#i also have a painting of naked ladies above my desk hes just like me fr...
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sorry i feel like i'm ALWAYS talking about randall's dorm but i gotta ramble about how much i'd love to know what any of that stuff around his desk is LMDSLKDJF... maybe i'm stupid but i have no idea who that little statue-lamp is of 😭 the things behind it almost look like concert tickets to me but i can't be sure. and that painting??? putting under readmore bc nudity lol
with the way it's taped together i assume he took it out of a book which is really sweet to think he looks at art books in his free time :') he is truly such a balance of arts/sciences <3
i can hardly tell what it is bc it's so blurry but it fr looks like a naked lady with the head of a wolf and like. donkey/faun legs ?? 😭 RANDY WHAT IS THIS. HE'S SO INTERESTING I NEED TO KNOWWW
#i also have a painting of naked ladies above my desk hes just like me fr...#actually WAIT NVM funnily enough i took that down so i could put up a flatlin.ers pic instead kljsdf#also i feel like hes the type to prefer a tidy room but he lets it get messy bc he's so busy/stressed and thenthat makes his stress worse..#in other words randall pls invite me over and let me help you tidy up... <3 i promise to handle your cassettes with care... <3#the cactus lamp i have no comment on simply bc seems so out of character for him and I wish i knew the origin story so bad 😭😭#I MEAN HE DOES HAVE WHIMSY but a cactus?? it just seems so random for him somehow LOL#caitiechat#randalltag
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1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something for brotherhood Ezio - either fluff or smut (maybe a hybrid if such a thing exists?)
These requests really make my heart soft :,) It’s definitly not troublesome at all, darling! a smut/fluff is coming your way :)) enjoy reading!
btw, I always had the concept in mind of Ezio being a nude model for a painter/paintress so I used it as inspiration for this request, I hope you like it!
Pairings: Brotherhood!Ezio x Reader
warnings: smut, fluff, mature content
summary: Ezio convinces you of using his nude body as reference for your painting and that’s where things start to get heated.
A sound of raging growls left your throat as it was the sixth time you scratched away the slender torso that was sketched upon the parchment. It was slender, too slender for it to be still considered human. Ironic. The Greek gods were inhuman, but you were unable to project the divine muscles that roamed in your thoughts onto the piece of dried lamb skin. You missed Florence, dearly, and since the first week that you had left the vivid city to live in the unknown town of Monteriggioni you thought that the quiet farms, where trees of oranges grew, would help revive the inspiration to paint a Magnum Opus but it only dried the river of colour in your head. You couldn’t compare Florence to a third rate town as Monteriggioni. You could still recall the smell of paint and the dusty marmer that stained the Florentin air of the market, and the sight of novices carrying their painting supplies as they were on their way to class. You missed how you used to visit churches, not to pray, but rather to admire the fresco’s. Now it was all gone. No inspiration and the few churches that existed in this village were sober and only consisted of a giant crucifix and a statue of Madonna holding her child.
bang bang. Someone knocked on the door of your atelier. With a dissatisfied grunt you threw the charcoal pencil on the ground and shoved your seat back with a strong force, causing an abrasive sound to be heard from outside the small building.
‘Who is there?’ You asked sharply as you walked towards the wooden door. You tried to regain your patience and freshened your cheeks, which was red of annoyment, by pressing your abnormally cold palms against them.
‘It’s me, Ezio.’ His voice was unclear due to the door that seperated you, but it did not spoil the low rumble that was always present in his speech. You pressed your eyelids together rather harshly and groaned in regret. How shameful musn’t it be to shoot invisible daggers towards Ezio as just the thought of his intimidting gaze locked on your face after your scene of lost temper made you wish you hid instead of confronting him. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of embaressment.
You opened the door to the sight of Ezio leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched in question.
‘I came to check up on you, ragazza. It sounded as if you were fighting off pirates in there.’ You felt how your face heated up against your will and you tried to laugh it of with a breathless snicker. ‘The only thing I was fighting with were my sketches,’ You stepped aside, exposing a part of your artist studio. It was not big, as it was perfect to fit in a few tables and art easels with canvasses of variating sizes, but it was practical enough to be able to craft in peace. But it seems that the serene peace wasn’t present anymore these past weeks.
‘Where are my manners, come in.’ With a faint smile he swiftly entered and closed the door.
‘Lack of inspiration?’ He asked. You nodded. ‘Not only that, It is impossible to find any references to bodies as muscled as those of the Greek Gods. Monteriggioni isn’t filled with art as in Firenze, thus making it difficult for me to find those references.’ As you looked at him from the side, you saw how perfect his body posture was to be used as reference; It was flexible and broad, yet it was intimidating and yet not graceful enough to be that of a dancer.
Ezio hummed in understanding. He was slightly proud that he still had the ability to make you blush, even in his forties, when he caught your eyes wandering through his clothing. ‘Why don’t you use models like Leonardo does? You could ask him to lend some to you,’ You grinned. ‘Ezio, my dear. The only references to human bodies that Leonardo uses are either dug up from their grave or strangers with the most inhuman facial complexion. Leonardo is fascinated by the misshapen, not the divine.’
‘Well, if the ancient Greeks believed that women were the misshapen copies of men, then I confirm myself as being fascinated by the misshapen. My dear.’ He mocked. His lips curled into a sly smirk and he winked at you, but you merely scoffed playfully as you shook your head and walked towards the chaotic scene that played upon your desk; Scattered parchment with incomplete sketches, charcoal pencils and quills thrown all over the table and, at the moment, irrelevant attributes such as a skull and a terracotta bust of Bacchus -A marmer bust was way too expensive for the meager loan you had to live with-
‘Charmed.’ You said, not impressed. Maybe slightly impressed.
‘As I thought you would be,’
The open space of the studio behind you felt enclosed as the soft touch of Ezio’s breath caressed the nape of your neck. His eyes roamed over the table, observing every object -he even squatted down and stared into the dead eyes of Bacchus-, and trailed alongside the lines of your sketches with his middle and index finger pressed together, the two fingers levitating above the charcoal lines.
‘Why did you scratch them? It is beautiful. Well, I am not going to lie, it looks a bit...how should I word it?’ He mumbled. ‘Bad?’ ‘A bit out of proportion,’ He trailed alongside the torso with the same two fingers. ‘See,’ Ezio said. ‘The torso is a bit too long, and the muscles are too muscled.’
You scoffed, a small laugh plastered on your face. ‘Too muscly,’ You mumbled to yourself. ‘Ezio, I don’t know if you have noticed but I do not have any male models nor have I seen a man naked before. No, I mean, not that I am a virgin. But I just haven’t seen a naked man with the right size.’ Good Lord. Ezio grinned, not ashamed for the innapropriate phrase that kept resonating in his head, and locked eyes with you as he raised one eyebrow. You shivered. It was that one raised eyebrow that made his face so intimidating, so intense. ‘Not the right size, huh?’
‘You know what I mean, old man.’ He scoffed. His hand covered his breast and he pretended to be in pain. ‘You wound me with your words, bella.’
Oh Ezio. He was so entertaining. He was probably one of the very few reasons your stay in Monteriggioni will last for a very long time. Leaving him would make you feel empty. Ezio had a way of pulling women (and also men) towards him, chaining them with such a scorching desire that it would feel injust and even sinful to break the invisible attraction He brought those small moments of thrills and excitement with him whenever he just walked by making you want his attention to be focused on you and solely you.
‘I could send an apprentice of mine to model, but only if you’d like?’ ‘Are they quite muscled? I need a body that represents the gods and not 17 year old boys who are only interested in horses and girls.’ ‘No, judging by the statues I have seen in Florence they wouldn’t be a very great choice. And besides, I don’t think that they can stand still, naked, for a few hours while a beautiful lady has a clear view of their cazzo without, you know, the visuals showing their excitement.’
Your facial expressions showed slight disgust as you were imagining their erect member and face, reddened with shame, while they were posing as one of the Greek deities. Well, to be fair, you couldn’t expect less. They were boys with raging hormones, and you were a young adolescent that was not able to conceil her raging hormones from experienced and charming men. Or shortly said; Ezio.
Speak of the devil.
Ezio noticed the disgust on your face and emitted a low and rumbling snicker as he patted your back, the impact of his force causing your shoulder to be shoved forwards. ‘Keep your sneaky little mind away from my apprentices private parts will you?’
‘Ezio!’ You hit his arm, your mouth open and pretending to be shocked by his remark, but you couldn’t help but curl your mouth into a smile. ‘Back to our previous topic,’ You said, recovering from what just had happened. ‘I really need to find a male model for my project, Ezio.’ Ezio happened to show empathy with you as he began taking off his boots.
‘Ezio, what in heaven are you doing? Put those back on! Ezio what are you thinking?’ Nailed to the floor you looked at ezio who was only wearing his trousers and chemise, its string loosened and showing the flesh upon his chest, and had his hands on the sides of the edge of his pants, ready to take them of and show the world what momma gave him. ‘I am sacrificing my pride for the sake of your painting.’
Your eyes widened. ‘Would you do that for me? Really?’ ‘Bella, what does it look like I am doing?’ He grinned, taking off the rest of his clothing as you had turned around to reorganize your table and prepared the small podium on which Ezio had to model.
‘And besides, what did you mean with Sacrificing your pride?’ You heard Ezio sigh while you sharpened your charcoal pencils. ‘All these men on Classical paintings have a...well, you know, a small penis, so you will have to reduce mine...a lot.’ You laughed, placing the pencils on the table. ‘Oh, Ezio, I don’t really think it will be necessary.’ You said teasingly. You sat down behind the desk when you heard his voice floating around your ears as he walked towards the small podium, every inch of his skin exposed for you and only you. ‘Prego?’
It was difficult to keep your gaze off his private part. It was just...hanging there, minding its bussiness. It was as if your insulting remark about his member just spat back at you with double as much spit. You managed to clear your throat in a subtle way without choking on your saliva. ‘You’ll have to lay down.’ You said. You stood up to grasp a few layers of cloth to cover the small stage to save Ezio’s behind a bit from the harsh ground. It felt weird to be so near him; He was naked and you were clothed.
You quickly smoothened the cloth onto the stage, fixating your disorientated eyes on it, and walked, almost ran, with rapid speed back to your desk.
It still felt like a fever dream. You were able to get the most skilled murderer fully naked in front of you, without asking once. As it felt surreal, it simutaniously felt forbidden too. He was way older, a teacher of a kind, how many women wouldn’t have killed for this chance. For seeing Ezio naked, almost vulnurable without his armour. Vulnurable for attack as told by the white lining of the remaining scars on his body.
‘Lay down and lean on your elbows,’ And so he did. ‘Put one knee up. No the other knee, Ezio. Not so high, go a bit lower. Not that low. Yes, stay like that!’ Ezio grinned softly. ‘You are very demanding, aren’t you bella?’ ‘You iniated on being my model, Ezio, so do as I say.’ Ezio raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, sucking air through his teeth, sounding similar to scorching metal in cold water. ‘My apologies, maestro.’
His body was beautiful. Not too brawny and not fat. Broad muscles showing through his skin and simultaneously a layer of soft fat hugged around his torso, but it didn’t hang nor did it seem loose, It was tight and gave Ezio’s body comfortable for burning cuddles.
You gave a last look at Ezio’s position, observing it, but something felt wrong. It felt plain, flat. It didn’t have your desired dimentions.
‘Ezio,’ He turned his head towards you. ‘Could you touch the ground with your left hand and move your torso towards your lifted knee. Let your right arm rest upon that raised knee, yes, just like that.’ It was better. More rounded than flat. And the most beautiful of all was how above his pubic hair, which was trimmed, small layers of skin bundled upon each other, giving more dimention to his body.
You picked up the stylus - a metal pen- with satisfaction and began carving lines onto the parchment. Those lines slowly became basic shapes until more shade and more complexity was added to them. Ezio’s eyes kept sailing from around the room to your concentrated face. It must be intimidating for him whenever it took only fractions of seconds before you raised your eyes to look at him every single time. And every time he wondered how many seconds it would last this time before you watched him again.
‘Do you do this a lot? Using nude models?’ Ezio asked. You stood halt in your drawing to look up at him. ‘Well, No. Back in Firenze I was too ashamed to ask for one. If the word would spread about a women making a carreer out of brush strokes instead of a man stroking her to let her bear him a son, they’d burn my paintings. And they may burn my paintings, but i’ll still use the ashes to draw a big cazzo on the front door of their homes.’ You said, slightly flinching at the thought of your face being tortured by the sweltering flames that are devouring your art works. Ezio laughed. His wide-opened mouth created deep curving lines next to it, sparkling eyes squinting at you.
How did he do it? How was he capable of making you desire him with just a smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of which hundreds of women fell for. Let alone how his body would call for company as melancholy and charm hung like a perfume around him.
‘Eccezionale,’ He grinned in a breath. ‘And in Monteriggioni?’ ‘The average male in this village is almost expired. They’re at least fifthy.’
‘You don’t older men?’ He asked teasingly. Yes you did, especially him. ‘There is a difference between older and old. Old men are almost expired. Older men, on the other hand, are more matured and experienced.’
With a last look at the sketch you laid down the stylus and motioned for Ezio to move again. You quickly added some shadows around the sillhouette around the body as you felt Ezio stand behind you.
‘And what is “older” to you?’ ‘You ask a lot of Questions, Ezio. Aren’t you Il mentore?’ His broad shoulders casted a shadow on your cheek that was turned to his side. ‘I’m curious. Isn’t a man allowed to ask questions? Especially if he’s as expired as me?’ You scoffed.
‘Ezio, you are not expired. You aren’t old.’
‘I’ll be turning fifthy in five years.’
‘That’s still ages away from now.’
‘Time flies, bella.’
‘Well, mentore, I don’t perceive you as old. In fact, you are mature and very sharp.’ You stole a quick glance of his private part before letting your gaze wander towards the floor. How was he able to keep himself so tame when the tension was creating a heated knot in your lower stomach? The knot kept contracting with every breath from Ezio’s soft lips that brushed against your neck and the radiating heat from his naked body caused by the Florentine sun that tortured his skin underneath the layers of his heavy assassin robes.
You turned around, trapped in between the wooden desk and Ezio’s nudeness, and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘How aren’t you burned yet underneath all those layers of clothing.’ Your eyes locked with his. ‘I have very thick skin,’ He palmed your hand in his and lead it down his muscular arm, rubbing against its hot skin, let it follow the curves of his muscles back up to his chest. You didn’t even need to glance down to see that his good old friend has “awakened”.
Ezio’s hand caressed your collarbone and slid down, only to stop at the cleavage of your gown. With his index finger he easily pulled the piece of fabric away from your chest, exposing your breasts that were visible through the thin night gown.
He hummed in satisfaction.
