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#six years passed and i never once pay for stuff
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Wicked Games 3
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
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Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
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A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.
If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 
Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  
Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 
When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 
You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  
As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 
“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 
It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 
“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 
“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 
You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 
“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 
You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 
He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 
You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 
“Nice day,” he says. 
“Mhmm,” you grumble. 
His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 
“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 
“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 
“Oh, alright.” 
You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 
You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 
“What are you doing?” You ask. 
“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 
“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 
“It’s cute.” 
“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 
“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 
He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 
You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 
“Need some help?”  
You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 
“Uhhh...��� 
“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 
You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 
“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 
“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 
“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 
You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 
“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 
“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 
“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 
“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 
You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 
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dazedandconfused-15 · 4 months
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Heaven's in your eyes (Part 2)
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Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader
Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.
Link to: Part 1, Part 3, Part 4
@tatumrileyslover @nocturnest @i-keepmyideals @eddiestans-blog here you go!
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It has been exactly six days since Billy dropped you home that Monday after the trip. The following days he never fails to greet you if you cross paths in the hallways. He hasn't ignored you once, even though you haven't called him yet. The truth is, you are terrified of doing so. When you think about dialing his number, two days later, you think it's too soon and you will look desperate, so you put the phone receiver back in its place. At the same time, you keep mulling over his words. 'Call me when you feel like it'. It means you don't have to call him right away, maybe he really means to call him when you feel like it. On Saturday morning, you decide it's the perfect time to call him. Enough time has passed to avoid seeming desperate, but not so much that it seems like you don't want anything to do with him. You need to repay the favor, and even though it's pouring rain outside, you pick up the phone.
After a couple of hours of pondering and racking your brain, you decide to take the risk and go for it. You had written Billy's number down as soon as you got inside, safely on a piece of paper. As the phone rings, you're already regretting your decision, feeling nervous as hell.
“Hello,” a girl's voice answers.
“Oh, um, hello. Is Billy there?”
You definitely didn’t expect a girl to answer. She sounds very young.
“Hold on,” she says, sounding bored. You quickly move the phone away from your ear as she screams Billy’s name.
A few seconds later you hear the rustle of the phone being moved around. “...cking yelling like a banshee. Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Y/N” you say, hoping he remembers your name. It would be weird if that’s the case.
“Hey. What’s up?” he says instead.
You instantly feel relieved. 
“You told me to call you when I wanted. I hope it’s not a bad time.”
“‘Course not,” he says. “You okay?”
“I’m good, thank you. And you?”
“Yeah, same. What you’re doing today?”
“Um, nothing special.” You glance at the window. “The weather is awful. I was actually wondering if you wanted to go grab a bite?” It feels like you’re inviting him on a date. It’s embarrassing. “Since it’s raining.” Now you’re repeating yourself. You’re glad he can’t see you blushing furiously as you keep rambling. “I mean, remember you told me you wanted to see more of Hawkins? I saw the weather and thought about this place. It’s a bit outside of town. If you don’t have anything planned.”
“Yeah, sure. Just need to finish working on some stuff. I can pick you up at seven.”
“Seven is perfect,” you say, your heart still hammering in your chest. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you.”
You change clothes at least three times, unable to decide what to wear. You don't even know why you're making such a big deal out of it—it's not a date, just an outing between friends. Actually, you two aren't even that close. But don't dwell on that too much; what is the reason for your outing, anyway? Originally, it was to show Billy the rest of Hawkins. Dinner is part of that plan, but Benny's Burger isn't one of the places he mentioned, even though it's a bit more isolated. However, that didn't seem to bother him. This time, you decide to bring enough money to pay for both of you. It's the least you can do.
Despite anticipating this moment with secret enthusiasm, seven o'clock arrives faster than you'd like. You leave the house in the pouring rain to find Billy's Camaro idling in front of your trailer, its low rumble cutting through the night. You hurry to open the door and close your umbrella, trying not to let any water into the car. As you settle into the seat and turn to greet him, your breath catches. You try not to look too impressed by the sight of him as you fix your wet hair, but a quick glance is enough to get your heart racing. You’re increasingly convinced that this man has no physical flaws, and that thought destabilizes you. He’s wearing a white tank top under a black leather jacket, with blue jeans that fit like they were tailor-made for him. As he puts his hand on your seat and looks over his shoulder to back up, he manages to keep his cigarette firmly between his fingers, one hand on the steering wheel. You take the opportunity to steal a glance at him. The movement brings him closer, and the scent of his cologne reaches your nostrils, making your skin prickle. His long curls are perfectly styled, reminding you of a lion.
“I didn’t think you’d actually call.” he says as he shifts from reverse to first, heading toward the end of the trailer park. 
“Oh,” you say. “Why is that?”
“Dunno.” he chuckles, his long lashes brushing his cheekbones. “Maybe you were scared of me or something.”
His sentence moves something inside you. "Oh. Not at all,” you say, your voice carrying a hint of determination. You are determined to make him understand that you may be shy, but you are not a fragile little thing. "I'm not scared of you."
“You’re not?” his voice is like a low rumble, it burns through you and sets you on fire.
“Uh-huh.” your mouth feels dry, and you distract yourself by feeling the hot air coming out of the vent with your hands.
“Good.” 
When you walk into Benny's Burger, it's practically deserted. There's just a couple of old gentlemen. From the way they are dressed, they look like fishermen. It looks like they have recently ordered because there is only cutlery and two glasses of beer on their table. Benny Hammond comes to take your order and greets you warmly. He and your dad are good friends, they went to school together here in Hawkins. Billy orders a double burger and a large portion of fries, and you order a steak with a small portion of fries. You were afraid the evening would be punctuated by few words and awkward silences. Billy is not the biggest of talkers, but the feeling of uneasiness quickly vanishes as the night goes on. You tell him about your dad and Benny, recounting how your dad was born and raised in Hawkins. When you tell him about his travels, you linger and talk a lot about California. Billy is curious about what your dad did there for five years. Then you tell him how he went to Jamaica alone and risked his life several times but had a good time. Then Billy tells you how his group of friends in California had been very diverse, two of them being a Jamaican and a Filipino. He tells you how good their mothers' cooking was when he was invited to eat at their house. You are surprised how the conversation always manages to bounce back. 
Half an hour later, Billy has cleared his plate. You, on the other hand, are still struggling to finish your steak, so he finishes it for you. You comment in amazement that he eats like a horse, then immediately apologize, feeling your face flush with embarrassment. Billy laughs and tells you he does weight training five times a week. You feel like saying you've noticed, but luckily manage to stop yourself in time and avoid further embarrassment.
You insist on paying to make up from last time, but Billy refuses categorically. You feel guilty, but his stubbornness prevents you from doing anything else. When you leave the restaurant, it has stopped raining. The smell of rain rises from the asphalt of the car park. As you walk towards the parked Camaro, you cross your arms over your chest, suppressing a shiver. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Billy take off his jacket.
"No, don't take it off, I'm good, really." you tell him, already knowing what he’s doing.
“Here,” Billy drapes it over your shoulder anyway. The weight of a jacket and the smell of leather envelop you. You try not to show your surprise as his warm hand gently squeezes the back of your neck. “Just wrap it around yourself. Don’t wanna catch a cold.” 
His hand seems to leave an imprint on your skin. You didn’t know you would like his touch so much until now. The sound of zippo rips through the silence and your mind. Billy walks past you, the orange glow of a freshly lit cigarette is the only light in the evening darkness. He opens the driver’s door and bents inside, inserting the keys and fiddling with the radio. You lean your back against the side of the car, enveloped in the warmth of his jacket, still carrying the lingering heat from his body. You breathe through the collar of it, smelling the faint scent of his cologne. 
The gentle guitar strumming of ‘Landslide’ wafts through the air as Billy closes the door, windows down, and leans against the car, beside you. You turn towards him, your eyes dragging over his body covered only by his wifebeater. He takes a drag from his cigarette, the tip of it vibrating until it almost turns red. 
"You’re sure you're not cold?" you ask, daring to be a bit bolder and nudging his shoulder gently.
Billy nudges you back, mumbling around his cigarette. “Hey, I’m a tough guy.”
You softly shake your head at his answer, looking at the trees in front of you, forming a wall of darkness, a trickle of wind shakes them slightly in the breeze. “I love this song,” you say with a soft smile. Then you look at him. “I didn’t know you liked Fleetwood Mac”.
“What did you think I liked?” Billy asks after exhaling the smoke, taking the cigarette from his mouth.
“I don’t know,” you hesitate, hoping he doesn't misinterpret your words. “I thought you were more into metal. Just ‘cause I heard you playing it from your car sometimes.” you hastily add.
Billy hums in acknowledgment. “So you were watching me, huh?”
“No, it’s not that! You just, sometimes the music is very loud.” 
He laughs, and it’s such a pleasant sound. It makes your insides swirl. “S’alright. I do play my music very loud.” he flicks the cigarette on the ground, the glowing ashes extinguishing silently on the wet asphalt. “I listen to metal, yeah, but I like rock in general. Hard rock, folk rock,” he jerks his head to his right where the music comes from. 
You hum thoughtfully, tightening his jacket around you. “That’s nice. I think they’re among my favorite folk rock bands.
“Those guys?”
“Yes.” 
Billy nods his head. “They’re cool, yeah. What else do you like?”
You hum while thinking. “There’s lots. My dad likes all these rock bands, like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and a bunch of others. I picked it up from him. He used to blast them in the house when I was little," you recall with a soft smile. "He's a big fan."
“Well, well, well.” Billy grins in appreciation, his smoldering eyes on you. “Didn’t know little miss was so cool.” 
You let out a small laugh, and put a strand of hair behind your ear with a shake of your head to do something with your hands. You thank the night for hiding how flustered you are. “I just…” 
“What else are you hiding?” he tilts his head toward you, the warming mood bringing him closer than before, his shoulder brushing against yours.
“Not much.” you laugh again, unable to meet his eyes. 
“Huh-huh,” he mumbles playfully, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. 
You switch the conversation on him, to shift the attention from you. “And how did you start listening to rock?” 
Billy initially stays quiet. At a certain point, you’re almost convinced he either didn’t hear you or doesn’t want to answer.
“My mom.” he finally says. You look at him, instantly feeling the shift in his mood. “She listened to all this folk stuff, like Joni Mitchell, Mamas and Papas, Bob Dylan. I remember hearing it play in the house since I was a toddler.” he muses, and for a moment seems lost in the memory, breathes a silent laugh through his nose. “She was a bit of a hippie.”  
You can imagine his mom dancing barefoot in the living room, him mirroring her movement with a smiling chubby face, his bright blue eyes looking up in adoration at her.  
“And my old man didn’t like that part of her one bit,” he says then, his voice turning acidic. He flicks his cigarette again. “You meet someone and expect them to change what they are for you. Kinda makes sense, huh?” 
Something in the way he talks about her suggests to you that her mother is part of his past. You don't know on what level, but surely the whole thing didn't end well. And that's one of the sensitive topics regarding his life in California. 
‘Dreams’ starts playing next, filling the last few seconds of silence. It makes you think about the vinyl of that album you bought in Chicago when you spent part of last summer at your grandparents’. It was the right before your mom left.
"I think it’s kind of cool. It's usually always dads who listen to that music,” you say gently in an attempt to lighten the mood. 
“Yeah, no.” Billy snorts. “Surely not mine. He thinks that’s the Devil’s music. Still into that conservative bullshit.”
“My grandma thinks the same,” you comment. “I had ‘Rumours’ on vinyl before.” you start, referring to the current song’s album. I bought it that summer when I visited them in Chicago. It got damaged shortly after buying it. I still think she broke it on purpose.
“Shit. That sucks.” 
“Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s my favorite one.”
“Do you still have your record player?”
“Yes. I have a few other vinyls too.”
As the two of you continue to talk about music, a topic you didn't think you'd be on the same tune on, the mood returns to a lighter one. Soon later, the rain starts falling again stopping you in the middle of your conversation and you both realize it got late. Billy crushes his unfinished cigarette with his boot and you get in the car.
“Thanks for paying tonight. Again,” you tell him sheepishly once on the drive back home. 
Billy slightly lowers the radio's volume until the guitar strums are just background noise, his eyes fixed on the road. “There’s lots of other ways to make it up to me, but I won’t let you pay. Sorry, sweetheart." 
His tone suggests he's not sorry at all. It almost sounds like it’s out of the question for him. You try to ignore how the nickname makes your heart flutter, refusing to dwell on its meaning.
“But why?” 
“Because,” he chuckles, probably amused by how you seem fixated on the question. “It’s just the way it works.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” you mumble quietly, burying half of your face in his big jacket still wrapped around you and suppressing a shiver. 
“Shit. Does it always rain in this shithole?” he squints his eyes a little bit as he lifts the lever to increase the windshield wiper's speed. The rain is now pelting the car more aggressively. 
“I think it’s because you’re used to California,” you say gently. 
There still are a few droplets of water on his naked arms and shoulders. However, he doesn’t seem to feel cold since he’s not shivering.
“Guess so,” he mutters. 
For the first time, you notice he has a tattoo on his shoulder. It’s a skull smoking a cigarette. You wonder when he got it done, what does it represent? 
Before you can stop, your mouth talks. Your voice is quiet, but it is still audible. “That’s a cool tattoo.”
He turns his head toward you, and for a moment he seems surprised. Then his face settles back into a composed expression, his eyes flickering with a hint of amusement. "Yeah, you like it?" he responds casually, you swear his tone betrays a touch of warmth.
“Mh-mh.” you nod, feeling comfortable enough to say what you really think next. “It suits who you are.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle under his breath. “What do you think that is?"
Maybe it’s the relentless thundering of the rain over you, maybe it’s the fact that it’s pitch dark or you’re slowly being accustomed to being around him. You feel a sense of comfort enveloping you. 
“I think… You’re tough on the outside, you always act distant from what surrounds you, like you don’t care about anything and anyone. But deep down, you’re kind-hearted and really gentle.” 
The only sound breaking the silence is the soft hum of the music and the harsh drumming of rain against the car. Your swallow seems thunderously loud in the quiet, but the collar of his jacket offers some solace. Glancing at him, you breathe in the scent of leather and him, focusing on his forearms—robust yet slender—then his hands gripping the steering wheel, long fingers lightly wrapped around it. You wonder what it would feel like to have his arms around you, his hands on your waist, neck, cheeks. Every thump of your heart against your ribcage feels hyper-aware.
“Like, incredibly kind and gentle,” you venture, sensing the weight of your words. It's why you try to cloak yourself in the armor of a rough exterior, a fortress formed by sharp cutting gazes, sharky smiles and skinned knuckles. You want to say more, but it feels too personal, too revealing. You know he wouldn't handle it well. It would make him feel vulnerable, prompting him to close off. You guess he’s hiding some things from himself and the world, afraid it would spill over and flood the fragile sanctuary of his soul. 
Billy chuckles softly, his tone light yet evasive. "You're painting me as a real softie, aren't you?" his words carry a playful edge, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. His eyes won’t meet yours, though. There are a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. "Got it last year. The tattoo. Hurt like a bitch."
You notice his subtle attempt to divert the conversation. But you can’t blame him. You went a bit too hard. 
“I want to get one too. Someday,” you murmur. 
“Yeah?” he glances at you.”D’you have something in mind?” 
“Not really…I guess I’d have to think about it.”
“You should. It’s gonna be there forever. Unless you get it lasered off, which is a new thing. And that’s a whole other level of pain.”
Just to make you think about it makes you shiver. “Laser it…?”
“Yeah.”
Getting a tattoo is something you have to ponder for a long time indeed. And you’ve always had a penchant for changing your mind. Getting excited about ideas, projects, and it always seemed to work for a long time until you changed your mind. Or something happened and you consequently changed your vision of things. You’ve always been uncertain. Your life had a penchant for unexpected events and uncertainties as well.
“Maybe getting a tattoo is not for me,” you mumble. “I’m bad at making decisions. I feel like all of my life is going to be like this.”
“What do you mean?”
As the car slows down, you realize you’re already driving on Forrest Hill trail road.  
“I mean…” you sigh, uncertain whether to delve into what’s on your mind and risk exposing yourself. But Billy opened up tonight, so you feel compelled to do the same. It also feels kind of natural. “In my life, things always seem to take unexpected turns. Often in a bad way. I can never know what to expect. And I don’t like that.”
The car comes to a halt, and you find yourselves parked in front of your trailer.
“Well, I could tell you ‘That’s the beauty of it’ or some stupid shit like that. But huh…” he chuckles, shaking his head as he rattles the pack of cigarettes in his palm to extract one. “My life has been a shit show itself. So, I get it.”
“I’m really sorry,” you say softly. That’s all you can say, you can only imagine from the vague piece of information he gave you. 
Billy shrugs as if to brush it off. It’s so natural it looks rehearsed. You wish you could tell him it does matter, that he deserved to have a happy childhood, he deserves a happy life.
“I wish I could at least have a hint. Even if it’s just one piece of information. I don’t like all of this uncertainty,” you continue. You've known Billy long enough to understand he doesn’t appreciate pity, or even anything that remotely seems like pity. “I wish I could see my future. My grandma…” you stop yourself with an embarrassed laugh. “I know this is gonna sound stupid. It’s probably not true anyways. But I’ve always wanted to get my palm read. My grandma used to know how to do it.”
Met with silence, you feel the familiar burn of shame and regret welling up inside you. Why would you say that? He’s probably thinking you’re crazy for believing in this stuff.
“Wanna give it a shot?” 
You turn toward him in surprise. “You know how?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good at it.” he shrugs, putting the pack of cigarettes in the compartment. Then places his cigarette behind his ear. “Come on.” he holds his palm in invitation. You place your hand in his, palm facing up. 
“Alright,” he begins, tracing a line with his fingertip, “This here, is your headline. It’s curved and wavy, which means you’re creative and intuitive. You think outside the box, not afraid to follow your own path.”
You watch his face, his concentration as he reads your lines. “And this one. Huh. Oh yeah. See, your lifeline is strong and deep,” he continues, his voice a low rumble. “That means you’re full of energy, and vitality. You’ve got resilience, no matter what life throws at you.”
He shifts his focus to another line, “An this, here, this is your fate line. Not everyone has one. Suggests you’ve got a purpose, something you’re meant to do, and it’ll shape your life significantly. Basically, your destiny is in your hands.”
His thumb moves lightly over your palm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “Your skin is soft. How's it so soft all the time?” he almost mutters to himself. “Means you’re sensitive, maybe a bit sheltered. Shows you’re not letting anyone in. But it’s not a bad thing, you know what I mean?”
You could listen to his voice forever. It’s like a low melody, resonating deep within you.
