#one time they sent me a pic of a living room completely covered in carpets which looked so rad

[schnaf]

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[13thbaronzemo]

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES: PART 4

Baron Helmut Zemo/F!Reader

Rated E (Explicit)

You are the Sokovian custodian of Castle Zemo, which now belongs to the dissolved nation’s neighbors, and the baron himself has ordered you to come vacation with him in Ibiza.

Disclaimer: This is a continuation of a fanfic written before FatWS: Ep4 aired and set up after his separation from the protagonists and while on the run from the law.

Baron Zemo’s beach villa was a glass house with windows as high as the ceiling and as low as the floor. The sun shone right through them and illuminated every brightly painted wall and every darkened corner. And, while you missed it on its way up, the sun didn’t miss you. It had been keeping your side of the bed warm as you slept, as well as the side the baron had woken up in.

It was only when the heat became too suffocating, and the thirst too unbearable, that you stirred. Sitting up on your hunches was a Herculean task, and opening your eyes in the morning light was a bad decision. The hangover had made your mouth sand-dry and had your head spinning. All you could remember was being put to sleep like a child because, after a day of travel and a night of drinking, you were far too weak to do it yourself.

The baron anticipated the bad morning you would be having. On the nightstand, he’d left you a note reclining against a tall glass of water and atop a folded tissue.

My Lady,

I know how much you needed a good night’s sleep, so I didn’t dare wake you up so early. I had to go into town this morning, but I’ll be back in time for lunch.

Be sure to drink plenty of water while I’m gone and, if your headache is too much to bear, I’ve left you two tablets of ibuprofen. There is a tray of food that you can stomach waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Do not go hungry waiting for me.

~ Your Lord

You emptied that glass so fast, you only discovered the two tablets folded in the tissue after you were out of water. Thankfully, your Lord had thought of everything: there was a whole six-pack of water bottles on the coffee table across the room just waiting for you to walk over to it. Wrapping the sheet you’ve slept in around your naked body, you crossed the sun-heated carpet and helped yourself to a few more sips of water and ibuprofen.

However, you couldn’t wait around for the pills to heal you, so you began walking off the hangover.

First, you freshened up in the bathroom with a shower. And, since you hadn’t bothered going back into the bedroom to bring your supplies into the cabin before closing it, you proceeded to use his products. But it’s not like you minded bathing in the strong scent that only his musk could overpower. As you scrubbed off your skin, you also traced over the bruises he bit into the side of your neck and the ones he dug into you with his nails. Your thighs were still tender and the memory of his fingers was still fresh in your flesh. And, before you knew it, your nails were digging, dragging themselves between your thighs.

When you couldn’t bear it anymore, when the thought of his tongue entered your mind like it had entered you last night, you slipped a finger inside. The sound you made was louder than the water, but it wasn’t enough to summon him by your side. Or behind. Or inside. All you had was yourself and your fingers to fuck yourself with as you drowned out the desperate sounds in the shower stream. So you slipped another one in and took care of your clitoris with your thumb. When you finally came, it was while calling out your Lord’s name.

Secondly, you had to pick yourself off the shower floor before the cabin flooded and the worries started winding the gears in your brain. You couldn’t let all the terrors he’s inflicted on the rest of the world take over your thoughts, so you sniffed the humid air and your wet skin in search of his scent. Sure enough, the memories took over and you were engrossed in the thought of all the gifts he has bestowed onto you.

Thirdly, you needed to dry and dress before heading downstairs for a late breakfast. He had ordered you to stay hydrated and fed while he was gone, after all. While brushing your teeth and combing your hair, you saw something purple peering back at you in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. It was peeking out from under the lid of the wicker laundry basket and, once you lifted it completely, you saw it was the sleeve of the same shirt Baron Zemo wore last night. Pulling it out, you put it right up against your nose, inhaling the rest of his scent, the traces of him that couldn’t be contained in a conditioner bottle. When you returned to yours and the baron’s room, you were wearing a smile, his button-up shirt, and nothing underneath.

Finally, after plucking your phone out of your purse, you ventured downstairs into the kitchen. The tray of food he’d promised you was preset there: toasted bread, honey, avocado spread, and boiled eggs. Next to it was another tall glass, but, this time, it was filled with blended bananas. From the mixer drying next to the sink, you were delighted to deduce that he made you the smoothie himself. Putting the phone in the shirt pocket, you placed the glass on the tray and made your way to the couch in the center of the open living area.

Sitting down, you took a sip of the smoothie before sliding your fingers on your phone’s home screen. You knew, before you even unlocked your phone, you had a slew of messages waiting for you. The group chat from work had been chatting about you. Well, they were complaining about a couple of Spanish tourists you weren’t there to talk to in their tongue. You chose to focus on the more recent messages, the good mornings. You sent one of your own and the interrogation began. You answered their questions about the weather, the food and the nightlife. Even back in the old country, you heard stories about Ibiza’s nightlife. All of Europe heard the stories about the nightlife. ‘Send photos,’ they insisted. ‘Pics pls,’ they spammed you. You had no such photos to send, but Heidi had your back. She had spammed you the selfies from the VIP area while you slept. You told them about this lost Sokovian sister who lived here and who you met in Eden.

As you were struggling to come up with a good story about how you ended up in the most expensive nightclubs in the world on your salary, you were saved by a low battery. 'Sorry, my phone's dying,' you told the truth. 'I'm off to buy a new charger,' you lied. 'I forgot mine on the plane. TTYL.' And you didn't wait for them to respond before you switched to airplane mode and turned off the Wi-Fi. Then, you hurried upstairs and dug through your suitcase for the charger that you totally left on the plane.

After setting up your phone to charge on the nightstand, you went back downstairs. You were feeling famished and you had the baron's breakfast to finish. The toast was cold and the smoothie was warm, but anything coming from your Lord was going to be devoured no matter what. So you ate the toast, sipped your drink, and looked longingly at the deserted driveway. It was almost noon, so he could've come back any minute. A minute passes. Then three. Then ten. Then your mind starts winding with worry again.

Where is he? Is he safe? Is he okay? Why didn't he give you his phone number? Why didn't he ask for yours? Did he already have it? Did he go through your phone? How can he trust you not to use that phone to call the authorities? Why don't you call the authorities? Why are you here? Why are you here?

In an attempt to distract yourself, you wash the dishes and leave them to dry. When that doesn't work, you take yourself on a tour around the open living area. You bury your nose in a red rose, drag a digit across the kitchen counter top, pass through a forest of potted plants and watch seagulls bathe in the sun through the blinds. When you returned to the sofa, you slid your hand across its smooth surface as you walked barefoot behind it. As you approached the end of your journey, you let your hand fall back at your side. There was more fabric to feel up, but you wouldn't dare. That was his armchair and you could tell.

On each side of it rest a table. On the one that stood between the armchair and the sofa lay a spread of Spanish magazines and a couple of remote controls. And on the other lay a closed chessboard, a glass ashtray, and a stack of paperbacks. They looked to you like they were loved, with bent book covers, dog ears and all. And Il Principe was by far his favorite.

Just as your palm presses down on the first page, you jolt and drop the open book on its back. The sound of a purring engine pulling up pierced your ears and heart. He was back? He was back! How could you mistake the convertible's color as anybody else's but Baron Zemo's? You picked up the copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince and placed it back on top of the stack before praying nothing else was out of place. Well, anything besides whatever had slipped out of those pages and under the chair.

There was no time, so you forsake your search before it even started. Pulling down on the hem of your purple shirt - his shirt - you counted the turns of the key in the lock. One. Two. Three.

"Lord Zemo," you perked up, your feet patting the floor on your way to the door. "Welcome back."

You surrendered to the shivers on a sunny day as his eyes were revealed behind his shades. Since you settled yourself in his direct line of sight, you couldn't exactly complain about being scrutinized.

"It's good to be back," he licked his lips, leering at you as he leaned back against the door and shoved it shut. "And it's even better with a warm welcome." Dropping the big bag of groceries to the ground, he gathered both your hands into his. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Better,” you smiled and it must’ve been a silly sight because he snorted when you apprehensively added: “Now that you’re here.”

“Can’t go on a day without me, can you?” The baron brought both of your hands to his mouth and took turns kissing each one. “Can’t even dress yourself while I’m not here.” You reacted as if you just remembered you put on his purple button-up, stuttering to give a straight answer as he snickered. “There, there,” he tutted you, taking your face in the palms of his hands and pressing his lips against your frustrated frown. “There’s no need to pout, little girl. It suits you.”

He made you feel so meek, so small. You hated hearing yourself speak in his presence, seeing yourself quiver under his questioning eyes, yet you loved being at this powerful man’s mercy. Ever since you failed to evade him in the west wing hallway, you’ve been at his mercy. Ever since you surrendered yourself to him, you’ve been more than willing to obey him.

Even now, even as he asked you what you’d like to have for lunch, you didn’t dare demand anything. You let him decide while he swung that heavy bag atop the surface of the counter. Even when he asked what music you'd like to listen to, you echoed 'whatever you wish, my Lord,' like you're back to being his captive in Castle Zemo. And maybe you were.

However, as he hovered over his armchair and whatever secret slipped underneath it, unbuttoning his suit as he buttoned the remote, you begged him to go lay down and rest. Upstairs. On the second floor. Away from the chair and the contents below.

"The paella isn't going to prepare itself, my dear," he talked over timid trumpets. "Aren't you hungry?" He slid the suit jacket off of his shoulders and you scrambled to catch it. "Thank you."

"I've had a filling breakfast," you whispered, all the wind getting knocked out of your lungs as he turned to you with a half-clothed chest.

The fingers on his burgundy buttons froze when he saw your eyes savoring the sight. To the tune of the basset horns, the baron brought them over to the sleeves so that he could bunch them up to his elbows. "Not filling enough, it seems," he breathed, his fingers now at your buttons - his buttons. "Tell me," he craned his neck, hovering over the now uncovered half of your chest. "Have you tried filling yourself with two fingers or three?" When you gasped, he grabbed your naked neck and, while your windpipe was free to filter air, you had yet to breathe in any. "You can't even pleasure yourself without me, can you? You can barely take care of yourself."