Ezio disposed you of your clothes in a slow and agonizing manner until your naked body was hugged by the warm air that filled the art studio. His eyes, filled with passionate lust, wandered over your whole body, absorbing every inch of naked skin. Ezio pressed his body close to you and you felt how his manhood, swollen with blood, was pressed against your stomach. Ezio kissed your lips. His lips covering your upper lip as you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. His tongue wetted the entrance of your mouth before the warmth of his saliva got mixed with yours. Ezio’s hands roamed your whole body, he wanted to take all of you, touch all of you, feel every piece of your hot skin lingering against his. His hands trailed back to your upper thighs and rubbed them as his fingers curled to grip the soft flesh of it. His warm hands felt rough and experienced against your inner thighs, it felt like everything that desire is.
Ezio pulled your legs around his waist and carried you the the small improvised podium of layered blankets as his one hand held the fold at the backside of your knee and the other was pressed against your lower back.
You couldn’t describe how overwhelmed you where with all these sensory feelings. Your contracting stomach, heating core and tickling neck, caused by Ezio’s lips and teasing nips, made you close your eyes and press your legs tighter around his torso. You pressed yourself against Ezio while you yearned for his body engulfing yours in this passionate warmth as Ezio’s hot breaths left humid spots on your neck.
His lips kissed your collarbone and so he went down with smouldering and slow kisses down to the curve in between the mounds of your breasts. His hand cupped your breast and massaged your nipple with his thumb as his mouth place kisses on the side of your other breast before tracing to your nipple and holding it between his lips.
your breathing became irregular, some were sharp and some were pitched. Your hands took a grip on Ezio’s broad back and you couldn’t help but groan in a breath. His body slid down on yours until he stopped above your pubic bone, a trail of saliva covered your torso. Ezio placed your legs on his shoulders, holding onto your thighs, and he breathed so softly against your humid entrance.
It felt tingly and increased your need for him to touch you. Ezio’s fingers caressed your labia as his hot and humid tongue slid up your crease. Your breath hitched. His lips covered your clit, his beard tickling your inner thighs, kissing it before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. You groaned. Your clit was pusling and you felt how your entrance was filled with so much ecstasy. Ezio kept licking, nibbling and just making you feel on cloud nine until you felt how tension was layering and building up in your core and you felt how it was almost going to explode in bright colours of the sweet relieve. But Ezio stopped before you could taste that pure sweetness and how much you disliked it, the builded up tension slowly died down.
‘Why did you stop?’ You asked defeatedly. Ezio smirked. ‘I want us to finish together,’ You were surprised. ‘Because I can’t wait any longer to be inside of you.’ Ezio slid back up so his lips could reach your mouth again. You enveloped your leg around his waist and Ezio gripped the fold of your knee, slowly pressing your thigh against your chest.
He groaned as the tip of his manhood entered slowly. He stopped after a few inches of his manhood had entered so you’d adapt to his lenght and width and began pumping slowly before he’d let his whole penis enter inside of you inch by inch. He filled you so good.
Ezio began pumping in and out between your slick walls and went rougher. The sweetness and lust of the moment made both of your groan in synch. But the more he motioned inside of you, the more your groans became heartfelt moans. You grabbed ezio’s back as you bit on his shoulder. With every push and every thrust of his body against yours the sinful sounds of hitting skin was like background music for the hymn of your moans. Ezio grabbed your thigh and pushed himself deeper, which you doubt was still possible, and the poor man was lost in deep groans. He kept you close to him as he filled you until the building up layers made you speed up, shortening the silence between every clap of skin. ‘Ezio,’ You whispered in lost sweetness. The more tension that build up, the more the yearning for that sweet relieve became. ‘(Y/N),’ He groaned in your ear, huskily.
Only a few strokes and you were there, both of you. Oh, sweet Lord, how you were losing your mind in a blurr of white light. Just those few last strokes and you’d explode. You were almost there...almost...and ‘Ezio!’ The ball of squeezed tension exploded into a firework of sweetness and fire. Ezio came inside of you with squeezed eyes and a groan before he let himself relax onto you. Your chests were elevating in an irregular rythm.
‘Mio Dio,’ You whispered in amazement. Ezio slid out of you and took the excess length of the cloth to cover both of you.
‘So when are you free to come back? To finish the painting?’
‘Very soon, Bella, very soon.’
#ezio auditore da firenze#ezio auditore#ezio auditore fanfiction#assassins creed fanfiction#assassins creed brotherhood#ezio x reader#older ezio x reader#smut fanfiction#ezio auditore smut
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okay so I started writing this without like thinking this might potentially be disturbing so like pls feel free to delete if like stories with death + human remains are a no go. last November i got invited over to a neighbors house to have dinner and smoke w her and her husband. they are former oddities dealers, their house is full of like massive taxidermy and antique collections, you walk in and the room is covered floor to ceiling, punctuated by a fireplace with a 4ft buddha head blocking it. There is a human ribcage on display in the corner, and this is where the house tour starts. I don't remember every single thing off the top of my head, but on the mantel Specifically was a taxidermy dolphin penis, various crime scene photos, and a taxidermied fetus with it's head replaced with a baby doll's (apparently the body got passed to them after another oddities dealer just. kept the head. and she said it didn't feel right to leave it headless so she made it one herself, which is like fair I guess.) I take a photo of the baby for posterity, because that's insane, it's the only photo I manage to get the rest of the night. They have a pug named Lola who they trained to play a little toy piano whenever she has to go outside, the dog also chooses what shirts she wants to wear out of their laundry every morning. Lola likes me very much.
Along another wall I notice a displayed preserved hand in some sort of orb (didn't touch, don't know what, looked like glass?) and was like "hey that's really cool how do you even get something like that." Her husband asks if I want to see the hand bucket. What the fuck is the hand bucket. I say yes and don't ask him to elaborate.
We head down a very cramped and shoddy set of stairs to their basement, where the woman passes me some disposable gloves and the husband drags this huge Tupperware tub from under an old desk. in the meantime, she shows the "very illegal" tortoise taxidermy they have. I'm not a snitch, but I feel concerned that she offers that info up so easily to someone she'd met exactly twice ever. We get into *why* they're illegal and then the husband is like OK WE'RE GOOD CHECK THIS OUT and I turn back to him and there is 5 (where is the 6th??) whole severed human hands in that tupperware tub. dope. the horror I should probably feel is replaced by scientific curiosity and the need to pick one up and ask for a high five. they are ELATED and remark that im the first person who didn't ask where they got them. I tell them my mom taught me not to look a bucket hand in the palm. they explain that another buddy of theirs works at a body farm for a med school, and he offered to give these preserved leftovers to the couple. Glad to know they're ethically sourced. I tell them so and we keep talking, I'm holding two at a time by the wrist and start absentmindedly gesticulating with them while I talk, this makes them lose their shit like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. I get embarrassed and hide my face in the hands. Basement tour ensues, they insist I take home a big ass oil painting from the early 20th century to improve (hell yes). I don't get to take a hand home because I didn't ask.
We go back upstairs sans hands and continue looking at the rest of the tiny house; the kitchen and living are pretty normal, I learn that her husband plays upright bass and has a fish sock collection. their bedroom was fucking insane. you walk in and there is this giant, ornate, obviously extremely expensive carved wooden bedframe WITH A TAXIDERMY CANADIAN GOOSE HANGING OVER THE BED LIKE A BABY MOBILE IN ATTACK POSTURE. above the bed is a large still life oil painting, which she moves to reveal an erotic oil painting of a naked lady underneath. Love that.
The room is divided into two distinctly polar opposite halves - her's on the right and her husband's on the left. His side is like creepily organized and lined head to toe with an extensive record and CD collection. Her side actively has multiple lemon trees growing despite the lack of windows and kind of looked like an explosion, unfinished taxidermy pieces and fabric and books. There is a melting wax model of a person in the corner that smells bad, which they start bickering about a little bit in front of me. I'm honestly just impressed.
The wall by the door, facing the bed houses a glass cabinet with another human skeleton inside - mainly a ribcage that shows extensive damage caused by corsets which was also actually really cool, another giant taxidermy bird perched stop it (I don't remember exactly but I think it was an egret?? had a weird beak). He tells me this bird is also very illegal to own and makes a remark that, if they ever wind up having to move, they're probably just going to burn their whole house down so they don't risk getting caught with all this stuff. I don't remember what I said to that, but quite possibly nothing.
With the house tour complete, we order pizza and smoke and I don't really remember much after that, it was stronger stuff than I'm used to so I kind of just honed in on whatever show they decided to marathon. When it got too late, her husband insisted on driving me home with the painting to make sure I got back safe, even when I assured him I could make the trek home just fine, it was like two blocks at most. I think it was pretty sweet for them to actually worry about that kind of thing in spite of the other "we are totally going to crazy murder you" signals. I might try and visit again now that vaccines are rolling out. Also thank u for reading
I genuinely don’t know what to say. Also how is it the only time you said the word creepy was regarding the husbands organized side of the room lmao
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Hues of Blue
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (40's and Present)
Word Count: 1486
NSFW: Non-Explicit
TW: Rage attacks, Steve being angry
Tags: ANGST, Minor Fluff but mostly Angst
A/N: This is set between TFA and TWS! Steve still thinks Bucky died in the war. bold sections are flashbacks.
Summary: Steve tries to paint a portrait of Bucky. What color were his eyes again?
Inspired by my good friend Meral, @/CAPSBVRNES on twitter. Love ya, doll.
Steve had a long day.
Said day started with a rather pleasant dream about waking up with Bucky in between his legs. This was quickly ruined by his alarm clock. Little Steve hadn’t seemed to notice that it was, in fact, only a dream. After Steve had er- taken care- of that problem in the shower, Tony called. There was some life or death mission debrief he was needed on. So he drove two hours through New York City traffic to get to the tower, only to find out Tony needed his opinion on what qualified as a “classic” suit. Steve didn’t even dignify him with an answer before he stormed out of the building. Now, four hours later and his day wasted, he was finally arriving back home.
Steve unlocked the front door of his Brooklyn brownstone and stopped dead in his tracks.
Boxes. Boxes upon boxes of… art supplies? Based on the pictures and labels on the boxes they were filled with paints, canvases, brushes, pencils, easels, and more. Steve looked around nervously and spotted a note on top of one of the many cardboard boxes.
Sorry, Capsicle. Had to get you out of the apartment so I could deliver this shit.
Paint me something pretty.
-T.S.
A hesitant smile made its way onto Steve’s face. His day just got a whole lot better.
- - - Three Hours Later - - -
A few hours, a shit ton of cursing, and a helping of elbow grease later, Steve had himself an art studio. He had set up the three easels Tony got him, positioning them in front of the windows in the office of his brownstone. There was also a simple desk in one of the boxes that he rather enjoyed the look of. It was simple but made of solid oak. He could just picture Tony saying ‘It’s old fashioned, like ye ol’ Cappie.’
With a slight grunt, Steve stood and looked around his new studio. He hadn’t had something so… domestic in years. He smiled and unwrapped a canvas, sitting down in front of an easel. He raised a pencil to his canvas to begin sketching… and nothing happened. “S’pose seventy years and a cryogenic freeze gives you art block.” He thought.
Steve stood and walked around the few rooms in his modest house, looking for inspiration. His gaze flickered over his photo album. “That’ll do.”
He picked up the leather book, flipping through it. There weren’t many pictures. It had been difficult to get a photo back in the 40’s, and he didn’t have many people to take pictures of nowadays. A few pictures of his ma, one of him in the third grade, and- Bucky.
A black and white version of his best friend sat before him. He was told not to smile in his military ID photo, but the little shit found a way to flash a grin right as the camera clicked. The photographer had been too lazy to redo it- and that was it. Bucky was smiling like a damn runaway criminal in his personnel file. Steve worked the picture out of the clear film holding it in place. He had gotten the photo from SHIELD’s files. It was one of few pictures of Bucky in existence. Less than a dozen original copies were left on this earth. He ran his fingers over the sharp of his Bucky’s cheekbone and the plump of his lips. He remembered all the cold New York nights when those lips sat on his neck. Bucky would spoon him- ‘For warmth’ - he said. But the pink lips on the shell of his ear, on the pulse carrying his life’s blood, said it was for so much more.
So Steve went back to his new art studio and sat down in front of his easel again. He clipped the small photo to the wooden frame and picked up his pencil. He took a deep breath and started sketching. He bit his lip in concentration as he worked. After thirty minutes or so, Steve had a drawing that resembled something like his best friend. He smiled and set to work mixing his paints.
Steve always started with the skin. Habit of his from before when he was using cocktail napkins and a waiters pen to draw. He managed to nail Bucky’s complexion pretty much spot on. The cool shades of his under-eye and the baby pink ones of his cheeks.
Then came hair. Shades of brown highlighted with yellow and pink in the lightest of spots. Bucky always hated how thick his hair was but loved the effect it had on the ladies. Said it was a pain in the ass to take care of but it was all worth it when he brushed a hand through the locks and had all the girls positively swooning.
Next was clothes. The green of his fatigues wasn’t perceptible in the black and white photograph but Steve knew that color better than the color of his own eyes.
Eyes.
What color were Bucky’s eyes?
Blue. But there were a million shades of blue. Cerulean, teal, turquoise, baby blue, stormy blue- Ah. Yes. A stormy blue-grey color. He could see them now. Staring into the crisp ocean of his eyes as Bucky kissed him for the first time. He was smaller back then, barely came up to Bucky’s chin, but he didn’t care.
December 1941 - Four Days Before Bucky Leaves
“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky said after Steve opened his door to the frigid New York City air.
“Hey, Buck. What’re you doing here?” It was a reasonable question. It was midnight and Buck hadn’t been by in days.
“Can’t visit my best guy before I ship off to war?” Bucky gave him his smirk but Steve could see the fear in his eyes. The unspoken ending to that question- ‘before I never come home’. Steve smiled and stepped aside, letting him in.
Steve smiled at the memory. He looked down at the paints before him. Blues and whites and purples and reds. He started mixing them carefully, hoping to put a physical representation of the color he still saw in his dreams.
“C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat.” Steve said, walking towards his very empty kitchen.
“You don’t have’ta-”
“None of that. What would Mrs. Rogers say if she knew I wasn’t feeding my guests?”
“She’d call you smart and tell you not to waste your food on a dead-” Bucky stopped himself. That’s not what Steve needed to hear. Steve was quiet as he made his way across the threshold back to Bucky. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.
“You’re going to come back. You’ve gotta.” His voice was small. Bucky’s heart nearly shattered at the sound. Bucky took Steve’s hands in his, squeezing them slightly.
“I will. I promise.” Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes to reassure him that above anything else, he meant the words he was about to say.
