his face. His eyes were closed, and I think he must’ve found peace at last.

5

A trucker hauling lumber from Mobile to Birmingham saw the burning cars. I don’t even remember what he looked like.

Ray was cut up by glass, but his wife and the kids were okay. Physically, I mean. Mentally, I couldn’t say.

Cheryl went into the hospital for a while. I got a postcard from her with the Golden Gate Bridge on the front. She promised she’d write and let me know how she was doing, but I doubt if I’ll ever hear from her. She was the best waitress I ever had, and I wish her luck.

The police asked me a thousand questions, and I told the story the same way every time. I found out later that no bullets or shrapnel were ever dug out of the walls or the cars or Dennis’ body—just like in the case of that motel massacre. There was no bullet in me, though my collarbone was snapped clean in two.

Price had died of a massive brain hemorrhage. It looked, the police told me, as if it had exploded in his skull.

I closed the diner. Farm life is fine. Alma understands, and we don’t talk about it.

But I never showed the police what I found, and I don’t know exactly why not.

I picked up Price’s wallet in the mess. Behind a picture of a smiling young woman holding a baby there was a folded piece of paper. On that paper were the names of four men.

Beside one name, Price had written “Dangerous.”

I’ve found four other ’Nam vets who can do the same thing, Price had said.

I sit up at night a lot, thinking about that and looking at those names. Those men had gotten a dose of that Howdy Doody shit in a foreign place they hadn’t wanted to be, fighting a war that turned out to be one of those crossroads of nightmare and reality. I’ve changed my mind about ’Nam because I understand now that the worst of the fighting is still going on, in the battlefields of memory.

A Yankee who called himself Tompkins came to my house one May morning and flashed me an ID that said he worked for a veterans’ association. He was very soft-spoken and polite, but he had deep-set eyes that were almost black, and he never blinked. He asked me all about Price, seemed real interested in picking my brain of every detail. I told him the police had the story, and I couldn’t add any more to it. Then I turned the tables and asked him about Howdy Doody. He smiled in a puzzled kind of way and said he’d never heard of any chemical defoliant called that. No such thing, he said. Like I say, he was very polite.

But I know the shape of a gun tucked into a shoulder holster. Tompkins was wearing one under his seersucker coat. I never could find any veterans’ association that knew anything about him, either.

Maybe I should give that list of names to the police. Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll try to find those four men myself, and try to make some sense out of what’s being hidden.

I don’t think Price was evil. No. He was just scared, and who can blame a man for running from his own nightmares? I like to believe that, in the end, Price had the courage to face the Nightcrawlers, and in committing suicide he saved our lives.

The newspapers, of course, never got the real story. They called Price a ’Nam vet who’d gone crazy, killed six people in a Florida motel, and then killed a state trooper in a shoot-out at Big Bob’s diner and gas stop.

But I know where Price is buried. They sell little American flags at the five-and-dime in Mobile. I’m alive, and I can spare the change.

And then I’ve got to find out how much courage I have.

[popculturebuffet]

Green Eggs and Ham: Here (Patreon Review for Emma Ficci)

Hello all you happy people! And I have my first fully paid for comission and patreon review all in one! Yes my good friend Emma became a patreon and you can too, go to patreon.com/popculturebuffet. Even one buck a month helps and 5 a month nets you a review of whatever of your choice a month. An episode of any tv show I have acess to. It feels good to have more than one person paying my salary, though I sitll want to thank Kev, my other patreon for helping with that. 

So with that all in order, let’s talk about this thoroughly weird, thoroughly wonderful show from a couple years back. Green Eggs and Ham is modern adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book..... and I bet those of you who haven’t heard of this series before or it’s reputation just had your bowls clinch a bit. Yeah while I haven’t seen illumination’s takes on the maestro of children’s books, I haven’t heard the best things and the trailers and odd and counter productive marketing tie ins for the Lorax have made me want to stay 30 feet away from it at all times. Seriously you get certified Legend Danny DeVito.. and you waste him on “Dat’s a woman” a joke that I don’t have time to unpack all the ways it sucks. My point is Seuss really hasn’t had the best time with adaptations latey.  But leave it to Warner Animation and Netflix to pull out a great one. Yeah I wasn’t too excited about a tv adaptation of one book at first due to all this and even a celebrity cast wasn’t a good sign. They roped Danny DeVito into the Lorax. So even with a whopper cast containing Michael Douglas, Diane Keaton, my boy Adam Divine, Ilana Glazer, Kegan Michael Key,  Jeffery Wright, Eddie Izard and JIllian Bell.. I wasn’t convinced. But word of mouth was really good, and the animation looked downright gorgeous, perfectly mimicking suess’ work and feeling like an unabashed love letter. 

So I did what I tend to do.. and sat on it for several years because I simply forgot to watch it till my friend comissioned it and here we are. And off the bat.. the reputation.. is not remotely overblown. This is easily the best Dr. Seuss adaptation i’ve seen in some time taking the best of his ideas and whimsy, with what little behind the scenes stuff I could get saying they specifically took art design from his art of book, with a modern and intresting story behind it and an all star cast that this time around are used well instead of just being there for Name Recogntion. Not only that but it takes inspriation form, of all things, Planes Trains and Automobiles, but does so well so far, getting the oddcouple dynamic down perfectly. 

So join me under the cut as I cut this bit of green eggs and ham into bite sized pieces for you all and go into why it’s so delecitable. 

This episode’s mostly broken up into bits to introduce all the main players, so as I tend to do when there’s multiple plots, I will be covering each one at a time. 

Guy and Sam: The Failed Inventor and the Animal Thief

So our story begins with.. a ninja breaking into a zoo to steal the rare Chikaraffe. 

Neither was the narrator, played by Key.. and the narrator naturally for a work like this delightfully interacts with things and is one of the best parts of the whole episode. But this already shows how well the series updates things. There’s one or two things like Ninja Sam or a family making ducklips during a photo, there’s even a fairly obvious trump stand in we’ll get to.. but none of it’s SO overdone it takes you out of things or dates the projects. The tech is kept to about the 70′s or 80′s with cameras still used instead of camera phones, crt tv’s, and what have you, and most inventions seens are susian. It feels wholly in line with his books while still nudging it into our current decade here and there. In other words.. how you SHOULD do it: add in a few things here or there but no overt pop culture refrences and at most a take that at something Seuss would gladly take aim at. 

