#pond lining film

[mohantarpkolkata]

Selecting Quality Plastic Pond Liners: A Key to Successful Fish Farming.

Using plastic pond lining films in fish farming offers several benefits, including water retention, ease of maintenance, and improved water quality control. While liners are primarily used to hold water, they also offer other benefits. If you want to invest in fish farming? Then the term Pond Liner is very important for this purpose. We all know that the fishes are grown in water and for fish…

[rinbylin]

remembering tonight "变得不适应因为它们原本来自江河大海 世上本不应该有池塘" (said by a monk character) and thinking about the sea being repeatedly suggested to be the place with the last traces of lxy - and llh - in this world

[johnnymartyr]

Backstage with Nikki Glaser

by Johnny Martyr Peeking behind, much less going behind stage curtains can sometimes disillusion fans of their favorite celebrities. But when I hung out with comedian Nikki Glaser, I saw that who she is backstage is as compelling as who she is onstage. What follows is an account of Nikki’s performance in Baltimore, MD on November 4, 2023, a stop on The Good Girl Tour shortly before Nikki…

[harmcityherald]

QAnon’s Adrenochrome Quackery | Office for Science and Society - McGill University

[perlelune]

Cruel Summer | Felix Catton

Your mother's money issues make it hard for you to enjoy your summer at Saltburn. Thankfully your cousin is there to comfort you. But what happens when you realize his interest in you isn't just familial concern?

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Start! Reader, Incest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Corruption, Innocent Reader, Drugs, Smoking, Filming

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your eyes round as they absorb the massive castle and the vast, lush gardens surrounding it. As you drag your suitcase behind you, you can’t quell the urge to admire everything. Even the towering, perfectly symmetrical trees lining the path to the iron gates. It’s been years since you visited Saltburn, but you don’t remember it being so big or intimidating. 

Still, you bask in the chirping of birds and the brightness of the sky above you. You’re compelled to admit it. The English countryside is lovely, a haven away from the pollution and noise of the city. A sharp contrast to the familiar chaos you’re used to back home. The uproar of traffic, from the honking to the shouting. The endless stream of people strutting down the streets. The gigantic ads and the skyscrapers that graze the stars.

A city that never rests or stops for anyone.

While this is home, it all can be so overwhelming. There never is time to just…breathe and be. Here, as you look at your surroundings, you figure it’s all there is to do. Breathe and be.

You push the small iron door on the side, astonished to find it ajar. Did they leave it open for you? You doubt it however. From what Mom told you, consideration for others isn’t one of your aunt and uncle’s strong suits. They’re too wrapped up in their “posh little world”. One your mom isn’t a part of anymore. And neither are you, as you’ve been raised overseas.

As for your brother…well he’s another matter. Shipped from school to school thanks to Uncle James’ “bottomless well of generosity”, he is a free spirit. Seas apart from you in every possible way. 

Ever since you were young, the pressure to succeed has gripped you tight and never released you. When others partied and experimented, you were nose deep in your books, stressing over finishing every assignment on time and acing every test. It paid off. You were accepted into your school of choice this summer, with a scholarship no less. 

Slacking off isn’t an option for you.

While your brother has a sort of safety net, you’re not so close with that side of your family. You’re their estranged American niece, one they haven’t seen in over a decade.

In fact, you’ve no idea how you’ll be received.

The long walk to the castle is harrowing but gives you time to comb through your memories. You were so little the last time you visited. Still, foggy remembrance floods your thoughts. You played with your cousins by the pond. Made up stories and ran around the fields. You even faintly recall skinning your knees when one of them dared you to try and climb all the way to the top of the stone stairs beneath the stained glass window. You slipped for a long time and wept on the floor, you think. Auntie Elspeth scolded her children and you for playing dangerous games.

Their cherubic faces flicker in your mind.

There were two of them.

A little boy with dark hair and a gummy smile. A blonde girl who giggled all the time. And of course, your brother.

When you’ve reached the castle’s front door, you suck in a wide breath. Before you can even knock on the tall, black doors, they swing open in front of you.

A surprised exhale spills from your throat. 

Swallowing, you fall back. 

Hands behind his back, a stern man in a suit runs his gaze over you. He is so still, for a minute, you wonder if he’s real.

But then he speaks. “Are you lost, miss?” he asks.

You shift, a surge of inadequacy filling you. Still, you clear your throat and give a tremulous answer.

“Hi. I…I’m here to visit my family.”

The man doesn’t budge, still pinning you with his unflinching stare. Sweat breaks out on your back. Are you at the right place?

“The Cattons,” you offer, an awkward smile stretching your lips. “My brother should already be here.” You start rummaging through your backpack to pull out a map. “This is Saltburn, right? Auntie Elspeth sent me the itinerary but perhaps I-”

He cuts you off, seeming almost annoyed with you.

“Right, you’re…earlier than we expected, Ms. Start.”

“I could come back later-”

“The gates aren’t open. We’d have sent someone to pick you up.”

You glance back, dumbfounded. The gates were definitely open, weren’t they? Or perhaps that little door wasn’t supposed to be crossed. Your cheeks flame. The elaborate rules your wealthy relatives abide by are already eluding you. 

Your shoulders heave and fall.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that long a walk.”

The man stiffly allows you in. You note the two black men standing by the door. They haven’t uttered a single word, blending into the background. Always seen but never heard. You believe your brother mentioned something like that in his sporadic texts and letters. Your gaze tears from them. The inside of Saltburn is even more majestic, a thing you didn’t think possible. Standing in a museum wouldn’t be much different, you suppose, between the antiques sitting on shelves, paintings hanging on the walls and crystal chandeliers hovering above you. 

So, this is what generational wealth looks like. 

When you were little, you didn’t notice this. You were too busy playing. Now, it’s all you can see. 

“Just leave your bag there. Someone will get it for you,” the man says.

“Someone, as in…”

“Someone,” he repeats, staunchly refusing to elaborate.

The grip on the handle of your suitcase tightens. 

“I really don’t need it. I can carry it myself.”

The man considers you, his face twitching as if you just spat in it. Your insides stir in confusion. All you’ve said is that you don’t mind carrying your own luggage. 

The loud utterance of your name has your head snapping sideways.

Your mouth falls open when a towering, young man in a yellow shirt around your age strides in your direction.

He halts in front of the stern man, chiding him with a playful lilt in his tone.

“Really Duncan? You’re scaring the poor girl. Duncan, stop being so terrifying. She’s family.” 

“Well, I shall try.” 

You note the subtle warmth in the man’s tone as he addresses the newcomer.

He turns to you, beaming. Your stomach flutters. “Cousin, try not to be too terrified of Duncan.”

You’re taken aback when he grabs the hand gripping the suitcase. His large hand completely engulfs yours. 

“I’ll show her to her room. Don’t worry,” he chimes. He pulls you away and you’re forced to keep up with his long, enthusiastic strides. He tosses you a glance, laughing when you sort of hop behind him. “Sorry about that. Duncan’s a bit odd, but he’s alright, you’ll see.”

“And you are…?”

Disappointment creeps on his face at your question. He spreads a hand over his chest.

“Felix, your cousin. Golly, you don’t remember me? Really? That kind of hurts.”

Your eyes grow. The picture in your mind was that of a chubby-cheeked, clumsy little boy. Your cousin definitely isn’t that anymore.

“Oh my god, yes! Felix. You don’t have a lisp anymore and…You’re like a giant now.”

A smug expression lights his features.

“Puberty.”

You laugh in response. “Yeah, I guess we all grew up.”

A strange glint fleets across his gaze as he gives you a quick once over.

“Clearly,” he says, his smile expanding.

He shows you around the estate. You can’t suppress your awe when he mentions Henry VIII, surprised Saltburn’s history stretches that far back. The library also radiates ancient and priceless, countless rare leather-bound books sitting on the shelves. A smile creeps on your face when Felix greets the ghost of your grandmother.

He takes you through a vertiginous amount of hallways until taking you to what will be your room. It’s apparently right next to Venetia’s. You glance around, expecting another long lost cousin to pop up perhaps. But it’s just you and Felix in the vast bedroom.

He leans against the doorjamb while you soak in the room and the massive bed, large enough to welcome three or four people. It’s nothing like your tiny bed at home or the one in your college dorm. This is something you never had, and that is just Felix and Venetia’s normal. It makes you speechless.

You drop your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The mattress bounces as you plop down on it. You let your fingers skim over the blissfully soft sheets.

Your contemplation is abbreviated by the ringing of your phone. You flip it open. The screen lights up, signaling a new message received. You type on the glowing arrows to find out it’s from Mom. 

Remember to ask your aunt and uncle for what we talked about. 

I really need you, sweetie. 

You unleash a heavy breath. Your mom is the one who pressured you to go on this trip. Ever since her brother’s regular payments have dried up, your mother’s been relentless. She keeps claiming she wants her share of the trust and your uncle argues that she used all of it. First, she recruited Farleigh to speak on her behalf. Your brother’s attempts have met little success however. So your mother enlisted you. 

You don’t know what more you can do that your brother couldn’t, but you can never say no to anything your mother asks. 

“Is something wrong?” Felix inquires, making his way to your bed to sit near you. The scent of his pricey cologne tingles your nose. 

“It's nothing,” you lie. “Just Mom asking if my arrival’s been smooth.”

Your cousin seems like the living embodiment of sunshine, just like you remember. If possible, you want to keep him out of the money issues between your mom and Uncle James.

Felix tilts his head as he studies you.

“It’s kinda funny.”

“What?”

“The way you say ‘mum’”

A laugh peals from your lips. 

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to my accent being made fun of.”

Felix shrugs. “My mum will think it’s exotic.”

You cringe inside. You never liked that word, how it makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.

Switching topics, you ask, “Is my brother around? I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Ah, Farleigh’s probably skulking about somewhere.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

Felix collects the book poking through the zipper of your backpack. He flips through the stained pages of your copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood prince. You accidentally spilled coffee on it during a late night study session.

“You could talk to him about this,” he offers, waving the book. “We’ve kind of been passing around Venetia’s copy. Although I tend to skip to the most interesting parts, but don’t tell everyone else.”

You smile.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply solemnly.

He watches you for a long time, long enough for your gaze to find the floor as your face heats.

“It’s really good having you here with us, cousin. I mean it.”

You fidget in your spot. “Thanks.”

Felix flashes you a mischievous grin.

“But I’ll need to make sure you remember me this time.”

The rest of the day is spent reconnecting with your other relatives. Everyone gathers in the library and you get to meet Venetia, realizing she too has changed a lot since you were kids. 

Oliver, Felix’s friend from Oxford is also there. From your cousin’s broad explanations, it appears he’s grieving the loss of one of his parents, so he invited him to make sure he isn’t alone. It’s unbelievably kind. Besides, you’re guessing from Oliver’s lost puppy dog stares and awkward manners, that he’s as out of place as you are here. Instant sympathy blooms inside you when you’re introduced to him.

A woman named Pamela is also in attendance. She is Aunt Elpseth’s close friend, though it’d be hard to tell, the way she orders her around like a servant and exposes the long list of tragedies her love life has been to the entire room.

A saying about friends and enemies flutters through your mind as you witness their interactions. It’s such a bizarre spectacle, watching this red-haired woman, dead behind the eyes, bend over backwards for your aunt. You don’t remember Aunt Elspeth being this cold-blooded.

And naturally, there is your brother. Farleigh. Aloof in the back, apart from the Cattons, your eyes collide from across the room. He smiles at you. You smile back. Warmth flows through you.

It’ll be a while before you’re comfortable around each other again. It pains you to say, but you don’t know your own brother all that well anymore.

Dinner’s a strangely formal affair. Everyone’s dressed to the nines, giving the family gathering more of a cocktail party vibe than that of a family dinner. Venetia lends you a dress so you aren’t the odd one out. You thank her profusely. All you packed when you left America are jeans and a few pairs of shorts. It never occurred to you that you’d need any kind of formal wear since you figured you would be around family. 

But you failed to take into account said family is also a part of British high society. 

Awkwardness fills you as you hesitate over the utensils, the different kinds of knives and forks making you dizzy. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself on the first day. Seeming to grasp your predicament, Venetia nudges your elbow when you grip the right fork and knife. 

You mutter a quiet ‘thanks’ and she winks at you. 

Several courses are brought on silver platters, one after the other. The entire time, you focus on your plate, swallowing every bland, flavorless bite.

Stiff conversation is exchanged at the table, most of it centering on Aunt Elspeth’s dour-looking friend. Once more, compassion flutters through you.

It’s blatant to everyone at the table that Pamela isn’t wanted at Saltburn anymore.

It’s a relief when dinner concludes and you can return to your bedroom.

You sit by the large window in your room to admire the night sky. Between the skyscrapers and artificial lights, it’s hard finding a spot to look at the stars in New York. Here however, you can make out constellations and various other glittering shapes.

Venetia joins you on the windowsill. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows smoke on the window. She shoots you a cheeky smile.

“So, do you regret coming already?” she teases.

You fiddle with your hands. 

“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. It’s…kind of unreal being here.”

“Just remember this is your home too.”

You mull it over. It is becoming clear to you how much you don’t fit in with the Cattons, despite sharing blood with them. You wonder if it’s how your brother has felt all these years. Like an outsider amidst his own kin. Although, you have to admit he looked quite comfortable at dinner. Far more than you, definitely.

“I’ll…try to remember that.” You hesitate, gnawing on your lip before speaking again. “Is Pamela gonna be okay, you think?”

Venetia shrugs.

“I think she’ll be alright.”

Your lips purse. Who knows how that haunted woman will fare once she’s on her own in the world again? You’re not too hopeful. But it seems like Aunt Elspeth is done with her, so it cannot be helped you suppose.

“If you say so.” You tilt your head at your cousin, dropping casually. “Do you think Uncle James is still up?”

“At this hour, Daddy will be in his study.”

You nod and get to your feet. Wandering the halls of Saltburn at night is a peculiar experience. The shadows clinging to the walls seem to follow your every step. Dusty slices of moonlight spill from the windows, bringing the stern portraits of your distant relatives to life, the aged hues of the paintings shifting in the dim light.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you're being watched. The back of your neck tingles as the sound of your fearful steps echoes in the vast halls. A breeze of cool air seeps through your clothes. You tug on the cardigan Venetia let you borrow from her closet, hurrying your pace. 