The colors weren’t turning out right. Greens were too blue and blues were too purple. Everything was a mess. Steve felt himself growing frustrated and brought his mind back to simpler times. Times with him.
“I’m always going to come back to you because-” His breath hitched and Steve took notice, eyebrows furrowing in concern.
“Because I love you, Stevie.” Steve tilted his head in confusion. Why did Bucky seem so nervous? They had said they loved each other before.
“Yeah, I love you too, Buck- why’re you-”
“Oh, not like that- for Christ’s sake.” Then Bucky was kissing him.
‘So this is what love is.’ Steve thought. Then Bucky’s tongue was tracing Steve’s lips.
Oh.
Oh.
Paint was everywhere. Frantically, Steve mixed colors in a blur of tears. ‘It’s not right.’ He thought. ‘That’s not him.’ ‘That’s not my Bucky.’
Bucky shared his bed that night. Unlike other nights, however, they were both naked. Pressed against each other for ‘warmth’, should anyone ask. Steve watched Bucky long after he fell asleep. The crease in his eyebrow, the setting of his jaw, the way his eyes moved behind closed lids- chasing dreams. Soon enough, Steve curled into Bucky’s body as he always did. They spent the next four days like that. Wrapped in each other. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t cold.
Steve screamed as he threw his palette out the window. The glass shattered and rainbows of light filtered through the broken glass- mocking him. Steve kicked and cried and punched until the entire studio was a mess. In the aftermath of his rampage, Steve lies on the floor. Surrounded by glass, paint, splinters, and blood, Steve sobbed. He broke because he was gone. He crumbled because they didn’t have enough time. He was wrecked because ‘if only we had known. If only we had tried earlier.’
Steve lies on the ground in a brownstone in Brooklyn.
Numb.
Broken.
Cold.
#steve rogers x bucky barnes#stucky#angst#marvel#fanfic#bucky barnes#steve rogers#the first avenger#the winter soldier
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Hey love! Was just wondering if you’d be up to do some stonathan fluff times. I love Jonathan and Steve so why not love them together :) if not that’s alright! ❤️❤️❤️
This takes place the summer before Steve’s senior year/Jonathan’s junior year. Basically, Steve is his muse. This is also more angst than I was orignally planning on lol.
“Hey, this is kind of a weird request, but do you think you could get naked?”
Jonathan had been spending the summer taking photography classes at the community college in the city, and had enlisted Steve’s help for his final project, a portfolio capturing a range of seven complex human emotions.
So far, the image for “Joy” was his favorite. He and Steve had gone to the fields at edge of Hawkins, and Steve had rolled down the hill, chased buzzing little bees around in the grass, picked flowers and weaved them into Jonathan’s hair. The final image he had selected was from late in the day. Steve was laying on the grass, soaking in the sun. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, his hair messy around his head. He was making shapes in the clouds, this look of pure childlike freedom on his face. It was beautiful.
The one for “Frustrated” was an accident. Jonathan had come to meet Steve at his house, had let himself in and came up to Steve’s room. He was trying to do a summer assignment, pouring over the book his English teacher had selected. That’s when Jonathan learned about the dyslexia, learned about how difficult school was for Steve. He had taken a picture of Steve hunched over the book, his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. And one when Steve had flung the book to the side, caught him with one arm out, the book just about to slap against the wall. Jonathan had placed a hand between his shoulder blades, had told him he’s not stupid.
“Insecure” was Steve standing in his father’s office, on hand trailed on the desk, looking up at the huge painting above the desk, a twelve year old Steve standing uncomfortably with his parents. The Steve in the photograph was biting his lip. Jonathan only noticed how his eyes were shining after the picture was developed.
Jonathan loved the one for “Tired”, he and Steve had stayed up all night for it. He had a lot of Steve from that night, looking sleepy and ruffled, his hair out of place, but the one he had selected for the assignment was him curled like a cat in a large armchair, his head on the armrest, mouth open slightly. Jonathan liked to look at it, thinking about the soft little noises Steve had made as he slept.
“Amazed” was from the Fourth of July. They sat on top of Steve’s roof, watching the fireworks explode over the trees. He took one of Steve in profile, his glasses on, reflecting the fireworks, his eyes bright in the darkness, a tiny smile tugging at his soft lips.
The one for “Disapproving” made him laugh. Taken at the arcade, Steve standing head and shoulders above the kids, one eyebrow raised at Dustin, lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest. The kids had been clamoring for more money, Steve playing hard-ass before he relented and slipped them a tenner. Jonathan remembered lowering his camera, catching Steve’s eye, his heart thumping in his chest when Steve winked at him.
And here they were, the final photograph Jonathan needed. Vulnerable.
“Hey, this is kind of a weird request, but do you think you could get naked?”
Steve just blinked at him.
They had been trying to capture this one for the better part of a day. They had tried many different places, different rooms. They were currently in Steve’s parents’ bedroom, Steve sitting on the hearth rug in front of the large fireplace.
Jonathan had originally approached Steve about this project because of how constantly expressive Steve is (not to mention the tiny crush he’s been harboring for years). He tries to hide it, but those big eyes show everything. But Steve wanted it all to be real, wasn’t confident in his abilities as a model, a muse to just, manufacture these pictures. So he and Jonathan would work for the photos, would make Steve feel the emotion. And right now, right now it just wasn’t working.
“I beg your pardon.”
“It’s just not quite right. I think that’ll help you feel it. I won’t show anything.” Steve just considered him for a moment, standing up to tug his shirt off, kicking off his jeans. Jonathan averted his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. He sat back down, curled into himself, knees bent to his chest, arms around his legs. Jonathan snapped a picture of him like that. He huffed.
“Still not it?” Steve was chewing on his lip as Jonathan shook his head. “Do you want me to like, tell you stuff? Get all, emotionally vulnerable?”
“If you want. You don’t have to tell me anything major.” Steve smiled at him.
“No, I want this to be real. I want you to do well.” He took a breath. “Where should I start?”
“Wherever you want.”
“My dad has never given me a hug. He tells me every time I speak to him that he’s disappointed in me, embarrassed of me.” Jonathan swallowed hard, raising his camera. So they were doing this. Steve was gonna sit here, completely naked in front of him, baring his soul. Steve was looking to the side, the empty bed, crisply made. “They didn’t want kids. I was an accident. They decided to keep me just to keep appearances. My dad’ll bring clients for dinner, show off his perfect family.
“That’s when they’re in town, which they never are.” He laid down, on his front, his head turned towards Jonathan, resting on his arms. He was always so aware of his body, knew just how to place it for beautiful photographs. Jonathan loved watching him move, so confident. “My dad cheats on my mom a lot. I walked in on him and his secretary when I was eleven. He gave me a stack of cash and a new bike to keep my mouth shut. Not that I would ever tell my mom. She said she likes to pretend I don't exist sometimes.” Jonathan put down his camera. The dad stuff was whatever. He was of course sad for Steve, but who didn’t have a shitty father these days?
But he had always known a kind and loving mother, couldn’t even wrap his mind around having one like Steve’s.
“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He raised his camera quickly, wanted to get the sad little smile Steve was wearing. “I don’t know what I would do without my mom.”
“I really like your mom. She’s a good lady. She’s really kind.” He shifted again, rolling onto his side, his legs bent up, the top knee bent more, pointed to the ground in an effort to keep himself somewhat covered. “My mom is cold. She told me that she regrets having a kid. Said she’s never quite gotten her body back after she was pregnant.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “She sometimes tells me that she’s never loved me.” Jonathan put down the camera, moving quietly over to Steve. He ran one hand through his thick hair. It was soft, no product in it. Steve took a deep breath, eyes dewy when he looked back at Jonathan. “I’m okay. Keep taking pictures.”
“We can stop. I’m sure I have something that’ll work.” Steve just batted Jonathan’s hand away.
“I’m good, Jon. Promise. I want you to get this photo.”
“Thank you for helping me. I really, I appreciate it.” Steve was smiling so sweetly at him, eyes all soft. Jonathan took a picture of it.
“No problem. I like helping. And it’s been, it’s been really fun, spending time with you like this. I really, I really like you, Jon.” Jonathan’s heart sped up. Steve’s eyes were wide, but Jonathan couldn’t look at them, look at them and see Steve being all soft like this, when he didn’t, there was no way he felt, the same.
Jonathan scooted back, picking his camera back up. He looked through the view finder, realizing Steve had moved again, was kneeling, sitting back on his heels, leaning forward, hands on the ground in front of him.
He took a picture.
“You want me to keep going?”
“Only if you’re comfortable.” Steve just smiled at him again,
“I’m always comfortable with you.” Jonathan’s heart thumped again. “I mean, you already know about the, the reading. You know, I’ve never actually told anyone about that. My kindergarten teacher wanted to get me tested for some things, I can’t actually remember what, but my dad wouldn’t let them. Said some real horrible shit to me, and I just, I’ve always been embarrassed. He’s always taking shit to me. God, imagine if he found out-” He cut himself off, looking at the ground. Jonathan was burning to know, know everything about Steve.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about that stuff. Not to me.” Steve looked up at him, Jonathan scrambled to take another picture.
It was like Steve had been entirely cracked open. With one look Jonathan could see everything in his heart, the light in him. It was beautiful and so fucking raw.
“That’s the shot.” Jonathan says right when Steve says
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Jonathan dropped the camera.
“What?”
Steve’s face was bright red.
“Nothing! I didn’t, I didn’t say anything.” He was shuffling on his knees, grabbing at his clothes. He tugged on his jeans, standing up. “So, you got the shot?”
“Steve.” Jonathan grabbed his wrist. “Did you mean that?” His eyes were panicked. “Did you mean that?”
“Yes.” He breathed it out. “I meant it.” Jonathan pulled him forward, and slammed them together. Steve made a soft noise against his lips, but he fucking melted against him, his hands coming up to thread through Jonathan’s hair, his hands settling on Steve’s hips.
They broke apart, and Steve’s big eyes were all bright, all happy. Jonathan scrambled for his camera, taking a photo of him, maybe a new one for “Joy”.
#yikes writes#stonathan#steve harrington#jonathan byers#stonathan fic#stonathan ficlet#stonathan drabble#steve harrington x jonathan byers#jonathan byers x steve harrington
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『 hunter schafer. twenty one. trans girl. she/her. 』 oh heavens, is that SAILOR QUINN from MAIN STREET i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them - GREEDY & - IMPULSIVE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool WAITRESS AT SUNRISE DINER AND LOCAL PSYCHIC and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been + WARM & + QUICK WITTED. i hope i see them around again! 『 pepper. twenty four. est. she/her. 』
ABOUT THE MUN.
the 2000 claymation film chicken run radicalized me
hi, hey, hello, everyone my name is pepper and i am at work 😔 but i am also currently slacking off from work to write this 🤠 we love to see it. the duality of man. a bit about me is that i would lay my life down for hunter schafer !!! i am so excited to finally play her this has been my dream since i laid eyes on her,,, that and to take her hand in marriage but i digress. fun fact number 2, i have just started skins at my big age and i hate tony with a passion!!! i’ll fight that little punk i swear !!! fun fact number three, i have an irrational fear of humanoid beings with gills, looking at you sharkboy !! thanks for traumatizing me as a kid buddy, someone had to do it !! this fear also includes the deep from the boys, that weird fish guy that that one lady banged in that oscar nominated movie, and gill from kim possible. all of these fish men all my living nightmares, thank you for coming to my ted talk 😌 (honestlee,,, why is this such a common trope in media. who started this,,,why do they hate me). and finally, the most important thing you need to know about me, is that as a child i thot that god looked like king trident from the little mermaid. i think we can all relate to that, right? right. okay moving onto the love of my life, ms. sailor quinn.
BIO.
winks with my third eye
everyone in mapleview knows about the quinns. the family has been here probably nearly as long as the town has and is pretty well known for their eccentrics. let’s just say the quinns were definitely, understandably, some of the first women in the history of mapleview to be accused of as being witches, an act of which they made the good ol’ mapleview history books for. this is a fact that sailor often looks back on with pride. honestly, it was one of the only things that made going to history class worth it, because despite how painfully boring the class was in general, sailor could never get tired of the startled looks of her classmates whenever her ancestry was brought up.
nowadays the quinns are arguably living a less exciting life than the good old days of being accused of sorcery. instead, they’re psychics. fortune tellers, if you will. you can find their family shop on main street, and if you’re ever feeling particularly divinely inspired you can stop by for a reading and a few charms or some crystals (they also offer sagings and exorcisms) . the third eye has actually become a bit of a tourist attraction actually, well, as much of a tourist attraction as you could find in mapleview, due to the actions of sailor’s mother.
to put it simply, sailor’s mother had plans bigger than mapleview could offer. around the time the she was eighteen she left the town for hollywood. now, you would think based in this information that venus quinn had big plans of being on the big screen maybe. or that perhaps she had the voice of an angel and wanted to sing on the radio. you would be wrong.
sailor’s mother became a reality tv show psychic. as you can guess, the psychic community loves her. that is, if love involved a myriad of curses being put on you and maybe a bit of voodoo. okay, she’s universally despised by psychics pretty much everywhere. i think it’s to be expected.
sailor was born into this legacy. as you can guess, it was a pretty heavy cross to bear. she was born into a b-list fame that meant her mother had to call her own paparazzi, that sailor herself simply had to be homeschooled to avoid the ‘mobbing’ of perhaps fifteen avid fans max, and that every morning in their grand living room her mother would let her hate mail fuel their fireplace. sailor would occasionally have her face plastered on tlc, or her voice would be heard as her mother made a ‘heartwarming call to her family at home whilst on tour’ but to put it bluntly, sailor was more of a prop in her mother’s fame than anything else. and it was bargain shop fame at best. but apparently still enough scrutiny that her mother felt the need to take her out of the public eye when she came out and began to transition.
sailor came out to her mother at the age of nine and before she could even reach the age of ten, her mother had shipped her halfway across the country to mapleview to comfortably transition in a town of strangers and in a household of people she’d only ever met at argument fueled holiday parties. her mother swore up and down that this was to make sure that sailor could transition outside of public scrutiny, so that she could have her privacy in this time and not have to deal with the media hounding her down during such a vulnerable period but sailor couldn’t help but feel abandoned by the whole situation. it felt like her mother was hiding her away, like some sort of dirty little secret. it felt like she was ashamed of her, even if the woman swore up and down that she accepted sailor as she was.
sailor moved into the top of the third eye with her her aunts and grandmother and was welcomed into this clan of women with open arms. as mentioned earlier, most of sailor’s experience with her aunts and grandmother has been brief exchanges between her aunts screaming at her mother for being a sell out, her mother hollering back about them not supporting her, and her grandmother pretending to cast a curse on her mother from the head of the dining room table. you know. normal family gatherings, but not enough for you to truly get to know somebody. but it is within the quinn women’s household that sailor finally found her footing. she finally felt like she belonged. her aunts and gram taught her everything they knew and nurtured her lovingly throughout her transition. they gave her her first job working front desk at the third eye, made the place she felt like her mother abandoned her feel more like home than her mother’s place ever had. and she is painfully loyal to them for it. when her mother finally reached out to sailor at the age of sixteen, finally inviting her back home, sailor simply refused. and she’s been here in mapleview ever since.
a few years ago sailor’s mother moved back to mapleview to attempt to repair their relationship. to put it frankly, her views were plummeting quickly, and along with feeling some amount of remorse for her deteriorating relationship with her daughter she also thought that perhaps making her show a mother daughter act would bring some of the attention back to it. sailor has pretty much refused to speak to her, but she lives around sycamore way in a large house on a hill.
despite sailor having no plans to break into the reality tv business, she really has no idea what she would like to do instead. she is currently content to just continue working at her family shop, and occasionally take up a few of the shifts at the diner as well. she likes money, and she certainly has ambitions to make more, the how is simply up in the air at the moment. honestly, life would be a lot simpler if she could see her own future.
or well, anyone’s at all.