So we meet our other hero the next day, Guy-Am-I. Guy is the show’s version of the nameless harassment victim from the books, with a bit of a darker fur and hat, likely to help better distingish him from sam as well as sell him being older than his co-star. It’s a good change, and helps sell Guy as what he is.. a grumpy middle aged man who keeps failling in life as demonstrated by his way to the inventions: he falls in a puddle, signs no on a pettition because he’s in a hurry, reminds me of man in a hurry from hatchefield but I couldn’t find a good image of him saying that in time and takes a picture of the family “Say runing my life” “ruining your life!”. We later see after some of the following scenes Sam do the same.. but he hops over the puddle then dives ino for fun, signs an entire page of the pettition, and takes tons of pictures. It’s a nice establishing scene for both. 

Guy is presenting his invention for Snerzco, your standard megacorp given a delightful Seuss twist with LITERAL pencil pushers and beancounters, to present his invention, with other inventors presenting, witht he hopes of presenting to Snerzz himself, having such delightfully bonkers and seussian inventions as a reverse umbrella (it rains on you) and an automatic fingercrosser. It’s touches like this that really tell me the series really loves Dr. Seuss. 

Sadly things don’t go well for guy as he’s hoping his invention dosen’t explode, his invention being a backpack made of hands to help people fly. Most people are imprestted apart from Michelle a bean counter who.. randomly snarks she wouldn’t let her daughter fly on it.

Yeah it’s not a great introduction for one of your major characters to have her randomly mock something that hadn’t exploded yet, and to for no reason bring up what a paranoid and unfun parent she is. We’ll get to her more in a bit. But yes it does explode and Guy’s dreams are ruined. 

And this whole picture.. shows who guy is. He’s someone whose kept trying agian, and again and again only for it not to work, and to get laughed at by the public and spat on by god themslef. It’s easy to see WHY he’s such a bitter curmudgeon: life hates him, so why shouldn’t he hate it back. That’s a self defeating prophecy of course but this is episode one and tha’ts probably the point of the series: to explore this. That being said I could see this coming from a mile away and felt it to be the most unupsired bit of the episode. 

Guy enters a diner to get some Oatmush “The Sadmans Special” after the bus leaves before he can get to it because again, God hates him personally.  No the sadman’s special is a famous bowl from KFC. I should know as a professional sadman. Regardless Guy is miserable.. and in enters sam, whose fascenated their “Breifcase Buddies” because thier briefcases match.. and unlike the above I like how they call attention to them being identical. We know wha’ts going to happen there but the lampshading helps it go down easier and makes us wonder if they will swap. Sam is a regular, being friends with Donna the waitress and ordering his usual green eggs and ham.

So we get the expected bit: Sam asks Guy to try them, he says no, but the show makes a good choice. Instead of just.. stalking guy for the next 11 episodes to get him to try it.. he simply asks if he’s actually tried it, Guy says no and makes a great poop joke, and Sam leaves it. He apparently asks once an episode, but it’s made more into a character thing; Guy refuses because he hates to try new things outside of his inventing and that’s hit a wall. It’s also a nice suprise that Devine and Douglas just play perfectly off one another. The two are from vastly diffrent generations and backgrounds acting wise, but they just work perfectly together and it’s what makes their interactions work. 

Sam does leave it and the other inventors having ALL got the golden ticket, arrive and Sam treats them.. only to notice Guy’s paper and the fact guy failed, and asks donna politely to get guy his mush as he ordered first. It’s good setup for Sam. We saw him be nice and free and what not, but we also see that while he can be insietive (He asked guy what broken dream he had earlier in the scene) he does geniunely care and it isn’t just surface level. He loves people and helping them and getting to know them. 

Of course while Guy is greatful, showing that beneath his own exterior he’s not a bad guy just one made miserable by life, he’s not going to be best friends or anything.. that’s a lot to ask they just met and takes his case after gulping down his oatmush. 

That night Sam prepares to leave, having given Donna his adress.. multiple times. in the hopes someone comes over and hangs out. Can relate even if i’d never go that far. He does however reveal himself as the ninja and prepare to take the chikaraffe with him for whatever reason. 

Guy goes to his hotel room to sulk, not helped by the other inventors partying outside, and full of misery and self loathing throws his suitcase in the fire.. until it makes a noise. He quickly pulls it out to find the Chickaraffe. Will he surivive? I mean probably. We have 12 episodes left. And a full second season. God this is going to take a few years.. regardless, let’s move onto the subplots. 

MIchellee and E.B.

We meet Michelle’s daughter EB who just wants to live but her mom dosen’t let her have toys or shenaniagnas.. and comes off untetionally as really abusive. She’s SUPPOSED to be overprotective, but saying “I detect a hint of whimsy.. i’ll allow it” really just paints you as an overcontrolling psycho. Their headed on a trip and while EB wants to catch the chickaraffe for herself dosen’t have the time and her mom gives her a magnetic friendship bracelet.. that shackes her to her. Just... yeah Michelle has made me  hate her in one episode and she’s played by Diane Keaton. How do you do that? Hopefully she’ll get better but hearing about these two characters was part of the reason I procastinated so long. The other is my brain being kind of a forgetful swamp. 

Snerz: We meet Snerz himself who has someone bringing him the chickaraffe. Snerz is a cold, mean man with trump hair.. that in this case is a literal being he’s forcing to be his hair, has everything gold plated and keeps animals in a wall forcing them to stand on the other side and put their heads through like he mounted them because he’s a sociopath. And this is the refrence I meant. Snerz has many comparisons to trump, the hair, the gold platings, but it dosen’t really date the thing as Trump has been around since long before this and will sadly probably be around till his inetivitible jail sentence. But it’s not so overt or over the top that it takes you out of it it works. Okay one more. 