“How do you know all this?” you breathe, your eyes studying his face. 
“Told you my mom was a hippie. She was into all of this stuff. Taught me how to do it. Shit”, he chuckles. “...haven’t done that since I was ten probably.”
Finally, he traces the heart line, deep and prominent. “And this,” he says, rubbing his finger across a line that nearly runs the full width of your palm. “is your heart line. It runs deep, straight across. It means you feel things intensely. You love deeply, but you also hurt deeply. See this?” he presses his thumb into the little fleshy space between the first and middle fingers, then meets your eyes. “When it curves outward like this, it means you’re willing to give a lot to the other person. Like, you give all of you.”
You are caught between the urge to look away from him and hold his gaze. His tourmaline eyes are two deep pools in which you swear you can lose yourself.
“I uh, we’ll see about that.” you manage to say. “I haven’t had anything like that before.”
“Haven’t had a boyfriend yet?”
A small laugh escapes your lips at your own embarrassment. His own slightly twitch too. “God, no. I haven't exactly been in the game.”
“So nada, huh?”
One of his thumbs caresses your palm, the other the skin of the inside of your wrist, drawing circles. It sends tingling along your body. A pleasant shiver that makes your whole body aware, a hot sensation in the pit of your stomach, all your nerves rising. You can feel something hanging in the air, a palpable tension, but you also wonder if it's just your imagination running wild. Being inexperienced as you are, perhaps it’s all in your head, and all of this is fueled by the undeniable attraction you feel toward him. Then Billy jerks his chin toward your right.
“Looks like your dad is waiting for you.” 
You follow the direction he’s pointing at. Indeed, the little light outside the trailer is lit. Your dad is peering at the small window on the door, you can see him munching a pickle in the meantime. As you’ve been burned, you quickly retract your hand from his.
You are grateful to your dad for entering the picture and getting you out of this situation. With him looking at both of you, you can do little other than simply greet Billy without a second thought. Had he not been there, you would surely have stumbled over your words.
“Oh, uhm. Sorry about that.” you chew at your bottom lip before looking back at Billy, an apologetic expression on your face. It’s embarrassing. “He was probably worried, he does that when I come back late. Oh,” you suddenly remember you’re still wearing his jacket, so you quickly take it off. “Here. Thank you. I’ll see you at school?”
Billy takes the jacket. “Yeah. See you there. Sleep tight.” 
You want to ask him if another hangout is on the program, but you don’t wanna press too much, so you hurry inside the trailer with your heart a little lighter and a thousand questions. In your bed, you keep replaying the hours spent with him unable to fall asleep. His change of tone and attitude when he talks about his parents lingers in the back of your mind. You don't know his story in depth, but you are increasingly convinced that he and you share more than you think.
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undead-merman · 11 months
Text
Day Eleven: Magic Ritual
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GN Tav with Astarion
Contains blood, Me being a nerd about DnD and using real locations from the Sword's Coast.
It’s been years. You’d traveled without the sun on your body for over five years now, maybe six if you were paying attention to that kind of stuff. Astarion is sure to have the date if you asked him, he’s sentimental like that, or a bit bitter, depending on the day. You’ve been all over the swords coast by this point, made new allies, seen them come and go. Most of them left when they discovered his true nature but you never let them hurt him. One of them had to put down due to her violent reaction, Should have never let a Cleric come with. It’s been tiring, but you never gave up. You were determined as you searched for a way to allow him to walk into the sun’s glory once more and cure him of his undeath. All these years you’ve kept him safe. From the sun, down to the littlest kobold who so much as dare to make a job.
You had gone as far as The World’s Spine and over to the Sea of Fallen Stars. You then found yourself in a cave settled deep in the Wood of Sharp Teeth after braving Durlag's Tower. Traveled down into the depths of its basement, a hellish labyrinth, but it was finally in hand. A scroll of true resurrection. The weight exceeded that of mere parchment; it held Astarion's future. But hell’s you both were dead tired. You could have passed out for at least a tenday, perhaps even more. Your lover looked the same as well. Too tired to even comb the caked on gore from his hair. Both of you slouch as the campfire takes hold of the kindling.
You reach into your pack and start taking out the scroll. Its aged parchment felt fragile in your hands, and as you opened it to study the ciphers you heard a noise of protest.
“Darling, as excited as I am to finally have the damned thing, don’t you think it might be better to rest? Who knows what might happen. Why it might blow us both up in the process if your droopy eyed gaze reads a symbol wrong. As much as I do love your empty-headed stares.”
You give a tired laugh at his sass. “Of course I want to do it now. I don’t want you to wait a second longer. I want our next sunrise to be this one.” you couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face.
His eyebrows knit together, making the lines on his face more prominent before melting away into a soft smile, one that you see so rarely yet one only reserved for you.
“As charming as that was, it’s still powerful magic. I’ve waited over two hundred years, I can wait a few more days.” The love of your life holds his arms open, inviting you in.
How could you say no?
-
It wasn’t a tenday, it was hardly a full rest before you had snuck out of Astarion’s arms and started reading over the scroll. It was a novel, each word must be spoken perfectly and without a single quiver of your voice. It would be a testament to your reading and acting skills if you managed to pull this off. You kept the fire burn as you went over every glyph and gesture in grueling detail. After nearly up the continent and back, traveling to find the damned thing. Not just that, rumor chasing, reading through old tomes to find such a spell to help, doing favors, slaying more monsters than you could count. So much work came down to this, of course you couldn’t sit still.
Your eyes had drifted over to his mediating form. He looked so peaceful. Everything, everything was for him. He'd know freedom once more, pure freedom.
You must have made a noise, his eye peeked open. Astarion’s face bore a miniature frown. “Darling what are you doing?”
“You thought I’d be able to sleep?”
“Well, I had certainly hoped so. Especially when I so graciously offered my arms as your own pillows.” he stood and approached with soft steps as his ivory palm touches your shoulder.
Your eyes went back to the cyphers, and he looked over your shoulder to see. You both sat in comfortable silence. He was listening to the sound of your breathing. His scent filled your nose, pleasant and not overwhelming, you’d miss it when it was gone. You had gotten used to the fragrance, you were going to miss the sight of that little bottle he carried in his front satchel. You’d grown fond of smelling it bright and early in the night as he would pluck it out and tap it against his neck, his stomach, wrist, wrist and legs.
You were on the eve of change, and it thrilled you, yet there was anxiety. So much would shift, so many things would branch and become new. You were sure Astarion felt it to a much more intense degree. You smiled, remembering asking him about Cazador and how he mouthed off.
“I won’t leave you.”
You hummed in question giving him your full attention. He had that old stress line over his forehead, he was being serious. “When I remove this curse, I won’t just leave you. I made a promise to be with you. I don’t intend to change that. As far as I’m concerned, we are together, for as long as you’ll have me.”
You pressed a gentle kiss to his nose, so soft that even a moth would not mind its caress. “Let us be forever then.” He tilted his head up and his lips met yours, they were as soft as the first time. Peck after peck, you both traded until they became deeper, his tongue delicately finds your lips but never breaches.
You peeled yourself away reluctantly, eyes focused on Astarion’s. Wet. Not enough to fall from his eyes, but enough to haven shown a gleam of his true emotions. You would have kissed them away if they had spilled out.
“Come on. Let’s get you back to your mortal self, shall we?” You proclaimed with a broad grin, extending your hand. With unwavering determination, he accepted. To be loved, it to be changed. And you are sure, without a doubt in your heart, Astraion was the most beloved person in this realm.
You will change together, evolve as one.
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livwritesstuff · 11 months
Text
2002, established relationship, dads!steddie living in boston with their 1yo daughter, another excerpt of this bc i think it's my actual fav part
“I’m done with this goddamn city,” Ed yelled up the stairs, “So fuckin’ serious, Steve. I’m out.”
Steve sighed, well-acquainted with this one of Ed’s many tirades.
Just as he was standing up from where he’d been sitting at his desk looking over some notes and prepping for a counseling session later that afternoon, he heard the door shut loudly (though not a full slam, he noted, because Ed had Moe with him). He headed out into the hallway in time to see Ed coming up the stairs, Moe balanced in one arm.
“What happened now?” Steve asked.
“An idiot BU kid driving Daddy’s Lexus almost T-boned me with Moe in the backseat because — apparently — red lights are just a fucking suggestion here.”
“I mean…I’m pretty sure you ran every red light in Hawkins when you were nineteen.”
It wasn’t a helpful comment, per se, and Steve knew that, but when Ed was riled up like this, there really weren’t any helpful comments available.
“That’s entirely different,” Ed countered, passing Moe over to him so he could pull off his own jacket, “There’s, like, six people on the road at any given moment in Hawkins, and two traffic lights.”
“Okay, well, we can move, love,” Steve said tiredly, steadily approaching his limit for how many times he could listen to Eddie rant about this particular issue without taking any sort of real action to solve it, “Nobody said we had to stay in Boston. Also — we can actually afford to buy a house now, so…”
“Wha— we can?”
“A down payment, yeah.”
“The fuck is a downpayment?”
“Uh…” Steve paused. He’d long since become comfortable with his role in his and Ed’s finances — being that he’s almost entirely in charge of them. He knew that Ed had grown up worrying about money in a way that Steve never had to so he actually liked being able to take over that part of their life together. He liked being able to let Ed not think about it (even though sometimes it meant that his thirty-five-year-old life partner asked him what a goddamn down payment was), “It’s kind of like putting a security deposit down on an apartment, except instead of for securing a lease, it’s for securing a loan — sort of. That’s…there’s better ways of explaining it, and there’s a lot more to it, but it’s sort of like we’re paying a certain amount of the mortgage upfront to prove that we’re committed to paying it off month-to-month.”
“How much is it?”
“Depends,” Steve shrugged, running a hand over Moe’s hair as she started to doze off, her head drooping down to rest on his shoulder, “Pretty sure twenty percent is considered, like, ideal, or something, so it all comes down to what our budget is.”
“What’s our budget?”
Steve leveled an eyebrow at him.
“What?” Ed asked.
“Do you actually wanna know? Because when I tried to show you our electric bill last week you pretended to be asleep.”
“Uh — buying a fuckin’ house together is totally different from you reprimanding me about leaving the heat on too long.”
“I don’t think I’d have to reprimand you anymore if you saw the electric bill.”
“Okay — yes, Stevie, I actually would like to be involved in our finances just this once because I care very, very deeply about us buying a house. I really do.”
“Alright,” he replied, knowing he still sounded a tad skeptical, “I mean, if you actually wanna know about this stuff, I’ve got some spreadsheets I’ve been using to keep track of that kind of thing, and we can—”
“Baby, if you wanted to talk about spreading sheets, all you had to do was ask,” Ed grinned wickedly, an expression that slowly began to fade as his eyes slid off of Steve’s and onto the opposite wall, probably as he considered how wise a comment that had been to make.
Steve stared at him for a long while.
“Okay,” he finally said, “I’m gonna go put our child down for a nap. If in that time you decide you can be a grownup while we talk about spending a fuck-load of money on property we’ll own and be entirely responsible for, let me know.”
“You got it, man.” 
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armchairaleck · 10 months
Text
Alright, Claudia piece I've been thinking of..
The s6 trailer both consolidated these thoughts and made me wonder if this was a bit eccentric, but hey... I wanted to write it, so..
No real warnings I can think of, it's just dark magic and stuff..
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I am my father’s child.
I used to think I was more like my mother. I look like her.
People would tell me that, the ones who’d used to know her. Oh, you have your mothers eyes, they said, or her smile, or her laugh. I had the same black hair as her.
Once I had that hair.
It’s more white than black now.
That’s what I remember the most about her, the way when she held me close her hair would cascade over me, like a dark curtain and tickle my face. The way it always smelt of almond soap, a smell that was peculiarly hers. A smell that was all the warm things in the world - the cakes she used to bake with raisins in, the scarfs she would knit for us when the autumn winds came, the armchair where I used to sit curled in her lap like a cat. Since she left I’ve never smelt anything quite like it again.
Other memories I have are more vague, the sound of the piano drifting through the wall while I played by the fire. I never needed to pay it much attention, but there was always some odd comfort in hearing it and knowing that she was there. The nights when she and my father would read us stories together, my brother nestled under my father’s arm, myself between the two of them and I would rest my head on her chest and absorb the soft vibrations of her voice.
There were other things I didn’t understand, adult things, strange mysteries. My brother lying in bed for days, my mother and father arguing, my father and Kpp’Ar arguing, and the way that suddenly the arguing simply stopped. The voices ceased.
I discovered that people could leave as if you meant nothing, as if all the hidden parts of you that you wanted them to love were not important at all.
When I was six my mother left. I watched her take her things, two leather saddle bags sitting on the bed, each possession that she carefully folded into them.
I remember her wrapping the necklace that my father gave her in a cloth. It was my favourite thing of hers, a gold chain with a green stone that matched her eyes. I’d always loved to play with that necklace, to watch the light of the sun catch on each edge of it and cast its ghostly glimmer over her skin.
Her other things went later, picked up in a carriage, and the holes that they left simply remained empty spaces that my father never filled.
I didn’t say goodbye.
I watched her throw on her travelling cloak. I told myself I wouldn’t cry. I told myself I would be strong, but I ran up the castle battlements all the same. I couldn’t help that. One last glimpse I’d told myself. When I saw her growing smaller, getting further and further away, I wanted to catch her, I wanted to run straight back down the stairs and chase after her, but I knew it was no good. I would never be fast enough, and when I shouted the wind only whipped my voice away.
She didn’t turn back.
I didn’t cry then. It wasn’t until much later and always alone. I was my father’s child.
For years I thought I was not like him, he was always so serious, he rarely smiled. Years passed and the warmth on his face grew less and less, his eyes became dead places that the light couldn’t reach. I didn’t think I could ever be like that. Soren and I used to laugh about it, the more solemn he grew the more we felt we had to smile. We both knew there was something missing, something we had to cover with jokes until it almost seemed as if it was okay, as if we were just like any other family, but we weren’t. We could never be like that.
When I was seven my father let me work in his study. I liked it there. In the summer the sun came in through the tall windows and I could watch its path along each stone and always know the time of day. When the wild grey winter came and the winds howled outside the castle walls, that was when I felt happiest, the fire crackling, my father bent over a book, and the rain hammering down against the window. The two of us together lost in some other world that belonged only to us.
He would show me things, little tricks he called them. The way you could make a ball of fire from an emberback spider and let the flame play on your palm without burning your skin. The way you could take the feather of a lunarflare owl and use it to make objects dance in the air as if they were being pulled by invisible strings. He often did this, he would bring our toys alive and conjure up forests and magical creatures for my brother and me before we went to bed.
Later he showed me his other study, the one that twisted down spiral stairs, deep into the earth, where the stones radiated their cold chill over everything. Ours were the sunless places, damp and dark, where no one else liked to tread. There he showed me other things. A way of conjuring a half-life from ashes sprinkled over flame, and the way you could make it bend to your will. He showed me how to split essence from matter and ways of keeping each suspended in a half realm that was neither death nor life. Together we delved into long forgotten secrets, found hidden things lost to time, and discovered other things that belonged only to us.
He taught me that there was an answer to every problem if you searched hard enough.
There were things I learnt down there that I will not speak of, for they are better hidden. There is a deeper darkness to magic, one of blood and sweat and pain. My father taught me this, but he asked me not to call on it unless the need was dire. This magic had a cost to it, a sacrifice that you alone must make. It is hard to understand, most people call it evil, perhaps it is, or perhaps it is simply something they have no words to describe and so it frightens them. It is easy enough to hate what you fear.
They want this magic though, when there is no other choice, they desire what it can give them, and they take it. Once my father bought land back to life through the heart of a titan and the sheer force of his will. I was the only one who knew the true price of it and yet even then I found something about it that soared beyond beauty. I knew that one day I too would do beautiful things and that no one else would see the wonder in them. 
I saw the way people looked at my father, with fear in their eyes, the way they would one day look at me.
There was a dream I had when I first did dark magic.
It seemed almost endless and full of possibilities. There was a little girl there. She was just like me, but her hair was bleached bone white, and her skin was brittle like parchment that had been left too long in the sun. I liked her. She smiled at me and held out her hand and she led me away into the trees.
The woods grew thick and knotted, twisted this way and that, and they held out their branches like hands. We slipped between them and she showed me many things. There was a river, dark as blood, and on its bank strange creatures danced, their eyes held flames of different colours, their teeth were sharp and yellow and yet they did not frighten me, I wanted to dance with them. The girl taught me the names for all of these things and they slipped off her tongue like quciksilver.
We went looking for lost things that were impossible to find and yet there was some comfort in the seeking. Fire blazed around us and we jumped through flames. I did not mind, it was no different from the way my world seemed to burn around me.
This other place was somehow reassuring. I felt I could find things there instead of losing them and I wanted to stay, I wanted to get lost there forever, to follow each path as far as it went.
I remember the wrench of waking from that dream, my father was beside me, his face pale in the candlelight and he held me. I knew that this was a place he had also been to.
I found a way to go back there, a way to it through the edge of your dreams. Each night before I went to sleep I closed my eyes and imagined it in great detail, the little girl with the dark eyes, the twisted trees and the paths, the red river and the dancing. Each night the dreams returned and I went further and further into them.
I talked with serpents, they taught me peculiar things, the first words for everything, the ones that had been lost even to the dragons, the magical words that had moulded the world into being and they sat strangely on my tongue. There were great owls that let me ride on their backs, their cold black feathers sleek beneath my hands. They flew me up above the world until I could see more than the human eye had ever viewed. I could see the way the world shone, moon and sky, earth and ocean, sun and stars, all of these things linked by dark magic and some other, unknowable power that existed beneath it all. I sang wordless melodies with creatures that seemed too fantastic to exist until the air moved in patterns with our tune.
I told my father about these dreams and I saw the worry on his face. He was always tired. He told me I mustn’t go too far, he told me to remember my way back, and he told me a story of a child who got lost in their dreams like that. Of the changelings that existed there, of the way they would take a child and leave only a slumbering body in its bed, a body that would never wake again.
After that he went to great trouble to get me a primal stone so I could cast other magic. I felt a wild storm raging behind a perfect sphere, and I learnt many spells of the sky, but even though I knew it intimately, even though I felt its fury and its bite, it did not draw me like that other magic.
I could not stop my dreams, I would not have wanted to. The little girl was always there waiting for me and we grew up together. It was nice to have a girl to play with, the castle was full of boys and they couldn’t share my secrets the way she did. Dark sister, she called me and we made pacts of blood and bone and our hearts seemed to beat as one.