"Please," you pleaded. It was a pathetic wheeze as it left your parted lips. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you welcomed the tightening grip around your throat.

"Please what?"

"Please, my Lord," you closed your eyes as he cupped your breast under the open button-up. Your nipple was at attention before he reached it, his thumb running over it, flicking it, teasing it. Torturing you. "Touch me."

"I am touching you, my dear" he chuckled cruelly, the thumb at your throat pressing down on the bruise as he would a button and snapping open your scrunched up eyes. "Now, look at me," he insisted, his brown eyes growing black. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," you pushed your breast into his palm and ran your own up and down the arm. You were stroking it, stoking the fire that's been ignited behind his now on fire eyes as they burned in the background of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor.

“Good girl.” Then, as if all the tension was sucked out of the air by his hiss, your lord left you stranded, surrendering his hold on you and letting you balance yourself on the balls of your feet.

When you found your bearings, the baron was seating in his armchair, the throne you had previously pleaded for him to forsake for the bed. As you blinked back the tears you weren’t aware had been welling in your eyes, you saw him spread his legs wider and lean back further. After patting down both of his pockets only to search through a single one, he presented to you a small silver packet.

“Wasn’t it you who wanted me to sit back and relax?” He smirked, satisfied in all the ways he can make your knees go weak. “You have to be the one doing all the work then. Pick the jacket off the ground and get to work, my dear.”

You’d been so distracted by his dashing good looks and his tempting touch that you had dropped his suit jacket at your feet. After dusting it off and hanging it by the door, you returned to him for your ravishing.

Getting on your knees between his own, you followed his instructions to undo his fly. Then, when your trembling hands allowed for his gorgeous, glistening erection to escape, he slapped them away. You wanted nothing more than to trace the vein that pulses up from the base of his penis to the head of it, with either your hands or your tongue, so you whined when you were denied. When he tutted you, tearing the package in two, you excused yourself even as you drowned in your own drool.

Your Lord was so beautiful in the afternoon sun, a king with a glowing crown of beaded sweat on his forehead. The last time you saw both his cock and his chest beard before you it was in the silver light of the moon and he appeared a white marble god to you then. However, as he slipped the rubber sleeve on his shaft, his chest heaving under the heat of your gaze, you remembered that he was a man first and foremost. And, when he commanded you to climb in his lap, his voice another in the chorus of the Requiem, you remembered that you were a woman first and foremost.

“That’s it,” he groaned as you straddled his hips, your nails fixing themselves in the sleeves of his shirt. “Right there, baby,” he held you up by your hip while your cunt hung over his cock being held by his other hands. “My poor baby, so helpless without me,” he licked his lips when you winced against the feeling of him between your folds. “You’ll have to learn to put in some work, little girl,” he pushed you down on him, both hands on your hips now.  "I’ll lead you there, like a lord ought to," he groaned when you gasped, his cock head breaching the entrance. “But you’ll have to do it yourself,” his voice was strained as he slid in with a single snap of his hips. "You'll have to fuck yourself on my cock."

You fell forward, his face between your breasts and your hands holding it close by the back of his neck as he bottomed out inside you. You were finally full. "My Lord, I," you began babbling, trying to turn your brain on. You had to remember to get the slip of paper that sat just under this seat. You had to put everything back into its place. Oh, but his cock, crammed between the walls of your cunt, was right in its place. "I, I, I-"

"Come on, my lady," he breathed between your breasts, his mouth moving from one mound of flesh to the other. Now, as he flicked your nipples, he did it with the tip of his silver tongue. "Come on. Move."

With the baron's hands holding the back of your thighs in a tight grip, you moaned as you moved. With his encouragement, his ever contradicting endearments, his  'baby's and his 'lady's, as well as the long and wide reach of his erection, you began bouncing on his lap. When he suckled all the sweat off your breasts, he shoved your chest out of his face with a palm on your sternum. You had to steady yourself by sinking your nails into the chair's cushion armrests.

His hand slid up on the saliva he left behind on your skin and snatched you by the throat. "Did I tell you to stop?" he growled when you whined and winced, your cunt squeezing down on his cock in time with his hand around your neck. "That's it," he hissed when your hips hurried to comply and ride him again. "Right there, my Lady." His other hand, the one not tightening around your throat, undid the rest of the buttons on your shirt by sending them flying off of their stitches.

You moaned as the hand then moved down to where your bodies met, where your clitoris was growing as you ground against his groin hairs. "Please," you bit your bottom lip, looking at your baron with a vision deterred by suffocation and sexual overstimulation. "Oh, please."

"Please what? Let you come?" His hand was close and you could feel it smoothing down your stomach, then up again. Then down. Then up. "You think you deserve to come, baby? Because I don't think that you do. Only good girls get to come and you've been bad while I was gone."

Through the thick layer of tears and a tight throat, you begged again. And again. You bounced up and down on his lap. Fast. Faster. You squeezed his shaft so snug inside he rolled back his eyes and bucked up his hips. Tight. Tighter.

"Bad girl," he sneered, his eyes narrowing as they rolled back into his sockets. He lifted his hand off of your stomach only to bring it back with a slap to your side. "Didn't your mommy and daddy teach you not to take things that don't belong to you?"

"M-my Lord," your voice cracked, tears of shame and frustration streaming down your cheeks.

"No? Well, I'm both your mommy and your daddy now." He spanked you a second time, leaving searing skin behind. "Don't." Slap. "Touch." Slap. "What." Slap. "Isn't." Slap. "Yours."

Your cunt contracted around his cock after each slap. And, after each spoken word, you warbled out one of your own. It was the same one, over and over and over again. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

He chuckled over the chorus of the Dies Irae, his hand now coming down to caress your flaming flesh. "Baby," his voice dipped lower as his hand snuck back down your stomach. "Baby, look at me."

"Forgive me," you whimpered, your hands winding around the wrist of the arm traveling down south.

“I forgive you.” The baron took pity on you and proceeded with his palm ever further south. “I forgive you, my lady,” his voice was vicious as he barked out his order. “Now come for me! Come!”

The thumb turning your slick and swollen clitoris like a knob had opened the door to your release from the torturous luxury he’d trapped you in. There was a myriad of moans that he squeezed out of your throat and a wide array of words that made more sense while his cock twitched inside you and his thumb circled your clitoris. Words like ‘cum’ and ‘pussy’ and even ‘daddy’ to list a few. Whatever combination you had come up with, it worked like a charm on him as his orgasm followed yours, his face back between your breasts as you fell forward.

“Hold tight, my dear,” he heaved, his breath brushing your skin and his cheek scratching against your sternum. He’d lifted your hips and let himself slip out of you. “There we go,” he sighed, satiated and satisfied.

As you sagged against him, the baron brushed all the hair from your face only to find a sorry face. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, sinking his chin into his chest to kiss you on the crown of your weary head. “Don’t let me catch you doing it again.”

“You won’t, milord.”

“You’ll learn how to do it without my knowledge?” Combing your hair with one hand, he stretched the other hand towards the side table where your post-coitus eyes could now see what your heated gaze couldn’t before: The Prince had an off-white piece of paper sticking out from between its pages. Your mind was still marinating in the endorphins and was slow to recreate the scenario in which he managed to move it from under the chair and back into your book, all of it under your nose.

“Then you must know this: there is no better distraction than one's own desires.”

“Did Machiavelli write that?”

Baron Zemo laughed, his chest lifting up and down under you. “He wrote something like that,” he spoke over the string instruments playing Lacrimosa through the speakers and your spine shivered.

[tabloidtoc]

Us, May 10

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: The George Clooney nobody knows

Page 2: Red Carpet -- Full Mettle Jacket -- stars prove they have the courage to bare legs in varied stylings of the blazer dress -- Rita Ora, Zendaya, Olivia Culpo, Hailey Bieber, Jamie Chung

Page 3: Constance Wu, Addison Rae, Kourtney Kardashian, Emily Ratajkowski, Ciara

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Lisa Bonet vs. Bryce Dallas Howard in The Vampire's Wife, Rachel Zoe vs. Molly Sims in Rachel Zoe

Page 6: Loose Talk -- Anderson Cooper on how he's not a fan of Andy Cohen's son's hand-me-downs for his son Wyatt, Patrick Schwarzenegger on Arnold Schwarzenegger using his iconic catchphrase from the Terminator films in real life, Lizzo revealing she drunkenly sent Chris Evans a flirty message on Instagram, Chris Evans' response to Lizzo shooting her shot, Jane Fonda recalling a time a bear was in her bedroom

Page 9: Contents

Page 12: Oscars 2021 -- The Best Dressed -- Zendaya

Page 13: Andra Day, Regina King, Viola Davis

Page 14: Hollywood's Biggest Night -- the 93rd Academy Awards -- Minari's Yuh-Jung Youn with her Oscar standing next to Brad Pitt in a man bun

Page 15: Reese Witherspoon goofed around backstage, Daniel Kaluuya holding his Oscar, Halle Berry, Tyler Perry holding his Oscar, Riz Ahmed and wife Fatima Farheen Mirza on the red carpet, Joaquin Phoenix

Page 16: Frances McDormand with her Oscar and Chloe Zhao with her Oscar, Isla Fisher made sure husband Sacha Baron Cohen's tux was lint-free, Glenn Close left the room in hysterics when she demonstrated Da Butt dance, H.E.R. with her Oscar, Margot Robbie on the red carpet

Page 19: Hot Pics -- Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton's son Prince Louis on his first day of preschool

Page 20: Furever Family -- dog moms show love to their canine kids -- Kate Beckinsale studied her lines while holding dog Myf and cats Clive and Willow in her arms, Rachel Brosnahan with her dog who is filled to the brim with 'tude, Camila Morrone stepped out for fresh air with one of her dogs in L.A., Priyanka Chopra Jonas and her dog Diana spent the day snuggling, Camila Cabello goofed around with her dog Tarzan

Page 22: HGTV host and designer Tiffany Brooks, Lindsey Vonn paddleboarding in Tulum in Mexico, Rami Malek enjoyed a meal with longtime girlfriend Lucy Boynton on the terrace of their hotel in Zagreb, Croatia