BAD GUYS:

Two mysterious agents, one old and one on her first mission, go to the zoo and interogate the guy running it holding him over a slapping turtle exhbit. Their after the chickaraffe and depart.. with the yougner agent accidently dropping him. Whoops. At least he gets to get hit into space by a turtle. Some of us never will “Sigh”

Final Thoughts:

This was an excellent first episode. It fleshes out the characters well, sets up the story without feeling too slow, and the show strkes the right ballance of being it’s own thing while still feeling Seuss. It’s a wubusoully wonderful good time and I recommend checking it out. I look forward to the rest of the series over the next year. 

Next on this blog: Sleepover time as Shadow into Light, my Lena Saberwing retrospective resumes. 

[reginaldbelchhuggins-blog]

The Short and Miserable Romance of Victor Criss

Chapter 2: First Kiss

Pairings: Henry x Victor, with some side Butch x Mrs Criss Rating: M Warnings for this chapter: Implied/referenced domestic abuse, period-typical  attitudes, homophobic language, noncon elements, and some underage sexual exploration Warnings for later chapters: Violence, homophobia, racism, and sexism that are all period-typical; canon-standard content; underage sex, smoking, and drinking; noncon elements (but no actual noncon); canonical character death; major character death; strong language Chapters: [1], 2, [3], [4], [5], [6], [7] Ao3: [x] Summary:

Told from Victor's perspective, each chapter details either a first or last moment of Vic's growing relationship with Henry Bowers as they navigate homophobia, mental issues, and the growing influence of It. The first two chapters are pre-1988, the middle two will be where the sex is, and the final two are where the romance goes south

Chapter 7 could act as a stand-alone told from Henry’s perspective

Story prompt: The first and last Meeting/Kiss/Time of your OTP

A/N: This chapter, since the Bowers gang are 11-12 years old, draws more on the book for inspiration. Namely in regards to Victor and Belch's personalities, and the flavor text/referenced events. I also used some real life influence, such as my own personal experience with awkward 12-year-old flirting, and the actor playing Victor Criss in the new movie being a dancer (if you didn't know that before, you're welcome.)

Constructive Criticism is, as always, appreciated. Any type of comment is much loved. My editor is another author on this account, Ambiguous, but I am also using the Hemingway app. If you see any grammatical mistakes / continuity errors, please feel free to drop it in the comments so I can correct.

August 1985

The four boys stood side by side in their underwear, staring down the long drop from the edge of the quarry to the lake. Reginald “Belch” Huggins was the tallest, having reached six foot by his 12th birthday. He had skinny legs and broad shoulders, and made a huge splash as he hit the water despite having pretty good form.

Patrick Hockstetter was the second tallest and definitive widest. He was the personification of the word "butterball." He was a vaguely boy-shaped lump of splotchy colored flesh. He howled like a madman as he leaped second, tucking his feet up underneath him to form a cannonball. Belch was coming up for air when the waves caused by Patrick slapped him in the face.

Victor, although he was giggling, felt dread as his turn to jump came up. He was pale and skinny. The others argued over whether the platinum blonde of his hair made his skin whiter, or whether it was the other way around. Either way, he was nothing more than a sparkle of starlight in his white Hanes.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself—

And screamed as he fell forward, pushed, betrayed , by Henry. He was still screaming when his body broke the surface and the murky depths swallowed him whole.

Henry was the one all the girls talked about in a nice way. He wore hard work like it was a tee shirt. It left him with a golden tan, and the slightest definition on his chest that hinted at the body he would have in a few years. Belch lifted Vic onto his shoulders so they could watch Henry leap from the cliff. They cheered as he jumped backwards, getting in two solid flips before splashing down.

The quarry filled with their laughter as the boys played. It was the first time in a long year that they’d had any fun.

They swam until long after the sun had set, and the mosquitoes were coming out to feed. None of their parents were expecting them home. The Criss’ believed Vic was at the Huggins’. Mrs Huggins believed Belch and Henry was at the Criss’. Patrick’s parents might notice if he wasn’t here for breakfast. But they didn’t seem to care what he did since his baby brother Avery had died in the crib five years prior. Butch wasn’t allowed to know anything at all.

Vic still felt the chill that had run down his spine when he opened his bedroom window that night almost a week ago. Henry was standing outside with tears and snot streaming down his face, shaking. He’d had a whopper of a bruise on his neck that he still didn’t explain. Vic thought it looked an awful lot like Butch’s hands, and drew his own conclusions.

“He killed her,” Henry had said. As soon as he was inside Vic’s room, he’d pulled Vic into a tight embrace. That was the first hug of the year, but Vic couldn’t even enjoy it. Henry was trembling so bad. “Butch killed my mom!”

It wasn’t true. She’d survived, but her face was disfigured. Henrietta Bowers had taken her beating, and the one Henry was due for making trouble for Butch. Henry, of course, told Vic all about how it was his fault for making trouble with the Rabbi's boy -- a shy kid a few grades behind them. And while he cried and blamed himself, Henrietta was pulling herself into their sedan, running away to the WomansCare shelter, leaving Henry behind. But he didn’t know that as he held his best friend, his body racked with guilty sobs. He wouldn't know that for a few days, and by then, he'd tell Vic he didn't care. He only knew he'd last seen her in a bloody heap on the kitchen floor, and then he'd ran.

He was only twelve - life wasn’t supposed to be that difficult.

Henry would have stayed with Vic, but Butch had been making regular visits for many years. Vic still pretended sometimes it was just to talk because the truth made him uneasy in so many ways. Instead, Henry wound up staying with Belch. Mrs Huggins wouldn’t give up Henry if Butch set her on fire, so they knew he was safe there. Though Vic had to fight a lot of instincts not to go over there every day, knowing Henry was safe, for even a little while, made things better. Vic didn't even mind collecting, and completing, Henry's homework for him. Mr Caplan never commented on the sudden improvement of Henry's handwriting, either.