I dreamt of a spell that would make my mother come back. I believed there had to be such a spell, there was magic for so many other things, that if I could only find it our lives would be complete. My father would be happy again, my brother would return to the boy he had once been, the one who liked my magic, the one who asked for me to watch him while he slept and keep him safe.
Years passed though and my mother did not come back.
I grew used to it, and then I grew so that I would not have known what to say to her if she had returned. She would have known nothing of me. I felt it with my brother too, the way I could no longer share some mysteries, the way I had to hide parts of myself just as my father did.
The years did something to my father, they seemed to alter him until sometimes he was almost unrecognisable to me. The more he worked, the more it seemed to cost him, and yet he was driven like me to go on.
There were days when my father sat with his head in his hands as if he no longer knew what to do. He gazed for hours at the wall, or stared at a book without ever turning the page. I asked him what was wrong but he couldn’t seem to tell me.
I was older then though, I could piece things together. I had learned to read him the way he had once read me and I wanted to help him. Perhaps I thought I would lose him too, that he would get lost in those dark places that seemed a part of him and that I would wake one day and find he too had gone.
So I listened at doors, I slipped into his study when no one was there, and I leafed through his books and papers until I knew what he wanted and why he despaired of it. Some things are nothing much more than dreams, shapes that once emerged from misty glades but have drifted now beyond time, into some other place where the grass is a richer green.
He wanted the horn of a unicorn.
There are a thousand stories that have been written about unicorns. Tales of their pity, of the way they harnessed the ocean, sky and earth into stones and gave them to humans once, that these were the original primal stones used to give us magic. That they could shift their shape this way and that and even disappear completely. Some people said that they had been hunted from this world, others that they had simply slipped through a veil into another realm completely.
A thousand stories but not one sighting, not for centuries if you believed the books.
Still I felt that I might try, I might somehow find a way. Not because I had any great skill or power, but simply because I had once seen the way laid out for me.
It happened when I was quite small, not long after my mother left. I had wandered through the shell of what had once been a home. It was cold and empty then and I was filled with sadness, I felt as if my whole world was crumbling around me and I longed to stop it. Right in the heart of it I found a creature made of rock, and its sorrow flowed like the sea. I thought that perhaps if I could stop its sadness that mine might also end one day.
When I set it free the creature gave me a map, not the sort of map you could follow by points on a compass, it was only a place you could feel for, reach into with your heart, and if the heart longs for something hard enough perhaps there is still a way to find it.
My heart longed for so many things.
Years later when I needed it, I knew somehow the way that I must go and the secrets required to get there. 
First you must cover your eyes because it wouldn’t do to see the way. Cover your eyes and sing the secret songs. Then you must walk into the woods quite without fear, if you are afraid the woods would simply swallow you up, these woods are very cold and dark. You will feel the chill, wet bark beneath your fingers, and you will hear the crunch of leaves on the ground that sound like brittle bones breaking beneath your feet. You will sense a hundred things out there that are ready to turn you to smoke and you must never flinch.
The further you walk, the more your hope will drain from you and that is when you will know yourself truly, and what you can endure.
I could bear these things, the world had already taught me that, so I walked on until the darkness seemed to fade and I could feel a light beyond me. A voice rang out and filled my mind, it was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. It told me to uncover my eyes and I did, and the beauty I saw was ethereal. It was something quite beyond anything I had ever imagined, I wish I could describe better, it seemed to shine with starlight as if it had stepped down from the heavens themselves. At the time I believed I would never forget a single hair of it, but there must have been some magic because now I can only see it vaguely, the fleeting outline of its form, the exquisite lines of a face so fine and gentle and kind, and its dark eyes that seemed to stare right into my soul.
I didn’t have to tell it what I wanted, it already knew. Only afterwards did I know the cost of it, that removing the horn of a unicorn denies it the ability to shift into its true form, that in giving me this gift its shape would be lost to it forever. The creature shifted in front of me, became a pale girl with sky blue eyes and I held a horn in my hands, it glowed and its light grew brighter and brighter until the girl and the woods and the trees all disappeared and the sun burst in through my window.
Later it seemed as if this too had been a dream. I awoke in my bed and the first thing I looked for was the unicorn horn. It was there beneath my pillow. I could feel the magic of it, it felt far more powerful than any other object I had ever held, even the sky stone could not touch it. When I gave it to my father his face lit up. He had not looked so happy for a long time, and he took my hand in his own and he told me that everything would be alright.
After that I knew I would never find my way back to the lands of my dreams. There were things I had seen now that were not really for human eyes and could never be explained. I knew that in looking for them I had lost something else.
I never had the dreams again, I never saw the girl with white hair, but she was already a part of me by then, I could talk to her whenever I wanted because the shadow of her was in me. Still there was a sadness to this loss that I cannot put in words, a void that has existed in me ever since.
Later on there were other losses, greater still. My brother left. There were other mysteries, far more arcane perhaps, things that involved the very essence of returning life from death, I had to piece together the only things that remained to me and I will not tell you of that or you would never sleep sound in your bed.
Mine is a different sort of slumber now, it does not give much rest and when I wake I’m always tired.
Now I understand the bone deep ache. It is our own devotion, these things my father taught me in his way. Ours are the places no one else will comprehend, the parts of us we have to kill, and when we do you wonder why there is nothing left.
I loved my father because it is harder to look into darkness and survive than it is to fool yourself that some trick of the light can save you. People will burn their eyes out staring at the sun and they will think it is better to be blind than to know true darkness, to taste the depths our souls contain. He was the last thing I had left and I could not let him go.
I was a little girl once and the world took from me, it took all the things I loved one by one, now it is my turn to take.
I am my father’s child. I hold onto things that are broken and I squeeze until there is nothing left.
I thought I had something of my mother in me, but I do not.
I am my father’s daughter through and through.
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weakly-skoodge · 4 months
Text
Week Seventy Six!
“Was today really the best day to come here?” Skoodge asks, finally, his jittery movements easing only slightly as he turns to look over to Zim.
“Of course it was!” Zim’s attention snaps to Skoodge, his movements much faster than the taller irken’s, with a snippy, snapping hand waved in front of his minion’s fleshy pudge-face. “Entry is halved on the meat-hearts day.”
Despite his snide gestures and overall disregard for Skoodge’s feelings, Zim can at least understand the reasons as to why Skoodge is so concerned over coming out today.
It’s that time of year.
The one where the humans embark on complex and ultimately pointless quests of love and frankly concerning infatuation for others of their species, only to end in heartbreak within the month. Or week. Whichever comes first, really. Zim has heard once of a relationship between two humans that lasted only a day.
Utterly pointless. It’s a relief that these rituals are designed to be strictly for humans. Not irkens. No self-respecting person from his superior race would be caught deactivated with some stupid meat-hearts or flowers or cards on hand.
“Now then,” Zim says, nodding his head in the direction of the expansive enclosures and gift shops and restaurants in front of him and his minions (and Skoodge). “Lets go see if they have any moose.”
He’s already marching onwards in the direction of a stationary wall-map of the Zoo, barely paying any mind to the delayed pitter-patter of Gir and the even more delayed splat-plap of Skoodge behind him. His attention is pulled to the map, drawn in by flashy colors and tiny little cartoonish prints of animals that he’s only heard of in passing, never sparing any more attention than necessary.
Though, this trip may change that. After all, knowledge is power, and if there’s anything Zim likes having, it’s absolutely power.
He’s still scanning through the large map, unable to make heads nor tails of it (even though most of these animals supposedly have tails) when a short, pudgy finger taps at a smaller, tucked away section, labeled in that wretched comic sans font that was used for some reason by whoever designed this big map: Moose.
Zim had already seen it. He waves his hand over at Skoodge, dismissing his unwanted assistance. “YES yes I saw! Of course!” He was waiting for everyone else to see, first — so they wouldn’t get lost following behind him and his incredible internal compass. And stuff.
“Follow me! We’re going to see the moose first!”
“YAYYY!” Gir screams and attempts to run off in the direction Zim was headed, but Skoodge cuts the little robot short by grabbing the scruff of his human-suit.
Ignoring Gir is a difficult task, but Skoodge seems to be capable of doing it just fine, speaking through the squeaky protests of the flailing robot held firmly in place by him. “Zim, that’s the wrong way.”
“Eh? No? This is the right way.”
“But the moose are on the left…” Skoodge points in the supposed direction of the moose. There’s a mini zoo-map paper clenched in his hand.
Zim scoffs at him.
“If you do not wish to see the moose so badly, then you are free to leave. But it would disappoint me GREATLY!” He tilts his head and there’s a lilt to his tone that could almost be mistaken for teasing.
“Would you like to disappoint me greatly, Skoodge?”
Skoodge lets go of Gir, who plops down on the brick pathway with a soft plush squeak, and waves his hands in front of him so fast that he almost drops his map. “No! No, never ever!”
“Then you will follow me and we will go this way!” Zim insists again, pointing towards the right with all the confidence of a general leading an army to victory.
Skoodge opens his mouth again, but thinks better of it, clamping it shut and nodding at Zim instead.
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valthevalkyrie · 1 year
Text
A Twist of Fate (1)
A beautiful young woman struggles after trading her life for her father's. When left in the care of a beast she becomes plagued by erotic dreams of a handsome prince. She tries to make the most of her situation but eventually comes to find out the hard way that a happy ending is never guaranteed.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader (addressed by nickname Belle)
Word Count: 9.6k
Series Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, NONCON/DUBCON, dark fantasy, dark fic, named reader (nickname Belle), blood, monsterfucking, smut (wet dreams, masturbation, fingering, piv, oral sex), angst, unwanted advances, language, degradation, humiliation, possessive behavior, imprisonment, psychosis, major character death, takes place in France like original version, vampire/incubus thing, it admittedly takes a while to get to the dark stuff
A/N: this is for @boxofbonesfic Once Upon a Time... Challenge in celebration for a much deserved 10k followers. This was a lot of fun to write. I did so much research for this, looking at as many versions of beauty and the beast as possible. This grabs a lot of the plot points from the original Villeneuve version. I've written smut like maybe 3 or 4 times and have no real life experience, so please have mercy on me. I had grand ideas for this and hopefully I am able to execute it well.
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Once upon a time, there was a man named Eliott. He was once known to be a very lucky man. 
It was hard to pinpoint exactly when Eilott’s luck had turned to shit. 
It could have been when his beautiful and loving wife passed, leaving him to raise six children all on his own. 
Or when his fleet of trade ships were lost at sea, ending his fortune as a merchant and forcing him to move his family to their small summer cottage deep in the woods. 
Who knows. What he did know was that after spending years forcing his entire family to work for a living wage, he’d received word that one of his ships had returned to port. 
He was sure his luck was about to turn for the better. How naive he’d been. At the port, he had been notified that the ship’s cargo had been seized to pay for his debts. And now, on his trip back home, he’s been caught in the middle of a vicious storm. Just his luck. 
The rain was coming down in thick fat drops, pelting his skin and surely leaving bruises on his poor balding head, the blustering winds regularly throwing him about. Eliott had been trekking through the storm for quite a while, having lost his horse and small wagon what felt like hours ago. 
Unbeknownst to him, his horse was on its way home thanks to his innate sense of direction. Eliott, on the other hand, was traveling farther and farther away from his little cottage. 
He slugged through the mud and rain for ages, sustaining scratches and tears on his skin and clothes. The cold ache in his bones from the freezing rain was overwhelming. It was almost a guarantee that every other step was going to be a slip on the uneven ground and every other breath would be full of water thanks to the onslaught of rain. The farther he went, the more gnarled the forest got around him, branches leafless and twisted. 
Just when he thought there would be no end to the storm and he would surely perish in it due to his waning strength, there was a break in the wood. As soon as he breached it, he could just barely make out the faint shape of what must have been an abandoned castle if the overgrown grounds meant anything. 
With deliverance from the storm at his fingertips, he felt a newfound energy surge within him. His gaze was firmly locked on what he could only assume was the door, and he happily ignored his missteps and bumps along the path and through the gate.
Fumbling his way up the ivy overgrown stairs, he raised his hand to knock, out of habit. Just before his knuckles hit the door it opened a smidge all on its own. Startled, he stood there for a moment wondering if maybe it was a result of the wind before the door swung all the way open. Eliott hesitates for just a moment before a crack of thunder sounds and he rushes in. 
The door closes on its own, leaving him in darkness. All is still and quiet until a tall candelabra lights up near the center of the room. He approaches cautiously, rightfully so, for when he is but a foot away it goes out once again. As he debates sleeping in the entryway outside, regardless of the downpour, another candle in a sconce on the wall to his left comes to life. A bit of fear strikes him, for who could be controlling the fire? He approaches that one as well, and as he gets closer it goes out and then another candle farther away turns on. And so the process goes, through hallways and echoey rooms. 
Just when Eliott believes the candles are leading him nowhere, he sees a strip of light at the end of the hallway. Not just the faint aura of candle light, but the glow of a fully lit room. He rushes forward, hoping to meet someone on the other side who could perhaps answer the questions rising in him.
Now that he’s closer to the light he can hear the tinkling of cutlery and he can’t quite figure out what scents are flooding his senses but whatever they are, they’re making his mouth water. 
The shockingly cold doorknob quickly adjusted to his body temperature and an unexpected warmth burst from the room as he opened the door. Very quickly, the tinkling noise of cutlery stopped and all was still in the sizable room. 
The first thing that grabbed his attention was a long black dining table with a feast spread out on top - roasted pig, steak, lamb, cakes, pies, fruits, you name it. Eliott’s knees almost gave out.
Even at his richest, he’d never seen so much food in one setting. He quickly looked to the head of the table closest to him and found no one, the same with the one on the other end. Although he knew it wasn’t proper etiquette, Eliott took a seat to rest his weary feet while he waited for the host. 
While he waited, he took in the decor of the room. It was a bit dark for his tastes but beautiful nonetheless. Everything was black and gilded, the intricate gold decor warming the otherwise foreboding color scheme. The feeling the room gave was still off, as though the glitter of the gold were to distract one from looking too closely at the imperfections all around the room. 
He’d been waiting all of five minutes when a voice spoke up, “monsieur, you are free to eat as much as you please.”
Looking around for the source of the voice, he asked, “and what of the host?”
“Unfortunately, he will not be able to attend but know that he hopes you enjoy the meal.”
“All of this is for me?” 
“Yes, although I suggest sitting closer to the fireplace so you can warm up.”
Eliott does as he’s told and takes the seat right in front of the fireplace. As he gets comfortable he looks at the assortment of food in front of him trying to decide what to eat first. A bowl of grapes catches his attention and as he pops one in his mouth, he realizes just how hungry he is. 
Once he starts eating he can’t stop, can’t seem to get enough. He gorges himself on the food in front of him, juices and grease dribbling down his chin, but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. Never before in his life had he had such horrible table manners, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Everything he grabs is rich in flavor, quite literally the best food he’s ever eaten. After what feels like ages he’s finally full and he leans back in his chair, chest heaving as though he’d done a tremendous amount of exercise. 
He doesn’t fight it once he starts to doze off, stomach full and the heat of the fire at his back. 
“Did you enjoy your meal, monsieur?” 
Eliott startled at the voice. “Oh, very much so. Thank you.”
“If you would follow me, I would show you to your room so you can rest for the night.”
A door to the far right opens and an older man is suddenly in the doorway. Eliott knows a butler when he sees one (having had many of his own at one point) and he’s relieved to have some company after spending so much time alone in such a dark and grand place. Rising from his seat, he tries to clean his face a bit before heading towards the strange man. 
Once he was close enough, Eliott could see the flaws in the butler’s appearance. Not only were his clothes faded and worn, the edges of his sleeves were eaten away by moths. After the feast he was presented with, he’d expected someone a bit more put together.
One by one, the candles came back to life as they passed through hallways and up the stairs. Eliott tried to look around and see the condition of the rest of the castle, but it was too dark.
“This is where you will be staying,” the butler said as they stopped in front of a door. “There will be a change of clothes on the bed. You mustn't leave the room until morning, Master’s orders.”
Eliott nodded and made his way into the bedroom. Before he could turn to ask the butler something, the door closed behind him. He shrugged and went about changing out of his wet clothes. While old and worn, the clothing provided to him was comfortable and the bed sheets soft. 
As soon as his head hit the pillow, the events of the day caught up to him. A drowsiness like he had never felt before overtook him and just as he drifted off he couldn’t help but think his luck might be turning for the better. By the time his bedroom door opened, he was fast asleep.
Eliott was overcome by dark and carnal dreams. Dreams he’d not had for ages. Usually when he had dreams of that variety, he’d conjure up his beloved wife in a loving setting. Now, he was dreaming of a handsome young man with long curly hair, deep brown eyes and a penchant for biting. 
When he awoke, all that remained of his dreams were flashes of skin and feelings of pleasure. When he threw the covers off, he found a mess in his lap. Overcome by embarrassment (for he’d not done such a thing since he was a budding young man) he rushed to take off his clothes. 
In doing so, he took note of all of the cuts and bruises from the trek through the storm the night before. He found a large pair of puncture wounds but shrugged it off as probable wounds from his many stumbles. 
Nestled and folded on a chair near the door to the room were his clothes from the day before. He didn’t remember folding them but shrugged it off as poor memory from being so tired. As he put them on, he took advantage of the sunlight and looked around the room. How odd that the outside of the castle looked so abandoned and forgotten while the inside looked mostly dusty and unused. Much like the dining room, the bedroom was gilded except instead of black, the room was a dark and deep blue. 
The butler was nowhere to be seen when he opened the bedroom door. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Eliott walked around the castle, absorbing as much as he could. He took note that the rest of the castle was similar to the dining room; black and gilded, furniture grand and elegant. 
He found his way onto a balcony overcome with vines of ivy. From his position, he could see a forgotten gazebo surrounded by what seemed to be an overgrown garden. 
A memory sprung to his mind at the sight of the garden. 
“When I return from my journey, what would you like me to bring you,” he’d asked his children. 
It was something he used to do before, back when he was a successful merchant. He would leave on business for a while and return with gifts for all of his loved ones. While they were all adults now and working on their own, he wanted to perhaps revive an old tradition since it appeared his once lost fortune was at his fingertips. 
“Papa, Papa,” his eldest daughter Elyna cried. “Bring us the finest clothes you can buy.”
His second daughter, Anna added, “we’re tired of these rags.” 
He laughed and turned to his boys, Matheo, Gabriel, and Raphael. 
“We wouldn’t mind newer clothes, Père. If you are to regain your fortune, we would like to look the part as we once did,” Matheo, his eldest, said. His brothers agreed. 
Finally, Eliott turned to his youngest of the six, his little beauty. “And what would you like, ma belle?”
“I just wish for your safe return, Papa. It has been a very long time since you’ve made the journey and we know not what dangers may lie ahead.”