HEADCANNONS.
are you a virgin? why are you planning a sacrifice?
this is the song that inspired sailor, no i cannot explain why.
sailor’s mother name is venus (vee), her aunts name is persephone (percy), her other aunts name is circe (cece) and finally her grandmother’s name is luna. both her aunts are unmarried and her grandmother is widowed.
that said, sailor does have a father despite the fact that i didn’t once mention him djsdjk he is an artist and he loves her mother to death honestly. their relationship is almost completely based off of the relationship of cassie’s parents from skins, so yeah they can’t keep their hands off each other and sailor’s father kenneth often paints her mother nude. most of these paintings could be seen on display in her old household, so sailor really did just grow up seeing her mother butt ass naked every day. sometimes it be like that i suppose.
sailor has three black cats. she calls them the muses and their names are calliope, clio, and urania. basically, whenever there is a black cat at the pound sailor makes it her mission to them home because the stigma against black cats that keeps them from getting adopted?? wack. sailor will adopt everyone of them.
is currently still living above her family shop is kind of interested in finding an apartment to move into instead. is in the market for a roomie or like three!! all interested parties please apply.
is actually kinda a con artist. honestly, her whole family kinda is but shh, don’t tell nsdkjsdjk none of them can actually see the future but aunt percy (who says she can see the future, but honestly while sailor does believe her aunt percy is also a bit loony so sdjhsdj who knows what the truth is?) and her grandmother. cece, vee, and sailor tho?? all faking it until they make it. honestly sailor is pretty good about it, although she doesn’t actively see the future she does believe in everything she practices for the most part, and it shows. that says, since she is frankly, a magpie when it comes to money and literally anything mildly expensive she will offer rich people tarot readings without any hesitation and proceed to make the whole thing up as she goes along. if sailor judges them to be bad people (aka rude, the kinda people who don’t tip, snooty, assholes) she will give them a horrible reading to instill the fear of god in them and charge them extra for some good luck charms to ward off their impending doom. but if she likes them she will read the cards as they are and do her best to give them good advice based on her gut. her only saving grace is that she has pretty good intuition anyways, so a lot of what she says tends to be right even if it’s just shots in the dark. (her aunt cece is worse though, she looks up all her clients online before they come to see her dskjdsjk all of her predictions are educated guesses based on her research)
the type to crush and crush hard. falls in love every other week, and gets her heart broken just as often. honestly, sailor tends to fall for anyone who is nice to her, or gives her attention, or whose attention she wants. she is constantly on tinder mostly for fun. tends to treat the app more like a game than anything else, goes out on one night stands a hookups at least ??? 3 times a week. will make cast a love spell for the guy who told her to stay dry when she left the grocery store or the girl who smiled at her on the bus.
cannot drive but has a license. if you see sailor behind the wheel, duck. she drives a cute little sky blue bug though. it has eyelashes on the headlights.
colours her hair whenever she is even mildly stressed. by default at the moment it’s a pretty silvery blonde, so she tends to colour the ends often depending on her mood.��
actually can sing unlike her mother, you can probably catch her at any open mic nights in town. she has a little guitar that she’s covered in flower stickers and named aphrodite.
that little frowny face florence pugh was making throughout the entirety of midsommar,,, unhappy sailor content. thank you for coming to my ted talk.
the type to go to church and pretend to be overcome by the holy spirit just because she’s bored on a sunday sdkjsdj
your girl is vegan and bisexual, we love to see it.
PERSONALITY.
feeling cute today. might commit acts of hubris
CHEEKY. 99.9% of the time sailor is joking. she is the type to generally tend to be in a cheerful mood no matter what, always laughing or making a dry joke. doesn’t tend to often be in a bad mood but when she is it says something. very witty honestly, tends to be quite funny and the type to go out of her way to make someone laugh
GREEDY. sailor loves money. she absolutely adores it. she’s kind of a magpie when it comes to material things, the type to go to antique stores and thrift stores and clear them out of absolutely anything that interests her. a shameless pickpocket and minor thief, but only when it comes to large corporations or people who look like they have a summer house stashed away somewhere. definitely snatched some sort of expensive little statue from her moms place the last time she went to visit a la fleabag. is probably still looking for some place to sell it online, but honestly also kinda wants to keep it. she’s named her no head nancy and she is currently sitting on sailors desk as a paperweight
WARM. all faults aside, if you ever need something from somebody sailor is the one to go to. need a ride home from the club? sailor will come and get you in ten minutes. feeling sick? sailor will be over at your place with some vegan chicken noodle soup and a charm for good health. need someone to cheer you up? sailor is doing a chicken dance on your front porch. she is ultimately kind, and if you are her friend especially she will be there for you until death.
IMPULSIVE. that said sailor does pretty much everything she does without thinking. she is actually, surprisingly enough, a bit of a planner when it comes to life and finances, like she is pretty organized considering how scattered her personality is otherwise. but if sailor gets a whim to go somewhere or do something out of nowhere, she will do it. commitments be damned. the type to suddenly get up and leave mapleview one day to live in hawaii for a year and learn to scuba dive yk. will send you postcards tho.
this is my first time playing sailor so if this is a mess and contradictory it’s because i am too 😌 thank you for coming to my ted talk.
WANTED CONNECTIONS.
god doesnt respond why should i
EXES. give. me. ANGST with this please. the more dramatic the better. it’s been a hot minute since i had a good ex connection so maybe something where they dated in high school or even more recently. where they’re trying to be on good terms but some angsty feels linger below the surface, or where they’re on really bad terms and can’t hide it. the kind of exes who keep going back to each other, or who can’t leave each other alone, jealousy, and all that good stuff yk
BEST FRIENDS. pls. i would love for sailor to have like four or five of these honestly, just a little squad. these could be here roommates!! or not!! i plan on putting in a wc for her roommates honestly, so look forward to that.
REGULAR CUSTOMER. someone who sailor is either milking dry or is just trying to reassure. she comes to their place in the middle of the night to sage the place because they swear they heard a ghost. they have a urgent skype call because they broke a mirror and want sailor to go over their future one more time to see how it’s been affected. sailor makes a lot of money off of them and either feels guilty about it or not even a little bit guilty about it depending on their relationship.
OTHER REGULAR CUSTOMER. this is someone who sailor regularly serves at the diner. rip to them because she is horrible at it. they find sailors order taking pencil in their soup. sailor is constantly getting their order wrong. sometimes she sits down with them and steals their fries as she talks their ear off. sailor is honestly probably too comfortable with them considering how bad she is at her job, but she definitely considers them friends.
A CRUSH. open to ladies, theydies, and gents! someone who sailor has a big ol’ dumb crush on. this is the person that sailor thinks of whenever she does a love reading, the person who she gazes at longingly whenever she sees them. she also probably talks their ear off whenever they see each other. big heart eyes atm, but sailor knows it probably won’t last more than a month. right?
EX-CRUSHES. that makes me think omg, i’d love to have some people sailor used to have a crush on. people she had a crush on in high school. people she had a crush on last year. just people she used to be obsessed with who she is completely over now sdkjdsjk maybe they’re friends now and sailor doesn’t know what she saw in them in the first place. maybe they’re enemies omg
OPPOSITES ATTRACT. i’d like someone really grounded to be friends with sailor. like just someone with their shit together who isn’t as airy and whimsical as her. sailor makes them loosen up a bit, and they make sure sailor doesn’t end up dead. it’s a balance.
i think that’s all i can think of for now but honestly i’d also love to see a bully sailor used to have a s child, someone who thinks psychics and astrology and everything is bs just so sailor can like !!! debate with them about it yk, someone who’s a fan of her moms show, someone who maybe comes to sailors open mic nights religiously, a neighbor maybe like just the person who lives above the shop beside the third eye and sees these women baying at the moon during the summer solstice and is like ??? fuck i gotta move, previous one night stands, fwb, ewb, uh someone who bonds with sailor over occult stuff???
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My hero - Eat what?!
Third chapter.
Hormones in the air.
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“Uuuurgh! This is harder than I thought!” Izuku shouts as she moves a spare sword from All Might feeling the strains in her body. She’s been training with All Might for five months and she just turned sixteen, she learned hand to hand combat and how to wield a sword properly, it has been quiet in the area with no attacks so she could concentrate more in her training.
“That’s the spirit young Midoriya!” An excited All Might shouts from behind.”You have a good control over your magic, our powers work 50% mind 50% body.” He puts his hands on his hips.“The power of this sword, is the fullest physical ability of many people gathered into one and obviously you’ve been training for a while if not the limbs will come off and the body will explode.”
“MY LIMBS WILL WHAT?!”
“YES!”
“Um back with my magic, I can only levitate things and myself though.” She said as she wiped her sweat from her forehead.
All Might puts his hand in his chin. “From what I saw back in the Southern Tribe that’s not the case, your magic is called telekinesis, it’s really rare these days and it can only be inherited, you have the ability to manipulate the objects around you and even what are not visible to the naked eye!”
“If what you’re saying it’s true then I am able to thrust strong waves of energy like I did with the slime monster and maybe I can even create protective barriers with the same energy if train it well.” Izuku mutters.
“You’re muttering again.”
“Sorry!”
“WORRY NOT! It seems that I gave you a good idea.”
“Mmm!” She beams happily.
“Young Midoriya, I believe it’s time for you to inherit the legendary sword One For All.” All Might looked at her seriously. “It is a special weapon that adapts to any type of magic and it can also grant its power for ones who can’t develop their own magic.”
“You don’t…?” She asked confused and he gives a crooked smile.
“This sword cultivates the power and passes it on to another person, who also cultivates it and passes it on.” All Might raises the legendary sword and starts to glow.“It is the crystallization of magic that spins together the voices of those who need help.”
“Wow!” She was so happy, it made his heart warm.
“This is the power that you earned because of your own effort...Now.” He said as he takes a strand of his hair. “Eat this.”
“...Eat this? Eat what?”
“Come on that’s how in works, you must consume some part of my dna and this is the best way.”
“Ew…It’s too different from what I imagined!”
“I’m kinda offended right now…” He places a hand on his heart dramatically.“Unless you wanna drink some of my blood?”
“I’ll take it! I’ll take the hair!... I’ll eat it...Somehow.” She swallows the hair with a frown.
“Young Midoriya, How about going to UA? It’s a perfect place for people aspiring to be heroes!”
She looked up at All Might in surprise.”I’ll have to tell my mother about this.”
“Indeed.” All Might grinned wide.”Besides, I’ll be teaching young heroes there.”
“You will?!”
“YES!” He gave her a thumbs up. “There has been a lot of attacks lately and I was on my way there when I felt the sword pulling me to you.”
“Now that I think about it, It was very strange like those men above in the mountains at the tribe like they were trying to lure you out.”
“They gave a pretty good fight! The tribes of the Badlands are strong warriors!”
“They are! It’s amazing how they are able to fight alongside with dragons.” Izuku smiled sweetly “Can I tell some friends if they want to come?”
“Of course the merrier the better! Oh and let’s talk to your mother.”
“Right!”
.
.
“If I went to UA, would you come with me?” Izuku asked as she sparred with Katsuki.
So many things changed in those five months, they would meet up in the forest or in his tribe, she always felt her heart skip a beat in anticipation for their meetings, she would spar with him or Katsuki would take her for a ride. Since she came to this world she never thought about dating, sometimes she would find herself wanting his attention or just be close to him all the time and it’s driving her mad. She had to admit that Katsuki is a very attractive man, putting aside his explosive personality and his yelling all the time, he was a good person, at least in his own way. She can’t help but feel confused about what is happening between them, they became very good friends and they were comfortable with each other.
Katsuki’s eyes turned serious and Izuku squeaked as a pair of strong arms pushed her backwards, rolling in the ground, she was laying on her back with him straddling her hips, holding her arms above her head and looking down on her.
“Not that I’m forcing you, I thought that it could be a great opportunity to become heroes, train to get better, I met All Might a few months ago and he told me about it…” Her voice got quieter as she continued to ramble.
“I would.” He made sure that his voice was loud and clear. “We promised each other didn’t we?”
She lifted her hips and pushed him forward, she used her strong legs and rolled them over, grinning as he grunted in surprise. She pinned him on the ground and her thighs tightened around his hips and he felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt her thighs against him.“Then, I’ll tell All Might that you said yes, oooh let’s tell Kirishima-san and Mina-chan too!” She beams happily and loosened her grip on his hands.
The mention of the legendary hero made him snap out of his trance, he grabbed her collar and pulled her until they were nose to nose.“Wait the fuck up! All Might told you? When did you met?!” He told her fiercely with a look that made her heart and stomach jump in symphony.
Calm the hell down hormones of hers.
Bad Izuku.
She nervously looked away and met his eyes again. “Yeah, after the attack of the slime monster I met him in the forest the next day and he told me about the guild.”
“So he’ll be there…” He muttered and nodded to himself. “I’ll be the number one and even beat All Might or everyone who steps in my way!” He looked at her seriously and she nodded still mesmerized.
“You and fighting half of the world.”
“JUST SO YOU KNOW, DAMN DEKU! THAT SLIME SHIT DOESN’T COUNT! YOU THINK I OWE YOU?! I NEVER ASKED FOR YOUR HELP! YOU COULD’VE BEEN SERIOUSLY INJURED!” His face was red from embarrassment.
“Sure you were Kacchan.” She purred as she gave him a cocky smirk.
“Are you sassing me?” He asked huskily as tacked her on the ground once again. Izuku blinked several times, she tried pulling her hands out of his grasp but to no vail and her lips opened slightly. “Yield.” He smirked, flashing his teeth.
“N-Never.” She breathes and sighed uneasily.
“What’re bitching about?”