In fact, Mrs Huggins and Mr Caplan were some of the few adults who actually gave two shits about them. If Vic had lived to see his 16th birthday, Mrs Huggins would’ve taken him and Belch and fled to somewhere normal. His disappearance would have been credited to the pervert, so no one would look for him. His parents would be, in a small way, glad to see him go. It would have been a nice life, too. But things didn’t happen that way.

The safety of Belch’s house came with the price of freedom, and without freedom, Henry got bored. So grabbing his dad’s old tent from the garage, it had been Belch’s idea to go camping. He was tired of the piss attitude Henry got whenever he was bored, but was too nice to say anything. So far, it had been a good idea.

The boys put on their shoes for safety reasons, but were still too wet for their clothes, as they went about setting up camp. Patrick built a nice fire, and stared deep into it as he burnt every hotdog he touched to a blackened crisp. Belch was setting up the tent - his dad had showed him how once upon a time, before the accident. Henry and Vic sat around with the small radio, trying to find the right mood music. It was one of the last true purely happy memories with Henry Victor would have, and somehow, he knew it. So he was taking all of it that he could.

“Ooh, stop here!” Vic slapped Henry’s hand. That earned Vic a nasty glare, and a punch on the shoulder. “Dude, it’s Queen. You always have to stop on Queen. It’s an unspoken rule.”

“No I fucking don’t,” Henry spit back. “I listen to real rock music not that psuedo-hippie bullshit. And if you don’t get your fucking hand off my radio I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

“You’re going to shove my hand up my ass or the radio?” Vic asked, sarcastically. “I need to know how much to prepare.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and it’ll be both. First your hand, and then the radio. How you like that?”

With a huff, Vic sat back and crossed his arms. “Fine, you get to pick the tunes, and tell us when to stop swimming, and what comics we can bring. Anything else you want, master?”

“Maybe,” Henry said, eyeing Vic coolly. “My boots haven’t been licked in a long time. Got some real nasty shit crusted up on them.”

Vic couldn’t help but smile, and had to cover it by pretending to rub the chapped skin from his lips. He didn’t really care that Henry was being a little bossier than usual. If Henry had told him to wear his mom’s lingerie, Vic would’ve showed up in a saucy pink ensemble. But he was in a weird mood, and craved every morsel of attention he could get. Needling Henry was the quickest way to get a bite in, so Vic was being, as his Mama would say, incorrigible.

But it was time to take a break. Henry was growing frustrated, and Vic didn't want to ruin his first night out in forever. So instead, he said, “Sure thing. Let me just go chop my balls off first. Maybe then you’ll stop twisting them,” and stood up. He caught Henry looking as he walked away, and blew him a kiss. If anyone else had done such a thing, Henry would have rearranged their face. But Vic was special. He had special privileges to get away with more, as long as it wasn’t too gay.

As Vic sat down on a blanket by the fire, Patrick handed him a beef flavored stick of charcoal. He managed to find some pink colored meat in the layers underneath, and then ate it in three large bites. He watched Henry’s face scrunch up in concentration as a song warbled into existence.

When Belch finished up the tent, he came and sat beside them. Drawing deep from his chest, he proved his nickname was well-earned. He started burping along to the chorus of the song Henry had stopped on – Blue Oyster Cult’s Don’t Fear the Reaper.

Vic and Patrick were howling with laughter, but Henry was not amused. He turned up the volume, trying to drown Belch out.

“Is that coming from your mouth?” Patrick was in awe. He hadn’t hung out with them that much yet so it was forgiven that he’d never heard Belch’s true talent. “Oh, that is freaky. Do it again.”

Belch got up and began to bob his head not unlike a chicken, burps breaking out every time his face came forward. He shuffled around with the grace one would expect from a boy of his stature. This broke Patrick up into tears.

"I fucking hate all of you," Henry said.

Vic was on his feet, too. He was so giddy from laughing that he took Belch’s hands and began to dance. Belch didn’t think anything of it, and was kind enough to burp in the opposite direction of Vic’s face. Henry turned the dial on the volume again until the speakers were vibrating. Vic and Belch both started singing along, louder than the radio. They sang along until the song ended, even as Henry threw pebbles and rocks at their feet.

As Billy Idol’s Dancing With Myself started playing, Belch and Vic let go of each other. Henry gave up and went after a hot dog. Patrick gave him a cigarette instead, and the two shared it as they watched Vic and Belch dance – but mostly, they watched Vic.

Not surprising, Vic was a much better dancer than Belch. The spry blonde wasn’t doing anything complicated. He'd picked up a few things from movies and music videos, and practiced until they looked okay in the mirror. Where Belch looked like a bag of potatoes being swung with great enthusiasm to the beat, Vic looked like he was actually dancing. In a few years, he could compete against Michael Jackson himself.

When that song was over, Vic plopped to the ground. That seemed to break some kind of spell. Henry looked around, nervous like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Patrick let out a deep breath, and his livery lips split into the biggest, curliest smile Vic had ever seen outside of a cartoon. Henry cleared his throat and handed Patrick the cigarette. He then stood up, rubbing at his crotch.

“I gotta piss,” he said, as if it needed explaining.

“Want someone to hold it?” Patrick asked.That was the first time he'd done one of his weirder jokes, and it took them all by surprise. Patrick locked eyes with Vic. Vic found himself unable to look away as Patrick held one of the hotdogs down near his crotch, and started rubbing it. Vic knew what he was simulating, but the blackened outside was cracking and peeling. Instead of imagining a regular dick being masturbated, Vic's mind conjured some filthy, disease ridden thing. He gagged, earning him another smile from Patrick.

Henry did a double take, scowling: “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m just saying, bosses need a right hand man,” Patrick said, putting a weird emphasis on right hand. He bit into the wiener he’d been flogging. “Someone to wipe your ass and hold your dick and all that jazz.”

A rose color blossomed on Henry's cheeks as he realized how he'd misunderstood Patrick. He blinked a few times, and then pointed at Patrick. “We don’t do that homo shit around here, alright?”

“It’s not homo,” Patrick called after him. Then, with a wink in Vic’s direction: “Not unless you want it to be.”