He brushed her off, “oh, nonsense. I will be fine. What would you like?”
“Really, that is all I desire.”
“Belle,” he said sternly. “I would like to bring you something physical. Please do me the favor of picking something, anything.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “I would love a rose. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen one and you know they don’t grow on this side of the country.”
Eliott smiled and tapped her nose. “Very well, then. A beautiful rose for ma belle.”
His little beauty. One would think he’d find Anna the most beautiful of all the children, considering she took after her mother physically, but she was mean spirited and vain, much like Elyna. The boys had a good mix of their parents and were hard working and intelligent, like him. His youngest, though, was well read, kind hearted, grateful for all she had, and had the best features of both her parents. Not only was she beautiful on the outside, but she was beautiful on the inside. She didn’t make him feel like a failure of a parent, and that made her his favorite. 
Eliott quickly made his way down to the garden, searching high and low for a rose. The bushes of flowers bled into one another, making it difficult to see where one type ended and the other began. He was just about to lose hope completely when he had almost reached the gazebo and not found a rose, but then he caught a flash of red inside the gazebo. 
Once inside, he felt happiness bloom in his chest. He’d not been able to get the gifts for the others, but he would be able to bring a gift to one. Better something than nothing at all. 
“Good morning, monsieur. Please follow me to the dining room so you can break your fast before your journey.” The butler was fast approaching the gazebo with a panicked look on his face. 
“Just a moment, I’m going to pick a flower.”
“Oh, please do not. My master-”
“He won’t notice, it’ll just be the one.” 
Mindful of the thorns, he plucked a rose. Seeing just how perfect and shapely it was, he decided to pluck a few more to make a bouquet. He had scarcely plucked the plumpest buds he could find when he heard the butler shout. 
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs when he turned, for there was a beast in front of him. It looked like a bat, but it was twice his size, piercing eyes staring right into his. A hand grasped the front of his shirt and lifted him out of the gazebo. He looked down to find a pair of black, leathery arms connected to the giant bat’s torso and he’d been lifted high off the ground. 
“Is this how you show your gratitude after I show you hospitality? By stealing from me,” it shrieked. Eliott flinched for the beast’s yell had a hint of a high pitch under the strong timbre and it pierced his ears.
“I didn’t know! I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Eliott cried.
The beast hissed at him. “Humans now are so ungrateful. I should have drained you dry when I had the chance.” He growled, arms bringing Eliott closer to his face all the while ignoring the man’s pleas for his life.
“Please, spare me. I assure you, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I meant no disrespect.” A pair of sharp fangs and equally menacing teeth come into Eliott’s line of sight and he struggles to free himself. “Please, I was just picking them for my daughter!”
The creature ceases all movement. “Daughter?”
“Yes! Please, my children need me. I’m their only living parent.” Tears and mucus run down his face, hands trying to break the hold the beast has on him. Eliott feels himself be lowered.
“Tell me of your children.”
He speaks quickly of everything that comes to mind when thinking of his children. He speaks of his dead wife and all of the work the children have done to help him run the house, the most helpful being his youngest. He tells the beast of the gifts he promised to give to his children when he came back from his trip. 
The beast lifts a hand to stop his rant. “Very well. You may live.” 
Eliott expels a sigh of relief.
“As long as you give your word that one of your children will take your place.”
Eliott feels his face drain of all color. “But how am I to choose? What will you do to them?”
“The first living being that greets you upon your arrival will be the one to take your place. They must be under no illusions or misconceptions about the reason for their stay. And you need not worry about their fate. I will take better care of them than you did my roses.” He turns to his butler. “Prepare him for the trip back. And be sure to get him a change of clothes, he seems to have soiled himself.”
And so it went. The creature was kind enough to send him off with a new horse and wagon with chests full of finery, jewels and wealth. 
Eliott encountered no storms on his way home and spent the entire trip stressing over who would welcome him first. He tried to think of all the pros and cons of each child being forced to live with the beast and could think of no one he would rather send away. The biggest pro of all was that his luck had definitely turned for the better. To be confronted by a beast and then sent off with riches galore? If that was not the definition of luck he did not know what was. The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted his youngest daughter far away and deep in the woods upon his arrival. 
A sweat began to build up and his breathing quickened when he recognized the well worn path to his little cottage. Eliott kept his eyes peeled as he approached his home. From this distance, he could see a couple of heads bobbing about in the small garden out front and his family dog sleeping in the doorway. The closer he got, the clearer their faces became. 
Raphael and his youngest were working in the small garden. Oh, how Eliott prayed that Raphael would notice him first. 
As his luck (that fickle thing) would have it, his youngest daughter noticed his arrival and waved at her father. She quickly set down her tools and hurried over.
“Papa! You’re safe,” she squinted from the sun as she looked up at him. “We were so worried when Phillipe showed up without you.” She raised a calloused hand in greeting at the horse he rode, “hello.” She turned back to him with a stern look on her face. “Where have you been?
Tears quickly filled his eyes and he said nothing as he searched the bag next to him for the rose that set a curse upon his family. Eliott handed it to his daughter and discreetly wiped the tear that fell down his cheek. 
She softened. “Oh, Papa. You shouldn’t have.”
“You’re right,” he sighed. “It came at a great cost.”
Her eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Gather your siblings. I have news about where I’ve been.”
She did as she was told and soon enough everyone was gathered in their small dining room, chests from the wagon on the table. All but one child chatted and speculated over what was in the chests. His youngest instead kept a close eye on her father, for she had noticed his somber disposition.
“Before I tell you where I’ve been, why don’t you open that up and see what I have brought home.” 
Elyna was the first to put her hands on one of the chests, snapping off the latches and swinging it open. She shrieked in delight at the sight of the beautiful gown laid out on top. “Does this mean the fortune really came back? Will we finally be rid of this place?”
Eliott shifted on his feet and swallowed deeply. “Perhaps you should all take a seat.” 
He told them of his journey to port and how everything on the ship had been seized to pay for his debts. The trip back home and the storm that disoriented him. The castle and the sentient candles. The grand feast that was presented to him and the room he slept in. The garden out back and the rose he picked. The beast who appeared and demanded he sacrifice a child to save his life. He told them how he’d have to go about choosing which child would go in his stead. 
Anna stood up and pointed to his youngest. “Do you see what happens when you are greedy? Look at what you made happen! You should be the one to leave and right your wrongs. You were the first to greet our papa and the one who landed him in this mess. Now you sort it out.”
Her brothers were quick to defend their youngest sister and even quicker there was a shouting match between the six. 
“Enough,” Eliott slammed his hands on the table. 
“Worry not, Père, for I shall slay the beast and ensure our little belle’s safety.” Matheo stepped forward. As usual, his brothers agreed.
“No, no, no. I forbid any of you going anywhere near the beast and his castle. We shall continue on as though nothing has happened. I will invest the small capital he gave me and ensure the return of the family fortune.”
“Papa, I do not think that wise.”
“Ma belle,” he placed his hands on her cheeks, ”I will not sacrifice your life for mine. I made a mistake, like we all do. Now we learn from it and move on. Do you understand?”
She was quiet for a moment, and he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes before it died out and she nodded. 
Later that night, long after everyone said goodnight, Eliott was sitting on the couch contemplating his next move. He knew he had to move his family far away, somewhere the debt collectors and the beast would not find them. Perhaps another country. 
As he sat there pondering the possibilities, he heard a thump from somewhere outside the house. Not a moment passed when he heard one of the horses neigh. Worried that it might be the beast, he grabbed an iron fire poker from the hearth and ran outside. 
He turned the corner of the house to the small stable they had, arms raised and ready to strike when he saw his daughter struggling to get the new horse under control.
“Shh, shh. I won’t hurt you,” she whispered. “I’m going to take you back home.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Belle.”
She jumped in fright and turned sheepishly. “I was hoping you would be asleep.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” He took the horse’s reins from her. “Did I not forbid you from going to the beast’s castle?”
“Papa, I won’t allow you to put our family in danger. We have no idea if the beast will come after us if we don’t send someone in your stead. He might take back everything he gave you, leaving us poor once more.”
“You need not worry about that. I have a plan.” 
“Papa, you gave your word to the beast. He spared your life. You taught me that giving your word was a serious thing, that you must always follow through.” 
It was at this moment Eliott hated the fact that she had her mother’s eyes. To have them staring at him so intensely in a moment where she was basically calling his character into question was not something he enjoyed. 
But she was right. He taught his children better than the example he was giving them. 
“Fine. We head out in the morning. I’ll take you myself.”
She smiled wide. “Thank you. I promise to right my wrongs and keep the family safe.”
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Her father had just been dismissed from the castle. They’d been greeted with a feast, much like Eliott’s first night there. Unlike his first night, the beast decided to join them. 
To say fear ran like ice through her veins would be an understatement. Just before reaching the castle, she had tried to cheer herself up by thinking of her situation like a big adventure. Upon seeing the creature, she realized she was not ready for such an adventure. 
Throughout the entire meal she’d felt the beast’s eyes on her. She had not the courage to meet his gaze, having spent much of the meal picking at her steak and watching the blood ooze out. 
She’d been led into the sitting room to wait for the beast. While she waited, she reflected on her last day of freedom.
Eliott had made sure they broke fast as a family one last time before she had to leave. After many attempts to talk her out of it, her brothers accepted her decision. Her sisters, on the other hand, did little to hide their glee. That hurt her, since she loved her family unconditionally. She knew of the jealousy and contempt her sisters held towards her, but she had hoped they would at least pretend to miss her. 
The journey itself had been a long one. It took them a few days thanks to the storm they encountered halfway there. Her father took it as an omen for what was to come. She knew it just got rather stormy this time of year. The relief she felt when they reached the castle was great, if only because that meant she would not have to be jostled around so much. The meal was long and awkward and her father left far too soon. 
She remembered the worried look on his face when they departed. Tears were filling his eyes and he’d been sniffling. 
Making sure her last words to him were something positive, she reached for his hand and said, “it will all be fine, Papa.”
Then he’d been sent off with a reward for following through with his word. 
“Tell me your name.”
She startled at the sound of the beast’s voice. She looked around the room, finding its figure casting a shadow in the doorway. 
It was massive, ten feet tall at the very least. Yes, at first glance it looked like a bat, but a mutated one-half man, half bat. It’s ears were large and pointed, eyes dark and small, muzzle large. A voluminous ruffle of dark brown fur adorned it’s neck like a fancy collar, a small trail of fur going down it’s naked torso until it reached his waist and covered his body in fur once more. It had a pair of bat-like wings and she could only imagine how grand the wingspan would be. Settled just under his shoulders lay another pair that led to leathery human looking arms, one of which was holding a rather large goblet. It’s legs were long and had talons at the end of its feet.
“Your name?”
Her voice quivered but she complied, “although my father calls me Belle.”
“How fitting,” it hummed. 
“What do I call you?” She may be frightened, but she was not rude. She could not possibly imagine calling him a beast to his face. Who knew how he would react. 
“You may call me Kas.” He ventured further into the room, gait slow and full of purpose. “You know why you’re here?” Stopping in front of her, he took a sip from his goblet.
Shifting nervously from the intensity of his stare, she cleared her throat. “Yes.”  
“And do you accept your fate?”
“I would do anything to save my father’s life.” Any trace of hesitation faded from her voice and she saw a malicious gleam enter his eyes. 
“It would do you well to remember that.” With that, he trailed a finger down her cheek, lingering on her bottom lip. 
Her eyes widened. She had no clue what he meant by that. 
“I need to set some ground rules before your stay truly begins.” He lets go of her face and begins to pace. “You are free to do as you please, I care not how you spend your time. I sleep during the day, so I ask that you not make too much noise. You may not, under any circumstance, go into the west wing.” His pacing stops and he turns his head to look at her. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir,” he hums. “I quite like that.”
A knock sounds on the door frame. “Master, the lady’s room is ready.”
“Very well, then.” He stops her as she rises from her seat. “Just one more question before you go to bed.” His wings shift as he brings himself into her personal space once again. “Will you marry me?”
She blinks once. Twice. Three times. “Pardon?”
“Will you marry me?”
“I cannot, for I hardly know you.”
His eyes darken, and she can tell he’s not pleased. The beast says nothing and takes a long drink from his cup. He does so sloppily, and when some dribbles down his chin she can tell it’s blood. 
A bolt of fear strikes through her and she rushes over to the butler. Her hands shake as she tries to settle herself on the walk to her room. 
Blood. He was drinking blood. It was fitting for a giant bat creature but where did he get it? Was it from people who stumbled upon his castle like her father? Did he get his blood drawn when he stayed here? Was it from his prisoners like her? Although he said she was free to do as she pleased, did that make her a prisoner or a visitor? The thought of possibly just being a visitor for a while helped calm her down a bit. But the thought of being drained of her blood filled her with anxiety once more. 
“Here we are, mademoiselle.” The sound of a key turning a lock took her out of her reverie.
The door swung open to an opulent, dark green room. The candles were already lit, the glint of the gilded decorations reminding her of fireflies. Everything in the castle had a faded and worn look to it, all covered in a thick layer of dust from the lack of use. This room looked recently cleaned, not a cobweb in sight. 
“Is this room for me?” She dared not step foot in it. Dirt and muck from her journey caked her shoes and she did not want to ruin the rug that spanned the room. 
“Yes ma’am.” He gestured to her small trunk of belongings sitting at the foot of the bed. 
“Oh my,” she muttered. Carefully, she took her shoes off and tiptoed into the room. She heard the door start to close and she quickly turned to the butler. “What do I call you?”
“You may call me Munson.” He gently bowed his head.
“Good night, Munson.” 
A small smile graced his face. “Good night, mademoiselle.”
When the door closed, she took a deep breath to center herself. After carefully placing her shoes next to the door and off of the rug, she turned to face the bedroom. 
Being the youngest in the family, she did not remember much of their life before their wealth was lost. She could only remember glimpses of a past her family were so fond of. Flashes of her mother’s face and toys galore, a pretty pink room. For the majority of her life, she lived in the small cottage in the woods. It was cramped and a bit uncomfortable, but it was home. Everything else felt like a dream. 
Especially now, being in a room as fancy as the one she was given. Never before had she seen such extravagance, none that she could remember. It should be a thrill, she should feel giddy. 
Instead, she felt dread. She knew not what would come tomorrow, or the days after. All she knew was that she was a prisoner in an abandoned castle, trapped with a beast. She hadn’t the faintest clue of his intentions, other than the bizarre marriage proposal. 
Why would a beast want to marry a human?
The events of the past week caught up with her. First, her father had gone missing only to come back with news of a beast and the conditions of his release. Then, there was the long trip, on which she barely got any rest. It was all very emotionally and physically draining. 
She dug through her trunk, looking for her nightdress. When she began to strip, her skin began to tingle with the feeling of eyes on her and eventually her own went towards the glass doors that led to the balcony. The curtains had not been closed. She knew no one besides Munson and the beast lived anywhere near, and she wasn’t on the first floor, but she couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching her. 
Naked, she went to close the curtains. Stopping when they were almost completely closed, she peered out into the darkness. 
She watched, as the wind rustled the trees and their leaves fluttered off the branches. What little moonlight shone through the clouds illuminated the gardens below. In the distance she saw a gazebo, most likely the one from her father’s story of the incident. A chunk of movement in the bushes caught her attention and she felt herself leaning closer to the window as if it would give her a better look. 
She just about had her nose pressed against the glass when a wild boar burst out of the bushes, making her jump back. Before she could catch her breath a large dark mass dove from the tree closest to her onto the boar. 
She shrieked in fright and shut the curtains. 
Her hands shook as she pressed one to her chest in an effort to slow her racing heart. The mass was huge and she’d seen nothing near the castle that size other than the beast. Kas. If it dove from the tree nearest to her room then she was right, someone had been watching her. She vowed to keep the curtains drawn every night from now on. 
Deciding she would much rather sleep than deal with her situation or the meaning of Kas’ peeping, she got her nightdress on as quickly as possible. 
Much like her father in his time there, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was out like a light. 
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She could not control the volume of her moans nor the rolling of her hips, the pleasure so unfamiliar and great she just had to chase it. A whine escaped her lips when a hand stilled the motion of her hips. 
“You need to stay still, mon trèsor. I cannot properly enjoy my meal if you keep moving.”
Leaning back on her elbows she looked down to the mess of curls lying between her legs. A pair of the roundest, deepest brown eyes stared up at her glittering with mirth. 
“Please,” she begged.
“Please, nothing. You promised you would let me eat to my heart’s content, that you would stay still, that you would be a good girl. Are you going to break your promise?”
“No,” she pouted, “but-”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. Gently, he trailed the tip of his tongue through her slit and circled her clit, humming at the sight of her eyes rolling into the back of her head. “If you stay still for a while longer, I will let you finish. Deal?”
Her breath stuttered as he resumed. “Deal.”
She fell onto her back the moment he thrust his tongue inside her, curling it deliciously. Her toes curled as he circled her bud with his thumb while his tongue made love to her cunt.
Gentle waves of pleasure caressed her senses, building up in intensity as his thumb sped up. Soon she was adrift in mindless pleasure, moans increasing in volume as she tried to hold back her physical reaction to his ministrations. 
The size of the waves increased, crashing against her and she felt her body stiffening as she felt an indescribable heat and pressure build up at her core. As the intensity grew, she struggled to catch her breath.
The pressure increased and she was about to ask him for something, anything, when he murmured, “let go, my sweet. Come for me.”
She wasn’t quite sure what he meant but she felt herself ride the waves as they crested, creating a feeling of bliss she had never before experienced.
Her mystery man continued to lap at her folds despite her thighs clenching down on his head and he only stopped when she twitched from over stimulation.
He kissed one thigh while his hand caressed the other. “You did so well for me, mon trèsor. Such a good girl.”
A shiver wracked through her body at his praise. “I feel lightheaded. What was that?”
The warmth of his quiet laughter against her skin tickled as he began to kiss his way up to her. “That was an orgasm.” He pauses at her breasts, biting gently at one of her nipples before soothing it with a kiss. 
She gasps in pleasure. “What is that?”
“That, mon trèsor, is the epitome of pleasure.” He nips at her other nipple, this time biting a little harder. He smirks against her skin as she moans. “Oh, you like that, do you?” 
Making sure to nip and suckle all across her chest, he takes his time exploring. He makes sure not to leave any marks, just biting hard enough for her to feel something. Eventually he makes his way up her neck and it isn’t until he reaches the spot just under her ear that she grabs at him and he smirks just before he leaves a love bite. 
One of her legs curls around his waist and she presses herself up against him and he groans as her heat brushes up against him. “Please.”