For a long time, you spin in circles, growing desperate to find your uncle’s study. Your spirits sour. You followed Venetia’s instructions to the letter yet you got lost. A left, a right, straight along the green room, then…another right?

You frown. Now you can’t remember. Why does every hallway look the same here?

Astray in your own mind, you carelessly bump into a hard object. 

You lift your gaze. Your jaw drops.

“Felix,” you exclaim, placing a hand over your heaving chest. “You scared me.” 

Mirth glints in his brown orbs.

“Lost, cousin?”

Avoiding his eyes, you scratch your am.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” you mumble.

Felix chuckles and seizes your arm. 

“It’s not. It’s easy to get lost here.” You gasp as he pulls you alongside him. “Just tell me where you need to go and I’ll show you the way.”

Too dumbstruck by his abrupt appearance, you let Felix drag you through the somber hallways. The sharp twists and turns he takes make your head spin. There is no way you’d have found the study on your own. 

He halts in front of two mahogany doors. Your feet bounce as your hand lingers on the brass handles.

Felix knocks on the door and your heart leaps.

“I’ll wait for you here, so you don’t get lost again,” he says.

“You don’t have to,” you squeak.

He leans over you and smiles.

“I insist, cousin. I have to prove to you not all of us are completely horrible…despite what you may have seen.”

Your face warms.

“T-Thank you.”

James’ voice rises from inside the room, giving you permission to enter. You nod at Felix and take shaky steps inside the study. The crackle of logs burning away reaches you. The swaying flames mingle with the shadows, casting a faint orange glow on the room. 

“Uncle James, may I speak to you?” you bashfully inquire.

He lowers his round glasses and puts down the notebook in his hands.

“Of course. Anytime, love. Have a seat.”

“Is something troubling you, child?”

You gulp the lump stuck in your throat, staring at your lap for a while before you meet your uncle’s gaze again. You shift in your seat.

You don’t know how to ask or, more precisely, the appropriate way to ask. A wide lungful enters your lungs. Why delay the inevitable?

You elect to dive right into your reason to be here.

“My mother. Well, she was wondering…” Your nerves buzz as your uncle’s sharp eyes cut into you. You clear your throat before continuing. “We were wondering if there were issues on your side because she hasn’t…” Sweat blooms inside your palms as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Well, you haven’t sent anything like you usually do and it’s been two months now.”

A heavy coat of silence falls over the study. After a while, your uncle unleashes a deep sigh.

“And she sent you to vouch for her.”

“I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. “Mom, she…She isn’t really good with money.” This is a massive understatement, and from the way Uncle James’ eyes bear into yours, it’s clear that he’s also aware of that fact. As much as you love your mom, she’s never been the most responsible with money, often squandering it on flashy things and pretty clothes. More than once growing up, she fell short on a bill and you couldn’t even shower before going to school. “If you could help this one time, then I’ll figure something out for her. I promise.”

“And how do you plan on doing that, young lady?” your uncle challenges.

“I…I’ll find a way. We always find a way.”

“You’re a very good daughter, which I can appreciate…” Your pulse races as you wait with bated breath. “But I’ve given your mother more than enough for her to get on her feet. Still, she always asks for more.”

Your heart plummets. The finality laced in his tone didn’t elude you. Why did you even think you could sway your uncle’s opinion in any way when your own brother, who has been around the Cattons for years, couldn’t accomplish that feat?

“She has issues…but I promise, uncle, she’ll get herself together this time,” you offer.

“I will give it some thought.”

He flashes you a sympathetic smile. You recognize its meaning right away. It’s strikingly similar to the one Aunt Elspeth gave her “friend” at the dinner table. 

Understanding you are being dismissed, you get up from the chair and bid your uncle good night.

“Thank you for listening,” you say glumly before leaving.

As Felix escorts you back to your bedroom, you can’t help but notice that Uncle James never once referred to your mother as his sister.

You frankly doubt he will give what you said any semblance of thought. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that entire conversation vanished from his head the second you stepped out of his study.

The rest of the week goes smoothly. Lazy summer days with your cousins and brother fly by in a hazy blur. Hanging by the pond beneath the sizzling sun. Displaying your terrible tennis playing skills to the entire group. Scary movie nights with the whole family during which Venetia and Felix laugh at you because you watch most of the film through your fingers and hide your face in a pillow whenever the monster appears.

It’s nice. You start thinking that reuniting with your extended family for the summer wasn’t such a rotten idea.

You nearly forget your mother. Nearly.

Though with the daily messages you receive detailing the squalor she’s living in, it’s impossible to forget. Guilt grows within you each day.

“She’s been texting you too?” Farleigh asks as he sits at the edge of the tennis court next to you. He’s still in his tux while you’re still wearing one of Venetia’s sparkly dresses, as all of you decided to sneak out of Aunt Elspeth’s uptight dinner party to catch the sunset and play a game of tennis. One thing you’ve come to learn about your cousins. They do whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want. Part of you envies that. The carefree knowledge that whatever mess you make, someone will clean up behind you…discreetly and in silence at that.

You flip your phone shut and sigh.

“Nonstop.” You sag in the chair. “I’ve done all I can.”

“Yeah…Me too.”

“I feel awful.”

You’re taken aback when your brother says, “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.”

You tentatively reach over his armchair to squeeze his hand.

“It’s not yours either,” you assure softly. Your brother shocks you when his fingers wrap around yours. You don’t think you held hands like this since you were toddlers. You were always the clingy one, following after your big brother like a lost puppy.

You and your brother remain like this for a while, eyes trailing the downward race of the sun over the horizon. 

When night falls, you’re surprised to find a tall, familiar form slipping through the wall of your bedroom. 

“Felix!” He puts a finger over his lips as a sign to lower your voice. It instantly dips to a whisper. “How did you get here?”

Amusement paints Felix’s features at your flabbergasted expression. He clicks the door shut. 

You blink. Once closed, the secret entrance blends seamlessly into the wall. There is no way you could have known this was here.

“Secret passageway. Old castles like Saltburn have plenty of them,” he explains, crawling over your bed.

“Oh.” 

As your eyes drag over his frame and you note that Felix’s just in his shorts, fire creeps inside your cheeks. Of course, you’ve seen your cousin in trunks but usually, it’s around the entire group. For some reason, a sliver of discomfort pools within you. You look away and clear your throat.

“Is it…okay for you to be here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that…nothing.”

A deep chuckle peals from his chest. The mattress bounces as Felix lets himself fall onto your sheets. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow near you, putting his hands behind his head as a lazy smile spreads on his lips.

“Don’t be silly. We’re family. It’s like when we were little and we’d all sleep in the same bed.”

You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right; you’re overreacting.

“Right. That was so fun.”

He lies on his side, elbow bent as he buries one hand in his tousled brown curls. 

“You used to have nightmares so you’d always sneak into my bed or Farleigh’s.”

“Now that you’re saying it, I think I remember that.”

“You’re still as cute as I remember.” Felix’s brown eyes twinkle as he drinks you in. “No…Even cuter.”

“Thanks.”

He approaches you and starts playing with the hem of your cotton shorts, twiddling the fabric between his forefinger and thumb.

Brown eyes dive right into yours.

“I saw you with Farleigh today. You looked sad.”

You shake your head.

“It’s nothing…just got some stuff on my mind.”

Felix’s smile dies.

“You also looked sad when you left Dad’s office the other day.”

You bristle. “It’s nothing important, really.”

“Your mom?” he inquires. When you don’t reply, Felix’s knuckles sweep over your outer thigh, his deep timbre softening, “You can trust me, cousin.”

You unleash a sharp, audible breath, budding tears tickling your eyelids.

“It’s just a lot. She’s asking things from me that I don’t know if I can do much about.”

Felix collects one of your stray tears with his thumb. He then snatches your hands from your lap and clutches them in his. They completely swallow yours.

“She shouldn’t ask anything of you. It’s not fair. You’re her daughter. She should protect you. Not the other way around.”

You sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my mom for so long. Especially after Farleigh decided to stay in England most of the time. So I feel like…I need to take care of her, you know? Because she always took care of me.”

He cups your cheek, wiping more of your tears.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good, cousin.”

Felix then sits up and conjures a lighter and a blunt from the back pocket of his shorts.

You gawk at him as he lights it in front of you, taking a deep drag before blowing smoke in your face.

Your stomach tingles when he offers it to you.

“I don’t know if I should…”

Felix’s timbre lowers seductively as he grabs your hand and slips the roll between your fingers. Even holding it doesn’t feel right.

“Come on, you’ll feel better. It’ll free your mind. No thoughts. No troubles. Just…light and happy.”

“That sounds amazing,” you mumble.

“Then try a puff.”

You bring the blunt to your mouth and immediately cough.

“You gotta go slow,” he chuckles. Once you’ve retrieved your breath, he nudges it against your mouth again.  “Here, another.”

The room begins to swirl around you. You lie back, a heady, cotton-like sensation spreading from your head to your toes.

“Damn…” you whisper as your limbs slacken, the tension in your body slowly melting away.

Felix lies back next to you, his grin growing.

“See? That’s why you should always listen to me, cousin.”

It becomes a habit, Felix sneaking into your room and the two of you smoking in your bed every night. Him slipping through the secret door doesn’t even faze you anymore, and your reservations about getting high evaporate a little more with every puff you inhale. The serene sensation and warm tingles you get afterwards are entirely too pleasant. 

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Letting go. For a few precious minutes, the burdens on your shoulders can vanish.

You don’t tell Venetia, or even Farleigh. You still remember him going full big brother mode that one day when you tried to join the rest of them when they hung out naked in the field. The Cattons siblings laughed as you were escorted away, burning from head to toe at the humiliation.

You don’t want a repeat of that. Always being the good girl is exhausting. Not that your brother would understand. He gets to live life on his own terms. Get kicked out from as many schools as he likes. Charm his way through the world. You don’t. For once, you want to revel in doing something…a little forbidden. Something the nerdy, party-avert, studious girl you forced yourself to be all these years would never do.

So the nightly meetups become you and Felix’s secret.

It’s all casual, harmless fun. Until, one night,  everything changes. As your head lolls back on the pillows, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, your cousin’s fingers dance over your half-exposed belly.

“Feeling better?” he mutters, his voice low and secretive.

“Yeah.”

“I know a way you can feel even better.”

You don’t think much of it. Not even when he slithers across the sheets, finding his way between your legs. He tugs your shorts down, slowly, until you’re down to your panties in front of him. The rush of cool air on your skin makes you tremble.

“Felix, what are you doing?” you chuckle, high enough not to fully register what’s going on.

A playful smile ghosts over your cousin’s lips. He blows on your clothed center and the sensation draws a giggle from you, even as a faint layer of panic is trying to pierce through the haze.

“You seemed so stressed today. It’ll help you relax…” he promises, trailing sluggish kisses up your inner thigh. As his lips travel upward, your stomach clenches. He hooks two fingers inside your panties to push them aside.

Your cousin’s gaze darkens, his smile broadening, as he basks in the sight of your bare, shuddering folds. He licks his lips before kissing the center of you. 

Your limbs tense as Felix starts unraveling you with his tongue. He licks a stripe over your folds, his tongue tarrying over your tender bud. The breath catches in your throat. He traces slow circles over your button, tearing a soft gasp from you everytime he suckles the sensitive spot between his lips.

Felix hums while his head bobs between your thighs.

A tingly, warm feeling starts blooming in your core, scattering to your entire body. Hot and irresistible. A wave of heat that slowly takes over your entire frame.

You clutch the sheets.

Your eyes rise to the heavens as heat pulses through your core.

“No, Felix, this is… this is wrong,” you wheeze out between aching breaths. 

His devious laughter ripples through your core. 

“I’m just trying to make you feel good. How can that be wrong, cousin?” he says innocently, before flicking his tongue over your folds. He spreads you even more, dipping in and out of you as quiet shouts rip from your throat. Your back curves over the sheets. Your lids flutter as you peer at the ceiling unseeingly. 

His sinful baritone nudges you to your undoing.

“Just let go. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You quake, the tense heat growing too much to bear. Your insides coil. Sparks erupt from your center, traveling outward. Your body goes limp as you collapse over the sheets, dazed and breathless. Tears of arousal trickle from your core and your cousin greedily savors every wayward drop. Shame scalds your insides as you feel him lap up your nectar, your wide gaze glued to the ceiling.

The next morning, panic rushes through you as your eyes snap open.

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to freak out,” Felix says lightly, pulling you against him from behind. His hand settles over your rapidly moving chest. 

“Last night…” you say, choking on a sob as you recall bits and pieces. You were so damn high. Still, you’re pretty sure what you think happened…happened. Even in your own head, you can’t put it into words. You rub your thighs. Stickiness lingers there from Felix’s ravenous tongue. Shame burns in your gut.

As you try to climb off the bed, Felix yanks you back. He slams you down on your back. Your heart jumps as he looms over you, his broad body easily caging yours. 

He frames your chin, drawing your attention to him.

“We just had some fun, you and I,” he says, thumb tracing your quivering lip. “That’s all. No one ever has to know.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep pulling on your tiny camisole, pathetically attempting to cover your nakedness. Felix chuckles.

“Gosh, you really need to stop being so uptight, pretty cousin.”

He drops a quick peck on your cheek before dragging his lips over your earshell.

“It’s okay. We’ll work on loosening you up.”

For a few days, Felix doesn’t visit your room again. You’re thankful for that. You can barely meet your cousin’s gaze now, the fear of someone finding out what happened eating you alive. You can’t imagine coming back after so many years only to cause havoc and drama.

Your mom would be so disappointed. Your brother would be livid.

So you do as Felix says. You keep your lips firmly sealed. It’s not like it’ll go further than that anyway. The two of you were high, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

None of this would have happened otherwise.

Unfortunately, your meticulously crafted wall of denial explodes when your cousin shows up again one night.