Vic shifted in his seat. He was Henry's right hand man, or so they said. The image of him on one knee, hand out for Henry to rest his dick on, crept into Vic’s brain. It was compelling in a strange way, and Vic shivered, not sure how to process how it made him feel. Maybe Henry had seen the same thing in his mind, because he looked everywhere but at Vic. He slapped Patrick on the back of his head before disappearing into the underbrush to relieve himself.

The three of them lit up the last cigarette. Vic took a long drag, let the smoke escape through the side of his mouth, and then passed it onto Belch. They got halfway through when Vic saw Henry out of the corner of his eye. He was standing behind a tree, and gesturing with his head for Vic to follow. Belch and Patrick didn't seem to notice, and had started discussing which actresses they wanted to bang. Vic flicked his eyes back Henry's way, and the bigger boy was gone. A small ball of excitement forming in his belly, Vic stood up. He brushed leaves and dirt off his ass, and started heading in the way he saw Henry go.

“Where you going?” Belch asked, coughing.

“Paris,” Vic shot the answer over his shoulder. Patrick’s titter followed him as he walked along the side of the lake. He tried not to make too much noise, listening for Henry. He wound up going a good ways down before he spotted his friend leaning against a tree.

Moonlight splashed against Henry’s young frame. His blue eyes were searching the sky, a small smile curling his lips. Vic was struck with how beautiful Henry could be. Even with fading bruises marking his body, he was ethereal. There were so many things going on in Vic’s head, he wasn’t sure exactly what his body wanted to feel. He was queasy, and happy. Nervous.

You don't even know what he wants, Vic's brain said, being reasonable. But Vic did know what Henry wanted. It was the same thing Henry always wanted when he shuffled Vic off into private. He wanted some kind of touch that wasn't painful; some kind of affection that wasn't laced with poison. He wanted Vic to hug him, to pet his hair, to reassure him that he wasn't a monster, or stupid, or whatever other terrible thing Butch had planted in his head.

But there was something different in the air. Henry was contemplating too hard about something. There was only one way to find out what that something was, so Vic snapped his fingers, then hit the side of his right hand flat with the palm of his left. It was a nervous tic he’d picked up from his Papa. He did it again as he strode towards Henry, looking around at the area of the Quarry they were in.

They were right at the curve of the lake, where the moon was the brightest. It gave the area a strange blue tint, like they were caught in the glow of a battery operated lantern.

Henry turned his head when he heard Vic approach, and watched him with a thoughtful expression. When Vic was close enough for a good conversation, he started picking up pebbles and tossing them into the lake. The tiny splash they made was good noise. Plip.

“How come I’ve never seen you dance before?” Henry asked, picking at his cuticles.

Vic shrugged. Plip. In went another pebble.

“You saw me dance at Veronica Grogan’s birthday party,” Vic said. He could clearly see the conga line of eight year olds with no coordination trying to do the Locomotion. It had been a spectacular mess, but loads of fun.

“That doesn’t count,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “I mean like you were dancing just now.”

Vic shrugged again. “Just haven’t felt like it, I guess.”

“I liked it. You should do it more,” Henry said. Vic turned to look at him, and Henry was staring off in the distance. He was rocking against the tree. Vic rolled it over in his mind before he said a quick, “Thanks.”

“I like… I like a lot of things you do,” Henry sounded like it was difficult to say what he was saying. Vic supposed for someone like Henry, it might have been. He wasn’t used to using his words to express the things inside of him. So Vic didn’t interrupt him. Instead, he stood up, hand full of glittering pebbles, and gave Henry his full attention. "I like that you're smart. I know I rag on you a lot for it, but that's just something I have to do. Can't have the guys thinking I'm soft on you." Henry paused. He took a deep breath. Vic was curious now. “I like the way you smile. It makes me think of cats and happy shit. Your face makes me think of cats...like the way their faces just… stick out...”

Vic waited a few moments, making sure Henry was done. Henry was blushing, his eyes refusing to look at Vic. Vic didn't know what to say to that. He took the sentence apart and examined every piece of it. He came to the conclusion Henry was trying to compliment him, and decided to return it.

Dropping the pebbles in to make a pattering of plips, Vic was forming his thoughts before speaking them.

“Well, thanks, Hank. Your face makes me think of..” Vic wanted to say Kevin Bacon , but he stopped himself. He could do better. He needed to do better. “You know when it’s cold outside but the sun is shining? Or when your mom hangs the towels over the heater so your ass doesn’t freeze in winter?” Henry nodded. “That’s what I think of when I look at your face. When everything else is just fucking cold, I can look at you and feel warm.”

"Why?" Henry asked, scrunching up his face.

"Because you're my best friend," Vic said, and at that moment, he truly believed it. The way Henry made him nervous sometimes - like they were dancing on the edge of the quarry's cliff, waiting for the other to take the plunge first - he had never felt for anyone else. But as Henry closed the distance between them and took Vic’s hands in his, Vic knew he never would. Just like Vic was special to Henry, Henry was special to Vic. Henry ran his thumb over Vic’s, and Vic massaged circles into Henry's palms. Although they didn’t hold hands as often as they did when they were little, Vic didn’t think this usage of physical affection was anything other than ordinary. At least, not until Henry brought one set of hands up to his lips, and gave Vic's a little kiss. This drew small laugh from Vic, who asked, “What’re you doing?”

“Thanking you,” Henry said. He decided to elaborate when he saw the frustration on Vic’s face. “For helping me with Butch, and… just shut up and let me do this, because it's never happening again.”

He kissed Vic’s hand again. Turning their hands over, he kissed Vic’s wrist, and then his forearm. It wasn’t unpleasant, but Vic was too confused to really appreciate the moment. Henry drew the line at kissing. They'd tried it once - a kiss on each cheek - and had decided it was too weird. He was even more confused when Henry stopped kissing his arm, and, instead, brushed his lips against Vic’s. It wasn’t a kiss, exactly. It was testing for one. When Vic didn’t resist, Henry put a little more force into it.