“Please what?” He runs his hand up the length of the leg curled around him, grabbing a handful of her ass and grinding himself against her. 
“Please, I need-” she moans as his tip bumps against her bud. She whines loudly and writhes against him. 
“Calm down,” he chuckles. 
The hand on her ass makes its way between her thighs, teasing her clit once more. He dips his finger into her core to gather slick and groans when he feels how wet she is. Quickly, he drags slick up to her bud and begins rubbing circles into it. 
When her hips start undulating, he whispers a few words of encouragement in her ear before slipping a finger into her sex. A broken moan escaped her lips at the foreign feeling and she grabbed at his wrist.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Her brow furrowed. “N-no?”
“Do you want me to keep doing this,” he gently began to thrust his finger in and out. 
“Oh,” she sighed. “Yes.”
“I thought so.” He resumed kissing at her neck before deciding her breasts were a better place to be.
She didn’t know what to do with herself. Never before had she experienced sensations like these and a part of her (the part that knew doing this before marriage was wrong) wanted to stop. But that familiar heat began to stir in her loins and she wanted to experience that high again.
Soon enough, the one finger wasn’t enough and she begged him for, “more.”
The man complied, inserting another finger. When she grew accustomed to the feeling, he curled them, sending a delightful quiver throughout her body.
“Again,” she demanded. She felt his smile upon her skin as he obeyed her command.
If she thought the one finger was enough to fully stoke the flames of her desire, she was not ready for a pair of them scissoring inside her. 
Her back arched, hips chasing the pleasure his fingers were providing. She was fast approaching that peak once more and her moans grew desperate. 
“Do you want more?” His voice was low and sultry in her ear.
She hummed in agreement.
“Use your words, mon trèsor.”
“M-mo-ah, ah-more.”
“Very good.” 
He thrust his fingers faster and made sure to put more pressure on her clit. Her legs began to quiver and she felt her eyes roll. The feeling of his thick fingers inside of her was overwhelming but felt so good. She gripped his wrist tighter and chased his motions with her hips. Soon she felt the heat and tingles burst throughout her body. 
“Just like that, ride it out.” He continued to thrust his fingers until she stopped clenching around them. 
She let out small giggles as she tried to catch her breath. 
Finally, the man’s face came into her line of sight. 
He was beautiful, nothing like the men she’d seen in town. Big, brown eyes, an endearingly bulbous nose and a plump bottom lip. Long, curly hair draped over his head, coming down like curtains and putting them in a space all their own. 
“Enjoying yourself, are you?” 
“Very much,” she breathed. She could not help the smile that came across her face. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”
“I’m glad I was the first to give it to you.”
She stares at him in wonder. “I don’t even know your name.”
“You need only ask,” he teases. When she says nothing he flops down next to her, resting his head on his arm as he lays on his side. “Go on.”
“Um.” She draws a thin sheet over her chest. He tries to and fails to hold back a smile at the action, causing a cute little dimple to appear in his left cheek. “What is your name?”
“My name, mon trèsor, is Edward.” He puts out a hand in greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Timidly, she shakes his hand. “A pleasure indeed.”
They both break out in giggles. 
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When she wakes the next morning, it’s to a stickiness between her legs. Thinking she’s started her monthly, she throws the blankets off. But when she gets off the bed, no blood is to be seen. She feels something begin to trickle down her thigh so she hurriedly places her hand down there to check what it is. Surprise colors her face when she sees a clear viscous liquid coating her fingertips. 
Surely she had not wet herself, she’d not done that since she was a babe. When she checks the bed for wet spots, she is baffled to find none. How odd. 
Distracted, she goes about her morning, making her bed, opening the curtains, getting dressed. When she opens her door, she is surprised to see Kas waiting for her in the surprisingly dark hallway. 
“G-good morning, bea-Kas. Can I help you with something?”
He says nothing, instead slowly trailing his dark eyes over her figure, lingering between her legs.
Immediately, something in her core tells her something is wrong. There’s a tingle at the base of her neck, goosebumps rolling down her arms. 
Slowly, so as not to alert him, she begins to close the door in an effort to have something between them. He continues to say nothing, instead watching as she closes the door enough to hide the interior of her room. Both of her shoulders are out of sight, the majority of her body in the room, head leaning out.
“I actually do need your help with something.” His voice is low and he speaks slowly. It freaks her out. 
“O-oh?” She tries not to make it obvious that her hand is scrambling to find something to grab. A weapon of some sort. “With what?”
Kas takes a step closer. “I have a hunger that I cannot satisfy.”
She managed to grab hold of a candelabra on the table that was situated next to her door. “Oh? I’m sure I can cook something up for you if Munson is not able to at the moment.”
“I’m afraid Munson will not be able to help me. It is a very particular kind of hunger. One could call it a thirst.” He takes another step closer, inhaling deeply, eyes rolling as a distinct scent hits his nose. “But I can tell you have exactly what I need,” he rumbled.
Alarm bells rang throughout her head when he took another step and she brandished her candelabra. “Don’t come any closer.”
He huffed. “Silly girl. Do you really think that will stop me?”
She threw it at him as he closed the distance just to see it bounce off of him. While one hand covered her mouth, the other held her by the waist and lifted her up. One of his wings shut the door behind him and he walked her to the bed.
She struggled and tried to scream, but she could hardly breathe with his big hand blocking her nostrils. She kicked and punched as hard as she could but her strength was no match for him. 
He laid her on the bed, wings surrounding them both, cutting her off from anything other than Kas. It was dark and hot and he still hadn’t removed his hand from her mouth. She felt herself get lightheaded and the amount of fight in her diminished.
Kas caught on and quickly shifted his hand, allowing her nostrils clarity. The other hand let go of her waist and was rucking up her dress. He ignored her muffled shrieks and struggles, instead choosing to focus on getting to the apex between her thighs as quickly as possible. 
When he reached it he groaned, for she was still wet. “I knew it.”
She sobbed when his finger put pressure on her clit. Thanks to her dream she knew where this was headed and her attempts to fight him off grew stronger. He merely laughed while his finger rapidly drew circles on her clit.
She jerked in his hold. As much as she did not want to, her body began to respond to his actions. Compared to her dream Edward, Kas’ movements were much too rough and hurried. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second and the sounds she let out were starting to turn into moans.
His breathing was heavy in her ears and she could feel her own begin to match it. Against her will, her hips started to move with his finger, chasing the pleasure he was provoking. 
“Look at you. Acting so disgusted, but you like this. You enjoy my touch.” With that, he flicked her clit and laughed when she squealed in pain. 
She was surprised at the spark of pleasure she felt from the pain and it caused the familiar heat from her dreams to bloom. She tried to squeeze her thighs hard enough to cause his hand to slip out from between them, but in doing so it just made the pleasure hit differently.
When she felt herself being to clench around nothing she panicked, for she knew what that meant. Trying to fend off the increasing pleasure, she found herself holding her breath in concentration. But in doing so she felt the pleasure swell and it continued to build and build until she thought she was about to climax.
Kas withdrew his finger and laughter sounded in her ears as she came back down. “Oh, my pet, you truly are a sight to see. The loveliest creature I’ve set my eyes on in decades.”
With no warning, he shoved his finger inside of her, rumbling in pleasure at her scream of pain. He gives her no reprieve, no chance to adjust to the size of his finger (so much larger than what Edward had felt like in her dream) and begins to rapidly thrust it. 
Stretched beyond belief, she thinks she may just die from the pain when sparks of pleasure begin to flicker once more. Slick makes his passage easier and she cries at the sound of his cruel laughter. 
“Look at your cunt, so hungry for my finger she can’t help but pull it back in.”
And it was true. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, her body seemed to thrive under his rough ministrations. Her hips began to chase his movements once more and instead of clawing at the hand covering her mouth, she held on for her life. With every other thrust, his finger came in contact with a distinct spot inside of her, giving her a jolt of pleasure each time.
The pleasure mounting this time around was much more intense than her dream climax and she sobbed at the uncontrollable feeling. Just as she felt herself reach that peak again, Kas withdrew his finger once more. 
She cried out in frustration and disgust. Why did he keep stopping? And why did she want him to continue his assault?
Quickly, Kas moves down her body, wings following him. She squints at the abrupt change in lighting and has barely adjusted to it when she feels something wet touch her folds.
She begins to lift her head to look between her legs, “why are you doing this?”
“You said you would do anything to save your father’s life.”
Suddenly Kas’ tongue thrusts into her, curling as it did, coming into contact with that particular spot he had just started to explore with his finger. She felt full in a different way, in an honestly much preferable way. His finger had been rigid, his tongue (thankfully) much more pliable. 
She couldn’t help but to compare it to how it felt when Edward explored her with his tongue. Kas was reaching places Edward had no ability to. Whereas Edward took his time and was gentle, Kas would thrust viciously and without mercy.
He would alternate between jabbing his tongue in her and slurping up the excess slick from her folds. His snout would brush against her clit while his hands held her legs open. Without his hands covering her mouth, her noises filled the room, a mixture of crying and moans. He relished in the inconsistency of her begging.
“‘Yes, yes. No, stop it.’ You just don’t know what you want, do you?” He grinned salaciously. “It’s alright. You don’t have to know. I know what you want and I am all you need.”
With that, he doubled his efforts to draw her climax out of her. Soon her cries for him to stop diminished entirely and all that was heard in the room were her begs for more. 
And more he gave her. The heat in her core surged, continuing to rise and rise until it engulfed her entire being and she fell apart on his tongue. He didn’t stop until he had his fill, causing her to climax two more times. 
By the time he finished she had passed out, energy spent and body weakened.
Kas gently rearranged her on the bed, righting her dress. 
“You are exactly what I need.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Mon trèsor.”
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When she wakes hours later, the shadows in her room tell her it’s about noon. In a daze, she rights her bed and goes looking for the candelabra in the hallway only to find it sitting on its table, making her wonder if the events of the morning were a terrible dream. The soreness between her legs tells her otherwise.
After some time, she looks for the kitchen hoping for some lunch. She’s lost for only a moment before the candles lead her to the kitchen doors, the sound of tinkling cutlery bleeding into the hallway. When she entered, she could have sworn she saw a broom sweeping in the corner, but when she turned, it was against the wall. 
She makes a small plate of the leftovers from breakfast. In the end she struggles to finish her meal, too distracted from the morning’s events.
Eventually, she heads out to the gazebo, book in hand, and notices the very roses that doomed her. She barely clears the debris off the bench before sitting down. In the distance, she can hear the sounds of different animals and the buzz of insects.
For hours, she reads the same few pages, not absorbing a single word. 
“It is time for dinner.”
Munson’s voice makes her jump and she hurries out of the gazebo, avoiding his eyes.
Kas is waiting for her in the dining room. When she goes for a random seat she hears him grunt. When she meets his gaze, he gestures to the seat next to him. She hesitates for a moment before sitting next to him. 
Dinner plays out almost exactly as it had the night before. She is much too distracted to enjoy her meal and Kas is busy watching her. 
They both reach for their respective goblets at the same time when she notices the scratches she left on his arms and the size of his hands. 
While she knew his hands were big (she could tell when they were all over her) she hadn’t realized just how big they were. She took a sip of her drink as her mind drifted uncontrollably. If Edwards fingers were thick and long but his member even longer and thicker, then how big would Kas’ be? 
At that thought she choked on her wine, sending her into a coughing fit. Kas reached out a hand to pat her back but she jerked out of his reach. 
“No! No,” she calms down. “I’m fine.” 
His dark eyes narrow in suspicion but he says nothing. 
When dinner is over, she attempts to rush out of the room but Kas’ voice stops her. 
“Before you go, I have something to ask you.”
She nods in acknowledgement.
“Will you marry me?”
Her nose scrunches in confusion. Had she not answered this question the night before? Did he really think she would say yes after what happened that very morning?
“No.”
His reaction was much like the night before and he dismissed her without saying a word. 
When she got to her room, she made sure to close her curtains before getting ready for bed. It was rather unrealistic, but she hoped to experience the same dream again. She would much rather be in a wonderful fantasy with a handsome dream man than in the newfound nightmare her reality had become.
Unfortunately for her, she did not fall asleep as easily as the night before, but once sleep grabbed hold of her she went with it willingly.
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“Fancy seeing you here.”
She sat up in her bed and looked around. The room looked mostly the same except the colors were much brighter. The walls were a pastel green instead of the dark, almost black green. Everything was still gilded and she could see little paintings of flowers scattered all around. The room had an overall brighter tone and lighter feel to it. 
Sat on the little couch near the balcony was Edward. He was dressed in a white shirt and unbuttoned trousers. There was a smirk on his face as he sat with his legs crossed, an arm spread out on the back of the couch. 
Noticing she was naked, she pulled the sheet up to her chest. “Edward?”
“The one and only.”
Dragging a hand down her face, she muttered to herself, “what kind of dream is this?”
“The best kind of dream.” He stood up from the couch and made his way to her. “The kind where your worries come to fade away,” he sat next to her on the bed, “and where only light is allowed.” He grabbed her unoccupied hand. “As long as I am around you will never not feel safe here. That I can promise you.” Staring into her eyes, he tenderly kissed the palm of her hand.
She swooned. Who was this man? How in the world had she conjured him? He was incredibly handsome, had introduced her to a new kind of pleasure, and now he was promising to keep her safe.
“Who are you,” she sighed. 
He grinned. “We’ve gone over this, mon trèsor. I,” he placed a hand on his chest, “am Edward. Although my close friends call me Eddie.” He nods at her. “You can call me Eddie.”
“I would hardly say we’re friends, I barely know you.”
Smirk on his face, he bumped shoulders with her, “I would say most friends don’t know each other as intimately as we do.”
Her jaw dropped in surprise at his statement. It was a crass way to do it, but when he put it that way, she couldn’t help but agree. Perhaps they were friends. 
He put a finger under her chin, shutting her mouth as quickly as it opened. “Close that up, before you give me any ideas.” Then he jumped off the bed. “Come,” he clapped. “Get dressed, I have much to show you.”
She did as he asked, wondering how a dream could feel so lifelike. It was almost enough to distract her from what had occurred that very morning. She decided to take it in stride, accept it for what it was. Given her circumstances, she would need all the friends she could get, no matter how unorthodox their introduction. 
It was a shame the only way she could make a friend and feel safe was in her dreams.
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A/N: There it is! The first of most likely two parts. There are much darker things in store for our sweet Belle. I have a lot planned for this story, so hopefully you stick along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know if you did 💕 If you want to see my fics and just the fics, go check out @valthevalkyrielibrary
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imeternallylove · 6 months
Text
Don't grow up, it's a trap - Brian May; pt.1
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Pairing: Brian May x Reader
Warning: none
Word: 2.7k
main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts
Chapters index
prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part night | part ten | epilogue
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The nightmares gradually disappeared for Brian and Betty. Miss Y/L/N wasn't giving them enough money that he could afford to waste it. The boy strives to be as thrifty as feasible; sometimes his sister describes it as worse than stingy since he attempts not to spend any money at all.
Brian is still quite considerate, and he is frightened of being perceived as an avaricious kid who is greedy for the money of his benefactor. He reprimanded Betty, his naughty sister, several times; however, her staying by his side inspires him to persevere in difficult times. And now she begged for a pricey new Ken doll to be part of her Barbie collection because the one she had was outdated, which is totally nonsense for him.
Their father and mother now live someplace in the UK, making use of work in return for money for rent in a small room that was previously used as a hiding spot for escaping creditors. The kids only had to hope for their call back to be certain whether their parents had stayed healthy.
What was it like to face terrible times? Brian, of course, has vivid memories of what happened. If he were a money gabber, seeing a cheque and useful supplies in Miss Y/L/N's shopping bags on a monthly basis for two years wouldn't be shocking to him. It was because he was too empathic, and he and his sister couldn't refute the fact that they were too young and undoubtedly helpless at times.
And then Miss Y/L/N surprised him once again. One day, after he returned home, he spotted a present package wrapped in ordinary cream-coloured paper and fastened with a white ribbon.
An eighteen-year-old lad stood in front of his house, unwrapping what was inside. His younger sister appeared on either side, holding stuff for him, until they both widened their eyes in shock. It was immediately apparent that within were collections of books from Brian's favourite experts in astronomy and then he noticed the man doll, which had the name 'Ken' printed on the vibrant pinkish packaging box set laid aside.
Well, if he wasn't mistaken, it was a Barbie doll man, as his sister had been chanting for lately. Betty shrieked and yelled throughout the house as he moved his attention to her, while the cheeky sister snatched the pink box from his grip and began to play with it. The older May only grinned sheepishly since he was still stunned by Miss Y/L/N benevolence, and he began reasoning that it was more than enough.
The young man took the white card and flipped it to see what was written. Its mild fragrance made him feel pleasing right away. Brian had no idea that letters might make someone feel better. Even though he had never met the owner of the black ink, who penned a brief note expressing.
'Happy birthday, and I hope you both love your presents.'
Yes, definitely. Miss Y/L/N is overly nice to them.
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Two or three years later, the rotary phone marked the formal start of conversation between him, his sister, and their benefactor. It appeared awkward starting out; every word that he spoke was reviewed before deciding whether it was appropriate for him to talk to her. He avoided allowing her to be disappointed if Brian acted unpleasant one day.
Talking becomes less stressful after a while has passed. Brian never imagined his benefactor would be paying attention to all the weird things that went on in his day at college, or at the library, or at the lab, or- at his house. Before going to bed, he promised to repeat the story again the following day, and the next day, and every single day after that.
From the time he used to only work as a part-time teacher, Brian has gone back with his old lady, Red Special, to showing on the tiny gig on music that he loved again. The boy with black, thick curly hair felt like he was back in kindergarten, trying to get the attention of his parents when she mentioned it would be superb to see him perform music with his handmade guitar on stage with his pals.
Brian craves to know what Miss Y/L/N looks like, but he lacks the nerve to approach her more closely enough to ask. The boy feared that she would reject him and feel disgusted about his silly fantasies. Will it be terribly naive? Will she think that he's nosy? His pals chastised him for being absurd about the worries he had. At the end of the day, Brian doesn't even ask her out; all he wants is to get to know her. Is not it?
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On this particular school fair day, nineteen-year-old Brian May and his friends prepared an astronomy and scientific project booth, complete with a neat suit and long, courteous tie. To accommodate everyone who attended the event—mostly professors—the room was set up into four sizable groups and arranged in various locations.
Brian believes that today is another enjoyable day, whether it is spent with parents or students from different colleges.
"This is a joke; it's bloody hot." With an understanding look, the tallest boy gave his groupmate, who was whining about the humidity, a pat on the shoulder. Without taking a break from his security duty, Dave had been at the booth since the morning, leading each visitor through the project they had been working on and researching for weeks.