You tremble as your eyes rest on him. Felix smiles at you, pushing the secret door closed. You note the camera dangling from his neck. The entire day was spent snapping pictures to remember the summer. You took so many silly ones with Venetia and your brother. For a while, you let yourself forget. Felix took most of the pictures today, appearing in very few himself. You just didn’t expect him to still be wearing it this late.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply shyly.

“How are you feeling today?”

Your lips clamp shut. Today was awful. Apparently your mom might be getting evicted soon. She hasn’t stopped texting you about it the entire day, and even some of the night because of the time difference. You feel so dauntingly powerless…and awful. You’re staying in a literal castle while your mom might be homeless soon.

“I’m good.”

He takes lithe steps towards you, his handsome face twisting in sympathy as he plops down on your bed. He removes the camera from around his neck and tosses it over your pillows.

“No you’re not. You’re still worried about your mom. You were checking your phone all day today.”

You bring your knees close to your chest.

“It’s fine, Felix.”

Felix sighs, concern swimming in his brown gaze.

“No, it’s not fine.” His fingers roam over your ankle as he lies on his side. “You know…” Felix pauses, eyes holding yours. “I could talk to my dad if you want. He never refuses me anything.” He flashes a sunny grin. “After all, I’m his precious boy. His firstborn son.”

You gape at him. 

“You really would do that for my mom?”

Felix sits up and closes the distance between the two of you. He bends over you, placing his large hands over your feet. You follow the stars tattoos etched atop his hand; his sister has the same ones if you recall.

His knees graze your ankles as he says, “Not for your mom. For you, cousin. So that frown on your face can finally…” He flicks your brow with his thumb and laughs. “...disappear. Like magic.”

You consider Felix, relief and awe storming through you.

Without giving it much thought, you toss your arms around his neck.

“Thank you so much,” you exclaim.

“Of course…” His fingers travel along your spine. “I’d just have a little favor to ask in return.”

“Sure, anything,” you answer easily.

He pulls back, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s not much.”

The heady scent of his cologne washes over you as he leans forward.

“I’ve been aching somewhere lately and I need you to make it better, cousin.”

“Oh, aching…where?”

“I think it’s best if I just show you.”

A foreboding inkling flares in your gut. Still, you don’t move as Felix “shows you”. He tugs on his shorts. He slowly pulls on the fabric, shimmying out of it as you hold your breath. When his length springs free, you unleash a small squeak. Your reaction drags a laugh out of Felix.

Though you don’t really want to, you can’t help but stare. It’s thick and long with veins running alongside the shaft. The tip points upward, glistening and red.

“I don’t know if I can help with…something like that,” you mumble, your voice wavering at the end.

“Sure you can.”

He lifts your chin, diving his eyes into yours.

“I just need somewhere warm, and soft, to slip the tip of my cock so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Shock parts your lips.

“Felix…”

He hooks his thumb inside your open mouth, a lopsided grin stretching on his face.

“Come on, it’ll just be the tip, I promise. Then we never have to talk about it anymore. You won’t even feel it, I swear.”

“Just the…tip?” you say, your throat knotting as your gaze drifts down. You take in Felix’s size, swallowing thickly. It matches the rest of him, you suppose. You don’t even think it could fit, not fully. So just the tip is probably for the best. “Nothing more?”

“Just the tip. And I’ll talk to my dad first thing in the morning.” He strokes your cheek, uttering softly, “I bet your mom will be so happy for what you did for her.”

You heave out a deep, resigned breath. Right, your mom. While you’re not too comfortable with what Felix is asking for, if it means he’ll talk to Uncle James, you don’t have it in you to refuse. A favor for a favor. Then you’ll spend the rest of the summer forgetting it ever happened. You can do that. 

You peer up at Felix. 

“Okay then but don’t…stay too long.”

He beams at you. 

“You’re amazing.” 

Felix leans back. He removes his shorts fully, revealing himself in all his naked glory.

“Just lay back for me, cousin,” he instructs. He slants his head, satisfaction filling his gaze when you do as he says. “Open those perfect legs of yours.” His pupils swell with lust as you part your quivering thighs. 

“Good girl,” he praises. 

Felix crawls over you. You freeze. He grips the waistband of your pajama bottoms to slide them off your legs. He takes his time, agonizingly slow as he soaks in every tiny shift on your face. Horror curls your insides. You wish he’d just get it over with. But it’s clear Felix wishes to enjoy every mortifying second of this. 

Your panties are next. Once again, he drags it out. Warmth blooms in your face as cool air hits your bare folds. It’s worse than last time, because there’s nothing to dull your senses, or pretend it isn’t happening.

“Don’t close your legs. I want to see everything,” he says when you try to hide from him. His throat bobs, hunger lurking in his eyes as he licks his lips. “You have a really pretty pussy, you know that, cousin?”

“Please, don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“B-Because it’s embarrassing.”

He smirks. 

“You’re so fucking cute.”

Your cousin plucks the discarded camera and points it at your face. The blinding light sears your eyelids as he quickly snaps a series of pictures of you in the compromising position.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse soaring.

“W-Why did you just take a picture?”

“Because I want to remember you like this.” 

He chortles as you try to snatch the camera from his hands, keeping it out of your reach with ease with his long arm.

“Delete it, Felix,” you plead. 

He tilts his head, his expression dripping with mischief.

“Sure, if you do everything I say, I’ll delete it.”

Tears brim beneath your lashes. You want to trust Felix. You really do. But he always asks for more. You wonder where it’ll end, if it ever will.

“You promise?”

“Of course. I’d never lie to you, cousin.”

He places the camera on the floor near the bed. If you thought you could get past him, destroy the camera, you would. However you’re beginning to realize something about Felix. He always gets his way. 

He crawls his way to you. You don’t resist as Felix nudges you down, trapping you beneath him. The fitful drumming of your heart fills your ears. 

He bends down, stealing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips sweep over yours, hungry, feverish. He cups the side of your face, moaning as he explores your mouth. His hands start wandering over your body. They feel everywhere at once, kneading and teasing your flesh. Felix pulls your top over your head so you’re in nothing but your bra. 

He deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing your air and sanity. You melt beneath him. 

The air is robbed from your lungs when he starts prodding at your entrance. Your fingers clench around the sheets. His thick tip stretches you so much already. You can barely take it.

His voice comes out hoarse and strained.

“You feel so bloody good.”

He pushes a bit more. You tense, your walls aching at his size. Your tearful gaze rises to the ceiling. Felix seizes your chin, pulling it so your eyes lock with his.

“Look at me,” he instructs.

He piledrives into you, sheathing himself inside you completely. Your vision flickers as he finds the hilt of you. Your lips part in a silent scream. Your chest heaves and falls quickly. 

“Felix, you said…”

He shushes you, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he begins moving inside you. A wicked glow burns in Felix’s brown gaze. “I know what I said…but it feels too good inside you, cousin.”

“But you promised...” you sob. 

He kisses away your tears, his voice mellowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says after thrusting inside you deeply. “I’m so sorry…” Your toes flex, stars creeping in your sight with each of your cousin’s vigorous thrusts. His pace doesn’t relent, even as you weep and plead him with your eyes. He almost seems to pluck joy from your quiet helplessness. His chest brushes over yours as his lips ghost over your earshell. “But I don’t think I can stop.”

Your breathing quickens. As Felix’s cock grazes along your sensitive spots, little whimpers spill from your throat. He drapes one hand over your mouth, still pounding inside you. 

“Shh, be quiet for me, cousin. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”

“I think our uncle likes you better than me.”

You look at your brother through your sunglasses. You’re thankful for them. They’ve done a nice job concealing the puffiness of your eyes. You’ve been crying a lot lately. Too often. It started the night Felix snuck into your room and the flood hasn’t really stopped since. All of it turns your stomach. The lying, the sneaking around…the sick, twisted lies. His sick, twisted lies. It was supposed to just be one time.

Felix deceived you.

Every night since that one, your cousin found his way into your room, coaxing you to do things that make you hate yourself afterwards. It’s even slowly escalated to daily trysts. Felix would conjure excuses to steal you away while your other relatives are blissfully unaware. Having his way with you in a dark corner. Fingering you in the library. Cornering you in the maze to taste the nectar between your legs. Your cousin seems determined to make sure no inch of Saltburn isn’t tainted by his wicked desires.

This is a nightmare.

Your mom was so overjoyed on the phone after receiving Uncle James’ payment. And you’re glad you could help. But the cost…Did your mother’s happiness have to occur at your expense? You’re so exhausted, ashamed. You don’t know how long you can stand to be the vessel for your cousin’s lurid fantasies.

Even proper rest is denied to you now, the fear of someone figuring it out keeping you wide awake for hours every night.

“I doubt that,” you say, your lips curving in a stilted smile.

Farleigh leans back in his lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses over his nose.

“Still, good job, little sis.” A wide grin blooms on his face. “Guess being a goody two-shoes has its perks.”

Your chest clenches at your brother’s remark.

As Felix’s eyes find yours from across the pond, your blood freezes. He smiles at you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You shift, your attention returning to your brother.

“I-I don’t know about that.”

You thought the awfulness reached its peak. You were wrong. A new brand of twisted is introduced by Felix during breakfast with the entire family.

He sits next to you, smiling at you. You don’t think much of it. Why would you? He’s done this before. Taunt you. Tease you. Torment you. Even in front of the rest of them.

But what he does today, while Aunt Elspeth sits across from you and your brother is on your other side…it’s just ghastly. Impious.

Felix’s digits roam atop your thigh. You shoot him a glare. He pointedly ignores you, carrying a casual conversation with his mom while playing with the hem of your dress.

You focus on your plate. He caresses the inside of your thigh as you bring the fork to your lips.

He presses two fingers against your clothed center. Pushing, pressing and swirling around your tender bud. Your knees rub, heat gathering at the apex of your thighs.

The metal of the fork damn near shatters your teeth as you choke on a mouthful of eggs.

You apologize swiftly, shakily grabbing the glass of water near your plate. You take a long swig from it and clear your throat. Felix’s digits dip further inside you. Your breath hitches. He stops just shy of letting you come apart, bringing you to the cusp only to retreat at the very last second. A meticulously thought out torture.

It lasts for almost the entirety of breakfast, only reaching an end when Venetia rises from the table. You follow right after her, excusing yourself with a tense smile.

Hollow steps take you through an endless series of hallways. You can hardly even think, the enormity of what your cousin just did in front of his parents, in front of everyone, shocking you into numbness. Where will his depravity end? You long for summer to end so perhaps you can finally be free from your cousin.

You wind up in an empty room brimming with dusty books and antiques. You sit in a corner, knees against your chest, as you revel in a rare moment of respite. You don’t get these as often anymore. Not if your cousin has anything to say about it.

As usual, it doesn’t take long for Felix to find you a little later. Your heart skips a beat when his towering frame darkens the doorway, blocking any chance of an escape.

“Playing hide and seek, cousin?” he teases, amusement laced in his voice.

Tears swim in your eyes as you shoot him an accusing look.

“At breakfast, really? Someone could have seen, Felix. M-My brother, he could have seen.”

Rolling his eyes, he hops towards you to take a seat next to you. His rebuttal is disturbingly nonchalant.

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“I think we should stop,” you sputter, your mouth wobbling. 

His brows squeeze together, a mix of annoyance and confusion twisting his features.

“Why?”

You fiddle with the bottom of your dress, struggling to meet his irate stare. 

“I’m grateful for everything you did, really, but this doesn’t feel right.”

His cheek pulses, a strange grin dragging his lips upward. Your stomach sinks. 

“We’re just having fun, you and I, cousin.”

Your words warp into a watery croak.

“This isn’t fun, Felix.”

A weary sigh drops from his chest. 

“It’s because you’re overthinking it,” he says, reaching out to cup your cheek. You turn your head. Frustration flickers in your cousin’s eyes. As you try to stand, he grabs you and shoves you on the floor. 

“Felix, no…”

Ignoring your sniveling pleas, Felix hastily unzips his jeans and yanks your underwear down to your ankles. 

A strangled sob flows from your lips as he nestles himself inside your wet heat in a single deep, cruel thrust. 

You’re a whimpering mess on the floor as your cousin pounds into you from behind. 

“Just stop fighting it,” he grunts. He twists his fist in your hair, your scalp singing in pain when he tugs at your roots. Tears stream down your face while your cousin snaps his pelvis into your ass. 

“See? This is good.” His warm, heavy exhales tickle your nape. “Doesn’t my cock inside you feel good, cousin?”

“Yes…” you begrudgingly admit, loathing how every time he sinks into you, your toes curl and your eyes roll back on their own, warm tingles dancing through your core.

“Look outside.” You wince as he angles your chin towards the window, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You’re greeted with a beautiful sight of the lush gardens sprawling before the castle. His hot whisper grazes your temple. “Do you see all this? How beautiful Saltburn is…especially in the summer.” His smile carves into your skin.

“One day, all of this will be mine, cousin.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. Shivers course through your spine. “And it could be yours too… if you behave.”

[sttm99]

Lost Moments:

BAKUGO FINDING OUT HE HAS A DAUGHTER WITH AN EX

Part 1

Part 2

Triggers? Angst...

Part 3 :

Bakugo didn't know who your fiance was. He didn't want to burden himself with the information; picking at the man's flaws and accomplishments, looking for where he was better and where he was worse.

So he stayed away from your private life. He had no idea the situation he'd be walking into.

You'd asked that Bakugo meet you at a park nearby, and he'd obliged quickly. Going out of his way to prepare to meet you and his son.

His wife didn't want to comment on the amount of cologne he'd poured on himself, or the fact that he was wearing his favourite watch, or that he'd even brought out a brush for his hair.

He was meeting his son, his 7-year-old son. He wanted to look good for his son... it had nothing to do with you. The extra care that she could see him putting into his dressing had nothing to do with you.

"Excited?" She asked, leaning against the doorway of their shared bedroom, a tight smile on her lips as she watched him.

His daughter was currently asleep after going against her parents' wishes and staying up late the night before.

Bakugo glanced over at her through the mirror. "Obviously. I want the boy to like me." He said gruffly as he turned around then.

She nodded with a soft hum as he walked towards the door. "You're his dad. I'm sure he'll love you."