Page 24: Stars They're Just Like Us -- Ed Westwick riding a rollercoaster with girlfriend Tamara Francesconi and pals in Chertsey in England, Elsa Hosk ate breakfast in Pasadena, Ashley Greene fed the parking meter while running errands in West Hollywood

Page 26: Love Lives -- Khloe Kardashian and Tristan Thompson ready to commit (oops)

Page 27: Garth Brooks is Trisha Yearwood's person no matter what and in previous relationships, she was really ready to bail when things got hard, but with Garth, that's not an option because this is the love of her life and there are things he does that drive her nuts, but at the end of the day, he really is pretty great

* Though they've been trying to stay under the radar while in London, Harry Styles and Olivia Wilde have been spotted grabbing pints at local pubs and going on strolls and they're very cuddly with one another

* Nina Dobrev and Shaun White are in it for the long haul and they're very happy together and their loved ones wouldn't be surprised if the snowboarder proposes to her soon -- while they've only been together for a little over a year, the pair are really excited about how far this relationship has come and they're gradually taking steps to starting a future together

Page 28: Hot Hollywood -- Lori Loughlin and Mossimo Giannulli are ready for a fresh start and now that they've completed their prison sentences for their roles in the college admissions scandal, the pair is looking to trade in the glitz and glamour of L.A. for a more low-key life in Idaho because they want to get away from it all and a second home up north will leave them far from the prying eyes of the public -- while they recently downsized to a smaller home in Hidden Hills, Lori and Mossimo were prepared to make another move earlier this year, but eventually decided to stay in L.A. as their daughters really wanted them close by at the time, but now that Isabella Giannulli and Olivia Jade Giannulli are on their own, Lori and Mossimo are excited to experience life in Idaho and they feel this will be good for them; they can start anew and work on their marriage together

Page 29: It's safe to say Prince Harry is not returning to the U.K. for a very long time and is feeling unfulfilled and upset after Prince Charles and Prince William ambushed him in a reunion meeting following his and Meghan Markle's bombshell TV interview -- they didn't take any responsibility, which is partly why Harry rushed back home to his pregnant wife and their son Archie; Harry is worried they'll never understand his point of view and to make matters uglier, Harry is also getting an inkling that his father and his brother, who is being coached to be king, are trying to freeze him out, but he has no problem with that because between his deals with Netflix and Spotify and his new gig at BetterUp, Harry's made a great life for himself in California

* Keeping Up With Us -- Gal Gadot revealed she recently severed her fingertip while cooking and her husband Yaron Varsano tossed it in the garbage disposal, Hayden Panettiere's ex Brian Hickerson has been sentenced to 45 days in county jail on two felony counts of injuring the actress last year, Caitlyn Jenner is officially running for governor of California, the creators of Framing Britney Spears are working on a documentary about Janet Jackson's infamous 2004 Super Bowl halftime show but she and Justin Timberlake won't be involved

Page 30: What's in My Bag? Vanessa Lachey

Page 32: Cover Story -- George Clooney: Life, Love and Turning 60 -- six decades in, he's still going strong and a source close to George talks about the star finding his soulmate Amal Clooney, parenthood and the near-death experience that set him straight

Page 36: Jana Kramer: Picking Up the Pieces -- how the devastated star is coping in the wake of her split from her cheating ex

Page 37: The Lonely Hearts Club -- these stars are also either breaking up or cooling off -- Katie Holmes and Emilio Vitolo Jr., Lucy Hale and Skeet Ulrich, Zac Efron and Vanessa Valladares

Page 40: Spring Trends to Try -- life (and the weather) is warming up so step back into the style scene with comfy-chic wardrobe updates -- cool crochet -- Olivia Palermo, oversize trousers -- Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, the shacket -- Gabrielle Union

Page 42: Entertainment -- Bethenny Frankel is tackling yet another project with her new reality competition series

Page 46: Fashion Police -- when bad clothes happen to good people -- Howie Mandel, Priyanka Chopra Jonas

Page 47: Justin Bieber, Sofia Vergara, Jeff Goldblum

Page 48: 25 Things You Don't Know About Me -- Sunny Hostin

[veridium]

fake happy

Well, whaddya know! The College AU is back, baby! Unfortunately June was pretty much hell in a handbasket, so writing took a backseat. But, we are far from done. Thank you to everyone for sighting tight, and to @bitchesofostwick for being a very patient co-author. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the holiday weekend from hell. On with the show! Title bought to you by a great Paramore song.

masterpost // last chapter

--

“Hey baby cakes!”

The moment she hears the shrill greeting whilst getting out of her car in the sandstone-colored driveway, Olivia knows she’s in a chapter of Dante’s Inferno. All the calmness she had with Ellinor earlier that day is gone; it is easier said than done enduring four days in the house of Paula Sinclair.

“Hey,” she rushes over her shoulder, pulling the side lever to release the trunk where her bags are kept. Just two, one of clothes and toiletries and the other books and supplies to do assignments. She’ll need the preoccupation as an excuse for the gauntlet of trials her Mom will invite her to.

As she’s filing her luggage out onto the driveway, she sees her Mom’s shadow approaching. She glances and sees her in all her glory: an olive green sundress with one of those straw pool hats. She was probably out basking in the sun all afternoon before this. Olivia is surprised she thought to put down whatever spiked beverage she must have had with her to come outside and greet her only child. 

“Did you have a safe drive? You certainly did not rush to get home safe,” Paula says, halting and crossing her arms. 

Olivia slams the trunk closed and huffs, slinging one bag’s strap over her shoulder and the other on her opposite forearm. “I woke up late, and had to help Ellinor pack.” Sorry, Ellinor. 

“Ellinor! I will miss her this year.” A lie said out of convenience. The whole time Ellinor stays with them, Paula shoots her peculiar questions about her personal life or her political views. Ellinor knows better now after these last couple of years how to play them off, but Paula can’t help but size people up. It’s how she cultivates all her complaints.

“I will, too,” Olivia lets out as she makes her way to the front door, past the splendorous potted plants and fake green grass turf. Her Mother saunters behind her through the open door. 

Once inside Olivia notices what’s missing, and sets her smaller bag down. 

“Wh--”

“No no, do not just leave that there! Take it to the mud room or your bedroom.”

Olivia bites back a groan and turns around to face Paula as she shuts and locks the large-ass, gaudy-ass front door. “Fine. Where is Nemo?”

“Nemo?”

“...the dog, Mother.”

“Nemo! Oh, psh,” she waves her acrylics. “He is off in the yard. I kept him outside because the carpet steamers came this morning. You know how his muddy little paws are! Now, do I not get a hug?”

Olivia tenses up from head to toe, seeing her Mother coming in for the hug she didn’t wait for permission for. At least Nemo isn’t mysteriously gone -- she’s read too many horror stories online of people’s parents being complete monsters about their old family pets dying, and not telling the children who live elsewhere -- but Paula keeps Nemo out in the yard for days at a time when she gets the carpets cleaned. He will need company, and not just the husband going out and practicing his golf swing adjacent to him. 

Oh, right, there’s a husband around here.

Paula hugs her with her arms draped over Olivia’s shoulders, rather than around her waist like a good bear hug. Something Dad would know how to do.

“I imagine Fred is off shooting, stuffing, or smoking something,” she mutters over her Mother’s shoulder, to which Paula gently swats at her shoulder and guffaws. 

“No, silly! He’s in the yard with Nemo, your fellow prisoner,” she teases, picking up on Olivia’s dread with her trademark passive aggression. Only three minutes in the door, a new record. 

“I didn’t say he couldn’t do those things out in the yard.” Lord knows he has before. 

“Where do you think our holiday meal comes from every year?” 

“COSTCO, like God and Uncle Sam intended, right?”

“Ugh, Olivia, your humor changes every year you’re at that College. Don’t be so morose.”

She takes a breath and picks up her eyesore of a bag so that it does not further desecrate the sanctity of the foyer, and makes for the curved staircase just across the pristine hardwood. “I’m just tired from the drive, Mom. I’m going to go upstairs and get settled.”

“Okay, and come downstairs soon! I wanna catch up, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

She glances behind her but her Mother is already vanished. Sure, catch up, but not too quick! Releasing her bated breath she lurches up the rest of the stairs. The place is heavily renovated from the home it originally was when her parents bought it. In the beginning they didn’t have much -- well, much compared to what Paula has now -- and so their first nest was a fixer upper. Year after year, corny wallpaper became fresh painted walls, and thick upholstered couches handed down from in-laws became brand new installations from the boutiques downtown. Two additions to the place upgraded it from a modest family home to a wannabe mansion. Olivia grew up in this ever-changing little kingdom of improvements, but only when she was a newly-minted adult did she realize she was one of its fixtures.

The one comfort had always been that her Father dwelled there with her. He brought heart and humanity to the kingdom of objects: his muddy shoes by the front door, not the “mud room.” His fishing rods hung up on the garage rack. His barbeque out in the yard. They weren’t all state-of-the-art, but they were his. But, by now, they, too, were all gone. ‘Improvements’ in every stead, including his.  

Olivia had one sacrosanct place left, and that was her childhood room. Walking down the hall decorated with big, framed portraits of the family -- none of her Father, though, to be sure -- she found her door, the second one to the right in the west hallway. “West” being the original upstairs hallway, the only hallway, before construction added the one referred to as the “East.” She pushed the ajar door open and slid in to see it as she remembered: the bright lavender purple walls strewn with posters, pictures, and a tapestry up behind her bed. The pearly purple carpet smelled of the carpet cleaner, but it did not mask the smell of vanilla she expected. On the opposite wall from the door, her princess bed complete with ivory white canopy was freshly made. Her bedspread was white, with pillows in alternating shades of green and lilac. Years ago she fought endlessly for her Mother to let her paint her room a darker color than the baby pink it was first. Thanks to her Dad, they “compromised” with purple. Sadly, Paula took that as “the lightest shades of purple” and so it was.