“The only thing that bothers me is that I don’t want to leave my mother alone…” She said and looks away as she clenches her fists. “That person might come back and he is not a good person.” Izuku spat venom in her voice as she mentioned her father, she had a wild guess that the man she saw that day was her father, she didn’t have any paintings of him so she wasn’t sure.
A sharp hiss left his lips as he suddenly pulled away from her and they quickly got on their feet. Katsuki knew who she meant, his mother told him that Izuku’s father disappeared when she turned six and at that time Mitsuki went to Inko’s shop for some plants, that’s how they met and became great friends. He reached out to give her a flick on her forehead at the look on her face. “Your mother can stay with my old hag.” He said with a scowl. “She loves your mom… She wouldn’t let that bastard get near her, so stop making that face.”
“Ouch!” She said and punched his chest in goodwill. She rubbed her forehead where he flicked and giggled.
“That’s better.” He smirked.
“If you two have stopped flirting, shall we hear about this UA guild?” Remarked Kirishima with a raised eyebrow.
“We’re not flirting!” Izuku and Katsuki shouted in unison. Kirishima shrugged and Mina laughs.
Izuku sighed and walked towards Kirishima. “You see…”
.
.
“HERE WE ARE!” All Might shouts loudly as the group of teens approached the guild, Izuku looks up at the building, her expression of pure excitement. “COME! YOUNG HEROES, UA GUILD AWAITS!” The hero lets out a booming laugh and stepped to open the front gates. “I AM...COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A HERO!”
The UA guild is a big building in the middle of a city two days away from her village, the tribes of the Badlands are known for their dragons so they took the dragons to get there faster, courtesy of crown prince Katsuki Bakugou.
“AWESOME LOOK AT ALL THOSE PEOPLE USING THEIR MAGIC!” Izuku beams happily swinging side to side, feeling the legendary sword warm in her back next to a grumpy Katsuki and she took a deliberately breath as he suddenly held her hand.
“Let’s go Deku.”
A dark haired woman with a mask and a provocative way of dressing stood in the entrance. “Welcome, young heroes! My name is Midnight.” She smiled at the teens. “Please fill your basic information over there and I’ll give you your keys to your dorms.” The teens part to go to fill their information near a desk lady at the side of the building. “Girls dorms are this way and boys dorms are that way!”
“This is where we part! I must go to meet the master of the guild.” All Might collided his fist into his palm, with quick glance that no one was watching he bends down to ruffle Izuku’s hair and gives her a thumbs up. “See you in class!” He whispered and saluted to Izuku.
“Yes!” She whispered back.
Izuku couldn’t believe that she was at the UA guild, it was funny how the events have changed in five months. She was looking at her surroundings, there was a man with a dog’s head, a girl who created things that came out of her chest, a giant woman, a boy with a tail and many more different powers. She wondered if she was going to share classes with them when she heard a scream of a brown haired girl riding a staff falling from the sky.
“WATCH OUT!”
Without giving a second thought, Izuku quickly flexed her legs and leaped forward, green lightning sparked her body and carried the girl bridal style. They landed softly on the ground and Izuku lets down the girl. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?” The girl asked confused.
“Are you okay?”
The girl was about to answer when a knight with glasses came running in their direction holding the staff she was riding moments ago.
“Ochako, that was dangerous! Thank goodness you are okay!” The knight shakes the girl by the shoulders and the girl shoves off the boy to face Izuku.
“That was so cool, like a prince! Thank you for saving me! My name is Ochako Uraraka!”
“Izuku Midoriya” Izuku nodded with a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you!”
“My name is Tenya Iida!” He said while moving his arms all over the place and Izuku laughs at the strage gesture before glancing over at Katsuki who was walking towards her with a deadly expression leaving Kirishima and Mina following from behind.
“Be careful Bakubro or some girl might steal your girl!” Snickered Kirishima behind Katsuki and Mina gives him a high five.
“Nice!”
“Out of the way extras!” Katsuki shoves Iida and Ochako to the side. He looked down at Izuku and took her hand to guide her towards their dorms.
“Don’t call people extras just because you don’t know them!” Iida yells at Katsuki in the distance.
“See you in class and sorry!” Izuku waved a hand turning around to her new friends hoping to see them again tomorrow.
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#katsudeku#bakudeku#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#boku no hero academia#fem deku#dadmight#mha#reincarnatedsoul#medieval au
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Helluva Boss Pilot: Gender Reverse
Not too far away from Pentagram City lay a shady place in the bowels of Hell. “Welcome to Imp City: est. 1981” was posted on a worn wooden sign with a white painted eye toward the top. Under a crimson sky, a wide array of buildings made up the city, some with spikes on the roofs. Downtrodden imps of various colors and sizes mulled around the streets and ghettos. Mugging, sex, drugs, poverty, and murder were common aspects of their everyday afterlives. Indeed, being considered “lesser demons” and the “lowest of the low,” not very many had opportunities granted to them.
Well, save for a unique family of imps, trying to get their business running.
Just who were these imps?
A nearby screen showed old fashioned numbers ticking down, 3, 2, and 1 against red.
Elektriza, a red and white faced imp appeared on stage in front of purple curtains. Elektriza smiled in front of the camera with a row of sharp yellow teeth, her eyes yellow with orange irises and black pupils. The left side of her face was red and the right side was white. A prominent black mark was visible on her forehead, looking like an upside down lotus. Her long curved horns were black and white, the horns curving inward toward her face like a ram’s. A dark navy blue business dress graced her form, orange-pink buttons going down the center of it. The collar of her dress was white and her red undershirt had a round pink pin with a stitched up face on it. Her dress had several tatters in it. Navy blue gloves covered her hands and wrists, with a yellow eye decoration on each one. She also wore matching cowgirl boots, the tips of them the same pinkish color as her pin. A red pointed tail with a few white spots on it excitedly swished back and forth behind her.
“Hi there, I’m Elektriz, the “a” is silent, and I’m the founder of I.M.P.!”
The logo appeared in red sparkles over her outstretched left hand. “I.M.P.” was shown in bold black letters, the “M” shaped like black and white imp horns. Down below were words in red: “Immediate Murder Professionals.”
“Are you a piece of shit who got yourself sent to Hell?”
A small screen in the right hand corner showed Elektriza wearing a black cape and two black pointed hats on her horns. A monocle rested near her left eye. She was grinning in front of a burning house. The sign beside her read “orphanage for disabled neglected children.”
“Or are you an innocent soul who just happened to be fucked over by someone else?”
The next slide showed Elektriza in a white angel costume throwing a styrofoam cup into a waste bin next to a recycle bin. An old clerk with large glasses was working behind a desk in the background. Red pentagrams decorated the walls.
The next clip showed a video of a tall muscular red demon talking in front of a camera. She was wearing a white shirt that read “Ohio” on it in red. A 666 News billboard was in the background along with a “Hella” sign and a beer poster. An imp held a wooden sign that read “Some person who hired us!”
The red demon spoke, “After lovingly killing my husband for fucking a delivery lady, you can imagine my surprise when I wound up here, after the state of Ohio killed me.” She punched one of her hands with her meaty fist. “I really wish I could just stick it to that yapping charter who saw me hiding the body!”
The scene cut back to Elektriza who was shown holding an ornate Satanic ritual book. She was in a room full of white candles and skulls scattered on the floor and a white clothed altar with a round mirror on it.
Behind her were her two employee imps, Moxxia and Millard. Moxxia had white messy hair and black and white stripped horns curving back in a zig zag look. Several white tuffs of hair rested beside her cheeks on either side. She wore a similar dark navy blue business dress like her boss, with the pink buttons in the center and the cuffs of the sleeves white. Moxxia’s face was red, and her eyes were big and yellow. White freckles dotted near her eyes and an orange-pink bow rested on top of her head between her horns. Her red and blue curved hooves were visible, as was her red pointed tail with a couple of black stripes on it.
Finally, there was the other imp, Millard. Millard had a red face like his wife Moxxia, and also had big yellow eyes. His hair was short, black, and wild on top of his head. A white spot in his hair took the shape of a skull. His tall long horns were black with faint white stripes on them. The horns curved slightly past the back of his head. Unlike the other two, he wore torn black jeans and a black crop top shirt that exposed his red shoulders. His clawed feet and red tail were visible as well.
“Well luckily for you,” Elektriza mentioned, referring back to the red demon desperate for revenge, “Thanks to our company’s special access to the living world…”
She grinned and wiggled her fingers.
Fwoosh!
A fast explosive sound was heard and a flaming portal appeared inside the candle circle. The impact sent the other two imps scurrying away. She walked over to the portal.
“We can help you take care of your unfinished business by taking out anyone who screwed you over when you were alive!”
She smiled and fell backwards into the portal.
The next image showed a white figure with an angry expression, arms crossed. A thought bubble was above the head with a red x over another figure. A red monster fell next to the startled figure. The camera panned up and showed the three imps arriving in a red circle. Millard stood with a spear in his hands, Moxxia held a gun and Elektriza stood with both her arms out. Elektriza’s arms made the “M” in the I.M.P. logo.
The commercial jingle began:
“Who you want somebody gone
And you don’t wanna wait too long
Call the Immediate Murder Professionals”
Moxxia threw a grenade out the window, Elektriza and Millard covering their ears and smiling as it exploded. A picture of a growling Moxxia hung on the wall.
In an office room, Elektriza grinned manically as she hung a struggling human from the ceiling. Millard held a piece of paper and showed it to Moxxia, who was sitting on a chair. On the wall was a flat screen TV, a rocker poster, and a drawing of Madam Zmeya, the snake inventor.
Elektriza shocked a bond and gagged victim, Millard used a mace on another victim, while a scowling Moxxia choked a third.
“Whether grenade or cyanide
We’ll make it look like suicide
The Immediate Murder Professionals”
“We do our job so well
Because we come straight up from Hell”
The next clip showed Elektriza mentioning for her partners in crime to follow her through a flaming portal in the wall. Millard happily followed, along with Moxxia, who tripped on a book as she ran through. The three imps appeared through the floor and did poses after Moxxia quickly stood back up. They fell silent as humans in a church service stared at them in shock.
“We’ll kill your husband our your wife
We’ll even let you keep the knife
The Immediate Murder Professionals
Kids die for free!”
Millard was shown greedily eying a pink pair of ladies underwear while stabbing a naked couple having sex in bed. Moxxia groaned and looked away. Elektriza found a pair of boxers and help them up for a closer look.
Elektriza repeatedly stabbed another victim’s head in a chair at a circus in Hell. “The Elektriza Extravaganza” was shown in bold black letters on a sign.
The imps killed more people, torturing people with Medieval stretching, chasing victims with a shark, roasting them with gasoline and fire, smothering them with pillows, dropping a piano on them, and electrocuting them.
A little kid with white skin, brown curly hair, black pants and an orange shirt with a ringed planet on it was strolling along licking a pink ice cream cone.
Bang!
The kid fell to the ground after Moxxia shot her in the back. The imps looked at each other in shock, believing they had killed the wrong target. The kid was rushed to the worst hospital in the city, one where the doctors carelessly treated the kid and only cared about insurance money. The girl was rushed into the emergency room.
“Doctor, she’s not responding,” said a pink haired male, rapidly shaking the girl’s still form.
“Who ordered a stat?” asked a female with glasses. She gave the kid hard chest compressions. “It didn’t do anything!”
The doctor came in. “Damn it! We’re not losing another one! Clear!”
The kid received a shock to the heart and she gasped for air.
“Holy shit that actually worked,” the blonde spectacled doctor muttered.
The imps sat in the waiting room, just outside door 66. The doctor came out to see them.
“She’s in stable condition, but she’ll need surgery. Now what kind of insurance do you freaks have?”
“The fuck is insurance?!” asked Elektriza.
The imps, kid and bed were promptly sent crashing through a window, glass flying everywhere. Everyone screamed as they fell. Thankfully, a flaming portal was underneath them, sending the group back into Hell.
Moxxia and Millard later sang a murder love song in their living room before the meeting. Moxxia played on her purple guitar as Millard watched her with love in his eyes. It reminded them of the good times when they would shoot at demons together in the streets, when they dragged a bloody sack behind them and when Millard got a grenade as a present and used it to blow up a building.
Moxxia began:
“Oh what a thrill when the crimson starts to spill
And my Millard goes in for the kill
He takes away my breath
He’s the angel of death, Millard
Oh Millard”
“Everything is like a dream
When I hear his victims start to scream
When I go for the attack
He’s always got my back, on guard
Oh Millard”
“When the blood starts dripping down the sides
And the bodies start to fall from the skies
My heart skips a beat
When my Millard’s guns a blazing in the night
He makes me feel alive in every fight
Through blood and tears, we’ll never be apart
He makes the murdering fun from the start”
Both of them hummed before Moxxia finished,
“Of all the imps in Hell…it’s for him that I fell…”
Millard joined in at the same moment, “It’s for her that I fell…”
“Oh Millard.”
They leaned in for a kiss.
They paused. Moxxia yelled, while looking out the window. Elektriza was pressed against the window with a video camera.
“Are you fucking filming us right now?!” she yelled.
Millard glanced over and sighed, as a smiling Elektriza held up a sign which read “Meeting in 2 hours: nice job banging yo’ wife!”
Just before the meeting, Elektriza walked into the receptionist room.
A white and grey male Hellhound was already there, Chandra the grumpy receptionist. He wore a grey-blue shirt with black strings making a downward Pentagram design at the top. His jeans were torn and black, his paws visible. He wore a spiked collar around his neck and rings on his pointed ears. His eyes were red with white irises and black pupils, eyes that seemed perpetually angry or bored.
The rotary bone-shaped phone made barking sounds as it rang. The hound picked it up.
“Hello, I.M.P.” he said in a gruff monotone.
“Me and my wife got stabbed! Somebody help…”
Chandra abruptly hung up and continued reading a Hellhound Monthly magazine in front of him. His breath smelled like meth and cigarette smoke. A hidden “to do” list in front of him read: “terrorize the werecats,” “go get a drink,” “hang out with cute Sobtiny at the hound rock concert.” He already imagined himself back in the comfort of his home, punching a punching bag with Moxxia’s face on it.
Moxxia stomped over to the Hellhound’s desk, holding a “chub be gone” paper in her hand. “Did you just send me an ad for weight loss?”
“No,” he replied.
“Why would anyone send me this?”
Chandra let out a small smile. “Come on. You know why.”
Moxxia sighed, “You’re just awful!” before she wondered over to get water.
“Hello Chandy!” Elektriza beamed at her adoptive son as she came over. “Did you enjoy my adoption anniversary present?”
“I already fucking told you,” Chandra growled. “It was a bunch of spiders and not a cure for syphilis. So no.”