Bakugo scoffed. "I left his mom to raise him by herself. If he's anything like me, he's gonna hate me a bit."

"Let's hope he's nothing like you, then?" She laughed softly, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips.

"Let's hope so..." Bakugo kissed back quickly before patting his wife's side and walking out of their house.

He was just about ten minutes early, choosing to sit on a bench near a pond as he waited. He let out a soft breath, trying to come up with things to tell his son, conjuring up scenarios and what he'd do.

It didn't last long, the mind running. Because soon a nice-looking car was parking near and Bakugo watched as you got out from the passenger seat.

What was weird was the little smile on your face. He hadn't seen you smile since the break-up. He'd wanted to believe you just didn't smile much anymore.

In truth, you just didn't smile around him.

But seeing you now, grin wide as you got out of the car and pulled open the backseat, and your son got out. The boy looked just like Bakugo but acted so different. He slouched, arms folded over his chest as he frowned up at you, looking uncomfortable.

But you just held on to his shoulder and walked around the car to the park where Bakugo was. He'd stood up to greet you, but stopped short when he watched you stop at the driver's seat, bending a bit to press a kiss to your fiancé's lips.

His blood ran cold, and he didn't know why. His stomach dropped, and his mouth became dry.

Because he was so unused to seeing you show such casual affection to someone else. It felt alien, unreal- like cotton stuck in his ears and some film blurring his sight.

He cleared his throat as you approached him, your son right next to you, with Bakugo's colour palette, but your lines.

"Bakugo." You began, and it hurt him so much to see that empty look gloss over your face again, like he was unworthy of seeing the real you.

This was what he was relegated to; this- this detached stranger of a person he'd known so well so many years ago.

"This is Miko," I gestured to your son, who was standing so close to you, looking up at Bakugo with apprehension. "Your son."

"Hey." Bakugo mumbled to the boy, with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "Hi, I'm-"

"I know who you are." Miko cut him off with a frown.

"Oh," Bakugo said, hands by his side lazily.

What was he to say to the boy? To his son whom he didn't know.

Luckily you were there to help.

"Why don't we go somewhere to eat?" You suggested, already leading Miko to the outdoor eating area nearby.

Bakugo followed after you both, this time his palms balled into fists as he watched you and Miko walk together.

Just you two. Which was probably how it had been for several years, and Bakugo wished so badly that he could have been in the picture as well.

"So..." Bakugo stared at Miko as he spoke. It still felt weird, seeing this child who looked so much like him. This- this big, little child who was meant to be Bakugo's son but had never met him.

It still felt surreal. He'd skipped a large chunk of the whole growing up phase he'd had with his daughter. Bakugo had missed the baby cries and giggles, the dirty diapers, toddler walks, and everything in between. And was suddenly thrust into this reality, of a boy who was meant to be his own son.

I have a son.

'I have a son', Bakugo thought to himself. 'I have two kids... two different women.'

It was a lot to process.

"You're my dad, huh?" Miko asked with furrowed brows.

Bakugo gulped and nodded, his eyes flitting to you momentarily. You still had that empty look in your face. He turned away, focusing back on his son.

"Yeah. I'm your father."

His son still had that weird, wary look on his face, like he was still trying to come to terms with it all.

"And you're going- I mean..." He let out a breath. "You're going to be around now?"

This time, Bakugo looked up at you before answering, as though waiting for your approval. You looked at him briefly, flitted your eyes to your son, and then looked back at Bakugo, urging him on.

"Yes. I will."

"Will we be doing family stuff together now?" Miko asked, leaning forward just slightly. "Like, all of us together... if- Takashi isn't available, at least."

"Takashi?" Bakugo asked with furrowed brows.

"My fiance." You replied swiftly.

Bakugo gulped at the mention of that. His eyes had already gone straight for your ring, but was obscured by the table. He preferred that.

He hated the sight of that ring despite how often he glanced at it .

"Well..." Bakugo began. "About the family stuff-"

"We can get to that later on." You interjected, raising a hand to rub at Miko's shoulder, smiling down at him affectionately. "You should focus on getting to know Bakugo a bit more."

Miko nodded, and Bakugo tried to estimate how long until you'd be comfortable referring to him as 'your father' when talking to Miko.

"That girl that was with you that day- at the mall. That's your daughter?" Your son asked Bakugo, a tiny shine of excitement in his eyes.

Bakugo nodded, a small quirk in his lips as he thought of his daughter. "That's your sister. You should meet her properly one day."

Miko laughed softly. "She's very... ah- active."

Bakugo chuckled softly. "Yeah. She's quite a handful."

"What's her name?" This time you were the one that asked.

"Maya." Bakugo says softly, his whole attention on you, taking in everything. He's looking at your hair, your earrings, lips, eyes, and cheeks. He's looking at it all.

You've grown. He's seeing it properly again. You've grown so much, you look so mature.... so solemn, too.

"So... when would I meet her?" Bakugo looks back to Miko.

"Whenever you want. I'm sure she'd be glad to meet her brother, too."

Tags: @bangtanksea22

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Diana Rigg (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, The Assassination Bureau, A Midsummer Night’s Dream)—Though she may be most famous across the pond for her Game of Thrones-era career, here on her native soil she is an icon of the 60s and female empowerment! Arguably best known for slaying as Emma Peel in The Avengers, her biggest pop culture legacy is definitely playing the only woman Bond truly loved - Tracy di Vincenzo - and absolutely stealing the movie (OHMSS) from under George Lazenby’s nose. The Assassination Bureau is also an extremely fun and underrated period adventure film where her boundless energy and wit is better matched by Oliver Reed. She excelled at playing alluring women with a sense of humour and darker complications underneath. Undoubtedly one of England’s most lovable, intelligent, funny, sexy and unforgettable actresses of all time, I entreat you VOTE PRINCESS DI !!

Barbra Streisand (Funny Girl, Hello Dolly)—I love her smile!! I love her nose!! I love her Brooklyn accent!! She's hilarious and gorgeous and real!!! I love her sense of humor! I love her voice!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Diana Rigg:

"She lived with a director/partner/boyfriend for eight years in the 60s and told the tabloid press '[I have no desire] to be respectable'"

Barbra Streisand propaganda:

"If you want to know why I’m submitting her, you’ll just have to read her 900 page memoir My Name is Barbra. It’ll explain everything!"

Lovely, smart, funny and a GORGEOUS VOICE

have you seen her? she could sing and dance and i love her so much in funny girl

Her most famous movie line is telling herself “Hello Gorgeous,” what else can I say lol. One of the most famous Hollywood divas of our time, who’s still alive and going strong. All of her outfits in Funny Girl are also soooo pretty. Plus she got to act alongside Omar Sharif, who was in the Vintage Men Poll.

She IS the greatest star! Her voice! Her eyes! She has one of the most stunning profiles I've ever seen. Talent in SPADES! (And honestly, as a wlw it's disingenuous to ignore it - a truly beautiful cleavage)

[rileychester]

Ok I have a question about the actor and writer strike.

So lets say you have an actors like Judi Dench and Emma Thompson for example in a movie together back in the UK.

And the film, writers, director, actors, sound, costume, is all based in the UK, which I’m assuming has different unions. 

If the film airs anywhere in the US, would that be consider crossing the picket lines since it was made in another country by British actors who work both sides of the pond?

I’m honestly fuzzy on the rules.

[spinchip]

BEEN THERE ONCE BEFORE AND I WISH THAT I NEVER DIED

Pairings: none Word count: 6500 Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and death. Gore, murder, Ear trauma and limb loss tw

Summary: Zane would do anything to keep the ninja safe.

*

There is a pot of tea between you, sitting in Master Wu's private garden right outside the door to his room, and it’s some sort of oolong blend with a sweet smelling screen hanging over it. Osmanthus flowers float in your cup and you trace their pattern, watching them shift idly in what little breeze this summer day has brought you. The tea is too bitter despite the honey you’d added, over-steeped and thick on your tongue.

There is a sword on his lap, a sleek red sheath and neatly wrapped handles. There are no adornments on this blade, it is plain and unassuming, a tool for its master and whatever that may entail. Master Wu had asked you out here, months after the desperate fight for Ninjago at the corridor of elders (even longer after you had been torn apart by a power that was never yours to hold,) and the rattlesnake smile he’d offered as he’d led you out vanished the moment you were hidden from prying eyes. He makes your tea silently, and he burns it.

He looks at you in a way that makes you bristle, with eyes that no longer see you as human. Your silver skin itches, your tea tastes like ash.

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” He asks you finally, his voice quiet but clear over the space between you.

You do not, but you could look it up in an instant. You don’t do that either. He does not expect you to answer.

“They were said to be assassins. Hired blades sent to the house of the lands lord to slaughter them- the last recorded deaths by these assassins was years and years ago, but that was not the end of the era of the ninja. They snuck between the shadows, they pulled their hidden weapons, and they eliminated their targets cleanly and efficiently.” He waits, gauging your reaction. You can feel his eyes sit heavy on where your hands are deceptively calm around your tea cup, assessing, searching for something like he had that day he’d first laid eyes upon you in the frozen pond.

A phantom of a red flashes across your HUD that screams DANGER- and despite how there is no real warning clawing its way across your eyes, you know you should be afraid anyway. Tread carefully, you are in dangerous territory. Do not react. Control.

“Is this a history lesson?”

“Perhaps.” Master Wu murmurs, finding something in your expression with those dark eyes.

“The best way to defeat my enemy is to make him my friend.” You can’t help but say, a parrot of his own words, your eyes calculating.

“And if your kindness is rejected?” He does not skip a beat.

You hesitate, the clink of your cup as you set it down on the table too loud on your ears.

“You are no longer a child, Zane. Your innocence died with the Overlord. The others still have that innocence.” You jerk, the reminder of your death bruising on your soul, but he doesn't handle you with kid gloves, “You’ve killed once, to protect them.” Sensei Wu does not touch his tea, and there is a rising sickness in your stomach, “Can you do it again?”

He draws the blade and it’s blood red, holding it out to you, handle first.

To protect them?

His eyes are dark and there’s a danger there, but he has always been kind to you. Like a father when yours had vanished, warm smiles and encouraging words flashing across your eyes. Visions of fire and blood and death color your head along with it, superimposed on top of your friends and family. You’d do anything to protect the people you love, wouldn’t you?

The sword is a healthy weight in your palm.

---

Police tape surrounds a dilapidated old building, great yellow swathes of it wrapped down the sidewalk into the street and officers at each corner standing vigil over the body slumped half in the gutter and covered by a sheet. News vans line the street waiting for the opportunity to film once the coroner has packed away the gore and it’s mostly family-friendly for the afternoon broadcast. Flood lights and lamps are set up around the premise, little yellow evidence markers salting the earth down the doors of the warehouse and up to the body. Apparently deceptively unassuming, the Mechanics home base is filled to the brim with his lackeys and stolen tech- or, it was.

“I guess the Mechanic got tangled up with the wrong guy.” Kai says breathlessly, spooked as the camera pans over the overflowing body bags being loaded into the coroner's van.

The Commissioner taps the remote to his VCR on his leg anxiously, “You heard on the news already, i’m sure, but we suspect the unsub used a long blade of some kind,” He’s visibly shaken, “A sword, perhaps- the evidence was very…” he makes a slashing motion from his throat, miming blood striping the wall behind him.

A blood spattered window, the killing so brutal a heavy streak of gore laced up the glass, is still visible to the probing crime scene photographer.

The graying man slides a manila folder thick with printed pictures across the table and Jay pointedly pushes it away from himself, looking queasy. You reach out and pick it up with hands that seem to float endlessly away from your body, but you’ve felt like this since stumbling home two nights ago when the moon was full and no one else was awake. You don’t hesitate to open it, staring down at the first photo with mild surprise.

Cole jerks away before steeling himself and glancing back over. The picture shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway. It looks so messy. The body in the street can barely be recognized in the photo, too mutilated- the only identifying feature being the mechanical hand resistant to the blades of a sword. The mechanic had been reduced to mince meat, blood seeping up through shredded flesh and broken bones. Blood flows in a river down the stairs of the warehouse, down onto the sidewalk, flowing into the gutters.

“This seems… motivated.” Lloyd grimaces at the image but doesn’t look away.

“That’s certainly one word for it,” The commissioner huffs, “We’ve been calling it ‘unhinged.’”

You flip to the next image. Bodies piled on top of each other, strewn across the room, throats slit and bellies gutted and in one particularly horrific scene brain matter and skull fragments rendering a man unrecognizable.

Your memories of that night are fuzzy and nebulous.

Nya takes one of the photos, “Who would do something like this?”

“We were hoping you knew,” A beat- the man sighs, “The mechanic, he’s hard to keep tabs on. We didn’t really know who his enemies were other than those present, and you all had the most contact with him, but it’s too much to hope you have a lead for us, huh?”

He blows out an explosive breath, “Tell me, does the attack itself look familiar in any way? Anyone who comes to mind who has the capability to do something like that?”

You shake your head, blue boring holes into the eyes of a henchman who died trying to hold his intestines inside his gut, “No,” Your voice doesn't waver, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

---

Wu touches your shoulder firm and bruising but your skin cant purple under his nails anymore, “It gets easier.”

---

You stand in the threshold of the jail cell, the body in the room covered by a sheet. You had wondered if that really happened, bodies covered up by the police like in television dramas- this is the second time you’ve seen it. It won’t be the last. It’s interesting to know how fiction gets it right, sometimes. Kai distinctly can’t look, turned away, but you haven't been squeamish in a long time. You crouch low, reaching for the edge of the blanket to see, and Nya makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat when you lift the sheet to look.

This death is far more refined than the massacre you’d investigated this month- A clean cut across his throat, blood coating his sleep shirt and dried to the corners of his mouth. Droplets of red sprinkle his face where he’d tried to breathe through the ruined hole of his throat, coughing a plume of blood into the air that rained down on him as he died. His skin is waxy and his eyes glazed and clouded, he’s been dead for hours- but you knew that already.

Nya coughs, “Can you cover him up, please?”