In the details, though, there was Olivia’s rebellion. The posters, Paramore, My Chemical Romance, and an old one from a Sheryl Crow concert she found on Amazon, contrasted the brightness with a grit. To the left by her small balcony doors, her vanity mirror and stool were covered with polaroid pictures, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, and bracelets. She had taken all of her incriminating, “immodest” makeup with her to college, so all that remained were an old bottle of sunscreen, some pastel eyeshadow palettes, and lip glosses. So many lip glosses. 

Olivia dropped her shit in the middle of the floor and made for the reading chair in the far corner, where she collapsed into a curled, reticent ball of conflicted emotions. She predicted this -- she dreaded this -- and now, here she is. The first day is always a test of anxiety, more so than enduring mistreatment. Paula is always good on the first day -- great, sometimes. She is generous, and outgoing, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The grueling part comes after the first night ends and she realizes she has to do something with her daughter who isn’t just in for dinner and giggling. That’s when she remembers how she actually feels, and who she actually is. And with no one like Ellinor to buffer and provide excuses for her not standing in one place for too long, it’ll be particularly concentrated. 

She slides limply against the plush chair and closes her eyes. It was a stressful drive full of hasty college kids getting home to their more harmonious families. Olivia was in no rush, though. Three trips through various drive thrus surely added time.

Her phone goes off, and she slips her phone out of her back jean pocket. 

Ellinor: You ready to walk the plank yet?

Smirking, Olivia replies: 

-- I am already keeling over the edge. How is your family?

Ellinor: I nearly did a drop and roll out of Lyssa’s car on the way here, but they’re bearable. They are who they usually are. No surprises, this holiday season! 

-- One of these years we’ll be successful enough to buy everyone therapy for Christmas. 

Ellinor: No shit, I’m making them pay for mine first. 

Olivia is replying when another notification comes up, an instagram like this time, from Maryden. Grinning she taps on it. Maryden finally saw the group pic they all took at the fair: her, Ellinor, Cullen, and then Olivia and Cass in the bottom corner. Olivia had made Cass hold the phone due to height advantage. Her grin expands before it sinks fast. 

Ah, fuck. 

She pulls up her messages again and sees the one Cassandra sent her while she was driving and unable to check. 

Cassandra: Text me when you arrive safe. ❤️

The heart emoji. Olivia’s cheeks turn hot, and she hastily types. 

-- Here in purgatory! 

The sound of a man shouting something, and then laughing, rings from the balcony windows. Fred must be huffing and puffing about something amusing, like meat or guns. She can’t wait for all his odd comments and attempts to “relate” that almost always devolve into him talking about whatever season of sport he’s onto and her nodding along. Poor man. He makes sea sponges seem like sophists. 

Soon after sending, Cassandra replies, an opportunity Olivia doesn’t predict: 

Cassandra: Awesome. my Uncle has stopped us for gas, still about 40 minutes out. 

-- That’s good. Hopefully you won’t get stuck in rush hour. 

Cassandra: My Uncle sucks at navigating traffic, so I wouldn’t bet on it. 

-- Lol

Cassandra: You alright? 

Olivia is sort of surprised by the question and its sensitivity, albeit direct. 

-- Just tired from the drive, that’s all 

Cassandra: You love driving. You would drive the entire stretch of the coast highway without blinking once.

Damn, Cassandra. A bold insight. A correct one, too. 

-- 🤷🏼‍♀️

Five seconds after she hits send, Cassandra calls her. She nearly drops the phone on the floor, and her slack posture goes full vertical. She checks that the door is closed, only to decide to leap, rush, and lock it just in case. Then she hurries to the farthest corner of the room and hits answer right on the last ring. 

“No, Detective, I will not submit to the polygraph.”

Cassandra’s voice rings almost playfully. “Very well, we have other ways of making you talk.”

There’s the hot blush again. “Uh, a-alright, who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” She hushes a bit, and hopes Cassandra doesn’t notice. 

“Nothing! My Uncle is in the gas station doing who-knows-what, so I’m stuck in here, boot and all.”

“I’m not kidding, I saw that Liam Neeson movie, I know how this goes. I have a special set of skills--”

“What do I have to do? Express my distaste for something? Quote Plato?”

“...It would be reassuring.”

Cassandra laughs coyly, and despite everything, it livens her spirit. She didn’t expect Cassandra to be in so playful a mood traveling back home. She was cool but unhappy about it that morning when they parted ways, entertained only by Olivia’s presence and a strong cup of coffee. Without the ability to drive due to her ankle, her illustrious but mysterious Uncle had to be the one to pick her up and take her back to her family. 

“I was just calling to check in on you.”

“I thought that was what the texting was for,” Olivia replies more curtly than she intends. She gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Sometimes it is worth the extra effort to call.”

“That is very un-millenial of you, you know. Horrifying.”

“Maybe so. Ugh, what is that man doing?” there’s sounds of Cassandra rustling against the leather seat, probably checking in through the window. “Probably searching for that expensive jerky he gets at Trader Joe’s like it will just magically turn up at an ARCO.”

“Who’s to say it won’t? People of all walks of life can enjoy finer things.”

“Yes, but not just the ‘finer’ things,” she then huffs. “Look, I don’t have much time, so if you aren’t in the mood to talk about what is bothering you, I can let you go and we can talk later.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to. My Mom wants to ‘catch up,’ which in her language means I get a hundred questions and the occasional asinine one from Fred.”

“Fred’s your stepfather, right?”

“He’s...my Mother’s husband.”

“I see.”

She mulls her teeth and looks around aimlessly. Cassandra goes ‘hm’ but nothing else. 

“How are you able to talk so much?” Olivia asks, diverting the subject. “Aren’t you worried your family will pry?”

“The good thing about holidays in my family is there are so many people around, you can get a great deal of private time if you are smart enough. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Ugh...he...oh, sorry. I thought my Uncle was coming back, but it was just another man.”

“Yeah, but you said they have superhuman abilities for nosiness.”

“They do. And I have superhuman talents of evasion. They’ll peck and prod about the ankle boot, though. Usually I can slip away to the gym or for a run to get away from them but...of course...can’t do that. Doctors don’t trust me to set foot in a weight room and it’s been weeks since my injury.”

“Cass, it’s been two weeks, almost precisely.”

“I said weeks, didn’t I? Look, overextending is not the same as knowing my limits. They’re the medical professionals, but they don’t live in this body 24/7.”

Olivia grimaces with sympathy, though she can’t say she agrees given how easy it is for Cassandra to throw herself into things without caution. “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, forgive me. I won’t be able to talk everyday, but I would like to try sometimes, okay? I promise it won’t all be about my messed up ankle.”

Olivia smirks. “You’re being very…”

“Very…what?”

Olivia stalls. Is it an asshole thing to do, saying your girlfriend is being more sensitive and caring than usual? Maybe not “more,” but in a different way. An unusual way. She could have really taken Olivia’s hurt feelings over how she acted about her injury. She could be really trying. But now, in the lion’s den, Olivia’s unsure about whether the timing of it is...well, ideal. 

“Nevermind, I lost my train of thought,” she excuses. “I appreciate you.”

“It’s no trouble. Now, I think my Uncle is coming back. Ugh, he got a whole bag of things...probably for me. Seeing me with my boot triggered his overprotective nerve extra hard.”

“Oh, no, sour patch kids! The torture!” Olivia teases. An ounce of her regular self bleeds through. 

“Very funny. I will text you later. Be safe, alright?”

“Alright. You, too.” She then remembers and slips it in before they hang up: “L-let me know when you get home, too, okay?”

“...O-okay.” There’s a pause, the kind of awkward pause when the thing you say -- the particular thing -- happens. But since they aren’t there yet, it’s full of pause and anxiety. 

“Okay,” Olivia takes her turn to smooth it over. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hanging up kills the feeling of safety. She looks into the big oval mirror at her dresser vanity and watches her grin crack, then disappear all-together. The scene in her reflected surroundings loses its luster. Even with all the impossibilities, she kind of wishes Cassandra was with her. It almost makes her laugh at herself: what, would she have driven up with her in the passenger’s seat, hear “hey baby cakes!” and smile, saying “hey Mom, here’s my girlfriend! You’re suddenly not biphobic, right? Oh and by the way she’s a Pentaghast, so, there’s that!” and they all retire to the sitting room for tea and introductions. Right. 

She turns and sees her unpacked bags, her only company. She rubs her forehead slowly with the back of her hand. She has experience being left to her own devices with her Mother. Hell, she has a lifetime of it with her. A long weekend won’t be anything particularly gruesome, and if it is, well, she’s survived them before.  

Fifteen minutes later she has everything organized and put away -- she won’t unpack much, anyway. A quick change into some leggings and a t-shirt, a toss of her hair into a ponytail, and she’s ready to face the music. She’s careful to shut her bedroom door before she descends down the hall and the stairs, betting that her Mother is out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs. She finds her there, indeed lounging, with that missing cocktail restored to her.

Unmoved but always observant, her Mother inquires: “Settled in?” 

Olivia puts on her best polite grin and sits down on the lounge chair five feet away. On the grass, Fred is dressed in pastel blue polo and cargo shorts like the overgrown fraternity pledge he is, throwing a frisbee for Nemo. Nemo, the 10 year old yellow lab, who can scarcely go up the stairs without being winded these days. Too bad for Fred the minute Olivia shows herself, the grey-faced dog bounds in his own way over to the long last playmate.

“Nemo! You little prince!” she smiles, crouching down to embrace him. His tail is wagging a million miles per hour, and he fills her face with old dog breath. His tickling gets her to finally laugh. 

“Good grief,” she hears her Mom say, “Olivia, don’t let him lick your mouth!”

“I’m fine!” she says through her giggles, rubbing his chest and back as she stands upright. “It won’t kill me.”

“Ugh.”

That joy was short lived. She returns to the chair she chose and does her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she sits and sprawls her legs out. Nemo follows circles around her, tail still going.

“Do we know what the plans are for Thanksgiving?” Olivia asks, expecting the same answer as always. Dinner at home with Fred’s relatives and those in Mom’s family who she isn’t on the outs with, all above the age of 35 for the most part, and vote like it. Another dinner she’ll have to dress way too modestly and matronly for her age in order to fit in for the group photo.

“Well, that is what I wanted to surprise you with,” Paula answers. 

Olivia side-eyes her Mom, and delays opening up her phone to scroll through Twitter. “What?”