Even though the astronomy and scientific booth wasn't as well-liked as the others, they still had great fun listening to their extensive lectures about their subject matter. The boys were thrilled, even if it felt like they were speaking to no one or that only a handful of people were listening.
On the table was a printed rating sheet that booth attendees could fill out and comment on. When Brian noticed that someone else was now observing on the research board, he grabbed one.
"Hello, Miss. Please take this." Making a turn, a woman of adulthood grinned, grabbed her evaluation form, and held it. She bows to him first, then Brian bows slightly in manners while her grin continues to highlight her exquisite features. After reading the evaluation report for a few minutes and scanning his eyes, the boy lifted his head to look at the board once more.
“May I ask who drew this?”
Brian smiled broadly and replied, "It's me; I draw it all." Nobody has mentioned the naiveté he slathered onto his drawing since the morning. The first is this woman.
When she grins, all the boy can see are her eyes, which narrow to a single, curved line, and her voice, which sounds familiar. "You know, it's kinda cool. It looks fascinating when used as a drawing."
Brian listens as she speaks to him; her voice is soothing, like a lullaby. Her petite hand, making an attempt to give him an explanation in her own words. He captures sight of the expensive watch clung to hers and extracts a pen that had become lodged in her skirt's pocket.
Her eyes snapped up, peering directly into the boy's, and for a moment, Brian felt like a deer caught in the headlights as he watched her begin to write on the top of the paper he had given her moments before. Her lips parted, causing his mind to explode. "Your arts are easy to understand. I like it a lot."
In a move to lessen the shame he feels, Brian scratches the back of his neck. "Thank you. But I think it still looks absurd." He pointed at the magnum opus, which he had spent countless hours curled up on his back and drawing, and wiped the tip of his nose apologetically. His pals, though, agreed it was ridiculous. despite the fact that the periodic table should have the graph placed on it.
"Absurd?" When she recounted what he had said, Brian was taken aback. She gave him an icy smile after recognising that what he had said was far more foolish than what he had actually done.
He took a deep breath, gazing attentively, and the evaluation was positive when she marked the page. He felt relieved by it. Brian said, gawkily smiling, "I sometimes say stupid things like this." Gazing at her face, he realised that she was likely ten centimetres higher than him, partly because of the height of her stiletto heels.
Oh. She is so small. In that white lace collared black minidress, it made her seem so smaller.
"What makes you feel so negative on yourself? Now tell me what you are good at..." The older woman questioned as she lowered her gaze to his shirt level and read the name tag on the shirt, "Mister May?" Just before getting back to eye contact with his.
The way she looks truly appealing, the way the way how envious he is of her gorgeous straight ginger hair with a bang is so gorgeous and he only had ugly black curly hair, and the way her scents remind him of a fairytale—Brian can tell plainly from being this close.
With bafflement, the boy swiped and gestured to the board and himself. "Me? orㅡ or the project?" The small woman started chuckling at his foolish expression before realising that, and she responded in jest. "I'm talking with you. And, yes. I mean you."
Brian answers her dramatically, trying to clear his throat and gather himself back together. "I'm good at playing guitar, I think. I formed a band and wrote a few songs but still in the process."
"What else?" She flashed him a nod while folding her arm across her chest, and her captivating eyes encouraged him to keep going.
"I can cook."
With a broad smirk and a faint whisper, she asks. "Oh, what's more?"
"I'm single."
The thing he had been saying had stunned him. As soon as Brian noticed he'd done something dumb again, he glared at the woman, who appeared to be equally startled as Brian.
"Is that what you called 'good'?"
"Oh, I have no idea, maybe it will work out well." Sheerly, he scratched the back of his neck. Unbelievably, he knows this woman across from him is going to think Brian May is an idiot for sure.
But all she does is glance upward at the board once again, still grinning. "You're the opposite of what teenagers want—girlfriends."
"I find it difficult to like people. I think that living this way is better than dating someone." How come from science projects become a love story? When did it change? Isn't it time for him to explain what's on the board?
"There're a lot of things waiting for you to find out. Don't miss out because you're satisfied with what you already have." Brian watched the older woman bend down and put a check mark on the score sheet again.
"Like… dating someone?"
"Dating is just another chapter in life; if you really don't want it, there are plenty of other things to do."
"Then I will try to date someone from today on."
She started giggling at Brian, then her eyes sparkled, flashing all around, and since he always overslept in order to keep an eye on the skies at night with the dynascope, Brian reasoned that her eyes may be brighter than the moon.
The boy noticed something had been concealed there, inside her lovely eyes. And he didn't have any idea how to guess it at all. "Uh, I mean-  'starting to think about it.' I didn't think much beyond that."
"Don't waste much time; you can't go back to youth once you grow up."
Brian stood silent while having the conversation. It was almost like the remark from just seconds before was replaying itself in the back of his mind. He's thinking, in line with her statements, which could be accurate, that he hasn't done many of the things that teens ought to do.
He straight away recognised that Tim asked him to join to record additional songs, which he wants to, but unfortunate that he has a lot on his plate, and the band may already be recording without him.
“Hey! Bri! Come here, mate!”
As the boy shifted his gaze towards the source of the sound, he saw that four pals were now standing, discussing.
"I'll handle this. I don't know what the hell is wrong with Richard's group, they need you to help them." Dave scowled and gave a disgusted shake of his head.
Brian glanced at the woman, who continued concentrating on the board. It seems likely that the scoring evaluation will soon be finished. He may most likely return in time if he only takes a little diversion to see his friends before returning to her. She grinned and gave a nod as the boy lowered his head briefly.
The boy turned around roughly a few seconds after he had started discussing booth setup with another group of pals. When he spotted that the woman he was leisurely talking with had left, his two legs remained still, unhappy.
"Is she gone?"
"Oh, just now." Dave handed the score sheet to Brian, whom he acknowledged before seeing the results.
The boy had a sudden numbness across the entirety of his body after he noticed that this evaluation's owner's name appeared.
Y/N Y/L/N
34 years old
"You know, it's kinda cool. It looks fascinating when used as a drawing."
"Hey, Bri?"
"What makes you feel so negative on yourself? Now tell me what you are good at."
"What's going on, mate?"
"There're a lot of things waiting for you to find out. Don't miss out because you're satisfied with what you already have."
"Brian?"
"Don't waste much time; you can't go back to youth once you grow up."
'Oui! Brian!"
Dave yelled after his closest friend, who bolted outside of the room without saying anything. Brian is rushing among the huge crowd of visitors to the fair.
His heart pounded in his chest; it was beating stronger than ever. The boy repeatedly brought it back, not expecting it, but each time he did so, it reinforced Brian May's desire to meet his benefactor at least once.
He remembered telling her that he was attending a college event today and that he had set up a science booth a few weeks ago. At the time, Brian was jokingly inviting her to come visit him and his sister here.
If that woman was Miss Y/L/N, the conversation that just happened… reveals that she already knows who he is.
A tall, slender boy made his way through the crowd again. Where is the woman with ginger curls and a black velvet minidress right now? Brian's close attention was drawn to the person he had been dying to see for years.
Brian began running again, with the throb of his heart. He glimpsed the back of the woman, who matched Miss Y/L/N, moving gracefully past the mass of people. The boy's gaze was fixed on her, a woman he wasn't certain was who she seemed to be.
"Miss Y/L/N??"
The boy grabbed her arm and twisted her around towards him; only it made him displeased to see that the woman frowning at him was not the woman standing in front of the scientific booth, conversing with him.
Brian bends his head in apology. He lingered in that posture without looking up, and he ended up missing out on the opportunity to meet her.
His muscular hands raised his hair, eliciting a weary grumble. How often has he told himself not to expect it?
"Excuse me," and before Brian could turn around, he felt a finger poke into the middle of his back.
"I believed that you were just shouting out my name."
Brian finds himself wondering stupidly how quickly his heart is pumping by standing towards the woman he'd been talking with next to the board earlier, with a beaming grin on her face. The boy shifted his gaze away from her to see Betty standing next to her, chuckling at the silly face he had made.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mister May."
oh hai, im new for this hehe
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sunoooism · 2 years
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📜ADMIT IT!— six.
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❝just out here living vicariously through my novel!❞
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mlist
I rushed this a bit sorry 💀💀, this update was delayed bcs I've been really busy with school and stuff. hopefully I'll be back to updating once or twice a week now!!
Day 2 of Yokohama
your second day in Yokohama was spent relaxing in the hotel, watching whatever shitty film or TV show was available. the best thing you could find at the moment was 'Kubo and the Two Strings' which you remembered Kuina recommending to you years ago. she kept pestering you about it until you got fed up and lied about watching it, saying 'oh, yeah! I loved it!' if there was any time to actually watch it, it would be now you supposed.
as Chishiya showered and carried on with his night routine you were sprawled out across your bed in an oversized sleep shirt and shorts you borrowed stole from Ann. the movie had been good so far but it made you wonder why all children in kids films always have such sad backstories.
by the time Shuntaro had emerged from the bathroom you had fallen asleep atop his pillow that you had also borrowed stolen. usually this would irritate the life out of him even if it was Kuina, but staring down at you and the little bit of drool smeared across your lip, he couldn't really find it in himself to be annoyed with you.
Day 3 of Yokohama
Chishiya had suggested a walk through the streets of Yokohama, and since you couldn't think of anything else to do instead you agreed. unfortunately you ended up on a busy pavement with people bumping into you two left and right. and even more unfortunate for you there were countless couples everywhere you looked. this left you only slightly upset and dejected by your love life, or more specially the lack-thereof.
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Day 4 of Yokohama
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Day 5 of Yokohama
your day was spent with another outing into town accompanied by Chishiya, and along the way desperate texts to your multiple friends asking for advice on what to do about your Chishiya Shuntaro issue.
you had just finished harassing Kyuma for advice when the man on your right pulled you into a movie theater. apparently his favourite film was playing. who knew he was into thrillers?
well to be completely honest you didn't know if it was a thriller, as cliché as it sounds you were too busy admiring Chishiya to pay attention and or care. to say you thought of him as ugly would be a lie, and while you had never thought too hard on the subject you were now questioning whether or not he had always been this enticing.
you had no doubt he knew you were staring, if he didn't you would be astonished to no end, but what confused you was the fact that he wasn't calling you out for it. usually if something like this happened he would mercilessly taunt and tease whoever he caught. but he seemed to be content, pleased, even with this outcome. you could see the small smirk itching to pass over his features.
your big question was, why?
Day 6 of Yokohama
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day six in the city was spent exploring small, aesthetically pleasing shops. so far you had gotten a couple books, a new sage green scarf and snacks for you and Chishiya to share while you were out.
your final destination was Yokohama park. you had once told your friend group you adored a view of flowers and trees to pass the day. that was years ago though, apparently Chishiya had remembered. so you both sat on a wall watching people pass by and cracking jokes, by your opinions it might have been the best day there.
Last day of Yokohama
although Chishiya had been strangely tolerable this past week, in no way were you complaining. but you knew he would probably revert back to normal when you were around your other friends again and for some reason that didn't bother you. you had gotten used to his snarky remarks after a while and it felt strange now that he was softer.
for your last day in Yokohama you had agreed to go to a restaurant for dinner, it wasn't too fancy but at the same time wasn't completely horrible either. It had good reviews so you both thought, why not right?
you were both sat in a booth tucked in at the very back of the room. the tables surrounding you mainly consisted of young couples having a romantic night out, a lady squealed as her partner brought out a bouquet and leapt up to smother him in affection. was the world just out to make fun of your non existent love life this week?
"I've enjoyed our time together, Y/n. I hope we can plan things like this more often, it's quieter without Arisu complaining all the time" his statement caught you off guard, and with your new found feelings for the man it made your stomach flutter a bit at the thought of spending more time with him. "I liked this week too. thank you for sacrificing your back account to make me happy this week, I really appreciate it.
next time it's my turn"
Next - Previous
©sunoooism
tags: @captivq @happyjuhyun @yvrikoo @mxbrahms @huachengsbestie01 @rainqissedd @brdpch @ehddsnys @kokxm1 @naegisimp @luvvsnae @bowscale @hy0ukka @trinmadol @saiewithakatana @bre99 @kazuhacumslut @fiqire @mazeinthemoon
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beingdreeyore · 1 year
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Oh my gosh! I’m so excited bc I’m in Aust too! Would you say the training programs for psychiatry are difficult to get into, or if they want particular experiences (I.e research, leadership)? How are the training programs themselves? What would you say would be a day to day schedule? (ahaha sorry for all the q, I just haven’t met that many people who are interested/doing psych in my medschool)
The training programs are getting much more competitive now as they're oversubscribed in some states. So it is moving more towards the surgical path of needing to do SRMO years in psychiatry or unaccredited registrar years to get onto the program. I don't know anyone that did research and benefited from it though. They value time in the game over the fluff stuff that doesn't have a lot of clinical application.
Honestly? The training program is horrific. No one tells you that the five year program will take 7 years for most people because you can't actually get your compulsory terms. The assessments are also relentless. We do them constantly through each and every term as well as the five keys assessments (that each require several months of study), so it's pretty rare to meet an accredited reg who hasn't taken a break to locum because they can't handle the workload. Psychiatry beats a lot of specialties in terms of the number of different assessments required. I don't know a single psychiatry registrar who isn't burnt out. You do a minimum of six assessments per term, as well as the five key major assessments that each require several months of study. The pass rate for one of those is only 30% so chances are you're going to be dropping over $1K for that assessment more than once... And in my health district the college can send us to one of 7 different hospitals every six months and we just have to be okay with that. No say in the process and no concern for how that might impact the rest of our lives.
It pitches itself as the work/life balance friendly specialty, but it's not. You will get paid less than all your colleagues (except maybe GPs?) and you will work just as many hours. Psychiatry registrars aren't actually recognised as registrars on the pay scale until they hit their fourth year.
Just be very aware of what you're signing on for before you do it. Use your intern year to get a feel for everything and know what psychiatry actually is. During your compulsory ED term as an intern see psych patients on every shift, because that is what you're actually signing up for. If you come in blind to what it is, chances are you will leave.
Probably not what you want to hear, but everyone I know is so burnt out from trying to get through this. If I could go back I'd just do orthopaedics or GP. I'd never put myself through this if I'd known then what I know now.
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shino-mina-324 · 4 months
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The Thunder Hashira
Chapter 4
Warning: none
2.4k word count
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It's been about half a year since I come to train with Gramps. He's taught me basic sword fighting, total concentration breathing, and survival skills. Among those he also quizzes me weekly on demons and the demon slayer corp so as not to forget facts I might need to know in the future.
Somehow though I've never been down to the village at the foot of the mountain, I was there briefly when I came here but I only passed through. That is what led me to this current debate.
"What is this?"
"It's money."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is. How do you not know what money looks like?"
"I do know. It's looks like this." I walked into my room and walked back out with a pouch, still holding the weird paper in my hand. Gramps took the pouch and looked inside. He then took a deep breath.
"Did your village... only pay in the form of coins?"
"Yes?"
"Himiko.... sweetheart bless your soul, why did your village run on coins?" I shrugged. "Ok, I guess now I have to teach you about currency and modernised things because from what you're telling me your town is behind. No offense to your town or anything, but you'll need to know these things. If not to survive but also save yourself from getting weird looks from people." I felt my face heat at his words, and pouted slightly.
"What's that even mean?" I mumbled.
"I'll go into town with you to get the things I needed but you'll be going to town at least once or twice every two weeks to help with your learning. Now get your shoes we're leaving." I nodded and walked to my room. I grabbed my sandals and put them in as well as my haori. It was a purplish version of gramps own haori.
We then made our way out and down the mountain. It was a long but clear walk. We soon arrived in the town, and my god it was huge!
"Why's it so big?" I mumbled staring at the village.
"It's not. Now stick close or you'll get lost." Gramps said with a smile. I'm sorry but if I'm able to get lost in it, isn't it big?
We walked into the town as I kept looking around at everything. It was so big! The large buildings and stalls everywhere, selling all kinds of stuff. Gramps had slowed to a slow walk when he realised I wasn't walking as fast as him. We then arrived at a stall.
"Can I get three of those?" I heard Gramps start speaking with the clerk as I browsed through the other tables.
"New pupil?" The clerk said leaning over the counter looking at me. Gramps nodded.
"Yeah, she's been with me for about half a year now."
"Seriously? And I'm only now seeing her? Wow and here I thought we were friends." The clerk laughed and Gramps had to restrain himself from whacking the man. "She's quite air headed, huh?"
"No actually. She's very aware, and present. She's just never been to a big town apparently."
"Ah small town girl?"
"Yep. Raised on a mountain, small village at the bottom."
"Wow. Don't see that everyday."
"Yeah." Gramps said and then looked at the sky. "Well I got what we needed, we should be heading back now if we wanna get some training in for today. I was supposed to take the next step in her training today."
"Oof, good luck."
"Yeah, it was good seeing you again." Gramps said and turned away. "Himiko! Time to go." He called grabbing my attention. My face heated up slightly realizing how I had zoned out in awe.
"Ah sorry."
"It's fine, we should leave if we wanna squeeze in training today."
"Ok!"
~
"Thunder breathing has six forms. Each form has it own stance and slash. We'll work on mastering each form one by one. Starting with the first form, Thunderclap and Flash." He explained.
He told me what stance to get into and used his cane to fix and adjust anything in my posture. He had me step out of it and back into it repeatedly until I had it memorized. He had me do this until the sun started to set.
This process was repeated the next day and then the next, eventually adding in the slash movements, in slow motion. And then I repeated the entire form for hours on end, until I dropped exhausted or Gramps told me it was time to stop. At some point we sped up the movements until I could do it without mistakes at its full speed. After I memorized the first form we went on to the second, repeating the process, then the third, then the fourth. We repeated this until I memorized all six forms of thunder breathing. This happened around another half a year later. At this mark it had already been a year and all I had to do was wait for the next final selection to roll around.
I trained everyday as to not get rusty or forget anything and Gramps kept quizzing me as well. He would also send me down to town to either fetch things or help around some people. He wanted me to get aquatinted with the world and learn to talk to people a bit. I had actually made a couple friends and the clerks at most of the vendors liked to have me around too. It was fun. Currently Gramps was bringing me down the mountain to the village again today, which wasn't out of the ordinary but what was the fact that I had a blindfold.
"So why exactly do I have to wear this?" I asked hopping over a rock, I knew it was there cause I had the path memorized.
"For the last time, there's a surprise and we can't have you peaking." Gramps grumbled, annoyed by my continued questions.
"What kind of surprise?"
"it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?"
"Gramps!"