“Aw don’t be such a liar,” Elektriza remarked in a playful tone. “Although I’m sorry that it happened, regardless.” Chandra growled out loud, clenching his claws.
The phone rang again and Chandra answered it.
“Elektriz!” he called. “That clingy rich asshole’s on the phone! Says it’s urgent and wants to talk to you!” Then he muttered, “Sounds a little D T F y.” (Down to fuck).
Moxxia walked back in, standing by Elektriza next to the water cooler.
“Oh god that was one time!” Elektriza called, spilling water everywhere. “We wouldn’t be able to have access to the living world, if I didn’t sleep with that privileged asshole!”
Moxxia paused, confused. “You what?”
“And…I may have stolen her book after we fucked. Man it was heavy. Yeah, I then fell off a balcony and landed in the king owl’s cake. Then I was like, ‘Sorry I fucked your wife!’”
“Elektriz!” Chandra bellowed.
“I heard you already!” Elektriza shouted back.
The head imp walked over to another desk and gulped down a cup of iced coffee. She took a breath and sighed in satisfaction. “Ah, this stuff never gets old! My horse Thumbtack agrees with me.”
“Your horse doesn’t exist,” Moxxia remarked.
“Don’t you be mean to our boss like that,” Millard piped up as he walked over to Moxxia.
“Don’t tell me that you believe her?”
“I just find it amusing that she changes her horse’s name every day!”
“That’s more like it,” Elektriza responded. “You see, we need more of Millard’s good spirits in all of us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain someone to talk to before the meeting.”
Elektriza left and opened the door to her office, the one where “Elektriza” was written with the “a” crossed out.
Moxxia huffed. “Great, now I don’t have my avocado salad for lunch because someone decided to eat it.”
She glared at Chandra who flipped her the bird. “I was hungover and hungry, alright?”
“Why would you get drunk on a workday anyway?” asked Millard to Chandra.
“Dumbass! I was hung over from this morning!” he replied.
“At least I don’t go around kicking babies in strollers,” Moxxia scoffed.
“Just admit it, everyone knows you’re a white-haired loser, Moxxia.”
“So…” drawled Elektriza as she played with bobbleheads of Moxxia and Millard on her desk in her office. A circus poster hanging on the wall reminded Elektriza of the times when she performed with her two brothers, Tillo and Barb Wire. She was sitting in her chair holding her cell phone. “What can I do you for, Stola?”
An owl princess lounged on a couch in her palace, holding an old rotary phone with wings on it. Her eyes were large and red, her round black hat had a gold crown on it. The hat also had red markings similar to her eyes. Long silky black hair fell past her shoulders, brushing her grey feathery wings. Her chest was fluffy and a silvery grey. A portrait shown a picture of the royal family: Stola, her husband and their son, Prince Octavius. A red robe with a fur collar was draped over her.
The princess spoke in a British accent. “There’s a doctor that’s causing trouble up on Earth for a few of my associates. He’s trying to convince people that the Covid 19 Pandemic exists and to take extra precautions.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but more people die when they’re being careless and nothing’s done about it. And though I hate being lonely…it’s getting overcrowded here. Frankly, the global warming issue seems easier to deal with.”
“Okay well now that makes sense,” said Elektriza. A mug with “#1 boss” was on the desk.
“You know what happens when I’m lonely or stressed, Trizzy?”
“God fuckin damn it,” she muttered.
The owl grinned, her eyes glowing red, she spoke a lot of curse words and terrible things. “When I’m lonely, I become hungry. And when I’m hungry, I want to choke on that big red…of yours…lick your…bite with more teeth…until you’re screaming…like a fucking baby!”
A stunned Elektriza hung up from the “one night stand bird dick,” broke her phone in half, banged another phone on top of it, then mixed the pieces into a blender.
“Here, eat this,” Elektriza said to Chandra who came in. The Hellhound guzzled it down.
“And you know that bridge over the freeway?”
“Yeah?” asked the hound.
“Shit off it.”
The imps currently resided in a tall office building that seemed to stand out among the other structures. Along with spikes jutting from the roof and sides, there were a pair of giant black and white imp horns attached to the sides of the building for decoration. The lights inside near the top floor were on.
Posted on a door were the words “I.M.P. Headquarters” with “IMP Meeting in Progress” written on a piece of paper taped to the door, a smiley face off to the side.
On a white board was a bar graph and a line graph, the line graph pointing lower at a drawing of a raging horned demon. “Fix this shit!” was written in big bold letters that took up much of the board. “Elektriza is the best, by Elektriza” was scribbled off to the side. Several tall chairs with spikes jutting from the top boarders were set near a brown table in the center of the room. A white pentagram was drawn in the center of the table.
Elektriza began to speak, pacing back and forth. She looked toward her audience of two imps and a hellhound sitting on chairs around a table.
“All right, now I know business has been…a bit slow, lately.”
She mentioned to the board at the downward sloping line. “In fact, there seems to be less people seeking out our services; 1,056 in comparison to the 1,066 from last month. We’ve basically spiraled from the True Blue Market to that of the Raging Bull.” She pointed at the roaring demon head drawing on the board.
“Shouldn’t it be the Bull Market is good and the Bear Market is bad?” said a voice.
“Moxxia, nobody cares what you think,” Elektriza said, before continuing.
“Any decrease could spell disaster for us, not to mention how lots of people use our services and yet look down on us.” Elektriza cleared her throat and spread out her hands. “Now, I’m not saying it’s, *cough* Moxxia’s or anyone’s fault…”
Moxxia raised her eyebrows.
Elektriza continued, “…but let’s discuss how we can improve. Now does anyone have any ideas on how to get business drumming up again?”
Millard, raised his hand with a grin and shining eyes.
“What…about…a car wash?!”
“This is Hell, Milliard, no one cares about cars being clean here, okay?!”
Just then, there came a coughing from the other room. A small cyclops demon with hot pink hair with a patch of yellow opened the door and walked in. He brushed off soot from his white shirt and waved at the group, who stared in surprise.
“Hi, I’m Preppy! It’s nice to meet you all.”
He darted around the room and began removing cobwebs from the windows. “It looks like there are two women, a man and a dog here, a nice balance.”
Chandra, the grey hellhound glared at Preppy, narrowing his red eyes. “What was that, you little shit?”
Preppy stopped in his tracks. “Now, did you guys need any cars to be washed?”
Elektriza shook her head. “We don’t have any cars here, we’re broke as fuck.”
Millard stared at Preppy and cupped his own cheeks with his hands. “Oh my Satan! He’s so adorable! Can we keep him?!”
“No!” Moxxia and Chandra shouted at the same time. The two workers then glared at each other.
Moxxia crossed her arms. “We’re in the middle of a meeting right now. Do you mind?!” She pointed to the door.
Preppy laughed nervously, “Oh okay, sorry about that, hehhehheh. I’ll be outside if you need me!”
He scurried out of the room.
Elektriza paused for a moment, then said, “Oh right! Ideas for our company!” She waved her hands, eyes shining. “How about a billboard?!”
Moxxia crossed her arms. “We can’t afford a billboard, mam’.”
Elektriza rushed over and held Moxxia in a headlock. Her voice was rushed and sarcastic, “So helpful, Moxxia, I’m really glad you’re in the room right now.” She shoved Moxxia away.
Elektriza stared in frustration. “Have you guys forgotten what service we provide?!”
She picked up a remote and turned on an old fashioned TV.
After static appeared on screen, the footage showed the group killing off individuals.
Elektriza bashing a red demon’s head with a mullet.
Moxxia shooting a blue person tied up to a chair.
Chandra grabbing a red person in his mouth and shaking the person side to side like a wolf.
Millard beheading a blue person with a spear and laughing.
Elektriza watched with a relaxed smile on her face, holding up a blue bowl of popcorn. Chandra sat on the table, popping popcorn pieces into his mouth. Millard perched on the table, enjoying the show, but Moxxia stood off to the side with a grumpy face.
Posters hung from the walls, one showing Elektriza and her two brothers, Tillo (an imp with short black hair) and Barb Wire (a smiling imp with ram-like horns.) It was a picture of them at a circus, the banner reading “The Amazing Imp Siblings!” Elektriza remembered the good times she had with them when they performed on stage. Barb Wire would balance on a tightrope, holding a pole with flames on either end. Tillo tamed and evaded manticores, dragons and other beasts that were released into the arena. Elektriza would sing songs about murdering people and they would all pose and bow at the end as the crowd cheered.
That was before Elektriza moved on to form I.M.P., recruited Moxxia and Millard, and adopted Chandra.
Elektriza moved a hand toward her chest and sighed with content. “Ah, those were good times.”
Moxxia spoke up as Millard ate a piece of popcorn. “We don’t need any reminding, mam’, considering you blew most of our salaries on an obnoxious TV ad last week, one that you then additionally paid to have run for a full three hours on a channel, nobody watches!”
Elektriza turned her head, insulted. “Hey, uh, excuse me?” She stood up. “What’s “obnoxious” about a super fun jingle, all right? It’s a fun distraction when an advertisement’s spitting bullshit.” She walked across the room.
“People love musicals, mam’,” Millard added.
Elektriza smiled. “Exactly, Millard, and we’re basically doing a musical.” Elektriza did jazz hands before pointing rapidly at Moxxia with a scowl.
“Are you gonna crush my musical theater dreams like my mom did?” She lowered her head.
“Mam’…” Moxxia began, but her boss cut her off.
“Because right now, all I see is just my mom’s asshole talking to me, crushing my dreams of being, who I truly am inside.” She turned his head away.
Millard leaned in toward his wife and spoke with a teasing tone. “Are you trying to crush her dreams, Moxxia?”
“I…what?” she asked, looking at him. Millard leaned in close and stuck out his tongue, tail curling. “I thought I knew you.” Moxxia rolled her eyes; her husband loved to annoy her.
Elektriza turned back to Moxxia, tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe you, Moxxia. And after I made you Employee of the Month.” She held a picture of Moxxia with her mouth open in a roar, snake tongue showing.
Moxxia threw up her hands, “Okay, mam’ I’m sorry, but a commercial jingle is not comparable to musical theater. Nobody actually likes the jingles.”
“I liked it!” Millard pipped up.
Moxxia turned to him, finger shaking, “Do not…do not agree with her in front of me.”
Chandra sat, bored, playing on his phone. Moxxia’s head appeared on the screen but was crushed by a weight and then blown up by a bomb. At one point her face was sliced in half as “boom!” flashed across the screen.
Moxxia spoke, hands forward in front of her. “I’d like to go on record and say that incident with shooting the kid was Chandra’s fault. Dispatch is supposed to give us the right info on the target. It’s very simple.”
“Oh sit on some boobs, Moxxia,” Chandra replied without looking up.
Moxxia stuttered angrily, looking for a comeback. “You sit…sit on a…a…do your job!” She slammed her palm on the table.
Elektriza scolded her. “Hey, now we don’t blame our screw-ups on Chandra, okay? He didn’t do anything wrong.” She hugged him and nuzzled her head against his cheek, the hellhound growling at her to get off.
Moxxia stared in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, mam’? He’s awful!”
“The point is, Chandra is a valued member of our family and we don’t get rid of families.”
“We aren’t a family, mam’,” Moxxia pointed out. “You are the boss. We are the employees. You treat him like he’s some troubled teenager. He’s more like a meth-addicted homeless man you let run the phones.”
Chandra flipped her the bird.
“Now, that is offensive,” remarked Elektriza, walking to the window, pulling open the blinds. “Without homeless people, I wouldn’t have half the joy and laughter I do in this life.”
Outside, a homeless imp with a broken horn and ragged grey clothing held up a sign that read “Monee helps. Satan Bless.” An imp man with black clothing and little bat wings blushed at Elektriza who waved and did a playful raise of eyebrows before closing the blinds.
Moxxia crossed her arms. “While we’re on the subject of “family,” can you stop finding me and Millard outside of work?”
“Come on, it’s not that big a deal,” Millard said.
Moxxia’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me…what?! She was in our fucking fridge! She was spying on me while I was asleep. And worse, she fucking filmed me and you while we were singing and about to kiss!”
Elektriza giggled. “I still have it on camera.”
“It’s fine, honey,” Millard replied to Moxxia, patting her shoulder. “The “spoiler alert, butter’s spoiled!” was a funny use of wordplay Elektriza used.”
“No way,” Moxxia countered. “I had a great dream about my parents being murdered and Elektriza interrupted it.”
“I was just curious,” Elektriza responded.
“Just…stop…doing that,” Moxxia growled.
“I don’t see what the issue is,” said Elektriza with a mischievous grin. “Something you don’t want me seeing?”
“No!” Moxxia spat.
“Your shaggy flower blossoms?” Elektriza asked.
Chandra giggled under his breath.
Moxxia was fed up. “Mam’, what you say and how you act is totally inappropriate!”
Millard pulled her down gently. “Calm down, Mox, you’re gonna have another panic attack!”
“I am calm!” she yelled.
Millard rubbed her head and soothed her. “Shh, there, there.” Moxxia whimpered.
Elektriza spoke again with a childish grin, making a hole with two fingers and tapping the opening with one finger. “Look, I don’t judge the boring couple stuff you do outside of work hours, so don’t judge me.”
Veins popped out of Moxxia’s yellow eyes. “Oh I do judge you, mam’. Quite a lot, actually.” She crossed her arms as Millard gasped in horror.
“Mox, she’s our boss!”
“No, it’s fine, Millard,” said Elektriza with a wave of her hand. “Your wife is just…how do I say this without being offensive…retarded.”
“Does immaturingly insulting me make you feel better about your sad, single, life?”
Elektriza leaned in toward Moxxia. “Yes it does, actually.”
Chandra appeared to agree, because he added to Moxxia, “The only reason you have a husband is because you’re easy to manage.”
“No she’s not, you turd!” Millard yelled, holding up two middle fingers.
“Do not talk to my assistant that way!” Elektriza demanded. “He’s sensitive!”
“Yes I am!” Chandra barked.
Then a squeaky voice sounded from nearby: “You guys are all fucking assholes.”
Everyone turned and stared at a girl wearing an orange shirt with a planet on it. She had curly brown hair, white skin and was connected to a monitor.
Elektriza pointed at her. “Oh shut up, kid, you’re lucky to witness this.”
Moxxia pinched her nose and sighed in frustration. “Ugh, this company’s such a mess!”
“Did someone call me?” Preppy’s voice rang from the hallway. He opened the door a crack. “I can clean up any messes you may have!”
“No!” Moxxia called. “Go away!”
Preppy slowly closed the door.
An awkward silence…
“Alright, let’s get back to talking about my outfit!” Elektriza said out of nowhere.
“Nobody was talking about that,” Chandra mentioned.
“Which is why I’m trying to get that ball rolling, so how does it look? It’s good, right?”