“We will be having dinner with the family as always, but earlier this week we received a surprise invitation for us to attend a holiday party later on this weekend.”

“You aren’t going to spend the holiday campaigning, are you?” 

“‘Campaigning’ has a broad definition, Olivia, and it is never a bad idea to become more familiar with one’s community constituents.”

Olivia frowns and resumes scrolling. Great, likely another fundraiser or gala, not something substantially humble like volunteering time with those genuinely in need, who are also her “constituents.” She saved the label for those she could depend on to write a donation check -- the other 80% of society barely existed. 

“I assume then you are expecting me to go?”

There’s a sound of Paula’s magazine of choice turning a page. “What do you think the surprise was?”

“That as much as you would like me to come, that you respect my choice not to so that I can have a quiet, restful weekend at home before Finals are in full swing?”

No response for going out on that limb. The proverbial crickets chirp, and Olivia knows her point was deliberately missed. 

“Or,” she corrects herself, “that you want me to go.”

“Yes, silly girl. And for your information, even if I didn’t want you to come, the invitation specifically noted you.”

“P-pardon me?” She looks up.

Paula shakes her head and smiles. “When were you going to tell me you were making friends with the Pentaghast family?”

“I...I-I’m not!”

“You must be, there was a handwritten note in the card, your name and all.”

Olivia can feel a stroke coming on. The heat of the day now feels like a vise around her throat, a semi-truck on her chest. She jerks up and turns to look at her Mother dead on, who is still flipping through her latest issue of Vogue, sunglasses and sunhat and all. 

“So...so they wrote me in? Me, specifically?”

“Yes, that is what I said! Goodness, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heat stroke.” 

Too late. “Why? Aren’t they one of the big blue families? Why would they want to invite y--”

“Are you insinuating that I do not belong in a bipartisan space? Olivia, I work in one for a living. This whole business of networking is par for the course. In fact, it is a long time coming. The Pentaghasts should be taking the ‘other side’ more seriously. I have been in this town’s political realm for seven years, now. They cannot always hide behind their old money and liberal hypocrisy of “inclusion.””

There is that rhetorical savvy and venom. Quintessentially Paula. Olivia falls back on the lounge chair and stares out into the lawn, mouth open and words lost. Where to begin? Hey, Mom, don’t think so highly of yourself, they’re only inviting you to get to me! Because they want to sniff me out as one of their many daughters’ lovers! You’re full of shit!

“Do I have to go? I am serious about wanting rest. This semester has been a lot, an--”

“A semester that I paid for,” Paula cut in, turning yet another page. “It is restful to be with your family. You should consider yourself lucky, Olivia, that spending time with us is so comfortable. You have this nice home to come back to, and good people to spend time with, and beautiful parties to go to. A girl your age in a lesser position would claw someone’s eyes out for the chance to live the life you get to. Is it so really so demanding?”

The shots to the gut have started early. So much for the easy first day. She wishes even more she could pop her Mother’s balloon, but it would mean ultimate disaster for her in the end. Out in the open Fred is still trying to get Nemo to chase the damn frisbee, clearly aware that he should stay away from the two debating blondes. Olivia rolls her lips shut and tries her hardest to swallow the hunk of pride at the back of her throat, but there’s no room in her stomach. It’s completely filled to the top with anxiety about what it means to be going to this party. 

Then it hits her: Cassandra is going to shoot through the roof. 

“Fine, Mom. I’ll go.” The clock then starts ticking for her to find a covert way out of it beforehand. She’s dove deep into her head, and only catches half of her Mother’s pleased response. 

“--something classy, the party is black tie optional.”

“Okay.”

“I also have an appointment for us to get our nails done tomorrow at 11, so do not sleep in too much.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. She does another fake smile as she pulls up her messages on her phone in order to deploy the distress signal: 

-- Change of plan, I need you to call me as soon as you are able. Your family sent an invitation to mine for their big party this weekend. My Mom is insisting we go. Code red. 

[annakie]

I saw a post on Reddit this morning that mentioned searching Zillow for your childhood home, so I thought it’d be fun to check...

My childhood home, which we lived in from 1979 when I was 4 until 1988 when I was 12 is actually up for sale... right now.

It’s sad.

The house was like 100 years old when we lived in it and though my dad did a lot, it needed a lot of work even then.  My mom recalled that it was sold to an older couple, and after we looked at the pictures, we think it’s possible they were still in it until now, though it was forclosed on.

Pretty sure whoever was in it last were hoarders, and it’s just barely cleared out of most of the stuff.  It’s filthy.

At some point, some upgrades were done.  Most of the bathroom fixtures in both bathrooms were upgraded.  All the shag carpet was thankfully ripped up for the original hardwood floors underneath but no one had taken care of the floors at all, they weren’t quite rotting but were dingy and stained.  And it was really shocking all the things that hadn’t changed at all.

I’m more posting this for my own history than anything.

Oh here, let’s do pictures.

The outside looks great.  Someone added siding, which is nice because my dad used to have to scrape and repaint the house every other year or so.  My brother got roped into helping the last time or two when we were there.  The tree in the foreground in the bottom pic I think is new.  Or maybe my dad planted it.  There used to be a giant pine tree to the left which was cut down.  And there was a magnolia tree a little bit to the right that was “my” tree, but I think we cut that down before I left.  There used to be a lot more bushes making a fence along the front.

The rails on the front porch are new-to-me and a great addition. My brother and a neighborhood kid were playing Luke vs. Darth Vader with our lightsabers one afternoon and my brother fell backwards off the porch and had to go to the ER, had a bad concussion. I never saw my mom so scared as that night.  Looks like it hasn’t had any TLC in a decade or two, though.

Also, that patio with the sliding glass doors in the back is new.  Used to just be a small porch and a walk-down door so you’d have to go outside to get to the basement.  Keeping all that inside is really nice.  Especially considering what’s in the basement.

Once you get inside though, things get way worse.

The room the pic is taken from was our “formal” living room.  That paneling was the paneling that was always there  

Further in is the dining room.  These actually aren’t so bad, these pics could have waited until all the stuff was out, but this was the first hints of “Hm, maybe hoarders?”

A better pic of the dining room.  Pretty sure that’s the same chandolier as my childhood.  Look how filthy the floor and baseboards are.  Through the right door is the family room, straight on is the kitchen.

This is the family room.  Same paneling that my parents put up Underneath that paneling is painted in brown paint my, my brother, my mom and my dad’s names and “FUCK YOU!” and the date we put up the paneling.  My parents thought it would be funny.  30 years later and no one has seen it.  He also put up that crown molding.  Same light fixtures.  The ceiling... wow.  

From the dining room to the kitchen.  

That fridge is way, way too huge for that kitchen, first of all.  That’s where the roll-away dishwasher went. It looks like they added a pantry on the left?  IDK.

But those are the same cabinets from my childhood, they were already so old when they were painted bright yellow when I was a kid.  Same molding.  Same backsplash.  Probably the same sink, which had already been stained.  Underneath the cabinets you can see the linelouem that used to cover the entire floor.  Really ugly, ripping that up (well, most of it, you can still see some right under the sink) was the right call.

This is the downstairs bath straight through the kitchen.  Same walls. “new” sink.  I can’t decide if the tub is “new”, I think so. Same tile, the rails are new.  The showerhead is in the same place - way too high.  

The first time I saw the top pic above, I was literally shocked.  I literally rocked back in my seat and lost my breath for a second.  This room hadn’t changed.  AT.  ALL.

It’s the same carpet, the same wallpaper.  This was my my and my brother’s playroom, and my dad’s office.  All it was missing was our toys and my dad’s heavy wooden desk.  I wish we had a close-up picture of the trains wallpaper.   it was, actually, really neat.  Especially since my mom’s father was a conductor on the North Shore line, and he died while my mom was pregnant with me.  We always loved that wallpaper.

That’s basically it for the downstairs, let’s go upstairs.

Sadly, no pictures of the stairs on any site I could find.

This is what we called the Sewing Room.  That wall on the left is new, I’m guessing someone made a closet, since the master bedroom has almost no closet space.  My mom used the closet in the family room (which I didn’t have a good picture of) as her clothes closet.That wall used to be lined with built-in bookshelves I think.  My mom’s sewing machine and sewing stuff were on the left.Straight on through the hallway, to the left is a bathroom and at the end was my bedroom.  It never did have a door. There used to be a small door on the right and a scary closet behind that wall, IDK why they walled that up.

The upstairs bath, one of the completely redone rooms, and they did it nice.  Well, it was nice at some point.  New tile, new fixtures.  I am sad because there used to be an awesome claw tub there.  

This space is what used to be my bedroom.  I wish there was a reverse angle on this, but there’s not.  I had nice builtin bookshelves.  And I really thought there was a window along that left wall.

The top picture there was my parents bedroom, which was at the front of the house. The bottom was my brother’s room.  His bed was under the slant.

Look how gross those rooms look.  Nobody cleaned up for years. =\

Let’s head back out the back door through the kitchen.

Like I said before, this is all new and it’s a good change.  You used to have to walk fully outside to get to the basement, and that REALLY sucked in the winter.

The washer and dryer, were in the center of the unfinished basement.  The basement that would flood every couple of years.  

Ugh.

Right now, it’s selling for the same price that my parents sold it for in 1988.  I can see why.

I noticed there were also no pics of the garage.  I wonder how much stuff was crammed in there. :p

Anyway, despite the sad, sad state of the house, it was really great to see it again.  I sent to listings to my family, and they called me and we had a fun walk down memory lane today.  

[hornyorca]

In a modern au, how do you think the ragnorssons would react to their partner bringing home a stray animal? Like maybe they found a puppy caught in the rain and brought it home

Modern!Ragnarssons.

(I’ve actually never written any of the boys besides Sigurd and Ivar, so this should be fun. I actually might consider the Bjorn one... I’d love to rile him up like that Fifth Harmony song. Sending him nudes while he’s aT WORK SORRY NOT SORRY).

Bjorn:

His threats were more panty-dropping than brilliant towards your plan. But either way, you had hoped It’d work. The texts he had been sending you; the delicious promises, the nasty threats that had you quivering on your couch. 