You oblige, “I was trying to see what Information I could gather.” the sheet falls back over his face, hiding him away. There’s no reason to cover him up, the other inmates are locked in their cells until the investigation finishes and the body is removed. Privacy is a moot point, but maybe it’s about respect.

Lloyd turns away from where he’s shifting through the inmates belongings, “Well, anything?”

“He was killed hours ago. He’s been dead for a long while.” How much to say? “The murder weapon was a blade.”

“Same as the Mechanic.” Jay says from where he’s outside the cell and out of line of sight, the dead body and blood making him sick, “Did Fugi-Dove and him have any connections?”

“Not that we know of.” Nya frowns, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to convince everyone she’s unaffected by this, “Only us. It just seems so weird- He’s a small fry compared to the mechanic, why kill him? He’s harmless!”

“He broke Jay's elbow last week,” You remind her, “He was not harmless. Perhaps he had more secrets than we thought.”

“Who found him?” Cole murmurs, carefully keeping away from touching the crime scene.

“Eight AM guard round,” You answer him, standing up, “The four AM patrol missed him. Both officers were interrogated, but nothing came of it. It doesn’t appear to have been an inside job.”

“The culprit snuck into kryptarium prison, killed a man, and snuck out with none the wiser?” Nya snorts, “This place has gone to the dogs.”

Jay taps his foot impatiently and it echoes down the hallway, “Well, it’s not like Warden Noble runs a very tight ship around here, despite what he wants you to think. How many escaped convicts do we deal with on a weekly basis?”

“So what do we do about this?” Kai asks, frowning at the lump on the ground.

Fugi-dove was half slumped off his bed, his back flush to the ground and his legs still thrown over his bed and tangled up in his bedsheets. He’d been awake when he was attacked, his cheeks bitten to hell as if he’d attempted to scream through a hand sealed over his mouth that only let go once his vocal cords had been slashed through, and in his desperate attempt to stop from bleeding out or drowning in his own blood he’d thrashed himself right to the floor.

“We’ll look at the tapes and see what we can find.” Lloyd answers casually. Darkleys prepared him for death and gore, it didn’t bother him like it should.

“I thought officer Pey told us we were in a blind spot,” Cole points out, stepping out of the cell followed by Lloyd.

“Warden Noble used to be the principle of Darkleys,” the green ninja waits for you to join them on the other side of the cell. You feel cold all over, “And if there’s one thing I'm certain of, the man has eyes everywhere.”

“Does he?” You ask, fingers going numb.

Lloyd nods and locks the cell door behind you, “There will be tapes. He should be here any minute now, Officer Pey says he comes in at 10:00 on Saturdays.”

As if on cue, the Warden appears in a frenzy, tearing into the hallway and bee lining for the cell. He grimaces at the covered up body, “I leave Pey in charge for one night…” He sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes, “Great.”

“Good morning, Warden.” Jay greets cheerfully.

“Says who?” The man replies darkly, “The media is gonna tear me a new one. This is going to lower our reputation even more.”

“Let us help you put the culprit behind these bars,” Lloyd offers, stepping forward with green ninja grace.

“I don’t think that’d do any good, he already got out once.” Kai mutters.

The warden graciously ignored Kai’s comment, “I haven't even had coffee yet.” He complains, running a rough hand over his mouth as he glares at the body.

“You had hidden cameras?” Lloyd pushes and the Warden nods, motioning to an inconspicuous looking fire alarm.

“It’s fake,” He tells him.

You walk towards it. A strange sense of doom washes over you, numbness following it. A camera. Evidence. How clearly would they be able to see the killer's face?

“Let me be of assistance,” You offer, casually making it to the alarm first. The moment you manage to open the glorified nanny cam and your fingers close around the USB, you focus a concentrated pulse of electromagnetic energy and wipe it clean. Anything saved to the storage space will have been obliterated, gone, corrupted and unsalvageable. You can feel your hands again.

“How could this have happened?” The warden asks, clicking through the empty USB over and over looking for footage that no longer exists.

Lloyd glances at you, but there’s no suspicion, “Was there anything weird about the camera? Had it been tampered with?”

You touch your chin and try not to let your hands shake, “No, but it was not a very complex mechanism. It could easily have been opened by someone familiar with this type of surveillance.”

“Someone from Darkleys?” Nya suggests.

Lloyd hums in thought, “I don’t know. It’s worth looking into.”

“When did we become detectives?” Jay complains, “Can’t you guys just call us when you need us to spinjitzu this guy?”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Jay pulls a face at that, “I’m a ninja! I shouldn’t have to put up with all this- this blood!”

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” you murmur.

No one hears you.

---

There are four more deaths the following month, both somewhat well-known villains with a penchant for collateral damage. The same slashing wounds as the last. Lloyd is the only person in the group who doesn’t look affected by the barrage of gore he’s being subjected to- other than you, of course. He’s reading over the newest police report that’d come their way with a hum, “He’s getting bolder.” He concludes, flipping through the crime scene pictures at the end.

“Bolder?” Cole questions, “It seems to me like he’s winding down. His first kill was the Mechanic and everyone working under him- 16 deaths on that one alone. Now he’s down to one.”

“The Mechanic was messy,” he examines the pictures, noting just how clean the newest death was. Not a drop of blood out of place other than the pool growing under the body, “He was surprised by all the people- he never intended to kill anyone other than their leader, that’s why that kill was so disorganized. It’s why the mechanic was nearly able to escape, before he caught him in the street. The bank barely needed to mop the floor for this one. He’s refined his skill.”

“He left Reflectras sidekick unharmed.” Kai pointed out, “What’s different between then and now?”

Lloyd flipped a picture his way- it’s a still from a grainy security camera. Reflectra is already dead in the photo, her blood turned black on the monochromatic footage. The teen girl she’d been toting around with her was cowering under the teller counter, and standing just outside the blood was a figure dressed in all black. From the girl's testimony, the gray toned lion's mask he wore was red and gold in person, lips drawn back in a snarl that showed off fangs, a thick head of coarse blonde hair coming out of the mask to hide any other possible identifying features.

“He is wearing a mask.” You say, peering down at the picture.

“He’s hiding his face.” Lloyd clarifies before banging out a few words into the computer's search engine, pulling up a street festival that happened two weeks ago and swiveling the computer screen around so everyone could see it, “And it's a new purchase.”

Staring back at them was a picture of downtown Ninjago filled with people, food stalls and other vendors lining the sidewalks as people milled about. Half the people walking the street were wearing the same exact lion mask as their killer, now in vivid technicolor. You could see the stalls selling them- masks lined wall to wall. It seemed everyone was buying them. It wouldn't have looked out of place at all for the murderer to buy it for himself and squirrel it away for his late night acts.

“He killed the Mechanics goons because they saw his face. He doesn’t want witnesses.” Nya connects, “Aimi was only spared because he has a way to kill anonymously.”

“And with a virtually untraceable origin. That mask is everywhere, now.” Jay continued with a frown.

“It’s not a total dead end. We can still talk to the stall owners, maybe see if they noticed anyone strange buying from them.” He navigates to the festival's website, opening up the vendor list.

There are twelve souvenir stalls in total, and five of them are solely dedicated to masks.

You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat, “Saori Sato. I recognize that name. I believe I taught her son when we were working at the school.” You comment, “I have a rapport with her, I should be able to get her to speak with me easily.”

Lloyd accepts your lie with a nod, “The rest of us will work on the others, then. Hopefully we’ll have some luck.”

You don’t go to see Saori Sato. You sit on the rooftop of her apartment complex and meditate. You try to meditate. There’s a peace that’s absent in you, now, that doesn’t let your mind slip into calm like it used to be able to. There’s always a buzzing under your skin, in your wires.

You brought your sword, the one with the red blade.

You sharpen it until your mind stops racing. It’s like a razor blade now, and you imagine the sting it would cause as you run your metal fingers up the sharp side. You can perfectly imagine how blood would drip down it, now. You go home.

Everyone comes up empty, of course, because Saori Sato sold that mask, and you didn’t speak to her.

---

“You seem unphased with the murders.” You say to Lloyd, after the others have gone to bed and it’s just the two of you up, pouring over the case files. When Lloyd goes to bed, so will you.

He shrugs and sips at his coffee- filled to the brim with cream and sugar, “Darkleys wasn’t just about ruling the world in the big picture. They taught us the small stuff too, including desensitizing us to death.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so you don’t respond. You go back to looking over the papers again, pretending to search for an angle they hadn’t considered yet.

“You want to know something funny?” He says with a little laugh, staring down at the Mechanics' torn up body.

“What is it?” You ask.

A darkness settles over the room, thick and viscous. It seems to flood your mouth and fill your chest. Lloyd looks at you with bright eyes that pin you in place, “I checked your roster. I went through all the kids you taught at the school- and I didn’t find any Satos in the class.” he says with a lopsided smile, eyes burning your skin, assessing, searching for something, “Isn’t that weird?”

Your coolant has turned to ice in your limbs and your body feels numb, “Not at all,” You say cooly, “Sato is her maiden name. Her son has his fathers last name, Maeda.”

He finds something in your expression and- his shoulder slump, “Oh,” He says, blinking. “FSM, i’m sorry- I just-”

“It is alright, Lloyd.” You say graciously, “This has been stressful for us all, and you haven't been sleeping. Perhaps you should get some rest.” rising from your chair, you go to his side and help him to his feet. He allows you to walk him back to his room.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“That sounds good.” Lloyd allows with an exhausted yawn. He disappears into his room.

---

Everything hurts.

Your eyes are blurred and blocked by another pop up- WARNING! WARNING! DAMAGE- you dismiss the banner as quickly as it arrives, but that doesn’t stop you from miscounting a step and slamming into the stone staircase, all your weight cracking down on the pointed edges. You scramble to hold onto the steps with your working arm before you can go tumbling back down to the bottom, taking a few breaths that you don’t need to take to help center yourself.

Clambering back to your feet, you check you haven't splattered coolant or oil on the stairwell before you continue up. Clean.

Reaching the monastery, you avoid the main gate. Instead, you shimmy up the courtyard wall and slink silently across the roof until you’re standing above your room. It’s easier with two hands, but you manage to swing yourself off the roof by the tiles and onto the window ledge, barely finessing your way inside without causing a commotion or accidentally falling off the cliff face. You don’t collapse no matter how badly you want to.

First things first- you pry up the loose floorboard under your nightstand and stuff the sword and mask inside, sliding the stand on top of the hiding place. You strip the bloody clothes off and grit your teeth as you peel it away from the mess of your left arm, refusing to scream. Not even allowing a whimper. You’ve had worse- this- this is nothing. Loose pants, loose shirt- long sleeve, of course, just in case anyone was up late getting a glass of water.

It’s late enough that even Jay should be asleep, and the empty garage confirms it.

It takes you two hours to knit the delicate machinery in your arm back together, and another hour fitting a new plate cover so nothing would seem amiss. You take the ravaged pieces of your arm up stairs and pack it under your nightstand too, so there’s no chance of evidence possibly being found.

You collapse now, face first on the bed, and not three hours after that you’re shaken awake.

Nya looks grim, “There’s been another murder.”

In your exhausted, near delirious state, you barely manage to catch yourself before you say I Know.

---

It’s cold this time of year, and it shows. The others are bundled up against the incoming chill of the season, coats and scarves worn on top of their ninja suits. You’re wearing a sweater too, but there’s a cold in you that will never be warm. You’re all behind Laughys Karaoke bar deep in the alley while the police guard the mouth of it, refusing to let reporters or curious civilians get a look.

There’s a detective with you, hanging back and allowing you all to examine the scene.

“Who is this guy?” Cole eventually asks, resisting the urge to nudge his face into view.

The detective steps forward, “His name is Killow. Ninjago PD have had their eye on him for a while- he’s been arrested for petty crimes in the past, but from the intel they’d begun to gather he’d joined an up and coming gang and had climbed pretty high in the ranks. They called him the Big Man.”

‘Big” was an understatement. The man was a brick house, every muscle worked until it bulged. It seems his gym habits had helped a little, even if the end result was still the same.

Lloyd examines his throat, “The first cut didn’t go deep enough.” He comments. There's blood splattered all over the alley, obvious signs of a struggle. Trash was everywhere, torn open bags and the big blue dumpster was dented from Killow slamming the assailant into the metal, more chipped bricks and dented cans revealed just how close Killow had come to walking away from this attempt on his life.

That same dumpster with the largest dent was where Killow had dug his fingers into the murderer's arm and torn through it, spraying metal and wiring across the ground with barely a flick of his wrist. No one knew that but you, and you didn’t share it. The area had been scrupulously cleaned.

“He got him.” Kai commented, “He hurt him pretty bad.”

“How do you know that?” Nya questioned.

Kai gestures to his hands, “Look at his nails. He scratched him, and no one is walking away from that unscathed.” Killows nails were broken and bleeding, torn and snapped off nearly at the cuticle with how hard he’d fought.

“It didn’t help him enough,” Lloyd sighs, standing up, “The second cut was vertical, sliced right through the artery from cheek to chest. He bled out."

“Poor guy.” Jay commented, slowly getting used to the sight of death as he frowned down at the man.

They didn’t know who he was, or what gang he was in- if they did, they’d understand why he had to be put down. The Sons of Garmadon was new and already it was strong, the ranks thick with people who didn’t care about harming others if it furthered their own goals. They were excellent at keeping a low profile while they gained power. It doesn’t escape your notice that the detective avoided naming the gang he was part of. Killow was a bigger cog in that machine, but he wasn’t the only leader the gang members looked to. Your research and surveillance had revealed three of the four ringleaders to you- Killow, Ultraviolet, and, a man you had never seen but had heard referenced several times, Mr. E. They reported to the highest ranking member of the gang, the Quiet One. All you knew about her was that she was a woman.

You stare down at his body and feel no sympathy.

---

“Is there a reason you don’t want me in your head?” Pixal asks bluntly one day, once you’ve gone to visit her at Borg Tower.

Once you’d gotten back to Ninjago City proper, you’d dropped her off with her father with every intention of picking her up later. She’d offered to stick around in your mind for a while, and you’d been happy at the idea- but then Master Wu gave you that sword, and things got more complicated. She hadn’t brought it up for the past few months, but each time you left her without a hint of bringing her along, she had certainly noticed. Now it was her breaking point. She stopped you in the doorway with her words, on your way out.