The kid ripped off the wires from her stomach.
“It was hell pretending to be paralyzed so you fuckshits wouldn’t kill me, but now? I want that. I want death. You!” she pointed to Elektriza. “You’re a selfish, greedy clown. And I’m a kid! We’re supposed to like clowns…even the creepy ones!”
Moxxia scoffed. “Hey now, that’s not very…”
The kid cut her off. “If I wanted to talk to a spineless jackass bitch, I’d rip out your spine and ask you some shit.”
Moxxia shivered in fear.
“That’s my wife you’re talking to!” Millard yelled.
The kid snickered. “That’s your wife?! I figured you for a man whore, but I didn’t know you needed it that bad! Fucking with an old lady, ha!”
Millard fumed at his wife being called ugly and weak. To think that he would have sex with anyone else at random…
“And you!” The kid pointed at Chandra.
“Yeah? What about me?” Chandra asked.
The kid crossed her arms and smirked. “Nothing. I don’t talk to dogs. I’m a cat person.”
Chandra whined before turning back to his phone.
“Wow,” said Elektriza. “You know, kid, you kind of are a piece of shit.”
“Oh you gotta admit, she’s good,” Moxxia muttered.
A ding came from Chandra’s phone. He smiled. “Oh fuck guys, I just got a text from our client. Guess she was the right target after all.”
“Who?” Elektriza asked.
“Her.”
“Me?” asked the kid.
“Yep,” he confirmed.
“They wanted us to kill an actual child?” Elektriza asked.
“That’s what they’re saying,” Chandra said.
Elektriza grinned and twirled a gun in her hand. Her job just got more fun and easier. “Well Christ on a stick, I guess there is a god!” She fired and shot the girl in the chest. She flopped down dead with a yell in a pool of blood, smoke and sparks lingering in the air.
Elektriza spoke about I.M.P.: “You know folks, with this company, I really wanted to prove that we’re capable of doing the same things anyone else can, like killing people. So from us here at the Immediate Murder Professionals group, we promise to settle your unfinished business or your money is gone and you’re never getting it back and you can write us a bad review but we’ll play dumb to it because it’s Hell and no one fucking cares.”
Elektriza, Moxxia and Millard kicked the dead kid on the floor, enjoying themselves. Blood coated the floor and walls. Chandra snapped a picture with his phone. After the imps left with the body, Preppy came in and gasped.
“Well, time to clean this up. What a mess!” He hummed a happy tune as he mopped up the blood at rapid speed.
Elektriza and Moxxia wore gas masks and green suits as Elektriza sawed off the girl’s arm and Moxxia sawed her chest, organs spilling out into a sack below. Millard tossed an arm into the sack and Chandra held it open. Moxxia dropped the girl’s severed head inside and shared a loving smile with her husband.
Etched in red graffiti on a dumpster behind them were the words “Devil,” “Hell,” “Happy Hotel,” and “I’m always chasing rainbows.” A pentagram, and wide smiles were also doodled on the surface.
Elektriza embraced the entire group in a forceful hug, knocking the phone from Chandra’s hands.
“You know, even though this kid was a target, she’s still a child. It’s important that we’ve handled this going forward, respectfully.” She wrapped her long tail around the group, all of them smiling genuinely. For despite all their problems, they were still a company family.
Back in the human world, a crying blonde father wearing a pink shirt held up a paper saying “missing girl.” Below in large letters on the news was: “Dad sucks at drawing own kid!”
The father spoke into the microphone, “Please, if anyone has seen my little Ellie…”
He gasped as a sack dropped into his hands. He and the news reporter looked up to see a smiling Elektriza, Millard, and Moxxia through a portal up above.
“You’re welcome!” Elektriza called with a wave before the portal closed.
The father looked inside the bag and screamed. “My daughter! She’s dead! Noooooo!”
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Merry Bobunk Christmas!
What: Short Fanfiction
Fandom: Avengers
Characters: Read the tags for the list.
Why: ‘Cos me and a friend of mine came up with the idea of giving a Christmas role to each avenger, and I decided to write this.
Words: Almost 1800 according to my text editor.
Quality: Probably with a lot of typos and awful grammar.
Stupidity level: High (I hope).
---------------------------------------
Tony is coming back to his workshop to continue one of his most important projects of the year. He hadn't slept since whenever the last time was, but who needs sleep when you've got coffee? He pities those who can't drink the miraculous brew.
As he enters the room the first thing he notices is DUM-E fighting against the cables of some Christmas lights. The lights are winning... Oh! Now U is trying to help his brother, that's nice. Aaaand now he's stuck too. Tony can't believe he won a prize for one of those things.
"Dum-E, U, stop destroying my delicate work, if you please."
Sparks jump out of the lights.
"You know those lights are supposed to last, not turn into fireworks. Sto- Ah- great! The workshop is on fire. Congratulations! Now it would be a good time to use your skills with the fire extinguisher, Dum-E," Tony says as he grabs said object himself, "Though I'm not sure you would still point it at me, instead of the fire..."
After putting the fire out and helping his not so intelligent bots, he gets back to work. He is just a little bit tired, but he has to finish it in time.
Last years had been chaotic. He never had time to properly put on a good Christmas decoration show for everybody. It's not like he is a traditionalist, or even believes in Christmas. For him, it is a time where people start to compete to see who has the best circus in town. And he, as the Stark he is, cannot just let it pass. He is the greatest showman there is. Sorry, Hugh Jackman, not sorry.
Has he hears the "bing" of the elevator sound he looks in its direction and sees the best two presents he is lucky to have in his life. Pepper is holding Morgan's hand while the little pea giggles as she skips and pulls her mother with her. Only when they got closer he notices something is odd. They are wearing costumes.
"What do we have here?" Tony asks. "An elf munchkin coming straight from Santa's workshop? And she's bringing with her a..." what is Pep supposed to be? "Gingerbread woman? Seriously?" He snorts. "Is it because of your hair?"
"Well, this Santa's little helper here thought you might need a sweet cookie to help you work," Pepper replies.
"Ok," he snorts again, "that sounds like something you would never say."
"Well, I didn't say it, Miss M. did."
Another "bing" echoes in the air and Peter comes out rushing and talking non-stop, "Oh, So sorry I am late Mr. Stark, I had to help like half of the people I saw when coming here as well as save like seven cats from trees and woah I even found a goat on one, Did you know goats climb trees? It's amazing, I mean I knew that already but I never thought I would see one in New York, And-"
"Calm down, Speedy Gonzalez! Have you ever heard about punctuation? And, I don't know, breathing?" Tony sasses before noticing Peter is also wearing an elf costume. "Did you go around saving old ladies from crosswalks in that?"
"Oh this?" Peter looks at himself, "I wasn't sure what to dress as but then Morgan told me she needed an elf brother and I was happy to be hers!"
Okay. That makes sense, Tony guesses.
"Has the party already started?"
Tony jerks his head and sees Rhodey, in a ridiculous candy cane suit. Like, seriously, what is going on? Why is platypus wearing that colorful, er-, thing, where only his face is visible?
"What's up, honey bear? Did you get abducted by aliens, where they did all these terrible things to you, and now you have a nineteen year old college student clown soul trapped in your body? Come on, Rho-rho, you can do it! You can win the fight for the right of control. Now really, what party?"
"Ha-ha. Very funny, Tones," Rhodey says with a fake laugh. "I hope you haven't forgot that today is Bobunk day."
The fu-?
"Bobunk is my favorite!" Morgan almost squeals. "It's what makes Christmas magical."
"It sure is, honey," Pepper agrees and Peter nods. OK, maybe he drank too much coffee. Or not enough!
He turns to his desk to get his mug so he can wash down the brown liquid. It is then he notices two big present boxes near the wall, that were not there before.
"Who the hell put that there?"
"Boss, you should mind your language! Morgan has ears." FRIDAY spoke.
"Sorry honey bee," Tony says trying to ignore that the sentence "has ears" was a bit odd, in the context. Like, it is true, but perhaps not the best way to put it. Maybe he needs to check FRIDAYS NL program, and see if she's not trying to learn her vocabulary from websites where people forget the difference between "they're", "their" and "there". Anyway, the presents! What are they doing there?
As he approaches the packages, they "explode" with a loud pop revealing Nat and Clint smiling from ear to ear, with present bows in their heads, dressed in wrapping paper, and shouting "SURPRISE! MERRY BOBUNK CHRISTMAS!!!"
Okay, now he is sure they are trying to troll him. He gets it, he deserves it for all the times he did the same. It was never at this level of crazy, though. He would keep it to wit and sarcasm.
*knock, knock, knock*
The sound came from the balcony glass doors. It is dark outside and Tony can't see anyone. And who would enter through the balcony? Except for him, of course? He purposefully ignored it.
*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK*
He looks again. Nothing. He resists the urge to ignore it again, but then whoever is outside is probably freezing. And they are just pranking him in a weird way, they don't deserve to turn into ice cubes, right?
When he opens the door, he sees a snowman. Dressed. As. Captain. America.
"Ahah, joke is on you! This is more of a jab to Capsicle, not me."
"What are you talking about, Tony?" The voice sounds so much like Steve's. Where the- "Holy shit!"
"Language!"
The effing snowman is speaking. IT. IS. SPEAKING! Like, it is not Rogers dressed as a snowman. It is a effing snowman, like a real one.
"How are you doing it?" Tony is still perplexed. And not even sure he can believe Olaf here actually had enough humor in him to be passing as a snowman.
"Doing what, Tony?" the freaking snowman actually frowned.
"Make it so realistic?"
"Tony, do you always need to be so rude?"
"Wha-" *CLASH*
Tony rushes inside to see what has been broken. He hopes it wasn't anything related with his Christmas project.
He stops. Thor is there, blinking. Not with his eyes, no. He is lighting on and off in several spots. You know.... like Christmas lights!!! And he is fighting is bots!
"I challengeth thee to fight me with honor, arms of metall. Thee shalt learn the warth of the mightie lightning!"
"Pepper! Pepper Ann!" Tony calls.
"What is it, Tony?"
"What is happening? Please tell me you are seeing how weird this is. I'm not going crazy, right? I don't do crazy."
"What are you talking about?" she smiles, "You are always crazy. Come! Let's see the nativity scene."
"We don't have a nativity scene, Pepsy Pep."
Pepper chuckles as she points to two new figures. Yep! He gives up. Yep, yep. For the good of his sanity, he's going to pretend everything is normal.
Wanda is dressed as Virgin Mary, and is hugging(?) Vision who seems to be wrapped in a big blanket, and very naked under it.
"Hey there, Mary, baby Jesus." Tony acknowledges. "Where is Joseph?"
Vision replied with baby cries. Totally normal.
"I'm a single mother."
"Oh yes, of course you are. Sorry for the assumption."
"I am Groot!"
"You're right, you a-" Did the tree just talked?
"Meow!" T'Challa says, his cat tail wagging as he "paws" at panicking Bucky and Scott, who are hanging from the tree - which has grown, just a note - like Christmas tree decorations. From above, Sam and Hope are laughing. They have wings so they can fly away from the sharp claws of the King of Wakanda.
Of course this is normal. He just probably traveled to an alternate universe. He just needs to know how to go back to his sane plane of reality.
The tree is gigantic, now. It's breaking the glass doors and cracking the walls. It is threatening to destroy the whole tower. This can't be. No matter how everyone is ignoring what is happening, this is dangerous and he can't let anyone get hurt. Specially Pepper and Morgan.
He makes a gesture to call his suit, and flies outside to assess the damage. Curiously enough, nothing seems to be in danger.
"Boss!"
"Yes FRIDAY?"
"We have an UFO incoming, and fast."
"Say what now?"
He looks and sees something is coming his way. His GUI zooms on the object.
"This is normal, this is normal, this is normal."
"SANTA SMAAAAAASH!" Green Hulk Santa yells, as he flies through Tony in a sled pushed by a black reindeer with a helmet that looked the exact same as Loki's.
They smash into the tower, because why wouldn't they, right? The 'K' of the STARK lettering of the tower falls.
Then he sees it! It all makes sense, now! This is Bobunk Christmas in its perfection! This is his destiny.
Letting himself accept the Christmas spirit burning inside him, he flies to the top of the tower, that now was more tree than anything else, opens his arms and legs and turns on the repulsors, casting a magnificent light, turning into a blinding shining star.
He feels magnificent!
Everyone on the street below start to cheer and applauding the exhibition. He did it! He got the best Christmas decoration of the world!
"Stark!" Everyone shouts.
"Stark!"
"Please! This is not about me," he says.
"STARK, WAKE UP!"
Tony jerks as he wakes up.
Fury is towering over him with a disapproving frown. Everything is back to normal, since it had all been a dream.
"Stark, why are you looking at me like that?" Fury asks, with actual confusion painted in his face.
"I makes total sense!"
"What does?"
"You!"
"Me?"
"You are my Bobunk Christmas Grinch!"
THE END!
#avengers#fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#tony stark#iron man#tony needs to rest#pepper potts#morgan stark#peter parker#rhodey rhodes#natasha romanoff#clint barton#steve rogers#captain america#thor#wanda maximoff#vision#groot#t'challa#bucky barnes#scott lang#sam wilson#hope van dyne#FRIDAY#hulk#loki#nick fury#I hope I didn't forget anyone#most characters are OOC#but that is the idea
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BODY AND SOUL Part 5 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)
BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST
Author’s Note: The Youth of Bacchus is listed publicly as being part of a “private collection”, so AU-fictionally-speaking, who knows, it could theoretically belong to the Shepherds. I’ve been meaning to feature Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in some kind of story for ages, as I’ve loved it all my life (I listened to this version a lot while I wrote this part). I had to include a little nod to my fellow Sagittarius, Jane Austen, with her famous line, spoken by Darcy to Lizzie in a moment of passionate abandon, from Pride & Prejudice (“you have bewitched me, body and soul”), though the title of my fic came originally from the song Hypnotised by Years & Years, as I’ve mentioned before. I mirrored the “breathing” advice from their mothers on purpose. That moment Kenzie stares at Duncan with tears in her eyes over dinner was my homage to that gif floating around of Mallory looking across the table (I always imagine she’s looking at Michael). I’m learning some fascinating stuff from my research for this fic, including the fact that in order to be issued a Black AmEx (“Centurion Card”) you need a special invitation and are required to pay an initiation fee of $7500 with an annual fee of $2500. Rumor has it (it hasn’t been confirmed on record) that Black Card holders need a net worth of around $16 million to qualify. I also learned that Bordeaux goes well with duck a l’orange, which, as a vegetarian, is a thing I probably would have never known otherwise. The line “Then I must be thy lady, but I know / When thou hast stolen away from fairy land” is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Bouguereau cunnilingus I came up with in my sleep last night and I’m totally in love with it. His painting Evening Mood (which Duncan thinks of when Kenzie is standing there naked in the candlelight) is enshrined at the Museum of Fine Arts, in Cuba. I’m so proud of this part; I worked really hard on it and put a lot of my own emotions into it. I’m proud of what I’ve written here and what I’ve done so far with this story, and that’s a wonderful feeling. If anyone else wants to do visual edits or moodboards for the fic, I’d be so thrilled. The one @nat-de-lioncourt made (here) made me ecstatically happy. I posted some screenshots of the playlist I made for writing the fic on my Twitter, if you’re interested in my music influences/the mood I’m trying to create so far. And as ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments mean everything to me.