You had gotten husband riled up for more of a distraction than you probably needed too by sending him your thoughts a few overly-suggestive selfies, but either way, you knew he’d be hauling you up the stairs over his shoulder tonight.

Another hour later, Bjorn was bursting through your front door and on your waiting form like a dehydrating man who had just found a pond of water — hands, tongue and teeth, and you were one-hundred and ten percent right on him carrying you up the stairs. 

Your back hit that mattress with so much force, you bounced in the air, only to have his large hands slap you back down, followed by his body covering you instantly. 

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, baby,” He murmured dangerously, but the delicate touch of his calloused hands made you shiver. The contrast was head-spinning. “Saying things like that, sending me those pics? Thinking you can drive me crazy all day and get away with it? Bet you wanted someone else to see those —”

A loud bang from downstairs cut him off, causing him to pause as he was making his way down your body, ready to rip your pants off. 

This was it. 

This was the moment, but as he turned around quickly, he looked ready to fight off an intruder, despite his eyes being lust-filled. You were sure his face went to shock as a golden blur jumped on the both of you, tail wagging, yapping and licking all over his face and large beard.

The look his blue eyes shot towards you was even more dangerous than before, and not as exciting.

“Surprise, boo!” You shouted, throwing your hands up into the air, the puppy howling with your excitement. “I found him on my home from your mom’s house today!”

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

Ubb(a)be:

Ubbe would watch you walk through the front door, water dripping from your clothes as tried to shake off the cold. He would stand up, ready to help you by gathering a blanket, and cranking the heater up, but it was not usual for you to completely ignore him — no hello, honey i’m home. 

Nothing. 

It was very rare you did that actually, and the moment you caught him in your peripheral vision, turning to the side slightly, and you(?) squeaked, he knew immediately something was up.

Tilting his head to the side, he cautiously approached you, watching as you tried to sneak up the stairs after already being seen. Grabbing you before you’d make it, he’d spin you around despite your protest. “Oi!” 

He’d shoot a knowing look to the kicking bundle under your drenched jacket, before giving you the same glance. “Really now?” He’d ask, amused. You always had a new way of trying to do this.

“It’s your fault!” You shouted, wrapping your arms protectively around the bump under your jacket. “You should learn to keep your hands off me better.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but he refused to smile just yet. “I should be happy then!” He commented, watching your eyes narrow in suspicion and you shouted again as he rudely unzipped your jacket and the furry brown and white puppy flopped to the floor, yapping and jumping around excitedly.

 It was not the cutest thing he had ever seen —  long floppy ears that it tripped over, droopy eyes, stubby legs, and a large nose.

 Ubbe smirked, speaking softly from the corner of his mouth: “But I’d say it’s got more of your looks.”

“Because it’s so cute?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Hvitserk:

From: Ice Bear —

‘I’m gonna be home in a little bit! Had to stop and help with something!’

His brows furrowed at your text message, wondering what you were even talking about, but when he tried calling you, it went to voicemail every time. Figuring you’d be fine, he tried to let it go. 

An hour later, his leg was bouncing up and down as he tried to sit still on the couch. Twenty calls and thirty texts. Still no answer, and you had even read his texts. He wasn’t sure which would of made him worry more — no answer and being left on read, or no answer and you not reading them at all? Either way, he wanted to scream when you finally sent him a vague message, simply telling him you’d be home in ten minutes tops.

The moment you walked through the front door, Hvitserk was on your ass like a hovering mother, scolding you for not answer him, and hugging you, checking you over for signs of injury like you had just gotten back to his arms from being kidnapped. “Babe, I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed, inspecting you one last time before they stopped dead on your arm and you paled, instantly covering it up. The man pointed at you. “Then what’s that?”

“T-this?” You stuttered, cursing internally. This was not how you wanted this to happen. Not how you wanted to introduce this. “It’s nothing, it’s just —“

A really loud barking cut you off, and you whipped your head around, looking back towards your car and through the back windows that now had water running down them, you both watched the dog in the back seat shake it off . “No!” You whined, knowing you’d have to shampoo the car now.

“Is that a dog?” Hvitserk asked, taking a quick step closer to the open door, narrowing his eyes to see better.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hvitserk!” You pouted. “He was alone, in the rain, and hungry, and crying, and he was begging me to take him home.”

The look on your face and the story almost seemed to break him, his stern face falling slowly until he sighed, slumping over. “A dog..” He echoed, running a hand over his face. “He’s gonna need food — “

“Got it.”

“A leash, a bed — “

“Got both of them.”

“Shots — “

“Seriously?” There was shock on Hvitserk’s face as he look over at you, his brows furrowed. 

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a hard stare. “Why do you think I was gone for so long?”

A small silence fell over the both of you.

“Do we really need another animal in the house?” He asked, confusing you. You were going to ask him just what the hell he meant until he gave you a cheeky smirk, looking your soaked body up and down and a flush came over you cheeks.

Sigurd:

Sigurd really couldn’t help it, honestly, he couldn’t. His brothers would always tell him that he was too soft, let you worm your way into his heart too deep. But you were too adorable in his eyes, like a child who looked at the world with wide-eyes and excitement. Like a baby seeing Christmas lights for the first time. 

To him, your happiness was better than any art he had ever admired in a gallery, the sound of your laughter being better than any music he had ever heard, and the way you would chatter vividly with your hands about what you had just done despite the fact he had been there the entire time would always make his day a lot brighter. 

But when you came home that day from a simple trip to the grocery store, sopping wet and dripping onto the carpet, no groceries in sight but a tiny fuzzy ball wriggling in your arms, he was a little skeptical about having a dog in the house. You were both very busy people — him helping his brothers run their family company, and you at your own profession. 

A pet might be too much for the both of you at the moment, he decided, ready to tell you.

That is, until you turned around with a smile so big he thought your face was going to split open, and immediately everything he was going to say, every reason he had to argue with just flew out of his mind.

He watched the little spotted puppy jumped in your lap, licking your chin and how you laughed, giving it kisses and rubbing your hands all over it.

You didn’t even need to open your mouth and his arms were up in the air. “Fine!” He sighed, a smile fighting on his lips. “We’ll take it to the vet tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

“But it’s sleeping on the floor.”

“But, the bed —“

“Ew, absolutely not.”

Ivar:

There was barely enough time for you to get into the house before Ivar opened his mouth, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a frown. “Hell no,” He was not going to have it, watching that soaked mutt jump around the living room like it already owned the place, sniffing everything and getting familiar. He already knew what you were doing, and he was not going to let it happen.

Not again. 

He was not losing another couch, or another one of his crutches to a dog. And a very embarrassing experience he preferred to not ever talk about.

“But, Ivar!” His eyes snapped up to you, practically rolling his eyes at your begging. “He has no home! He was wondering around in the rain!” 

“Uh, take him to the pound.” Ivar commented, waving his hand lazily as he went back to reading his book until he noticed the animal getting to close to the shelf and he snapped at it. It turned quickly and yapped at him, wagging it’s little nub of a tail.

“The pound is a horrible place for animals! Please, just one more try!?” You bounced on your heels, trying to give him your biggest eyes to which he just ignored, keeping a death glare on the little animal.

“You don’t even have enough time for a fucking do  —  “ Ivar stopped, jerking his head down as it began licking the hand that was dangling off his thighs. Hissing at it, he yanked his hand back, but it wasn’t scared at all, something he was a little impressed by. It continued to try and gain his affection.

It was almost as annoying as you.

“Awh! Look, he likes you!” You squealed, dropping to the floor and holding your arms out for it, wiggling your fingers and it jumped on you. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you!? You just wanna give grumpy daddy some love, don’t you?”

“I hate you so much.”

[artificialqueens]

Primary care (a.k.a. the Poundcake ficlet collection) 4/13 [Katya/Alaska] - Spoky

Original A/N: I got a lot of likes for Ch.3 of PC and it made me all fluff inside, thank you!! I also have to agree with the anon, spitting someone else’s cum into a stranger’s mouth without their consent is legit fucked up. Children, don’t do it, it is not cool. <3

Beta: apatheticskeleton. Without her Ch.4 would have meters and not feet, a lot of missing commas and 14 typos. xx

New A/N: I hadn’t planned on posting this quite yet as the original plan was to post Ch.5 with it, but I saw Dandee’s post on AQC today and as I know that she reads PC, I wanted to cheer her up.  

Therefore, this is for Dandee. Cheer up sweetie. xx (P.S. The rest of you, go see her selfies, the girl is gorgeous.)

Primary care  (a.k.a. the Poundcake ficlet collection)

Chapter 4/13 - ‘Chicken’

‘Hieee!’ ‘Hi Alaska!’ ‘Byeee!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hieee!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hieeee!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hieee!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hieeee!’ ‘Hi, Alaska!’ ‘Hieee!’

Alaska closed the door behind her and leaned her forehead against it. People were exhausting. She was carrying a box of chicken McNuggets and a coke with her, the only things she had had time to grab. The set was swarming with people, familiar and strange, and she really just wanted some peace and quiet.

She turned around and realised she was occupying a recording room with a huge desk with at least a zillion buttons on it, a computer, couple of chairs and huge darkened window. In front of the window there was a leather bench and she chose to sit on that rather than anywhere near the recording desk, just to be safe.

She put her food down on the bench and looked through the window. On the other side there was a music room, but it was at least 10 feet lower than the recording studio where she was currently standing, probably for sound quality purposes. The room seemed to have every instrument one could imagine and a comfortable looking red carpet covered the floor. Alaska smiled at the thought of being able to record somewhere as fancy some day. One could dream. She sat next to her nuggets and took a sip of her coke before popping out her mobile. Absentmindedly, she began browsing through her social media.

Willam had posted some excellent shots from his latest gig. Katya was once again hugging someone’s naked ass. Roxxxy had won another useless title. Alaska backtracked her thoughts. Roxxxy had won another title. They were friends, she was supposed to be supportive of this pageant stuff. Sometimes she forgot that. A like for Roxxxy. Advertisements. Some political stuff about LGBT+ rights; she retweeted them. Someone snapchatted her a dick pic. Back to instagram and Detox’s new eyebrow colour.