"Oh shush." We soon made our way into the village and he took my hand and started to lead the way down a few unfamiliar streets. I didn't recognize the path we were going down. I started to get nervous as we kept walking. I then felt myself walk through a door way and enter some kind of room. "You can take it off now." I slowly reached up and took off the blindfold.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" I jumped slightly at the loud shouts and blinked at the sight in front of me. it was all my friends from the village and some of the clerks.
"What's going on?" I asked looking around, there was a table holding a few gifts, a table with various foods on it, and a few decorations here and there
"It's your birthday, silly!" My friend Mai said walking up and hugging me. "Happy birthday!"
"How did you know, tho?" I asked hugging her back.
"I sent a letter to your parents asking about it." Gramps spoke up and I looked back to see him smiling at me.
"Thank you." I said after a few seconds of silence. "Thank you guys, you didn't have to do this!"
"Oh shut it, what kind of friends would we be if we didn't celebrate your birthday!" My other friend Jun said and ruffled my hair. "We're going to eat and open presents here then there's a festival passing through town so us kids will go visit that while the grownups get drunk." We laughed.
"Hey we are not going to get drunk!" One of the clerks tried to defend but it was hopeless.
"Now come on! Open your presents!" Mai said excitedly, and pulled me toward the table. She handed me a small box, wrapped in purple paper with a bow on top of it. I gently pulled the bow strings to release it and unwrapped the paper. I then lifted the lid and looked inside. It was a trio of hair pins, the end was in the shape of a wisteria flower, it was encrusted with colored glass and was attached to a golden needle. The needle was long with a sharp, knife-like end to it. All three were identical to each other.
"OH MY GOD THANK YOU!" I screamed and grabbed Mai into a tight hug, she laughed and hugged me back.
"Its not that big a deal, the supplies were a bit hard to find but it was easy to make. Especially when you've been making these things for years." I smacked her shoulder.
"Don't put yourself down like that! Its amazing!" I hugged her again. When we let go Jun handed me a small box.
"Well compared to that my gift isn't that great but here ya go." I tilted my head curiously and opened it. It was a simple box with a lid so it was easier. I gasped at what was inside, it was a necklace. It had a silver chain, and the pendant was of a golden lightning bolt. Taking a closer look I saw it was engraved with my initials, H.K., it was beautiful. I jumped and hugged Jun.
"It's beautiful! Thank you so much!" He laughed and after opening the other gifts we sat down and ate. At some point me and Jun got into a food fight which caused the adults to yell at us and kick us out with Mai.
"I hate you both."
"Oh come on! You love us."
"Yeah Mai!"
"I didn't get to finish my dinner cause of you!"
"Ok well let's go, we can get food at the festival if you're so hungry!" Me and Jun looped our arms with Mai's and started making our way towards the festival.
We made our way around, playing games, getting Mai food, getting ice cream, we also saw a few rides and a zip line that we tried out. It was pretty fun. It was dark now and we were walking around, there were lights up everywhere, and it was beautiful. I sighed, I didn't want the night to end but it was already dark and I should be heading up the mountain again soon. Plus there could be demons around.
"We should be heading back soon..." I said but my words trailed off when I spotted something across the street. I stopped walking and stared. Jun noticed and looked to where I was looking.
"What are you looking at?"
"What is that?" I said and pointed at something, it was a man that held a weirdly shaped box that had a glass end. Jun realised what I was talking about and laughed. He started to tug me toward the man.
"It's a photographer."
"What's that?" I asked as I followed behind him. But he just smiled at me. We walked up to the man and he smiled at us in greeting.
"Care for a photo?" He asked holding up the weird box thing.
"Yeah, how much?" Jun said digging in his pocket. I gave up on trying to pay like three hours ago. I tried a couple times but they'd either shove me aside, bonk me over the head, or make an annoying speech about 'shouldn't pay on my birthday' which I just flipped them off at.
"5$ for three photos, 10$ for five." My eyes went wide at that and I turned to Jun.
"Jun that's a lot."
"Oh shush." He waved me off and paid the man. "Here's a ten. Himi' go ahead and stand in front of that wall." Jun said and tugged me to the wall, it was decorated with little flowers and had a street lamp close to it. I stood awkwardly in front of the wall. "Relax!" Jun and Mai laughed. "Smile."
I nodded and then smiled at the box thing then a flash went off. I blinked in surprise. Jun looked at the other side of the box and smiled.
"Good, got it just before she blinked." Jun then walked over and slung an arm around my shoulders. "Now one with me, one with Mai, and then all three of us!"
"Ok." I said and smiled, this time bracing myself not to blink. Jun raised his hand and held up two fingers. The flash came on again and Jun walked back. Then Mai came up to me. She wrapped her arm around my waist, making me jump slightly and blush a little, she then took my arm to wrap around her neck. She did the same hand sign and smiled at the box. I mimicked her hand sign although I didn't know what it was. We smiled and then the flash came on again.
"It's called a camera." She told me and my mouth made an 'o' shape. Then Jun came up and draped his arm across both our shoulders and smiled at the camera. We all walked over and peaked over to see what the other side of the box. My eyes went wide when I saw it was us. Jun laughed and ruffled my hair at my reaction.
"We got one more photo." Mai commented. That's when we spotted Gramps walking towards us.
"We should be heading back now Himiko." He said and I hummed in agreement.
"Sure but first, do you wanna get a.... What are those called?"
"A photo." Mai said with a small laugh.
"Yeah that! We got one more photo left!" He thought for a second then nodded.
"Sure." We walked over to wall but the photographer stopped us.
"Would you like a prop?" He asked and I tilted my head and I looked to where he waved. I then had an idea.
"Can I use to the stool?"
"Sure."
"Himiko I swear if this is you insulting my height again—!"
"No it's not." It was a stool for sitting. I put the stool in the center and sat down. I propped my feet up on the bar on the stool and put my hands on my knees and smiled at the camera. Gramps came behind me and put a hand on my shoulder also smiling at the camera. The flash went off and we walked over to the camera man. He handed us our photos. Jun took the one of me nod him, Mai took the one of me and her, me and Gramps took the one of me alone and me and him. He then walked up to the man.
"Is it possible to get second and third copies of these?"
"Yes but that'll be an extra 2$ each."
"Ok then." Gramps handed him the money and then took the extra copies once printed. I tilted my head at him.
"Why the extra copies?" He smiled at me.
"I was going to send them to your family." I smiled wide.
"Yeah! I totally have to write to them about today!" I said. We soon said our goodbyes and made our way back up the mountain.
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stigmvtas-archived · 11 months
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MARIBEL SAWYER — ABRIDGED.
welcome to marina, MARIBEL SAWYER ( demi woman, she/they ) ! they are a TWENTY SIX year old who has lived on the island for TEN YEARS. word on the street is they’re currently living in TOWER HILL and works as an INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST / UNLICENSED PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. everyone also says they look a lot like ELLA PURNELL. what do you think? — JAMES, 24, THEY/THEM, EST.
MENTIONS OF EATING DISORDERS AND DISAPPEARANCE.
profile.
full name: maribel ottoline sawyer.
birthday: june 1st, 1997.
astrology: gemini sun, aries moon, gemini ascending.
sexuality: bisexual.
currently listening to: the last time i did acid i went insane by jeffrey lewis.
last known location: [[[cannot be found]]]
PINTEREST.
brief history.
another middle child! what a surprise <3 smack dab in the middle of two other siblings and born to an air force father and what can only be described as an almond mom who's got an entire line of diet cookbooks and a keto-lifestyle cooking vlog on youtube.
very typical all-american, strict family life. curfew at 9pm, family dinner every sunday, chores before anything else. no sick days, no excuses, no bad grades.
painfully average in a family full of success; older sister an early broadway star, younger brother not only poet but football prodigy - maribel nothing, nothing but average. nothing but too curious.
develops a knack for mysteries and a compulsive need to solve them at a young age - something to pass time, and something that makes her feel like she's got a purpose, somewhere. a miniature nancy drew, the only reputation she holds.
they move around the states often, never in one place for too long; maribel always the too quiet girl in the back of the classroom while her siblings garnered attention.
eating disorder; maribel's mother obsession with clean eating, and being an ingredient-only household, as well as projecting her self - image onto all of her children resulted in a years long eating disorder that's mari still combats to this day - but she's doing a little better.
the family moves to nevada during mari's early high school years, her sister's in new york and her brother's still in middle school - so it's just mari at a strange new school in the middle of the desert. makes one of her only friends there, one who thinks her obsession with conspiracies isn't weird. who believes in aliens like her, who understands her.
disappearance; tldr, mari and her best friend break into area 51 to see the aliens and they get caught. obviously. lucky they weren't shot on sight. maribel gets her father almost fired, and her friend disappears. she never sees them again.
after that, the family moves to marina. mari's sixteen, and she retires the magnifying glass and her itching curiosity for the next few years. she's mostly afraid - of both her family, and of the consequences of her actions.
by the time she's eighteen, her family all but kicks her out of the house - one of those rules. she's an adult now - so act like one. then they move away - and mari's alone. she enrolls in university, and works three different jobs just to afford her tuition - but she gets through it. she has to, even if she's weak. even if she's afraid.
recently started doing her. investigation stuff again with a license that's definitely forged due to one of her other, few talents: forgery. but hey! if it gets the job done<3
facts & temperaments.
has worked so many jobs and still has a new one every other week. receptionist, waitress, phone sex operator despite being so virginal it's not even funny. has probably worked at several different restaurants after dropping entire trays of plates and getting fired because it's the fifth time it's happened in a two hour shift.
because even doing her minor investigative work that revolves around suspicious housewives and trailing dodgy teenagers will not pay her student loans or rent.
used to sell fake ids in high school because once again, she's a bit of a forgery mastermind; but stopped after she graduated. never got caught, though! also a little bit of a hacker, would change grades in the school's system for the "popular" girls in her grade to earn their approval. never really worked in her favor, but hey - they passed their classes!
would've done computer science but even though she's moved out of her family's home and they've moved away - her mom still berated her for going into a "man's" field. so maribel took up journalism as a bit of a fuck you. worked out great, obviously.
lies about her childhood often because she was a bit of a. friendless nerd and also embarrassed her dad and like, disgraced her family. and she would hate for people to know that! a bit of a compulsive liar because of it.
has an advice column in the newspaper under a fake alias as well, because maribel is Leading a Life. one where she just creates mess after mess.
is the most awkward person to walk the planet. constantly stumbling over her words or backtracking, rambling on; just has a general nervous demeanor. has constant trembles. like if you touch her, she's just. vibrating with nerves. extremely shy, and takes a while to warm up to strangers.
desperately wants to be liked. like socially. like on a fundamental level. tries to fit her personality to whoever she's talking to. she's really nice! and tries not to be like genuinely fake, just doesn't know how to be herself, or what herself is actually like.
a yes girl. rarely says no to anyone, even if it's a ridiculous request. a pushover, a doormat, someone easily walked over. surprisingly hard to fully manipulate, because maribel has the intuition of an investigator. will entertain it for a short while before realizing she's being played like a fiddle.
so fucking clumsy that it's a marvel that she's like. a genuinely decent investigator. can somehow manage to pull herself together for cases, but when she's off the clock? an entire mess. observant, even when she doesn't want to be. she can't turn that part of her off.
hair's always tied up in a ponytail. no exceptions. it's who she is. it's her personality. only takes it out when she's drunk. which isn't often but it happens sometimes! switches personalities like day and night when she is tipsy; becomes a complete flirt, an almost unrecognizable version of herself with confidence she'd never have otherwise.
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audio-luddite · 1 year
Text
I did a browse of Tumblr "Audiophile".
OK weird.
Much of the stuff is photos of old stuff from brochures and magazines (like paper OMG). I guess some people kept all that stuff. Grandpa was a hoarder of audio mags? I see lovely ads for crap product. It was crap 60 years ago and still is today (like the BOSE 901). There are some bits showing good stuff but not much. And there are the confused people who don't understand obsession with vacuum tubes and LP records.
There are links to very artistic audio themed soft-core porn. Some are adds for console stereos draped with girls in lingerie. A good stereo will bring the girls in for sure. At least that was thought in the 60s? And there are people posing as golden ears. Some experts might be expert, but you gotta pay the bills no matter the crap information they put out. Number ten in this guy's top ten turntable list is pure crap now and forever.
I have even seen totally phony photo-shopped systems that I know could never exist. You know a turntable has to be at least a bit more than 12" across to fit an LP which is 12 inches in diameter. So that picture just don't scale right.
I guess in summary it is not much fun to look at that tag as there is so much dross.
If you are an audiophile then you probably know good from bad or want to. If you are just interested or new to this then there is a problem. There is a hell of a lot of misinformation conspiracy and noise.
First problem is the term audiophile. It means literally you love sound. The presumption is you appreciate the quality of sound. That is different than liking music in general, or some specific type of music. That would be a musicophile. All it takes is adding -phile to the end of a word.
So if you like music as opposed to just the sound of steam locomotives passing by and care for good clean sound then you are bumping up against this other -phile thing. Do not be intimidated. I assure you that listening to a favorite artist with all the sounds fully resolved and blasting away in your home is a good thing.
It is strange to me that people will spend a small fortune on a sound system for their car and far less in their home. Though I suppose if you live in an apartment loud music will make no friends, but being a big bass thumper in traffic is OK and even expected. Hey if you love that sound well sorry to tell you... yup audiophile.
Now to cost. There can be a lot of money spent. Some people will spend six figures restoring a car from when they were young. It is a hobby where it is possible to spend gobs of money. And there are many people, and companies who will help you spend your money.
You can spend much less and get good results. My equipment has only two relatively new things in it. One Phono Cartridge, and one vacuum tube. All the rest of the electronics are decades old. My speakers are a few years old but I built those as I know best. The cost has been interesting. By selling off older even collectable stuff I have spent effectively no money over the past 7 or 8 years. Yes I bought that stuff once long ago, but economically it was sunk money.
I have the advantage of experience and know the good stuff from the less good. I know what brands to look for. I also know which products have cults around them that blur the flaws. I call myself a "cheap audiophile" as I will not spend more than low four figures on anything. The most expensive thing I ever bought was under 2k bucks. Most was far less than that.
One of the links the tag search brought up was guy who did not understand why anyone would buy Vinyl Records. The equipment is expensive and the media is less available than digital streams. There was one reply about the tangible nature of an album and actually owning a thing rather than just being allowed to access it. I will go further.
I have avoided high end streaming because of cost and complexity. To get good sound out of numbers you need several lumps and most are expensive. You need a computer or a server that is logged into a provider like "tidal" or "qobuz" or "apple music". Then you need a device that can store the bits on a drive either an SSD or even a spinning magnetic disc to avoid drop outs that can be the music server, but not the computer. Then you need a DAC to convert the particular stream to analog sound which is finally fed into your audio system proper. Aside from the subscription (I have apple music) you need three lumps that each cost more than a good turntable if you want audiophile sound.
In order to add a high end streaming line to my system would cost more than the replacement cost of my system as it is right now. So I have a low end solution. I plug my Iphone into my CD player with a nice-ish DAC in it. It is OK sound. But I swear if I play an LP of the same music after hearing it off my iphone to CD quality there is no comparison the LP is better.
And yes when it comes to vacuum tubes I vacillate. They are expensive and wear out. They sound nice. They have more distortion and artifacts than solid state, but it is nice sounding distortion. A big part of this hobby skews preferences to nice sounding distortion. Vacuum tubes and moving coil phono cartridges are prime examples.
My most recent experience was going from a full vacuum tube preamplifer to a hybrid with only one tube. The sound was rich and deep and involving before. Yummy like a good sticky baklava dripping with honey. Now it is detailed and frankly palpable. I can hear a singer part their lips before a phrase. You have to hear that to appreciate it.
I have been recently been tempted with two vacuum tube unicorn amplifiers for a very good price for that type of device. That price is double what a competitive solid state amplifier would be. And like I say at the local pub after my fourth beer, I want another but I don't need another. I am seriously tempted. I have a nascent love for the sound I know is in them. They have a voice and it is good. Actually this is a key aspect of the hobby. It is an emotional response to something. It is irrational.
Welcome to the irrational!
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purry · 2 years
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Sick of My Shit
About 9 months to a year ago I started "spring cleaning," and of course it took a lot longer than just spring. I'd just reached out for help and got on an antidepressant (which turned out to be magically helpful), and I was ready to dig myself out of sludge. I started with my front closet, the Closet That Time Forgot, in which I had stuffed things when I first moved into my apartment SIX YEARS AGO. Also it was just where things went that I didn't want to see or deal with. It was a deep closet. At the time, I pulled literally everything out of this closet. This was before I became a certified decluttering coach, trained under the amazing Dana K. White, who does NOT recommend pulling everything out! And I know this now, but in any case, that is what I did. I pulled it all out in effort to annoy myself enough to get rid of shit & figure it out. I live in a studio apartment, so it basically took up my whole space. Fast forward to six months later, I had an decluttered and organized front closet! And no piles of What The Hell Is Even This Stuff. I'm moving fast through this story just so I can get started. After The Closet, I moved on to other areas of my apartment, all the while reading books, blogs, and watching YouTube videos on decluttering and organizing. Once I'd done my first pass (6+ months of work), I started in on what felt like the logical next step: cleaning. I'm not a dirty or messy person, per se, but during the pandemic and the depths of depression, I just couldn't motivate to clean things. It took a while to get things back to their base levels, where they can be more easily maintained. I now use the Sidetracked Home Executives system with index cards, which is super helpful to me. I don't have to decide what to do, I just pull the day's cards & do that! (No matter that I'm the one that put those tasks in those days, I've already forgotten that part, and I don't feel like I'm having to decide in the moment.) THEN I moved on to my finances. Decluttering and organizing and getting healthy with my money. I was never great with money, and I also never made much, but over the years I've worked on getting better & better with money. I've found better and better jobs, super slowly, but surely. And finally I am in a position where I'm making enough money that I'm not just constantly putting out fires, but actually digging myself out of debt and creating savings, investments, etc! I am just now beginning that, and I am definitely not making tons of money, but it's better than it's ever been! Gotta start where I am. Which is just paying off debt at the moment, but that's amazing! January 2023 I started my side hustle of becoming a decluttering coach in order to generate more income. And do something that I now really enjoy (thank you Dana!) This aspect is just beginning, but it feels very right and exciting. This post is called Sick of My Shit, because I really was. I was sick of being depressed, sick of clutter and mess and piles and dirt and filth, sick of being in debt, having zero savings, zero investments, zero retirement, zero assets. Fucking sick of it! So here I am, multiple fires under my ass, somehow progressing through all of this (thanks Lexapro!), and creating a better life for myself. Who knew?