Your heart had turned numb the moment you took the sword from Wu. In another life, you could have loved her like she deserved.

“My feelings for you…” You turn back to the room, to the screen she's projected her image to so she can look you in the eyes, “…Have changed.” you finish hollowly.

She blinks. She’s perfectly still, “I see.”

“Thank you.” You say softly, “For everything.”

There’s a pause as she studies you, “Is this the end? Will you no longer come to see me?”

The part of you that wants her in your life twinges in pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days, “I believe that is for the best.”

You won’t take her down this path with you.

“Goodbye, Pixal.”

“I will respect your wishes,” She folds her hands in front of her, the perfect picture of poise, “Goodbye, Zane.”

---

Humans are so fragile. Ultraviolet liked to pretend she was tough, like she could take hits others couldn’t- but when it came down to it, her throat sliced just as easily as any others. Her hands were coated in her own blood from where she’s grabbed at her throat, but it was too late, and the slice was too technically perfect. Her knees had hit the ground first and she’d tried to twist, searching for something, eyes wild and mouth gurgling with words that couldn’t form around the blood in her mouth. She fell sideways, skin turning even paler than it already was, and then everything had stopped. The sprinkling rain washed the blood off her lips and diluted the river flowing from her neck. She almost looked like she was sleeping.

You stand over her motionlessly.

“Hey!” A voice cracks across the cool night air, and you turn to the side. You’re on the sidewalk in front of a motorcycle store that Ultraviolet had been intending on robbing, in plain sight. Across the street, up the road, is Nya. She’s not dressed in her ninja suit and her hair is down loose, the wet jeans and soaked hair hindering her sprint as she tears down the road to get to you.

You’re moving before you can think, clambering up the front of the store and up to the roof in record time, purposefully doing something that would be nearly impossible in skinny jeans to deter her. You don’t hesitate to race across the roof and leap to the next, jumping down the fire escape to the next alley and slipping through a thin corridor between two buildings. The sounds of the chase fade to nothing as you outpace her, weaving through back alleys and neighborhoods you’d become intimately familiar with that she didn’t know. After ten more minutes of running, you spin around and head straight for the monastery.

Nya wasn’t expecting to see you, or be witness to the next murder- it was raining- she wouldn't have her phone. That’s your only salvation. She didn’t have her phone.

You take all the shortcuts you know, running until your screen flashes with warnings. You recover from any stumbles in a millisecond. You get home in record time, basically throwing yourself into your room and ripping the mask off. Flinging your mask and sword into your closet and stripping off your wet turtleneck, you close the closet door and dive into bed. The blankets get yanked up to your shoulder and you close your eyes, feigning sleep, and wait.

Android stamina will always outpace humans. You beat Nya home.

She shouts for you all the moment she's through the door, throwing open your doors in her haste to get you up and mobilize after the murderer. She opens your door to you sitting up in bed, clearly woken up from sleep and giving her an openly bewildered expression.

You jump out of bed and throw on your ninja suit, joining the others on the porch as you all gear up.

---

You don’t find the murderer. No one else does either.

Kai looks at you, once you’re all home and exhausted after the all night search. Everyone is soaked and ready to go to bed, dispersing with low spirits and tired eyes. Kai stands in the entryway, dripping wet, and he really looks at you.

You give him a questioning eyebrow raise.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He says finally, “I won’t judge you.”

“…I know.”

He stares at you, eyes smoldering. He’s in pain. “There’s blood on your collar.” He says finally.

You look down at it- it’s barely noticeable. There must have been a few droplets on your chin that ran down with the water. If you’d been wearing black, he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Your ninja suit is white.

“It’s oil.” You say softly, the patch is just old and watered down enough that you could pass it off for brown.

“Okay.” Kai says. He looks like he’s going to cry.

He looks like he’s afraid of you.

---

Mr.E vanishes after Ultraviolets assassination. You look for him during SoG meetings and you keep an ear out, but he’s nowhere to be seen or heard. The gang is falling apart, half the newer members jumping ship- chances are Mr.E saw the writing on the wall and got out before his neck was next. You could respect that. You might even thank him for it, because if he hadn’t abandoned his post there’s a chance you would have never found out who the quiet one was.

There’s three totally unqualified people at this meeting so far, the members that had ranked directly below the previous three. Their skills were lacking, but their loyalty was rock solid. That was the Quiet Ones main priority after Mr.E’s Irish goodbye. The three were clearly nervous even though they were trying to appear tough- the taller girl even attempting to do tricks with her butterfly knife to appear cool and intimidating. It might have worked if she didn’t drop the blade every other trick.

A door opens and shuts in the silence, the black night outside offering no clue to the newcomers identity. She doesn’t leave them in suspense, though, striding into the light with a stormy expression. She starts talking immediately, taking their names and offering her own.

“You may call me the Quiet One.” She instructs them.

“You’re really the quiet one?” The man says, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes. Is there an issue?”

“None at all, ma’am.” He responds gruffly, dipping his head.

That’s all the confirmation you need. You slide to the edge of the exposed beam you’re sitting on, swinging down by your arms before you drop straight into the middle of the group. Your feet slam onto the table and the things tilts- you hadn’t anticipated it, so you end up going left instead of right. Instead of the single clean kill you came here for, you’re thrown into butterfly knife girl and the scene becomes a lot more grisly. Your stumble gave them time to process your intentions- you relied on surprise. Now this would get messy.

Knife girl stabs you in the chest. Her knife gets stuck. While she’s trying to rip it out of your skin, you sever her hands at the wrist. She screams and doesn’t stop.

The bigger male lunges for your throat and you hold your sword up so it plunges straight through his chest, his own momentum forcing it through muscle and the delicate capillaries in his lungs. That doesn’t stop him and his hands are on your throat- it doesn't do anything, of course, because you don't need to breathe. He keeps squeezing, and your neck strains. He could pop your head off if he tried. Your sword is buried in his chest and you can’t back up enough to get the space to pull it out.

You reach up and fumble for the butterfly knife, ripping it out of your chest and whipping it around to slam it directly into his ear. He howls in pain, releasing your neck to scrabble at his head before you use the knife to slice him from ear to collarbone. He collapses and the sword slides out of his body.

Knife girl has gone silent, bleeding to death from the ruined arteries in her wrists.

The other woman throws something the moment her shot is clear and on reflex you catch it. It’s a throwing knife and dangling from the handle-

You dart it back at her before you can finish understanding the word bomb. She’s not expecting such fast reflexes, so she’s not prepared for the knife to bury itself in her chest.

Then it explodes.

You spin around, preparing for the Quiet One to attack you next-

The door is open, and she’s gone.

The worst part about all of this is that you didn’t recognize her. Running her face through your facial recognition software came up empty too- so did cross checking any and every news outlet, hoping to see her face maybe in the back of a crowd. Nothing.

That could have been your only chance.

---

“I have been in your shoes before, I know this is hard. You must be prepared to do everything to protect them.” Master Wu had said after you had vomited up your dinner the night of the Mechanics murder, “This path will cost you everything.”

“Everything?” You questioned, staring down at the toilet bowl.

“But they will be safe.” He reassures you, gripping your shoulder tightly.

---

You don’t let the two parts of your life overlap. You don’t. The nights you go out, you are a serial killer. The next morning you are Zane, elemental master of ice, the titanium ninja. Zane is not tainted by all the blood and death and gore. Zane is not a murderer. You don’t ever use your sword as Zane, and you never use your shurikens as the serial killer. Everything would fall apart if you couldn’t keep them separate.

As you stand in the palace and the emperor introduces his daughter, your hands twitch for your sword the moment she opens her mouth. The face paint. You weren't able to discover her identity because of the face paint. Caked on so thick that her bare face looked like a completely different woman-

The emperor's daughter Harumi, and the Quiet One. Two parts of her life that aren't supposed to overlap.

“-Zane: The cold and calculating android.” She names you sweetly, voice honey thick. There’s a manic, wild edge to her eyes that the face paint can’t hide.

It makes sense. Her three most trusted advisors were murdered or abandoned her, and their replacements were slaughtered immediately after. The Sons of Garmadon had begun to collapse, fractioning off into smaller gangs with their own leaders. The main faction still had a substantial number of die-hard loyalists who were growing more and more extreme by the day. Robbery, assault, murder- they were wreaking havoc on Ninjago. They even managed to steal the Oni Mask of Vengeance. Now, her eyes slid over to Lloyd and locked onto him. She slipped a new mask on, one that was shy and flirtatious. The Quiet One wanted Lloyd wrapped around her finger.

But Harumi and the Quiet One weren’t supposed to exist at the same time.

Neither were Zane and the serial killer.

Inevitably, though, two worlds will always collide. Maybe the two parts of her and you were never supposed to live separate forever. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken that sword from Wu. Maybe you should have brought it with you so that Zane didn’t have to use his shuriken.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” You say clearly into the cold, cold room. Or maybe you’re the cold one, “I will not let it pass me by.”

There’s blood on your shuriken.

You collect your mask and your sword from underneath the floorboards in your bedroom and run.

They’re safe. They’ll always be safe.

[mohantarpkolkata]

How Pond Liners Play Vital Role in Semi Biofloc Fish Culture

Biofloc Technology (BFT) a hybrid approach that integrates biofloc technology with traditional aquaculture practices. It improved water quality and waste recycling, while maintaining the operational simplicity of traditional pond culture. The important points to remember are as follows: Water Management: Pond liners prevent water and nutrients from seeping into the soil. By isolating the water…

[blueparadis]

꒰ IN MY HEAD ꒱ ⋮ KAVEH [ CONTENT & TAGS ] — » film au + non-human au, fluff, undertones of smut and fantasies, yandere themes, jealousy, hints of cannibalism ( sorry couldn't hold myself back. I had to. It's just one line. more like cannibalistic thoughts nothing explicit ); make-up artist!kaveh, actress!fem!reader, actor!al-haitham, undertones of smut // word count — 2k// blog navigation.// for angel's threeway collab by @angelltheninth //

“We’re ready, Al-haitham.” A staff member mentioned entering Al-haitham’s green room. With his eyes closed and Kaveh’s pristine hands doing their work he is growing more nervous by each passing moment. It is unusual because Kaveh has been with Al-haitham for years now yet has never seen Al-haitham so on edge in all these interviews, movie premieres, and shows. As Kaveh was busy doing his make-up throughout the session, Al-haitham could not stop jerking his leg. Kaveh had to either stop him by tapping on his knee or yell at him. “We’ll be too,” Kaveh responded with a neutral tone, keeping the Kohl pencil in his back pocket. “In a minute.” 

Kaveh does not understand his friend’s actions. Either he is too happy or too tense. There is no in-between. Al-haitham won't even talk about it. A minute later, when he leaves the room for his show Kaveh decides to stay behind. He does not need to be there. He can hear everything from here. Backstage has always been a fascinating place for him. A moment ago, the room was full of light and laughter but now it is full of silence. He likes this kind of silence. He grabs his coffee and walks out of the place for a smoke break. 

With his lit cigarette pressed in between his lips, and a warm coffee mug in hand he strolls along the artistically cemented route. He hums a tune to himself as he scans the place. The backyard of the backstage is really pretty. Probably it was used before but not now. Mosses and grasses are in abundance here. The crickets are singing, squirrels are too at par with them. 

There is a fountain at the center of this place but it is not running. The sky is still blushing, illuminating the air. He walks towards the fountain to sit by it but he stops mid-way. He sees a girl sitting by the fountain wearing a dress the same color as Al-haitham. With her head bowed down looking at her reflection of herself in the pond around the statue of the fountain she looked like a fairy from those fantasy books.

If he had seen you somewhere else, some other place where there were a lot of people and noise he would not have remembered you. But he recognizes you. You are the co-star of Al-haiham’s latest movie which is also your debut film. He must have seen you at other movie premieres but never got an opportunity to speak. They just were times he was timid or lazy or did not bother enough to talk. Of course, he has seen you in the movie but he was far more intrigued by how you would be when there are no spotlights, no cameras — just him watching you. He was solely curious. These curiosities deviated into something else; fantasies in a steady manner. The moment he saw you on that big screen he felt like your body aroma would be like a forbidden fruit if he were to describe it. Now, he can practically inhale it. He discarded the remnant cigarette that was masking your scent. He had imagined seeing you, talking to you off-screen and this is not how it plays out in his head. 

You outdid his imagination. He approached you slowly with silent footsteps so that he does not startle you. You seemed like you are in desperate need of this silence too. The one Kaveh is too comfortable in it. He can see your face through the reflection, barely but he can. He is so busy looking at the fall of your hair, your side face, the trail of moles from behind your ear onto your shoulder blades like a constellation that he totally forgets: that if he were to take another step, he would turn up in the reflection beside you.

He has thought of drawing moles in your intimate parts, counting your actual moles, kissing them, biting them, carving them out of your body, and eating them. The fewer the number of moles on your body, the higher the dopamine running in his veins since he hated the idea of any lover's mark on you when he saw you for the first time with Al-haitham. It is silly but he still feels edgy seeing a trail of moles along your shoulder. They say moles are the marks left by a kiss by your lover in past lives. It is silly to believe yet he does. It makes his stomach turn, the back of his throat churn, and tastes bitter when he swallows. He wants this feeling to go away. He wants to absorb you in himself so that he does not get devoured by your exquisite charms. The very existence of you is like a threat to his own.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I should be going,” A sudden gust of wind created ripples in your reflection. You stood up blurting out in haste seeing a man's reflection beside you. Taking long strides walking past the man. “Is Al-haitham ready?” You asked but silence prevailed enough to make you turn on your heel.

If you are here, then it must mean everyone is looking for you inside the compound. Moreover, why are you here? You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be with Al-haitham, sitting beside him for the show. 

“Huh?” Kaveh walks towards you exclaiming with his eyebrows congested, “No! No! stay.” He exhales nervously stunned by his own voice. “I mean he is ready but you can stay.” You cock your head in confusion smiling at his jumbled form.

“You’re Kaveh. is that right?”