She munched the lukewarm nuggets and smirked at the newest Sharon Needles read by Bianca Del Rio on Youtube. She chuckled and sent mentally some love to Aaron - can’t live with him, can’t live without him. There was a distant bang of a door and some muffled noises.

Alaska glanced away from her phone and through the window, into the music room below her. A couple had just entered the room and it seemed they were fighting. She had seen Trixie Mattel out of drag enough of times to recognise him and of course also his partner in crime, Katya Zamolodchikova in full drag. The two seemed to be exchanging some very heated words based on their expressions and hand gestures. Brian was waving his hands in the air while Katya kept interrupting Brian’s tantrum, who then started all over again while Katya was preparing to defend herself against whatever Brian accused her off. Alaska squeezed her eyes shut, her brain hurt.

The conflict looked like a lover’s spat when one couldn’t hear a thing they were saying. Maybe they had figured out that the internet imagined them having sex with each other and disagreed on the dynamics? Or maybe Katya had murdered Brian’s favourite wig and it was time for consequences? Alaska smiled, it was none of her business, but it was also not her fault that they had chosen to have their fight in front of her, so she continued to watch the silent war while picking at her lunch.

It was actually quite something. Both Brians seemed to give the other enough time to express themselves properly and then gave a reply that seemed to match the other’s force and energy. It was a completely different dynamic than what Alaska was used to in her relationships. It was almost like the two were fighting but knew beforehand who was the winner and who was right, but needed to have the fight anyway. It was rather poetic really.

There was a quiet knock on the door. Alaska sighed as the door opened and to her surprise it was her favourite ex.

‘Well hello you,’ Alaska smirked at Aaron, who smiled warmly.

‘Sorry to bother, Fame saw you coming in here,’ Aaron explained how he had found her.

‘I’m not hiding,’ Justin answered, dropping Alaska to the background. ‘I just wanted some space.’

Aaron nodded, walked next to Justin and stole one of his nuggets. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good. Watching the latest drama of RuGirls folding in front of my eyes.’

‘Huh?’

Justin indicated towards the BB-conflict behind the window

‘Oh, wow.’

They watched in silence as the fight seemed to calm down, only to be instantly back in full flames after something that Katya had said.

‘They have a better dynamic than we ever did,’ Aaron noted and stole another nugget.

‘I just thought about that,’ Justin laughed. ‘Probably helps that they’re not absolutely hammered.’

‘Or high.’

‘Or high,’ Justin agreed. ‘How’s Chad?’

‘He’s fine,’ Aaron smiled and obviously tried to hide his happiness.

Justin chuckled. ‘You now I’m happy for you, right? Not like, ‘I’m happy for you’, but for real.’

Aaron smiled and nodded. ‘I know.’

They watched the fight quiet down once again. Brian took a seat at the drums while Brian sat on the floor.

‘I just… I wish you were happy too,’ Aaron said quietly and Justin wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

‘I will be. You’ll see. I’ll be so disgustingly happy and sweet your teeth will rot.’

Aaron snorted a laugh. ‘Looking forward to it, it’ll look amazing on Sharon.’

They shared a smile. The conflict seemed to have calmed down.

‘I don’t think it’s a lovers’ spat,’ Aaron said then, out of the blue, and Justin looked at him questioningly.

‘I heard about Texas,’ Aaron explained. Justin took some distance from his ex-lover and concentrated to his food. Of course. Who hadn’t heard about Texas and the show Alaska and Brian had provided?

‘I thought you had stopped that,’ Aaron said in a slightly judgemental tone.

‘What? Sucking dick?’ Justin asked icely.

‘Giving oral-sex performances for paying audiences,’ Aaron shot back.

Bitch.

‘I have. Never asked for a penny,’ Justin snapped and stood up. That was really a low blow. Aaron had no right to judge, what they’d done in the past was way worse. Justin stood up and walked behind the recording table, dropped the half-full box of nuggets on it and sat down. He wanted distance from Aaron.

‘You really like him, don’t you?’ Aaron asked with a gentler tone, almost as if apologising.

Justin had, however, already pulled up a wall. He was not prepared to deal with this. And what right did Aaron have, to come at him suddenly like this? None. Not anymore.  

‘Like who?’ Alaska drawled defensively, playing stupid.

‘Fuck that. Justin. I know you. I know you better than you know you!’ Aaron snapped and turned to face the Slytherin Queen whose posture told Aaron that he disagreed entirely.

Aaron chewed his lip. ‘I don’t get it. He’s so weird… And insecure, and somewhat disgusting.’

Alaska raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds to me like a pot calling the kettle black.’

Aaron stared in shock for a second but then cackled his signature laugh. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

‘Mm,’ Alaska nodded in acceptance. There was a short silence.

‘Honestly though, what a weird type to have…’

Alaska snorted. ‘Oh bitch, please, at least I have a type! You keep going back and forth from gorgeous to fugly. It’s really fucking disturbing!’

There was a short silence before they both burst out to howling laughter.

‘Come on, I think the break is soon over.’

Alaska nodded, gathered her things and followed her ex-lover back to the set. They really had come far since their breakup.

* * *

In the music room Brian was staring at Katya with wide eyes and holding his right palm over his wide open mouth. They heard the recording room door click shut and immediately Brian let out a loud pithy laugh.

*

The Brians had had what Katya would’ve called a ‘disagreement about the realities of life whilst Trixie lived on a fucking imaginary Barbie planet’ and Brian would’ve called ‘Brian McCook being a crack whore dibshit, so basically just himself’. It had started as a discussion on how Katya did not like Brian’s new boyfriend, because he treated Brian like shit. Brian had disagreed and started complaining how Katya never liked any of his boyfriends because he was a selfish, conceited, delusional dumb fuck, who only cared about himself and did not want to see his best friend happy because his own fugly ass could not even land a trick. And only after that had they started arguing.

They had just arrived to the safe-zone of apologies and mutual compliments on how important they were to each other and how, of course, they wanted happiness for each other, when their discussion had been interrupted by a strident electric sound.

‘Christ, what’s that?’ Brian had asked, holding his ears and at the very same moment a familiar voice had flooded the room.

‘You really like him, don’t you?’

The Brians had started franticly to look for the origin of the sound. Brian silently mouthed ‘Where is that coming from?’ to Katya, while she was mouthing ‘Is that Sharon?’ back. They answered to each other with knitted eyebrows and a simultaneous silent ‘What!?’.

‘Like who?’

Katya froze. He’d know that drawl anywhere. Brian glanced quickly at his best friend but then continued examining the room.

‘Fuck that. Justin. I know you. I know you better than you know you!’

There was a silence. Brian had tried signing to Katya to look up, to show that they were in a recording room, not in a practice room like the sign on the door had said. Katya wasn’t, however, paying attention to anything else except the voices.

‘I don’t get it. He’s so weird… And insecure, and somewhat disgusting.’

That was thick, coming from Sharon, Katya thought to herself.

‘Sounds to me like a pot calling the kettle black.’

Katya smirked. Hah! Alaska one, Sharon zero.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

‘Mm.’

Brian had grabbed Katya’s shoulder and forced the man to look up to the recording studio, where they could see the shadow of Sharon Needles out of drag.

‘Honestly though, what a weird type to have…’

‘Oh bitch, please, at least I have a type! You keep going back and forth from gorgeous to fugly. It’s really fucking disturbing!’

Loud laughter had filled the room.

‘Come on, I think the break is soon over.’

[end flashback]

Brian calmed his laughter down. That had been brilliant.

‘You think they knew about us, heard us?’ Katya asked in all seriousness.

‘No. You stupid fuckwit,’ Brian snorted. ‘Would they have had that conversation in front of us? Use your head for thinking for once.’

‘But it’s so much more fun to do other stuff with it,’ Katya joked.

Brian raised his eyebrow, ‘Such as?’

Katya started to push and poke Brian’s shoulder with his head. Brian rolled his eyes.

‘Who do you think they were talking about?’ Katya asked then and glanced back up, as if waiting for Alaska and Sharon to come back and explain themselves.

Brian did not see the point of beating around the bush. ‘You.’

‘Not necessarily, there is a lot of insecure disgusting weirdos out there,’ Katya reasoned.

‘Yeah, and I bet the Medusa has sucked all basic thinking skills out of them as well,’ Brian snorted and kicked Katya gently to the side. ‘Are we ok?’ he then asked uncertainly.

‘Huh?’ Katya asked, confused. ‘Why aren’t we ok?’

Brian stared at Katya in disbelief for couple of seconds. ‘Are you kidding me?!’

Katya kept a straight face exactly two second before he lost it and laughed. ‘Yesyes, I’m kidding, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Yes, we’re ok, I’m so sorry. We’re ok, right? I’m so sorry - but your face!’

Brian snorted and turned to walk out. Katya was, however, faster and grabbed him from behind into a full body hug, meaning that she first wrapped her hands and then her legs around Brian.

‘I said I was sorry! I’m sorry. Can we be friends again? Please?’

Brian saw an opportunity. ‘Only if you let me go an-’

‘Done!’

‘I wasn’t finished.’

‘I don’t care, I’ll do the other thing too.’

Brian smirked. ‘And you tell me all about Cobra Mama in detail.’

Katya went little pale, untangled herself from Brian and took a step back. Brian crossed his arms demandingly.

‘But you know what happened.’

‘Yes, I have the Detox, the Roy, the very descriptive Adore and the Alyssa version. I want Katya version.’

‘Fine,’ Katya gave in and then added firmly. ‘Later.’

Brian lifted his arms in surrender and the pair exited the room.

* * *

When Katya finished at the set she headed straight to the dressing room. According to her phone she was exactly 36.3 minutes late from her meeting with Brian. When she arrived to the dressing room Justin was finishing his packing and was stuffing his make-up bags into a red suitcase.

‘Need a hand?’ Katya asked and got a smile.

‘Only if they’re normal sized and attached to a fully functional human body,’ came the reply.

Katya smirked. He knew her well. She kneeled next to Justin but made no effort to help him pack.