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jakekiszska · 2 years
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playdate
pairing: eddie munson x female!reader
warnings: explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, spitting, p in v intercourse, tiny bit of a master kink if you squint, spanking, praise kink. (reader and eddie are both 18+).
a/n: pls cut me some slack as a d&d 5e player. i tried my best to write as accurately to 1e & 2e as i could. :)
summary: you finally joined hellfire after months of your best friends begging… but you can’t keep your eyes off him the entire time.
if u see an error no u don’t. :)
word count: 2.9k
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“shirt looks good on you.” eddie comments, winking as he passes you in the school hallway.
“thanks, perv.” you joke back, giving him a smirk. he blows you a quick kiss before facing the correct direction and walking down the hallway. you made the decision last week to start playing dungeons and dragons with eddie and his friends, so of course today you had to don your t-shirt.
you entered your final class and sat down, hardly able to focus. who really needed math anyway, right? you stared at the white board as the teacher lectured and wrote formulae down. you couldn’t stay focused, so you let your mind wander.
thinking of it, you probably did need math, especially for your dungeons and dragons game… you’d need to add or subtract your modifiers from your rolls, or add to your attacks… so maybe you’d better pay attention.
your teacher’s monotonous voice was hard to focus on, especially since she never faced the class. you took out your notebook and started scribbling tiny doodles in the corner of the page. a few ideas came to you for playing your character today, so you tried to jot them down as discreetly as you could, passing them off as notes.
you thanked all the deities you knew when the bell finally rang. you met eddie in the parking lot, standing by his van. he was chatting with his friend gareth, but quickly turned his attention to you as you approached.
“ready to go?” he asks, looking you up and down. you nod a quick yes and hop into the passenger seat of his van, throwing your stuff to the floorboard. the drive to your house was quick, but eddie stalled you before you could exit the van and head inside.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, looking over at you with a concerned look. normally you would’ve talked his ear off the whole ride over. you try to assure him that you’re fine.
“hey listen, y/n… you’ve been my best friend for like, i don’t know, six? eight years? i know when something is wrong. spill it.”
you finally turn your head and look at him. “i’m nervous to play tonight. what if i look stupid?”
“babe,” he says affectionately, making your stomach lurch, “we’re a bunch of dudes in high school playing a fantasy table-top roleplay. you’re definitely gonna look weird.” he says casually, a playful tone to his voice. you can’t help but laugh. “it’s gonna be okay. i’ll wait to bring your character into the game that way you can see how everyone else plays, okay?” he asks you, his tone comforting.
“okay, eds. okay. that works.” you say, running your hands down your jeans. you open the van door and hop out, strolling over to your porch. when your feet hit the bottom step, you hear eddie call after you. “pick ya up at 6:40!” he screeches, and then you hear the tires of his van screech too as he backs out of your driveway and drives away maniacally.
you grab yourself a snack from the kitchen once you make it inside, a few strawberries your mom had left over from some cake she decorated.
you take them up to your room and set the plate on your bedside table before grabbing out your books and starting on your homework. stupid math.
you work through as many problems as you can before you can feel your eyelids starting to droop. you close your book and slide it back in your back before taking your plate of strawberry stems to the kitchen and dumping them. you quickly wash the plate and head back to your room, anxiously awaiting your evening.
for the remainder of the time you’re waiting for eddie you clean your room up and then decide to take a quick shower. you tie your hair up in a scrunchie to avoid wetting it and you quickly go through your routine. once you’re out you decide instead of wearing your jeans again that you’ll slip on a black skirt that sits just above your knee, and your hellfire shirt.
finally, 6:40 approaches, and just as he promised eddie is in your driveway at that exact moment. you grab your notebook and a pen along with the dice set he gave you and run out to meet him.
you hop in the van and your nerves return, but you try to play it cool. you make it to the school and you’re let in by some of the faculty who have to facilitate after school gatherings, but eddie assures you none of them ever sit in on the sessions.
he gets all of his stuff laid out and puts up his dm screen before sitting down on this throne-like chair. you try not to stare at him, but the way he’s sitting so relaxedly with his legs spread open is making you squirm.
you’d always thought eddie was attractive, but something about him being in his element like this was really tempting to you, and you figured that’s why you were so nervous to play.
all of his friends start pouring into the room and taking their places and eddie has to quiet them down a few times before he can begin.
“y/n won’t be playing immediately, but if you don’t mind would you tell us your characters race and class please?” he asks you, his tone a lot softer than what he uses for the boys.
“um, my character is a hobbit and my class is cleric.” you say nervously, staring at the table.
“a hobbit, huh?” eddie teases. “that’s accurate.”
you can hear his friends dustin and mike laughing insanely loud at his jest. “shove it, henderson.” you say, finally scanning the room. “you’re about 4’6, yeah?” you joke.
the rest of the room laughs at your joke and after a minute more of teasing you get right into the game. eddie was able to work your character in as someone the party met at some stables, and they figured they’d need your spellcasting abilities to help them in battle.
the session goes on for a while and you’re really having a lot of fun, but you can’t take your eyes off of eddie. his facial expressions, his tone of voice, all the gestures he makes towards the party. he’s so immersed and it’s driving you a little crazy. seeing him so passionate is nothing less than hot to you.
it’s time to wrap the game up and you’re just finishing your battle when it’s dustin’s turn to roll for attack. he just makes it and the room erupts, cheering that he finally slayed the beast you’d been fighting.
“congratulations, henderson. describe the killing blow.” eddie beams. dustin goes on to describe some disgustingly gruesome scene and you continue to stare at eddie until he catches your eye, to which you finally look away. when dustin is done talking everyone clears out, leaving you and eddie alone to pick up so he can take you home.
“you did so well tonight! i was so proud of you!” he beams, reaching out to ruffle your hair. his praise makes your body stiffen.
“something wrong?” he asks, walking up behind you and placing his chin on your shoulder. you’re not sure if you can make words but you try to force them out anyway. “um, no eds. i-i’m fine!” you manage, shuffling away from him. his hand catches your hip and spins you around to face him.
“really? you seemed to be staring at me the whole game. have i upset you?” he ponders, leaning in so his breath fans your face. it smells slightly smoky and slightly like mint, and you’re dizzy for a moment.
you assure him he hadn’t, and once again you try to move away, but his grip tightens. “well, i’m really proud of you.” he reiterates, watching you squirm under his gaze. you can almost feel your cheeks flush and your pupils dilate.
he leans in even closer, speaking into your ear. “do you like when i tell you how good you are?” he asks, his voice a bit lower, a tinge raspier.
“oh fuck off, eddie.” you choke out, pushing a hand against his chest.
“is that any way to talk to your dungeon master?”
he pulls away from your face slightly and tilts up your chin with his pointer finger. “my apologies master,” you tease sarcastically, “forgive me?”
this time it’s your turn to taunt him, so you push your hand up his chest and wrap it around the back of his throat, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. he takes a step closer to you and you shudder when you realize just how close he is to you.
“that’s a pretty little skirt you have on.” he whispers. your whole body shudders. “eddie..” you whine, tugging at his hair lightly.
“hmmm.. what is it baby?” he leans in so your noses are touching. “please eddie, kiss me.” you beg, your voice an octave higher than usual. he places his left hand on your other hip before finally closing the gap between your lips.
you aren’t expecting his lips to be so soft. you also aren’t expecting to feel so drunk off his kiss immediately. it’s experimental, but it quickens. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip and you part your lips for him. he slides his tongue into your mouth and he moans as he feels you suck on it gently.
his hands have made their way around your backside and he slips one past your skirt, keeping it still until he can gauge your reaction. when you don’t stop him, he grabs a handful of your ass before lifting you up and placing you on the nearby table. you whine into his kiss and he presses himself between your legs.
you kiss each other hungrily for what feels like hours until you finally pull away. “hey, let’s get outta here.” you propose, and he nods, moving away so you can grab all of his stuff. his expression takes on that of a lost puppy.
you grab him by the arm and he looks over at you, so you reassure him. “eds, i didn’t wanna stop… i just don’t really wanna fuck in the school after hours.”
“f-fuck,” he stammers, “you wanna.. we’re gonna.. oh my god we’re gonna fuck?”
you shake your head yes at him. “if you want to… let’s go back to your place?” you ask. “hell yeah. hell yes we are going to my place!” he says ecstatically. you grab up all of his stuff and practically race out to his van. he gets you back to his uncle's place in record time and you go in quickly, headed for his room.
once you’re in you waste no time in reconnecting your lips to his. he disconnects to pull his shirt over his head and you moan when you can see all of his tattoos. you lightly scrape your nails over them before reaching behind you and unzipping your skirt, letting it fall to the floor.
“cute panties.” he says smugly, and you slap his arm. you made sure to wear one of your favorite pairs, baby blue and cotton with a pink heart on the front. he sits back on his bed against the headboard and you crawl into his lap, leaning down to kiss his neck. his hands find your hips and he moans as you lick a stripe just below his ear, biting it seconds after.
“kiss me again.” he says, his raspy tone going straight to your core. you connect your lips with his and soon after your tongues are meeting, sliding against each other as you makeout hungrily. your hips start grinding involuntarily but he uses his grip on your hips to help you. you can feel your cheeks flush.
“no need to be embarrassed baby,” he says, almost reading your mind, “if it feels good, then do it. feel how hard i am?”
and you could. you could tell he was straining as you continued to grind your now soaked panties across his lap. after a few more minutes you’re mewling and whining loudly, then you finally beg him to touch you.
“what do you want?” he asks lowly, hands palming at your ass. “want you to touch me, eddie. please.” you whine, arching into him. he slides you off his lap and pushes you down onto the bed so that your back is arched, in a face down ass up position.
“okay, princess,” he teases, rubbing your left thigh softly, “but first you need a punishment for how you talked to me earlier. remember that?”
you let out a deep whine as you feel him grab your panties and rip them down your legs. you clench as you feel the cool air hit your core. “just one, okay? that’s all.” he says, massaging your ass. a second later his hand is gone, and is quickly replaced again with a loud crack. you could feel the cool metal of his rings stinging against your ass sharply. seconds later he leans in to kiss the spot, a gesture to make sure you’re okay.
when he can tell you’re fine he rolls you over onto your back and slides your panties off your legs completely, tossing them to the floor. he pushes your thighs apart and stares down at you, fully exposed for him.
“fuck.” he groans, taking all of you in. “you have the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen.”
you blush at his comment and throw your arm over your face to hide it. you feel him run two fingers along your slit to gather some of your slick before dipping them into you. he leans down and spits on your clit before his thumb from his other hand rubs tight circles into it. your back arches and you begin to work your hips in time with his hands.
“fuck yeah, baby. fuck yourself on my hands. that’s my good girl.”
my good girl. you shudder again.
“eddie, i’m close!” you warn, his fingers curling inside of you and working your g-spot deliciously. “come on then, lemme see that little pussy cum for me.” he commands, and you’re teetering over the edge. it’d been a while since you came that hard, and eddie wears a proud smirk as he watches your legs shake with aftershocks.
he stands from the bed and you look him up and down, eagerly watching as he unclasps the handcuffs on his belt. his zipper is down soon after and then he’s shuffling out of his jeans, not leaving you much to the imagination. your mouth waters as you see the outline in his briefs - and he is big.
you didn’t notice your mouth hanging open. he sheds his underwear before crawling over you and you admire how tidy his pubic hair is kept… and then you wonder if that’s weird. you won’t say anything.
he positions himself between your legs and leans down to kiss your neck, whispering to you teasingly. “what’s wrong, worried it won’t fit?”
“i don’t care. i want it.” you assure him, and he slides his tip through your folds quickly before pressing his cock inside of you finally. you take it slowly, inch by inch, until he’s bottomed out.
tears prick at the corners of your eyes because of the stretch, but he wipes them away sweetly. “it’s okay, we’re gonna take our time.” he promises, and you lightly tug at his hair. “you can move, please move.”
he pulls his hips back slowly before rutting into you again, working at a slow but delicious pace. “fuck eds, that f-feels so fucking good.” you whine, your hands still tugging at his hair. each time you pull on his hair it spurs him to go faster, and soon he’s pounding into you so hard that you barely recognize the voice coming from your throat.
his fingers dig into your hips and you know the indentions from his rings will leave bruises for you to admire for days. he’s letting out soft moans above you and if he hadn’t been speaking to you so filthy this entire time they’d almost warm your heart.
“i’m not gonna last.” he warns you, his hips snapping into yours quickly. you reach your hand down between your bodies and start to rub your clit, to which he lets out a filthy whine.
“cum for me, baby. let me feel it. cum for me again.” he coaxes, his breathing laboured. a few seconds later you feel the band snap again and your body arches upward as your second orgasm hits you, the sensation washing over you and making you lose vision for a second.
seconds later he pulls out and finishes himself off in his hand.
“holy shit. you’ve been keeping that from me?” he laughs, wiping his hand with some article of clothing he found on the floor. “you could’ve had it if you’d asked.” you tell him, being completely honest.
he walks back over to you and leans down to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. when he pulls back a playful smirk tugs at his lips. “well in that case, do you wanna fuck?”
you grab a pillow from his bed and smack him with it before he lunges at you, pressing kisses into your neck and softly tickling your sides. “i think i really like this, eds.”
“me too.” he assures you, laying down and pulling you onto his chest.
tags: @alwayzthere @strangersingold @garbagevanfleet @harmonyhous @obetrolncocktails (message me to be added!)
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backofthebookshelf · 3 years
Text
The DMCA and You; or, why Tumblr won’t get sued over Post+
 I keep seeing people saying “doesn’t Tumblr understand they’re inviting an avalanche of lawsuits” and being baffled that people think this, and then I remembered that most of you were not both alive and in fandom in 1998 and therefore probably haven’t spent hours reading through the DMCA trying to figure out exactly how it was going to screw us. (Turns out we were right, but not nearly pessimistic enough.) So gather ‘round, children, it’s time for another bout of fandom history.
You have to understand what the internet looked like in 1998. Most people didn’t have internet access at home, and for those who did, you got a whopping 54 kbps (yes, that’s kilobytes per second) (compare that to 4G wireless, which 14 Mbps, not to mention, you know, wireless) unless you wanted to shell out for ISDN, which was twice the speed and five times the cost. Only 47% of American adults “went online” at all, never mind the two to six hours per day that current internet users are estimated to spend.
And I mean, why would you? There wasn’t that much there. If you wanted to post something online, your first and best option was to pay for web hosting of your own, or mooch off a friend’s. Or you could get a Geocities site, which would be plastered with ads and limited you to such a small amount of storage that you couldn’t have more than a couple dozen low-resolution images at best, or you could post on a message board (which would be essentially mooching off of a friend’s paid web hosting, because most sites that hosted message boards were just some guy who wanted to have a place to chat with his friends that wasn’t a Yahoo! email list), where you might get permission to post three or four images at a time. Music? Rude, takes up too much bandwidth, don’t do that to people. Video? You’re hilarious. (I once left my computer on for a week while I attempted to illegally download a copy of Velvet Goldmine but I finally gave up and got it from the video store instead.)
But still, at the time that was magic, and as more and more stuff found its way online, somebody who held a copyright somewhere (read: music studios and Disney) realized they had to get out in front of things. And into this brave new world came the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which was passed in 1998 and was already skewing the shape of the internet of the future when it came into effect in 2000.
It did a lot of dumb things but the one we’re concerned about is the “safe harbor” provision, which basically says that in the case of an online copyright infringement, there are three parties: the infringer, the copyright holder, and the internet host, and the host is not a part of the copyright dispute.
Prior to this, if Sony or Disney or whoever found an illegal copy of their intellectual property (read: an mp3 or an avi) online, they’d go after whoever owned the server it lived on. Which made sense! If you find stolen TVs in someone’s basement, you go after the guy who owns the basement, and “I didn’t know my deadbeat brother in law was stealing TVs” is something you’ll have to prove in a court of law.
But internet companies like Geocities and Yahoo! and anyone else who offered random users the chance to post things on the internet using a free account said wait a minute, this doesn’t make sense. Because the internet is not like a physical basement; we have no reason to see someone carrying stolen mp3s down the basement stairs, and the scale is such that we couldn’t see all of them if we tried (unless we banned all mp3s, which means goodbye, MySpace, and goodbye indie bands). You wouldn’t go after a landlord in New York because their tenant in New Jersey is stealing TVs, would you?
So the DMCA said fine, we understand that the internet as it currently exists, and as it is attempting to exist (remember this is still the height of the dot.com boom and people are making money hand over fist by just owning websites), can’t operate if we try to do this. So instead of letting big companies sue big companies over copyright law, we’ll let big companies sue individual humans over copyright violations. That’s much more fair.
Of course most of what resulted wasn’t lawsuits at all; it was individuals getting threatening letters from Sony and Disney promising them that they were planning to sue but if you, Joe User, will just delete the thing you posted from the internet, we’re willing to make this all go away. And people did, because fuck, who’s going to duke it out with Disney?
The DMCA is the reason tumblr exists in the first place (not to mention twitter, and facebook, and essentially the entire part of the internet that isn’t either an ad or a news website). Technically, if tumblr was responsible for copyright violations, they’re already a prime target for a lawsuit, because they’re running ads on a website where people post copyright violations on a daily basis. Adding the opportunity for you to make money off your copyright violations doesn’t make them any more liable than they already are, which is not at all.
So here’s what predict will happen with Post+ at the beginning: absolutely nothing. A few people will monetize gifsets or fanfiction or vids and no one will pay attention and no one will care. But some small creators, people who post original fiction, people who post craft patterns, people who post insightful analysis, will start using it as part of their actual revenue stream. Sooner or later someone will be making enough money that it pings someone’s radar, and sooner or later someone making money will slip up and post something that could plausibly be a copyright violation, and they won’t get sued. They’ll get a takedown notice, a threatening letter from whoever owns the thing they infringed upon (...so Disney), and they’ll pull the thing. But it’s hard to pull things from the internet, much harder than it used to be, and nearly impossible the way tumblr works. So they get another takedown notice. Or Disney’s lawyers go through their blog with a fine-toothed comb and they start getting more and more unreasonable takedown notices, but now they’re scared and fuck, who’s going to duke it out with Disney? So they take their blog down entirely, and now that person is a little bit poorer and Disney is out the cost of four or five stamps and envelopes and the time their lawyer spent fifteen years ago drafting the takedown notice template.
I guarantee you that the people who decided to implement this know that this is going to happen, and they do not care. We’ve reached the “we could make this website work if we could just get rid of fandom” stage, which never ends well for the website but they never seem to learn that. So please, please don’t try to monetize fandom content on the assumption that tumblr is going to be the one to get slapped with a lawsuit for it, that’s just not how it works. It never has been and it never will be.
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