“Yeah.” Kaveh tucks his palms inside his jeans. He sees you smile at him like you always smile at Al-haitham. Somehow, he is not nervous anymore. He flashes a grin. “So, you do know me.”

“What do you mean? Everyone knows you. And, I’ve seen you at every event since my movie came out.” You sat by the fountain on the cemented bench again and Kaveh’s carmine eyes followed you as if you were the sun and he was a sunflower. Well, technically he is, in a way. He is warm, cheerful and so full of beauty, just like a sunflower. You started to jerk your knee after checking the time. It has been almost thirty minutes since you have been here. The show is getting delayed.

Kaveh lets out a soft chuckle seeing you like that. He takes out the Kohl pencil from his back pocket and crouches in front of you. You are confused and nervous. So is he but he hides it better. He knows that but he does not need to know why. He just needs to calm you. He is suddenly overcome by this awful urge to soothe you. He looks at you before running the pencil on the supple skin of your thigh that was peeking through your distressed jeans. You laughed like a lyre as he was done. It was a smiley. Kaveh was looking at you, still seated in front of you at your feet. 

“Ma’am it’s time.” Your secretary’s voice turned up from a distance from the dark. By the time your secretary was here, Kaveh was gone but the smiley he drew remained as you walked back to the building with your secretary. It was impressive how swiftly conscious Kaveh was of so many things— your reputation, his reputation, and the thread that binds both of you: al-haitham. 

The moment you walk along with Al-haitham into the show arena Tighnari gives a smile. You all sit after you greet one another. There were many rounds of questions but you enjoyed rapid-fire the most. The movie was so far a huge success and with Al-haitham by your side it was getting easier. The last round had a set of frequently asked questions in Google search.

Tighnari pauses before the next question. He looks at you and then at Al-haitham. He smirks before shooting the next question. “Are al-haitham and y/n dating?” The room was full of silence again. Your eyes occasionally scanned the room in search of Kaveh but he was nowhere to be seen till now. Al-haitham's lips stretch from ear to ear as he rests his hands on yours.  

“Yeah. we’re.” Al-haitham paused to look at you. “We’re dating.” For a brief moment, you thought you saw Kaveh at one door of this place. The curtains waved as a declaration of his departure. You realized that you spaced out for too long feeling the boring stares. 

“Yeah. we’re,” you confirmed with a beam even though you were as surprised as any other person in this room. But you played along. You had to; you trust al-haitham. He has been good and kind to you so far, so he must have a reason for this. He must.

“Congratulations,” Tighnari exclaimed, the interviewer, with his ever-lasting warming broad smile that he has been flashing every now and then throughout the interview. The cameramen and the whole crew gave both of you a knowing smile. The only person who was not smiling was Kaveh. He is happy, he really is but he does not understand why it had to be you. It is not like Al-haitham ran out of options. He has plenty. He could have chosen someone who would open better prospects for him, anyone but not you. Why did he have to choose you?

Kaveh keeps his half-empty coffee mug on the coaster. He just came from the interview arena in the green room, in your green room. Maybe this is why Al-haitham was nervous all the time. But he could have told Kaveh or at least hinted to him about this matter in a way so that he would steer clear of both of your paths. Kaveh is not just his make-up artist. He is much more than that. Al-haitham knows that. Kaveh knows that he knows that. Nevertheless, he feels betrayed. 

Kaveh takes the Kohl pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and grabs the handkerchief that you left at the desk. He scribbles on a piece of paper and tucks it carefully in between the folds of that handkerchief. He has been chasing so many butterflies all these times while his sun was waiting for him, so lonely and so bright. It would have been better if you were just another butterfly. But you invaded his head. There is no going back now. There is no use in fighting it back. Moreover, he likes the thrill of it. If he did, he might get uprooted, and turn into someone who he is not, a bare tree. Therefore, he must follow. He smiled to himself before exiting the room.

The piece of paper had a number and a note. It read: ‘I can wait. I'm a patient hunter, my little sunshine.’ When you flipped the paper, it had another message, a smiley with his signature. But this time you did not smile.

[euphiea]

[NEW FILE UPLOADED]: STATUS: LEAKED//CORRUPTED

↳ LE SSERAFIM

↳ HUH YUNJIN

↳ Synopsis: Hatred dies in the face of integrity and love, late nights you catch your soul before it wanders too far, you find yourself outside her door every time.

Euphoria’s Annotations: ##Cunnilingus [Fem!R] || ##Enemies in Public || ##Short and Sweet

The curse of the sixth member. Higher risk of being forgotten, left out, hated. The sixth member is essentially the black sheep, they throw off dance formations and make them an eyesore—even at peak coordination, if that’s possible.

The curse of the sixth member. One ultimately leaves in the end, and peace is restored, the fire is put out. Leaving a K-POP group isn’t a curse within itself, it’s the belittling un-popularity that follows. Now that hatred, the fueling source of clout and fame, has been taken away, what’s left? Nothing. It’s the curse of the sixth member, despised when present, yet the cameras cease their flashing when the door finally closes.

The curse is what makes this such a bad habit, climbing under your bandmate’s sheets in the dead of night, arousal pooling between your heated thighs. You’re meant to be ‘secret not-so-secret’ rivals, meant to obviously hate each other with discretion, because your company agreed it would attract viewers.

She sits on the opposite end during intimate interviews, across from you on radio shows. Your stage outfits rarely coordinate, typically group outfits carry two schemes—three if the group is bigger—to ensure you’re tied in, matching with the era—and the company doesn’t want that. If the themes are blue and white, you’ll wear an all white mini dress and fur accessories, while she’ll wear a blue top and pants with braided hair.

When filming vlogs for daily content, your setting is conveniently apart from hers: the kitchen while she’s on the balcony, the pond while she’s getting ready in the hotel room, the dressing room while she’s practicing onstage—it pains you to treat her this way, and it pains her to pretend you’re not the one she wants to be around most.

Late nights at the dorm amount for the time lost. Yunjin gets to have you to herself then, your skin spilling through the coffee stained lines of her fingers as she palms you, grips your waist and the fat of your inner thighs, the plush begging to be bitten and marked.

The sole two sources of light are generally insignificant: the dusted moonlight peeking through the sheer curtains, and her phone’s notifications that come through every once in awhile. The lime citrus of her floor’s cleaning products should be the scent burning your nose, instead it’s her signature warm hazelnut body lotion. Yunjin’s out of sight snd underneath her white duvet where she has your legs spread, two curled fingers leisurely pumping your cunt.

“Do you daydream of this, love?” She inquires against your skin, her voice low and muffled as to not wake Kazuha, who snores peacefully on the other side of the room.

Yunjin’s teasing is nothing short of cruel, numerous times she’s come up behind you to whisper her wants in your ear, backed you into empty corners where the cameras aren’t present—as she’s aware of their locations, always—to grope your tits and urge your legs apart, sometimes she’s bolder: takes your hand and guides your fingers to stroke herself over her garments.

You cant your hips into her touch as a response, still nodding as if she can see you.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything for you, baby, just tell me, you wanna be fucked?” She mutters the question as she scissors her fingers. The sensation crackles at the base of your stomach; you want more, to feel full of her and all she has to offer. You could never dislike your bandmates, much less hate, but Kazuha’s presence is nothing short of a nuisance this current moment.

“Inside,” Comes your small reply, eyes pinched as she curls her fingers into that one spot, sending jolts of blissful sparks with each press; your breath is lodged in your throat, Yunjin knows it’s hard for you to stay silent as is, she’s doing this on purpose. “I want you inside of me, Yunjin.”

“Good girl.”

Desire surges through you at the praise. Your theory is proved when the brunette sucks your clit into her mouth and lays her arm across your abdomen for better grip, her pace turning crucial.

“Oh,” The sound is pulled out of you, your erratic breaths match the wet spasms of your cunt squeezing around her fingers; it’s like your entire body’s lit up, pleasure is an overwhelming force that boils your veins dry, curls your toes and locks you in place, even through the urge to sit up, to scoot away. She knows this too, knows exactly what to say, where to touch, to make you take all of her. It’s cruel how calculated she is.

Your eyes blur without tears. Every inch of you is ingrained in her memory, your body molds with her soul in ways that frighten her, perhaps it’s good you’re kept away. Perhaps your game is for Yunjin’s sake, if even the lightest scent of you, the hint of heat at close proximity, is enough to throw her off.

Compilations of her slipping at rehearsals and on stage, the fans scold the company for overexertion. She’s exhausted, they say, but she puts on a smile and performs well anyway. A natural professional.

None of it is true, not in the way it’s believed. They’ve never had the luxury of seeing you like this, of having you this close. Yunjin’s not the possessive type, but there’s no denying the sense of belonging with you. It’s a quiet, absolute acknowledgment, her soul is yours, and yours hers.

There’s no one on Earth as beautiful as you are, as gifted as you are, as appealing as you are. You’ve expressed to her times you’ve felt jealous and giggled when she called them folktales, but she was serious. They’re folktales, because only in a made-up world would her attention be elsewhere from you.

Your mouth drops open in anticipation, the build-up burns so fucking good it scars you. You softly call her name, “Gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

Yunjin nods as she scoots closer. You grip her head over the sheets and dig your heels in the mattress to fuck into her touch, letting your body plead for more the way your mouth can’t. She flicks and circles your clit, buries her nose in the bed of hair to show her desperation, to show she wants it just as bad as you do, the way her mouth can’t.

Your release hits you hard at first, the initial wave slams into you and lodges the breath out of your throat. Yunjin moans as she coaxes you through it, your clit twitches beautifully in her mouth, your cunt sucks her fingers in and she lets them.

She’s insatiable when it comes to you. This ploy, this game you play to the public, oh how incredibly superficial it is.

But the public doesn’t need to know that. Your bandmates do, and that’s enough. Yunjin isn’t the possessive type, but the story would be different if the public knew this side of you, if even your bandmates knew. Your soul is hers, just as hers is yours.

[eksvaized]

Part Twenty One [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride, @ghostieslove, @bbypionaa if you want to be added - let me know!

Gently, you slide your fingertip across the cold, smooth rim of the glass that is cradled in your hand. A wave of dizziness washes over you, making your head feel like it’s filled with cotton, and every time you dare to look around, the room seems to sway and spin in a disorienting dance. The film playing in the background has long been forgotten, although it continues to flicker on the screen, casting shadows and bathing the room in a pale yellow glow; the only other source of light is the warm, soft glow of the bedside lamp that Simon had switched on earlier.

When you summon the courage to shift your gaze towards Simon, you find his eyes already tethered to your form, his eyes seemingly glued to your hunched frame.

“What?” You blurt out, your words slurred slightly as you tilt your head, your eyes narrowing in an attempt to focus on him and push away the dizzying sensation clouding your thoughts.

“Nothing,” he replies, his voice an inaudible murmur in the quiet room, as his tongue glides subtly over his bottom lip in a gesture that seems almost unconscious.

You roll your eyes and Simon looks away, shifting his attention back to the screen. Yet, you can’t shake off the feeling that he isn’t really paying attention to the film at all, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

As you lay there, you feel your body sinking into the mattress like a stone in a pond, molding into the grooves of the mattress beneath you. A long, weary sigh escapes your lips. Slowly, your eyelids grow heavy. Inside your mind, tucked away in some obscure corner, there’s a persistent, nagging voice. It’s barely a whisper, but it’s there, incessantly buzzing like a tiny mosquito. Yet, you make a conscious effort to ignore it. You try not to listen to its repeated warnings, telling you that you shouldn’t be letting your guard down, that you should stop drinking, that you should inch closer to the edge of the bed and put as much distance as you possibly can between you and Simon. However, when your fingers venture out and lightly brush across the landscape of his arm and he doesn’t flinch or pull away, you continue tracing invisible lines over his warm skin.

The glass cradled in your hand begins to feel like a leaden weight, and so, with a muted sigh, you place it on your belly. Your fingertips trace up Simon’s forearm, feeling the firm muscles. When you reach the peak of his biceps, your fingers start fiddling absently with the hem of his shirt. The fabric is black. You wonder why he never wears colour. The question keeps circling your mind like a vulture over a deserted field, but you never say it loud. Even in your current drunken stupor, some sober part of your brain, buried deep inside, realizes that no matter how much you want to verbalize your thoughts, it would be wise to keep your lips sealed. Especially after your last outburst when you launched into a rant about how Simon was falling asleep on you, accusing him of being incredibly rude because he was the one who wanted to drink and spend the evening with you.

He still would look handsome in dark blue, you think.

Your head slumps to the side and your cheeks get squished on your shoulder. A moment passes before your eyes close and you fall asleep. But you don’t realise that or that you are snoring lightly, your lips parted. Your hand, still loosely holding onto a half-empty glass of liquor, hangs limply by your side. It isn’t until an unfamiliar touch tries to pry the glass away that you stir from your slumber. Your body reacts instinctively, jerking upwards in surprise, causing the remaining amber liquid to slosh out of the glass. The potent scent of the alcohol permeates the air as it stains your shirt, creating a dark, wet spot that rapidly grows in size. A groan of irritation escapes your lips as you glance down at the mess on your shirt.

Slowly lifting your gaze, your eyes meet Simon’s, finding his face shockingly close to yours. His unexpected proximity startles you, causing you to recoil involuntarily. You move back until your back hits the sturdy headboard.

“You need to change,” he says and you nod, the thought of sleeping in a dirty, alcohol-soaked shirt making you nauseous.

With a quick movement, Simon places the now-empty glass on the bedside table. Rising from his spot, he moves towards the wardrobe, his steps slow but steady. He rummages around inside, moving hangers and rustling fabric until he finds what he’s looking for. He pulls out a fresh shirt, the fabric soft and clean, and tosses it in your direction. Your reflexes are slow, dulled by the alcohol and fatigue, and the shirt lands beside you, almost as if mocking your current state.

When you attempt to grab it, your body wobbles unsteadily in the bed. The room spins around you, causing you to tumble onto your side. A defeated sigh escapes your lips as you roll onto your back, frustration washing over you like a wave.