Vic lit up like a sparkler on the fourth of July. He felt dizzy, smelling the lake on Henry's skin, and their pheromones intermingling. As Henry kept kissing him, he thought he might pass out. Like the dames in the movies, just swooning over their cowboy. Vic brought a hand up to Henry's hair, and pulled him in closer.

He hadn’t noticed Henry had dropped his hand until he felt it, warm and soft, sliding into his underwear, cupping his penis. He couldn’t speak. He tried to, but he was scared when he realized what Henry was doing. What he was really doing. It felt good. Vic knew he needed to tell Henry to stop before they got caught, but he didn't want him to stop.

But if he did those things, what did that make him? Was he queer? Was Henry? A bullet of fear broke through Vic's heart as he thought about Butch finding out. He could see Henry - so big when he was with his friends, and so small in Butch's shadow. Butch would crush him, grind him into dust. The thought made Vic's heart twitch. The image of Henry's face, caved in, an eye jutting out, was so vivid that if Henry's mouth hadn't been there to catch it, he would've gasped.

“No,” Vic said, pulling away. Henry didn’t seem to hear him. He just stepped in closer, and went back to it. Vic squeezed the wrist of the hand fondling him as tight as he could, and pulled it away from him. Henry looked down at the wrist, and then took a step back, jerking it from Vic’s grasp.

“I thought you liked me,” Henry said, sounding hurt. His face twisted into something so full of hate, it was worthy of Butch. “I’m not a flamer. If you tell anyone, I’ll-”

“I do!” Vic said, before the fear could really settle in Henry, and Vic lost him. Lost everything. “I do like you, Henry. But can we just… do more of what you were doing before? I liked that.”

Henry licked his lips, and reached out to brush the hair behind Vic’s ear. He ran his thumb along Vic’s lip. Vic thought maybe another kiss was coming, but instead, he pulled Vic by the hand until he was falling in step behind Henry.

“You think you could maybe get those hotdogs away from Fucknuts before he burns all of them?” Henry asked, starting back towards their camp.

“Yeah, okay,” Vic said. “Henry...” He wanted to ask what’s next? But he had the feeling they were in dangerous territory. So he never finished his sentence.

“And where the fuck are the marshmallows? Didn’t I tell you to bring marshmallows, the big kind?” Henry turned to walk backwards while he talked. Vic was in awe that he didn’t trip even once.

“I’ll get them for you, Hank,” Vic said. That brought another smile to Henry’s face. He hopped in place a couple of times, and then broke out into a full sprint. He always tried to get a head start because Vic was faster, but the younger boy passed him easily, as always. By the time Henry actually made it back to the others, Vic was whipping Patrick with a burnt wiener as the two boys laughed, and Belch had a skewer of Marshmallows ready for smores.

Henry went back to Butch the next day, deciding to take his punishment like a man. Vic didn’t see him again until school started. He was unsure of how things were left between them, so he didn’t say anything, letting Henry make all the moves. Sporting a shiner and a cracked lip, Henry draped his arm around Vic’s neck while Patrick and Belch were in Home Ec, and dragged him into the bathroom.

“We can do that stuff you like,” Henry whispered. “But I want to try something.”

Vic sat on Henry’s lap, his boots planted against the wall so anyone who entered only saw Henry’s underneath the stall. They took turns filling their mouths with smoke, and, on Henry’s suggestion, each other’s tongues. It was nice. Henry came home with him after school. They made out until Mama called them down to dinner.

The next week, Henry started dating Veronica Grogan, but Vic knew it wasn’t the end of whatever madness had gripped them that night at the Quarry. Henry was a lot like Butch in that sense. Sure enough, he watched Butch come ‘round the house in the afternoon for his Mama, and Henry come ‘round in the evening for himself. And Vic was just fine with that. He didn't know if he was gay, or straight with an exception. He knew Veronica was just some thing to throw people off their scent, and that the more he and Henry sucked face, the closer they felt.

Sometime before Christmas, Vic looked at Henry from across his bed and realized he might just be in love. He didn't really know what love was - his parents certainly didn't know enough to tell him. But as he brushed the hair from Henry's face, he knew that if Butch ever caught them, he would take every last punch Butch had to throw if it meant Henry got away safe. They weren't just best friends, or brothers. He wasn't just some right-hand man, there to keep Henry's mission on point and to reel him back if he got in too deep. Henry had become his everything, and he was the only thing keeping Henry alive, sometimes.

And sometime before the new year, after Butch was reinstated on the force after a long and grueling suspension, Henry realized the same thing: that Vic would die for him. He only needed to ask.

[yourbolderswedish]

Of uncertain, troubling times

Putting a little decency, love out into the universe might help us all better understand these uncertain times.

I had a dream last night that I was seated next to the president of the United States on a cross-country flight. It did not go well. In an effort to avoid conversation with the leader of the free world, in my dream, I put on my noise-cancelling headphones and watched ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ on my iPad. This did not please my nearby passenger. He requested to sit somewhere else, away from ‘such unpleasantness.’

It was a strange dream, a sort of prelude to what greeted me when I woke this morning.

The man from my dream retweeted three incendiary anti-Muslim videos posted by a leader of the far-right group, Britain First.

In response, Britain’s Prime Minister Theresa May issued this statement: ‘Britain First seeks to divide communities by their use of hateful narrative that peddle lies and stoke tensions. They cause anxiety to law-abiding people.

‘British people overwhelmingly reject the prejudiced rhetoric of the far right, which is the antithesis of the values this country represents, decency, tolerance and respect. It is wrong for the president to have done this.’

Amen.

We live in uncertain, troubling times, I think.

Apart from the president seemingly endorsing such anti-muslim rhetoric and hate this morning, a major news organization fired a well-known newsman after sexual misconduct allegations were leveled against him.

Again, I say Amen.

The wave of people now speaking out after enduring terrible acts of harassment and misconduct, and years of silence for fear of retribution, is encouraging to me. Still, I am troubled by the lack of accountability and decency on so many levels.

I have told a few people my #MeToo stories. They are long behind me. I have put them to bed in my mind. Still, I know such disgusting, demeaning acts happen and very little is done to fix them.