‘Umm.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well there’s no nice way of saying this so I’m just going to say it, then at least it’s over with, like a Band-aid and hopefully it’ll hurt less than if I wore it out, you now. So like, you must know that everyone knows about Texas. Like, me-you-Texas, and like Trixie was asking about it and I think she was upset I hadn’t told her before she heard from someone else and I have to tell her tonight, with details, and I just wanted to tell you, now that you are here, that I’m going to tell her, about the details, and I probably wouldn’t have thought about telling you if I hadn’t seen you, which I obviously should have, but now you know.’

Katya took a deep breath and met Justin’s eyes.

‘Impressive,’ was Justin’s reply.

Katya was confused. ‘Huh?’

Justin continued packing and gave a small smile. ‘No, it was just very impressive you could say all that with a single breath.’

Katya laughed and slapped Justin’s shoulder. ‘Bitch.’

There was a short silence and Justin seemed to be considering what Katya had said. At least Katya hoped he was considering it, and not for example how to slice her into tiny pieces and feed to pigs. Justin stood up and Katya followed suit.

‘Look, it’s fine. It’s your decision, and I really don’t mind. It’s a co-ownership on the details and you can do whatever you want with your half.’

Katya glanced at Justin who was wearing black tight jeans, a black Alaska T-shirt and a white jacket with a K on the back. His hair was styled and while he looked little tired Katya had to admit the man looked edible.

‘I just. It felt private,’ Katya said, unsure.

Justin laughed. ‘What’s private anymore? I have like five different social media accounts I keep updating with different stuff to keep people interested. Nothing’s private anymore and if you’re such a chicken about it, maybe you’re in the wrong business honey.’

Katya stared at Justin who seemed to be entirely serious. Then again, he probably was. Katya snorted.

‘You’re calling me a chicken?’

‘Yeah, I guess I was,’ Justin chuckled and Katya had never been as grateful of 6 inch stilettos because she certainly was a lot of things, but not a chicken, and the added height gave her an advantage.

She stepped to Justin who automatically stepped back, only to be trapped by a wall. Who’s the chicken now? Katya smirked at the thought and took the opportunity as it presented itself, she pressed her lips firmly onto his. It took Justin only a nano-second to catch up and then they were kissing. With passion. Hot, sexy, wet, hard - did she mention hot? Those were only few of the words Katya would’ve used to describe it. Justin’s hands found themselves onto her hips and Katya smirked. They should’ve been doing this a long time ago. She groped between his legs and was happy to find him interested.

It was at the exact same moment when Katya prepared to open Justin’s fly that she heard the phone, which based on the ring tone, had been ringing for a while. Brian. She stopped the kiss and pressed her forehead onto Justin’s shoulder to catch her breath.

‘Maybe you can tell her the details of tonight too, you know, to keep her happy,’ Justin said through deep breaths.

Katya laughed.

‘You should take it,’ Justin said with a more in control voice than what Katya could’ve achieved right there and then.

‘Yeah, ok,’ she replied and took the call. She was listening to Brian’s complaints about cold pizza, while watching through the mirrors as Justin packed his bags, gave her a small wave and walked out.

She wondered how long it would take him to notice that he had lipstick all over his lips and chin. The thought made her giggle.

      —

A/N2: You read all of it? ThankyouThankyou! *squeeze*

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Rose McGowan on what she says happened when she first met Harvey Weinstein Video

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Rose McGowan on what she says happened when she first met Harvey Weinstein Video

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Transcript for Rose McGowan on what she says happened when she first met Harvey Weinstein

Yeah. People against united cranes people in fancy dresses. Lack of class opposing him living at red carpet at blacks declines. Steepen and more. Mine and I knew there and a truck activists from PR. It was one of the most important night’s of the B two movement. Hollywood’s biggest stars wearing black to Golden Globes. To rail against the system that allegedly allowed sexual misconduct. To fester for decades. And yet one of the most crucial people in this all go wasn’t there Bruce McDowell went for her that night was all for show. Every time I thought about those black dresses I would get a body flash pack for letting me right now what do you mean by body flashback. Phelan. The him she’s referring to is Harvey Weinstein. More than ninety women including the gallon have come forward to accuse the once powerful movie mogul of acts ranging from sexual misconduct. To rate. This is an international rates. This is the trees and it is this is an international rate factory every single place he overstayed their people there are set to help him rate. This is how when this is what it wants. People women girls with he sent. You have been meeting or that come to a party and show up and not party is just who who got them there where the assistance you’re saying it was machinery. Sensing as a massive machinery he is a sociopath tractor. He thinks he’s done nothing wrong and wish. Just one person abstinence and home because so many people had some chances to could’ve stopped this. Now McAllen herself as saying no war. In her new pull grave she goes after the Hollywood establishment and tells the story of the day she says Weinstein raped her. Can you give us a sense of what happened like kings. I thought my first innings here. It was January 1997. At the Sundance Film Festival. By this point in her young career the 23 year old actress is known as an indie darling. Think sometimes the city’s secondly it restaurant having played leading roles in films like the doom generation. And a place like. Then she catapulted to mainstream success with screen. It’s at Sundance she says that someone from her management teams set up a meeting for her and Weinstein at his hotel restaurant. But Allen says he moved the meeting to his palatial suite. What weird thoughts going in. My thought actually was just really make. And realize I’m not actresses actually brain. And that’s about Michael at the meeting. To impress them with your mind and just be me Billy kick ass and so what was your impression when you first. That is were hot from. I care. And that is missing on this ugly person ever seen in my mind. Despite that the meeting goes well but as she’s walking towards the door to leave she says things take a turn. In my head I was on my way out of door my brain was on the next moment what I had to do that day. And XP and it totally completely different situation. That is not anywhere in my brain had anticipating gone. So much for brain suspect shot him with her body is left. In her book she writes that Weinstein pushes her into the suites jacuzzi room. And unjust answer one minute you’re in meeting in the next minute you’re in a bathroom. It’s like that she says Weinstein pics are up and places her on the edge of the two QC. Then she says he begins to perform forced oral sex on her. You write you detached from my body cover up under the ceiling watching myself sitting on the edge of the town against a law. Held in place by the monster whose face is between my legs trapped by a beast. Does here that’s. And I. Literally a night when. And and you’ll never venison. There was consensual rank. I don’t know about you but when you back consensual sex he don’t really Philip prepares to. In a statement to ABC news an attorney for Weinstein said. Mr. Weinstein denies rose me gallons allegations of non consensual sexual contact. And it is a Roni is an irresponsible tick inflate claims of inappropriate behavior. And consensual sexual contact leader regretted with an untrue claim of rape. Lot of people say well what in Q. Item off Whiting to run wide and she’d do whatever I want to teach us a statement. That would be my response. It’s not my thought it can’t put yourself that she’s some innocent terrorized repeatedly Saddam asking those questions museums are enhanced with them. Not you but the creator you what was the emotional impact. On you. Of what happened in the tone and I have nightmares and swept through accident then actress and inched down and an actress and wake up screaming has gone on for years. We gallant says she met with a female criminal attorney about pressing charges but was talked out of it. And she told me an actress he had a sexy in that early. Answers right. Not wrong house my reaction. I’m asking is it her way. Shoot eventually reach a settlement with Weinstein for a 100000 dollars a copy of it was posted here in The New Yorker. In exchange she would not pursue legal action against him do you regret having signed. The settlement. Now not factor in my my silent. Clear it and take money from what happened to me. Took money he’s my only way at saint literally my only way of saying I did not like this and not want this this was not consensual get off me. No Stanback that was it this is my only recourse he in my child’s brain at 100000 dollars a lot of but there are times during the twenty years where you thought the New Britain sounds like for now. Why. People artist is that the language media. Was not anywhere close to me. In these tweets from 26 team a gallon says she hinted that the alleged attack writing because my acts sold our movie to my rapists for distribution. And because it’s been an open secret in Hollywood slash media. And they shame to meet while pageant leading by rapists. I released that tweet that was my like cocaine. Confine your reporters let’s count I’ve given you every single thing by the name Alaska. She says she began talking with reporters from the New York Times and with broad and pharaoh of The New Yorker. There reporting based on her accounts and those of other Hollywood actresses. Finally broke last fall inspiring dozens upon dozens of other accusers to go public against Weinstein. You talked a bit about us yeah urgent tone and a fellow obscure. What do you say to these women who’ve come forward with you. Thank you for paying for and I know they’re having night parents. And that’s really triggering for so many of us out there but it’s unnecessary because it’s been there all along anyway whether you want to look at it or not. As a result of the investigations. Movie producer Harvey Weinstein fire from the company bearing his name Weinstein lost his studio. And his status with in Hollywood. The once mighty on. Now disgraced. Do you feel like justice has been served. Losing their job. What does justice look like to you bars. It’s meant to be behind bars. For the rest of his life. He is stolen. He has hijacked. His smeared his lied his purchased. He has done. Diabolical things in the name as being able to stake his face between women flakes and literally eat their essence. It’s chilling in its rail. Points dean is currently under investigation in Los Angeles new York and the United Kingdom. From a gallon this story doesn’t end with Weinstein she wants to put a stop to what she calls the system. All the people that she alleges protected Weinstein by turning a blind eye to his misconduct. You say that Hollywood is occult. Yes what do you mean by that. Has its leaders he was the de facto leader the gallant says she no longer has any desire to act instead she’s embracing a different role where she gets to control the narrative. You’ve found your voice most recently as objector. Tell me about on them really incredibly proud I think it metaphorical. What happens to girls in this society and what happens to us in the world who were polite. Yes there are certain this little lady. Yeah. The film takes place in the 1960s. And centers around a girl named Don is being aggressively courted by a boy she doesn’t know hat. Decided to filling station in them and what’s the moral of the story the plaza stories at the predator can either be a monster. He can look like a monster or it can be that beautiful young men. But they’re doing the same psychological Dan. My gallons activism focuses on combating sexism. Not just in Hollywood but in all industries where is move ago. From here my mother and is rose army. My movement has spent the night I trademarked three years ago and all forms what are you doing. Raising consciousness by 10% unilaterally across the board globally that’s my message that is my point. We have strong we are brain. And we look I.

This transcript has been automatically generated and may not be 100% accurate.

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