“I can’t,” you say, your words muffled by the impending sleep that threatens to claim you. The very thought of changing your shirt seems like an insurmountable task. Your body and limbs refuse to cooperate. It feels as if your head is spinning ceaselessly, and the world around you is a blur.

Without missing a beat, Simon says, “I’ll help.” Before you have a chance to protest or insist that he leaves you alone - all you want to do is lay down and close your eyes - he gently takes your hands and pulls you into a sitting position. His actions are considerate, slow and careful, as if he’s handling something fragile, as if you were made of glass.

You dare to open the eyes. Thankfully, your bedroom is barely lit. Standing by your side, Simon remains idle for a moment before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it on the ground. The warm air hits your bare skin. Usually, you would immediately wrap your arms around your chest, or try to turn around to limit how much Simon’s prying eyes are allowed to see, even though there is nothing left to hide. However, since you are drunk, you just sit calmly, your heavy-lidded eyes meeting his.

His touch feels nice, and you find yourself leaning into it, craving more of the warmth it brings. “Sit still,” Simon mumbles, his voice breaking the silence as you unconsciously continue swaying from side to side, not allowing him to dress you up.

“I am sitting still!” You retort, the words slipping out of your mouth in a slurred speech. You roll your eyes in faux annoyance, which only makes him shake his head and sigh. Despite his apparent exasperation, there’s a hint of amusement in his reaction as a soft chuckle rumbles in his chest and slips past his parted lips.

After numerous attempts, he finally succeeds in pulling the shirt over your head. The moment he manages to do so, he gently nudges you—it’s a silent command for you to lie down. You comply, allowing him to pull the covers up and over your body. As he does so, he takes the time to gently push the loose strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes, tucking them behind your ear.

A smile forms on your lips. It causes Simon to freeze where he stands. He knows you are drunk, and that you are really not acting like yourself. But he can’t ignore the fact that you’ve never smiled at him in that way before. More than that, the way you’re looking at him now is completely different: your eyes are filled with warmth and genuine a fondness, that he’s never seen before. The sight of you just looking at him and smiling leaves him momentarily breathless, as though he’s been plunged into the deep end of a pool..

“What’s wrong?” You can’t help but let a small pout form on your lips when Simon continues his silence. You wait for his reply, but even after your question, he doesn’t utter a single word.

His gaze, intense and unreadable, remains locked onto yours. The moment seems to stretch on forever, the silence only broken by the soft breathing of both of you. The lingering eye contact stirs a palpable tension in the room, creating an electric charge that crackles in the air. Then, shattering the quiet like a dropped glass, Simon leans down and presses a light, fleeting kiss on your forehead. The action is so subtle, so gentle, that you think you may have imagined it.

He murmurs, “Goodnight.”

As Simon attempts to pull away, you make a split-second decision. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his black shirt. Before he can create any distance, you tug him back towards you. Taken by surprise, he almost topples on top of you. But his reflexes are quick. Just before you get squished beneath his weight, he plants his hands on either side of your frame, effectively suspending himself above you.

However, even in this precarious situation, you refuse to let him go. Your fingers clutch the fabric tightly, as if it’s your only lifeline. Then, slowly, almost in slow motion, you raise your head, closing the small distance between you two. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as your lips meet his in a soft kiss.

You and Simon have never kissed. You refused to allow him to do that because he has taken so much from you already without ever asking for permission. But now, things are different. As he slowly lowers himself onto you, his body weight gently pressing into you, you find yourself unconsciously tilting your head to the side. His lips, when they finally meet yours, are surprisingly soft. The scent of his perfume, deeply soaked into his shirt, fills your senses, intoxicating you more than the kiss itself.

His hands, tentative at first, begin to explore, trailing down your sides until they find a resting place on your hips. He gives them a light squeeze—a simple action that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. You draw back for a second, inhaling deeply to steady your racing heart.

Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through your veins, making your heart pound faster and your head spin. Or maybe it’s just been so long since you genuinely wanted to kiss someone that the sensation feels both foreign and exciting. But whatever the reason, you give in to the moment, surrendering to the gentle touch of Simon’s lips as they trail a tantalizing path from the corner of your mouth, across your jawline, and all the way down the curve of your neck.

The kiss would have continued, had you not made the inadvertent mistake of opening your eyes and breaking the moment. An intense wave of dizziness washes over you, completely overwhelming and overpowering your senses. The room, a swirling vortex of formless shapes and colors, spins with the disorienting speed, like a carousel out of control. You can feel the acrid, bitter taste of bile rising up your throat.

In panic, you press your hands against Simon’s firm chest, shoving him to the side. He falls onto the mattress beside you. A look of surprise and concern is etched on his face. You scramble out of the bed in haste, clasping a hand over your mouth to suppress the strong feeling of impending sickness. Without bothering to turn on any lights, you race out of the bedroom, your frantic footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Barely making it to the bathroom, you collapse on your knees. The impact against the cold, hard tiles makes you wince in pain.

The night ends with you hunched over the toilet, vomiting your guts out.

Simon eventually finds his way to you, but you are so lost in your own discomfort that you don’t even notice his arrival until he gently scoops up your hair and holds it out of the way for you.

When you eventually find the strength to return to the bedroom, you look ghostly pale and utterly exhausted. Simon offers you a tablet and a glass of cold water before tucking you into the bed.

As he’s about to turn off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness, you muster the strength to weakly raise your arm. Your fingers wrap around his wrist in a silent plea. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern and a hint of a question. Your voice is barely above a whisper and roughened by fatigue when you say, “Stay.”

[vampkittyxoxo]

Gray x Reader {General Headcanons}

Note: he’s the loml even if he’s probably like twice my age if not more…

In this, Gray has selective mutism— he can’t control when he talks or not, and besides that he is just very quiet.

Pairing: Gray and Reader (gender neutral)

Nsfw?: None

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

~ You were just an extra in his film— you stayed in the background, feigning conversation with the other unnoticed extras. But Gray noticed you.

~ Just a patron at a small diner, you had no prominent speaking lines (or, cuts to words on a screen given this style of movie) as Gray sleuthed around in typical detective fashion. All you really did was point in the general direction of where a loud scream had come from.

~ But in that moment, the very brief second Gray locked eyes with you, he almost had to walk off set. He purposefully messed up each take and practice just to get even the slightest interaction with you.

~ Once the filming day was over, Gray so desperately wanted to talk to you… but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He would watch you from afar, his heart nearly beating out of his chest if you ever looked his way.

~ As the filming was coming to an end, Gray’s desire grew more and more as he spotted you in various, insignificant locations in the film.

~ At last, he finally came up to you, resting his weight on his cane to soothe his nerves. He kept his words short, mostly due to anxiety— you were so pretty to him, it was hard for Gray to even look at you sometimes.

~ “Dinner?” Was all he asked you, a giddy smile across his face as he held onto his cane even tighter than before. When you agreed after having to process what he could’ve possibly meant by that, he was over the moon with pure joy.

~ He takes you out to wherever you want. He’s a film star, he has money to spoil you. Gray isn’t all that talkative, especially at first, but he listens to you very well and lets you ramble about anything

~ He genuinely has a great time, even if he can’t properly express it. Once he makes sure your home safe, he’s immediately squealing and smiling to himself as he replays every moment.

~ As your relationship progresses, Gray gets more comfortable around you and starts talking more. He has such a nice voice for someone who hardly uses it— Deep, but not enough for him to sound too manly, with slight rasp from a lack of use.

~ On the fourth date, he opens up about his selective mutism, and the two of you learn very basic ASL in order to communicate when he can’t. He falls in love when he knows you accept him, rather than losing interest and leaving him.

~ You share your first kiss while on a stroll late at night, stopping by a small pond where all the swans had already settled into slumber. His white grease paint gets all over your lips and smudges his own, but he thinks it’s adorable.

~ After the kiss while laying in the grass together, he finally asks if you’d be interested in dating. The second you say yes, Gray is already married to you in his head. It’s hard for him to talk to people, let alone get to a point where he has an actual partner.

~ As a boyfriend, Gray is amazing. He is a little clingy, but not enough to the point it’s annoying. He loves making sure you get more parts in films, always spoils you with gifts and dates, and if any problems occur, he treats it with respect and doesn’t start any arguments.

~ He really starts talking a lot more about two months into the relationship. Gray woke up next to you? He’s already telling you everything about his dream, his plans for the day, anything and everything.

~ He offers to make dinner most nights once you start staying over a lot more, and by God he can cook. He’ll make you anything you want, and will even run out to the store to get ingredients if he doesn’t have them already.

~ Gray finally asks if you’d want to move in by the fourth month of dating. When you do, he takes care of as much house work as he can while still balancing his job. He just loves and cares for you so much!!

~ Most nights, once Gray is back from a long day at work, you two opt for a cozy night in with either parallel play or a game of some sort (he really loves board games).

~ It takes him a while to gather the courage, but after two years or so of dating, he finally proposes to you. He’s a movie star— he has plenty of money to spend on a beautiful ring for you.

~ Gray quite literally cannot contain his excitement the day of the wedding. He’s so much more chatty than usual, even talking lots to people he hardly knows. He’s just so happy to marry the person of his dreams!

~ When he sees you walk down the aisle, he’s nearly sobbing. He’s so happy, and his tears truly show it. Gray is so ready to spend the rest of his life with you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Phew this was a little long! Sorry I am just such a simp for Gray I could go on about him for years

[legendary-pink-dot]

The Catfish Pond PhD Degree Program: Module 8: Frankie Loves Swearing

"We gotta fly over the fuckin' Andes, man..."

"They're gettin' into the fuckin' net."

"My lady isn't into me doing this kind of shit anymore."

"What the fuck we gonna do with that thing?"

"Like a serious fuck-up."

"We're not picking at the fucking scab right now, okay?"

"I'M FUCKING KILLING PEOPLE."

Our Frankie loves a good swear word, especially "fuck". He says it no less than 15 times in the movie (according to my unofficial count via the subtitles file) and that's almost half his entire line count for the film.

Class discussion for this module:

What's your fave Frankie line? (Must include a swear word)

What's your headcanon on why he loves to swear so fucking much?

What do you think his fave Spanish curseword is?

[foxes-that-run]

The 1

The 1 is talking to an ex and updating them on her life, we got to see it reenacted at the 2021 Grammys when Folklore won AOTY:

The 1 was written between March and July 2020. It had not been long since Harry and Taylor saw each other, we know of at least at Ed Sheeran's Wedding in September. Lover and Fine Line (on Taylors 30th Birthday) came out since then, 2019 had been a big year.

In the long pond sessions Taylor and Aaron talked about how it reflects the whole album. Which is interesting when Taylor also sang in Gold Rush that her mind turns Harry's life “into folklore”.

I see The 1, Cardigan and Exile as one conversation (I'll get to Betty). From pleasantries, expressing support and then rehashing their end.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit Been saying "yes" instead of "no" I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though I hit the ground running each night I hit the Sunday matinée You know the greatest films of all time were never made

In the long pond sessions Taylor said the opening line has a double meaning, that the sound of folklore was a new direction and that she was being open to new experiences personally.

Taylor has a similar line to the bus stop, in Cardigan, which is almost a continuation of The 1, “I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / Chasin' shadows in the grocery line” both capture that feeling of subconsciously looking for someone

Taylor says she’s busy, hits the ground running and fits as much as she can in. Ironic lines in a pandemic. The matinee line sounds like she made time to see Dunkirk, but maybe that's just me.

“The greatest films of all time were never made.” I love this line, she’s reflecting that their relationship was cut short. She also refers to it as a film later in the conversation in Exile. The wildest dreams music video also refers to them as Taylor and Burton

[Pre-Chorus] I guess you never know, never know And if you wanted me, you really should've showed And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow And it's alright now

In the pre-chorus Taylor reflects on the different views of their relationship in 1989 compared to HS1. They have both said they don’t communicate in person what they can in song.

'If you never bleed your never gonna grow' there is a similar line in Woman on HS1: "he’s right where I should, where I should be but you’re making me bleed”. The reference here is that Harry should have shared his feelings sooner, or then but didn't.

However, in Cruel Summer however, Taylor said "And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know, oh" so it seems mutual to hide their feelings.

In Olivia, Harry said “This isn't the stain of a red wine, I'm bleeding love”

It's alright is a reference to Fine Line's "We'll be a fine line / We'll be alright"

[Chorus] But we were something, don't you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool And if my wishes came true It would've been you In my defense, I have none For never leaving well enough alone But it would've been fun If you would've been the one (Ooh)

I love “roaring 20’s” like, it refers to both her age and “it was so Gatsby that year” from TIWWCHNT, referring the party 1989 era before the gates shut in Reputation. 20 is a Haylor theme also

Also tossing pennies and wishes reminds you of I wish you would.

ME! Also includes “I can never leave well enough alone”

Taylor has described their relationship as 'like the mall before the internet' in Coney Island, an incredibly fun place.

[Verse 2] I have this dream you're doing cool shit Having adventures on your own You meet some woman on the internet and take her home We never painted by the numbers, baby But we were making it count You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

I love the second verse, she is hoping that her muse is living a happy new life. To me 'adventures on your own' conjures up Harry's post One Direction career. Which it may have been with his second album freshly released.

'We never painted by the numbers' is similar to 'you painted my nights a colour I have searched for since' in Question..?

[Pre-Chorus] I guess you never know, never know And it's another day waking up alone [Bridge] I, I, I persist and resist the temptation to ask you If one thing had been different Would everything be different today?

Taylor has a few songs that explore Haylor What Ifs:

Cardigan "I knew you would haunt all of my what-if's"

INTHAF Imagines what if they had met as children, and

Suburban Legends imagines a fantasy of them surprising the whole school in a 1950's gym, as a metaphor for being a power couple at a high profile event.

Slut! “Aquamarine, moonlit swimmin' pool / What if all I need is you?”

We were something, don't you think so? Rosé flowing with your chosen family And it would've been sweet If it could've been me In my defense, I have none For digging up the grave another time But it would've been fun If you would've been the one (Ooh)

More Haylor rosé since Maroon: "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how".

Digging up the grave also reminds us of the opening of Look at what you made me do, where Taylor emerges as a Zombie wearing a dress similar to the one she wore in Out of the Woods.