My first #MeToo involved an older man my parents trusted to watch over my brother and me when we were too young to be left alone and they had to be away for a night. That night, the man sat on a sofa in his home as my brother and I watched television, sitting on the floor in front of him.

I was cold and asked for a blanket. The man, instead, patted the sofa beside him and encouraged me to sit down next to him. I did.

From there, the man reclined behind me, reached toward my waist, wrenched open the elastic belt I was wearing, breaking it, stuffed his hand down my pants and began touching my vagina. The whole time, he had his other hand around my neck and was telling me to be quiet or he would hurt my brother.

I was able to free myself when I started crying loud enough that the man thought I would alarm my brother.

Days later, I showed my broken belt to people I trusted to help me. Instead, they downplayed the experience. They suggested I likely misunderstood what happened. I likely heard stories from my friends and fabricated this scenario for attention. I was devastated.

For years after that, I watched the man parade young children around the neighborhood on an all-terrain vehicle, giving them rides and what I now suspect to be ‘grooming’ them.

One day as I was packing up some gear to return to college in another city, the man leaned over the fence at my parent’s home and said to me: ‘No one ever believes the children when they tell whoppers.’ He smiled and took a long drag off the cigarette resting between his teeth.

I was again shocked, sickened, saddened. The scene might as well have played out in a made-for-TV movie.

The man is long dead now. I don’t know if he ever hurt anyone else. Whenever he talked to my brother or tried to get him to ride the all-terrain vehicle, I made certain I was there to get my brother interested in anything else. Away.

My second #MeToo happened when I was working as a reporter for a community newspaper. One Saturday, I was tasked with covering a firefighter training academy. The story was a big deal because so many people were trying out for service. It was such a big deal that a Phoenix news station sent a reporter and cameraman to also cover the story.

While I was squatting down taking some photos that day, the news station’s cameraman came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my chest, put his hands on my breasts and picked me up to move me out of his way. A few firefighters I knew and had worked with before, ran over and ‘saved’ me. They yelled at the cameraman and asked me if I was OK.

I wasn’t. Still, I just wanted the attention shifted. So, I remarked that I was in the way and should have moved before the cameraman even approached me.

It was difficult. It was gross.

I have thought for weeks about putting my #MeToo stories out there. I’m not sure what this will accomplish. I can’t do much about them now other than know how some people are hurting.

However, I can admit when I have behaved badly, try to put some decency back out there.

I’m sure there are several situations where I said something inappropriate or acted gross but one that immediately comes to mind is when I called a young female reporter working for me a ‘cupcake.’

She was pretty and a good reporter. So much so her sources always did their best to help her out.

I was remarking to her that she was good at her job and people liked her because she was ‘such a cupcake.’

When I think back to that comment, I cringe. Jesus. What a terrible thing to say to a young woman doing her job and doing it well. I should have had a review from human resources. I should have simply been a better person.

I guess that’s where I am now. Wondering why we all can’t be better.

We don’t have to be saints. We just need a reckoning for these uncertain, troubling times.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 51. The Move III. Home

What a month. December 2019 started in Sydney, but in just four weeks, took me through New York (Chels was in Hawaii), Dallas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Seattle, and finally London.

Somehow this was our LEAST busy holiday over the past three years, but it flew by nonetheless.

The month began with an international move... obviously challenging, and further complicated by EY’s mobility team. Movers, cleaners, and interested Gumtree buyers cycled through the house, while Chelsay and I balanced enjoying our final days in Manly with UK visa applications.

Eventually our Aussie apartment was empty. Just four massive bags remained - they held our only belongings until our shipment arrives in London sometime in April. Those four bags would be heading in opposite directions for the next 10 days though: Chelsay’s followed her to Hawaii, while mine were heading to New York.

I’m extremely jealous of Chelsay’s trip to the North Shore. Not only did she get to hang with Sumner, Chris, Miles, and Orly, but she enjoyed a few post-Sydney surfs, Island vibes, and beautiful weather.

Meanwhile, I had intense work meetings in New York, which required staying an extra few days for the biggest presentation I’ve given to-date. I was at least able to stroll around Manhattan between meetings, with highlights including Gramercy Park, East Village, Greenwich Village, and snow in Times Square.

Our Christmas Break really began once Chelsay and I finally made it to Dallas, though we were only home for one day before embarking on a family road trip.

Chelsay and I have traveled to around 50 countries, yet there are so many places we haven’t explored in our own backyard, including the Deep South. With plenty of time in the US this December, we decided to take a short road trip through Louisiana and Mississippi with Jeff, Liv, Matt, and Emily.

Some highlights:

A foggy visit to Evergreen Plantation. Although the plantation was a primary filming site for fictional Django Unchained, its slave past was very real. Despite our tour guide’s best efforts to portray a “different narrative”, the slaves’ conditions were pretty clear... “Remember: snakes, gators, mosquitoes, yellow fever.”

Jambalaya, Beignets, and Hurricanes in New Orleans’ French Quarter, paired with our over-the-top Southern accents (“There’s been a muwduh!”)

Strolling Barataria Preserve, a swampy bayou coated in Spanish moss... but with zero bathrooms along the trail. What happened in the bayou stays in the bayou. 

Touring antebellum homes in charming Natchez, though the biggest highlight was Jeff trying to understand how their 1980′s occupants got cable. 

Friendly and entertaining strangers throughout the entire trip. Zippy the gas station attendant (“Energy drink, for the guy that’s gotta push the car”), our Uber driver Mahogany (“Reroute me”), the Mississippi McDonalds cashier (“Y’all wan’ dat wit pe-can sauce!?”), and a New Orleans man training his pet raccoon.

The road trip was great siblings trip - no doubt one that we’ll laugh about for a long time. But after covering Sydney, New York, Louisiana, and Mississippi in just two weeks, it was time to settle down for a bit.

Luckily we had almost a month to relax: 23 days before our one-way flight to London, split between Dallas and Seattle. I hardly worked and Chelsay was already well into sabbatical-mode, which meant we had zero responsibility while home... It was a return to childhood.

Some highlights:

These aren’t in any order, except for this first one: Matt’s quizzes. It’s become a Kern tradition that Matt puts together ~15 ten question quizzes. They’re all creative categories, with our annual favorite being “Synonym song title & band”. Matt’s past four annual quizzes were all excellent, but this Christmas’ installment, Kern Family Quizzes 5: The Moscow Incident, was by far the most impressive. It included an audio/visual component, and categories ranging from “Name this platinum song being played on recorder” and “Name the two actors’ whose faces I’ve merged into one”. Matt could make millions if he sold these games.

Speaking of games, the Kern’s and Wright’s combined to complete four escape rooms. Perfect 4/4. Grandma Helen calls them “Crazy rooms”, which is absolutely understandable after a T-Rex roared at us for 20 minutes in one of our Seattle escape rooms.

Continuing in the friendly competition category, the Kern’s love bocce... especially bocce with a wrinkle: wild bocc’ (aka free-range bocce). Most bocce is played in a walled rectangular arena. Not for the Kern’s though. We drive to the Trophy Club Park and set up our “course” through trees, along hills, across sidewalks, and between the small children panicking as we hurl 3 lb balls towards them. Like a windmill in putt-putt, these obstacles make the game more challenging, especially the scared children. Plus we all just like getting outside.

One last friendly competition: giant jenga at Jeff & Liv’s new house. Their “starter” home is so big that they have an entire room for giant jenga... and we needed the space. This genuinely could’ve been a Guinness record for longest game. For at least an hour -- every single turn -- we were sure the tower JUST HAD to fall.

The next four bullets are all cowboy related. Chelsay and I have been together for 10 years, and every time we go to Dallas, she insists on visiting a dude ranch. We’ve never had enough time... until this Christmas. Chelsay finally got her wish when we drove an hour outside Fort Worth to Beaumont Ranch. This day trip could’ve had its own post, but I’ll have to summarize in a few short stories.

First, the main event was a cattle drive on horseback. Our instructor, a true Texan cowgirl, led us into the 800-acre plains in search of rogue longhorns. Chelsay was the first to come across wayward cattle and, despite her metropolitan upbringing, instinctively started yelling in an extremely southern accent: “Go on, git! Heeyah!” Our Texan instructor had to be insulted.

Second story: Matt is very good at lassoing. I was not. This video pretty much tells the story.

Last story from our cowboy day. The ranch had its own replica western town, so Chelsay had the idea to make a “duel” video. We talked about the dialogue for under 10 seconds, but the result was pure gold. Oscar worthy (at least better than The Irishman). You might think that we added the music afterwards to sync with our actions... Nope, that was just my mom holding her phone close to Chelsay’s camera. That should at least be up for Best Sound Editing.

My parents, Chelsay, and I fell into a nightly routine of Dark from Netflix Germany. Phenomenal show, despite watching an English-dubbed version. We finished two seasons in under 10 days.

Obviously we hit all the favorite food spots, led by Feedstore, Mi Cocina, Anamias, Christinas, Costa Vida. We also added a new favorite: HG Supply and their tasty impossible whopper bowl with quinoa and chili. 

On the topic of food, I must have eaten 100 cookies while home. We had the traditional Kern Christmas cookie bake-off (A+ humor, but C+ presentation), but Chelsay also picked up a baking addiction. It was 11 pm and we’d all be heading to bed, but Chelsay was still laser focused and meticulously decorating her cookies. Her efforts showed though: A+ flavor, and A+++ presentation. 

Next up was our return to Seattle. On Chelsay and I’s first full day, we decided to go on a long hike. We actually didn’t hike much when lived in Seattle, which we now realize was dumb. I definitely took the Northwest’s landscape for granted — every time we visit, I’m blown away by the sky-scraping evergreens, fresh scent, crisp air, and looming mountain ranges that surround the city. Anyway, we’ve been trying to catch up on our hiking whenever we visit, and the closest trail to the Wright’s house is Mt. Si, a semi-challenging 8-mile hike. It’s the medium-well steak of hikes. Danny, Chelsay, and I endured a sweaty couple hours -- just to give you an idea of the hike’s height, the peak was snow-capped, but the views made the steep ascent worthwhile. 

On the same ‘missed PNW opportunities’ line: when I lived in Seattle, I ever took advantage of the many nearby mountain villages, especially the Bavarian-themed Leavenworth. Tucked in the Cascade Mountains, you would never believe Leavenworth is just two hours from bustling Pike Place. Gothic-lettered storefronts line the half-timbered town’s main street: Munchen Haus, the Sausage Garten, Ludwig’s, and Starbucks (it’s still America after all). Danny, June, Chelsay, and I enjoyed a quiet walk on Blackbird Island, threw snowballs for target practice, and warmed up with hot cider and big (BIG) game of Uno. We also built up our shaka inventory with our Leavenworth friends Alex & Charlie.

It's also worth mentioning that I went to a Hawks game with Hanan. It was a rivalry game and the stakes couldn't be higher: SEA vs SF. Sunday Night Football. Last game of the 2019 regular season, and the winner took the NFC West. The 49ers went up 16-0, but the Hawks stormed back and had the ball with a chance to win on the last play. Russell Wilson hit Jacob Hollister close to the goal line, but a 49er tackled him quickly. Hollister reached for the goal line as he fell, but came up an inch short of a game-winning touchdown. Even though the Hawks lost, it was still a great time.

Speaking of great times, we hosted New Year’s Eve at the Wright’s house in Woodinville. What an incredible night. Midnight seems to get later and later every year, but Chelsay and I stayed up until 3 am catching up with Devon & Babs, Martiin @ Michelle, and Austin & Kels. Danny, June, and Chels were such amazing hosts - I kept telling them my friends didn’t deserve their hospitality.

We may have been in the US for five weeks, but it felt like only five days. Although it fly by, these stories and pictures are proof that our time was well spent. 

And even though we were boarding a one-way flight to London for the next few years, there’s no question where our true home will always be.