Duncan felt as though his spirit was trying to break free from his body. He was leaning against the obsidian counter in his spotless kitchen, his sleek black phone clutched in his hands, tapping it every now and again to check the time, quiet strains of classical music coming from the turntable in the corner of his office; Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He fiddled with the cufflinks of his shirt again; they were rose gold with black onyx stones. He ran his fingers down his Balmain one-button velvet jacket, breathing deep, letting it out at a measured pace, re-adjusting the collar of his black shirt, though it had already been perfectly straight. Annette had taught him to breathe carefully from the time she had begun to bring him to public events with her when he was still in elementary school. “Never let them see your nervousness,” she had insisted, holding his small hand in hers, pushing at his back so he’d stand straight. “These people feed on weakness, and you must appear to be untouchable them. Breathe until your fear fades away. You can’t use it where you’re going.”
Oddly, he often thought it was the best advice his mother had ever given him. You can’t use it where you’re going; as if his destiny was to do something great, no matter his own doubts about himself. She had always said it with absolute conviction. He knew his mother loved him. That was an absolute, unshakeable truth. Maybe she could accept Kenzie, because I think I love her. He brought his hand to his chin in that familiar tick, running his right index and middle fingers over his bottom lip. That thought had come unbidden, like a tide to the shore. God. I think I do. I don’t know her yet, but I think I love her. It’s so strange.
He made himself breathe out again, focusing his attention on the strains of the Sonata’s first movement; it had always made him think of the dead of night, some abandoned moor far from civilization, bathed in the glow of the moon and a universe full of a million stars hovering above, looking down on the tiny rock of humanity with a studied, sympathetic indifference. Wretched humankind, he thought, moving slowly to the study, all alone in an empty cosmos. It was a thought he’d had many times before, but this time, oddly, his resolute conviction in it faltered. Maybe alone. Maybe not. His eyes fell over the painting that stretched, colossal, against the wall facing his desk.
It was Bouguereau's The Youth of Bacchus. His mother had bought it for him for his 18th birthday: yes, the original. The Shepherds had a net worth of over 3 billion, and she had insisted he needed a legitimate piece when he’d moved into his penthouse alone. He’d always loved it; “it reminds me of when you were a boy and I bought you those mythology books you’d read for hours and hours,” Annette had said, her finger stroking his cheek. He’d gone through a period in his adolescence where he was obsessed with Greek and Roman mythology; had practically every book ever published on the subject, most of them still on his study shelves, though Edith Hamilton’s was always his favorite. He had gazed at the bacchanalia depicted in the painting countless times, its naked, dancing figures, feverish in their revelry; sometimes he would come here and sit in the leather chair behind the mahogany desk, just to stare at it until whatever vinyl he’d placed on the turntable wound down to silence. It had always been odd to him that though the painting referred to Bacchus’ youth (he, the god of hedonism), he was depicted as a pot-bellied old man in it, teetering on a donkey. Duncan had long-ago decided that Bouguereau meant it in reference to Bacchus’ spirit, his essence, one of endless mischief and debauchery. He thought back on the many nights he’d indulged in debauchery himself; the women and men he’d taken into his bed, careless to know their names, content with the pleasures of the flesh, rarely feeling the impulse to see them again. When your mother was Annette Shepherd, you could afford to pay off any troublesome, tiresome attentions. Duncan found that though he’d often felt lust, any experience he’d had until last night had not deigned to come close to the wild, somehow almost painful, intoxicating energy he’d felt when Mackenzie Stone was in his arms. It was as if he’d never known what passion truly was until the moment he’d kissed her, her mouth opening to him; hadn’t understood the winding way of the universe at all until she’d been under him, her sweet whisper in his ear, her small hands on his skin, around his length, in his hair. Her smell, her touch, her presence was like waking up for the first time on a cool spring morning after winter, seeing the sunlight course over some distant hill, watching auburn clouds float into the ether as dawn kissed the world. She had reminded him, or perhaps made him realize truly for the first time, that being alive was miraculous indeed; and he wanted the feeling again, the grip of the desire to live. And that was passion, he thought. Passion was her eyes, where he’d seen her soul floating behind them, seeing his, as though they’d been long lost from each other, and now, finally, had found each other again, through time.
Bewitched, body and soul, he thought, and he could not remember what the line was from. God, but that’s how I feel. He’d considered himself a staunch atheist since he was little more than a child, but something about this woman, this wondrous angel so she seemed, made his resolve falter for the first time in memory. Maybe there is something out there, he thought, surprising himself, a shiver falling down his spine under the weight of his velvet jacket, the C-sharp minor of the Sonata boring into his mind. She exists, and she is some kind of miracle, so maybe something is. Fuck. It was as if someone else had entered his body since last night; the better version of himself, desperate to be good enough for her, desperate to hope for a world where she truly existed, and was not some free-falling fantasy of his own invention.
He fiddled with his onyx cufflinks, clearing his throat, moving to where he kept a small bar cart beside the table the record player rested on, an ornate, priceless Tiffany lamp beside it. He poured a finger of bourbon and drank it down, wiping his lips on the back of his hand as the final strokes of the first movement ended. He glanced at his watch (the Cartier again); it was 8:20 PM. It was time to go; time to go to her.
Surprising himself again, he thought out a silent prayer for the first time since he was a boy: if anyone is out there, give me courage.
------
Samuel shut the door behind Duncan as he slid into the backseat of the black BMW. Duncan felt as though he could jump out of his skin at any moment; his resolve was trembling, and the feeling was truly putting him off-guard. Am I actually good enough for this woman? The thought flitted across his mind and he felt utterly shaken by it, as though someone else had invaded his mind. But he knew the thought was his own. He knew he was truly wondering what he’d done to deserve her in his bed, enraptured, the euphoria of her seeping into his senses. He couldn’t believe he was about to see her again. His body felt like it was vibrating, the bourbon he had drunk to calm his nerves giving them an edge instead, an overwhelming intensity.
“Are you alright, Mr. Shepherd?” Samuel was sitting in the driver’s seat again, peering at Duncan over his glasses, a combination of concern and amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Samuel, I need your good thoughts tonight,” Duncan replied, his guard down. “I need all the help I can get. I’m enamoured with this woman. I’m crazy about her.”
“Let your heart be your guide, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down, toward the stretch of asphalt in front of Duncan’s high rise. The car moved forward, streamlined, humming quietly, toward Duncan’s destiny.
----
Duncan had texted Mackenzie again a few hours before; after the conversation during which she’d gazed at her phone in awe, falling into the constellation of Cancer on her bed, unbeknownst to him. He’d asked for her address; it was now programmed into Samuel’s GPS, so he could see the minutes counting down to their arrival. He took another deep breath; let it out in a steady stream, opposing thumb pressing into his palm; his eyes, sapphire-like, gazed out the window, reflecting the glowing lights of a Washington evening. He thought of Kenzie in her little black dress, her ankles wrapped in laces, the crystal floating at her throat, her eyes, gazing at him, full of hidden emotion. Her voice rising in his shower; baby, I want you to come. He closed his eyes and his head, crowned in curls, fell back on the leather seat. God, her fingers in mine, her hard little nipples and sweet clit in my mouth and the feeling of her body clenching around mine, how was that real, how is it still all so real and yet like a dream, the smell of vetiver and her skin, her moans, her hair glowing in the light over the bed--
“Mr. Shepherd, we’re here.”
His eyes snapped open, an involuntary fear rising in them. They’d pulled up to an apartment complex, relatively modern, with glass doors leading to an entryway and the doors of the inner apartments visible within.
Kenzie.
“Here I go.”
Samuel nodded, the wry smile playing around his mouth again.
“Mr. Shepherd.”
For the breadth of a heartbeat, Duncan paused, then he pushed the door of the BMW open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Apartment 1R was Mackenzie’s; she’d texted even her apartment number to him. She was trusting him with it, and he understood this innately. He straightened his Balmain jacket (already straight), rubbed the finger into his palm again, ran that nervous, constant hand against his bottom lip, and walked to the glass door, pulling it open. The second door was locked; he saw a neat row of buzzers beside it, each with a tile clearly printed with apartment numbers underneath. 1R. Stone. He breathed in again, long and low, and pressed the buzzer.
He held the breath as the moment hung there, unmoving.
Then a buzzing sound emanated from the foyer where he stood; he pulled the second door open.
Inside, there were four apartments in a long row, and a corner where the hallway turned towards more apartments along the next wall. He walked (wearing black Saint Laurent Wyatt boots tonight, the buckles hidden beneath the hem of his tailored slacks) to the end, where the corner began; 1R. A gold crescent moon ornament, hung from a small nail and a gold-painted, braided length of rope, shimmered in the hallway light against the door. There was a one-sided peephole facing him; he stared at it for a moment; he breathed again, and then he knocked.
An aching pause again; and then she opened the door.
Mackenzie stood there, her chestnut waves falling down over her shoulders and her back (moons along her head, he thought, stunned, moonlight in her hair), and she met his gaze, her hazel eyes aglow with silent fire, though her expression was full of apprehension she clearly had not been able to conceal. He went to speak, but his breath seemed caught in his lungs; he looked at her and his heart was struck with a quiver of aching need. Her mouth was darkly colored; her eyelids were dark, black kohl around her eyes; tonight she was like the hidden face of the moon, and he was immediately beguiled, under her spell.
She was wearing a dress that seemed to be cut out of the air itself; its neckline plunged down through the space between her breasts, coming together beneath them in a deep V, the skin there luminous in the light (I want to kiss that skin now); it was black like the dress she’d been wearing the night before, but it had long sleeves that came down to past her wrists, pointing towards her knuckles. It had been tailored to her small waist, tailored so it hugged against the rise of her chest and the elegant inclines of her arms, and then it fell from her hips, in waves of more silken velvet an inch above her knee, waves he wanted to kneel into, bury himself inside. Knee-high heeled boots stretched along her slender legs (the legs whose ankles I kissed, their redness building an ache in me, he thought), their toes coming to points, but the stretch of skin between where the boots began and her skirt ended was entrancing to him; he wanted to press his mouth there and move it up between her legs again; he ached at the thought. Around her neck was a velvet choker (my hands there my lips on her mouth), and hanging from it was a black inverted moon, its crescent points hanging down towards her shoulder blades. The sight of it sent a cool chill along the back of his neck; it seemed an omen, occult and knowing, a feminine eye that knew him and could see all of his secrets. He resigned himself to this; I would tell her anything. And he knew it was true.
“Kenzie,” he said breathlessly, overwhelmed. She was real. He hadn’t dreamt her; not last night, not this morning, when her light scattered along the hall as she ran away from him. And she was beautiful beyond all words to him; her realness, her weight, her beauty, within and without, shining like a darkened star in the twilight.
“God, you look beautiful.”
“So do you,” a nervous smile spread over her little mouth, and he thought of honey, roses, wine, the sweetness of your soul, Kenzie--and he moved forward, his lips capturing hers, his hands burying themselves in her cascade of hair, and he felt lost for a moment, lost in the tangibility of touching her again, full of relief at her reality. “You’re real,” he whispered into her mouth; he couldn’t stop. “You’re real, and I didn’t dream you.” He breathed in her smell; her perfume was the same. Vetiver, geranium, roses. He wanted to drink it like nectar.
“I know. I was afraid of the same thing. That I’d imagined you.” Her little face was turned up to him, and her darkly-shadowed eyes glistened with moisture. He was filled with a terrible fear that she would begin to cry; he felt a twinge around his heart, a wrenching horror at the idea of her sadness.
“I’m here.” He pressed his forehead into hers for a moment, his fingers trailing through her hair, his eyes closing, overwhelmed. “We’re both here. Everything was real. Everything is real. This is real.”
Her little hands went around his wrists for a moment as he held her, twining her fingers through his on either side of her face, clutching him to her, and he felt a burst of energy, as if her sweetness, her care, her nature of goodness, seeped through her into him, bathing him in warmth, and then she stepped away, out of his grasp. “Take me to dinner, Duncan Shepherd. I’m fucking starving.” She smiled again, like honey, he thought, and he smiled back at her (he watched her face blush towards him at his smile and his heart clenched again), and then he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her through the door, his fingers pressing into her, the warmth of hand spreading into him like the glow of home after a long, cold walk in the dark.
-----
Duncan grasped Mackenzie’s little hand as she slid into the backseat of the BMW, her eyes meeting Samuel’s through his rearview mirror as they always did Duncan’s. Duncan could see the smile in Samuel’s eyes; he was delighted. Duncan slid in beside her and pulled the door shut, anxious to be near her; Kenzie looked so unbelievably beautiful, he felt dazed, blinded, disoriented once again, wistful for them to be alone together.
“Samuel--this is Mackenzie Stone.”
Duncan watched the clouded patina that immediately came into Samuel’s usually clear brown eyes. “Stone. You wouldn’t be Madeline Stone’s daughter now, would you?”
Kenzie put her chin up, meeting Samuel’s gaze through the mirror, bringing her hands together in her lap over her little purse (it was different than the clutch she’d had at the party; this one had a strap to go over her shoulder, and a gold buckle shaped like a crescent moon, this one facing in a waxing direction). Duncan felt a sort of fierce pride wash over him as he gazed at her lovely, shadowed face, the blush of her cheek and the incline of her neck. She’s brave; she’s honest. She’s so easy to fall in love with.
“I am.”
Samuel didn’t miss a beat, letting his concern slide away. Duncan silently thanked him. “Delighted to finally meet you, Miss Stone. Duncan has said only the best of you.”
“He doesn’t know me that well yet,” she laughed a little, glancing at Duncan, and he was full suddenly to the brim with the desire to hold her, kiss her again, melt into her. Samuel chuckled with her, his very white teeth flashing, his eyes dancing behind his square glasses. He liked her very much; Duncan could tell. How could you not, Duncan thought. Look at her.
“I can’t wait to know you more,” he said to her, Samuel’s watchful eye be damned. He reached to her lap and grasped her hand, looking at her carefully. He wanted her to see how sincerely he meant what he was saying. “I want to know you more than anything.” Kenzie looked at him, her hazel eyes taking on that strange dark hue again, and then she looked down at his hands, as if she felt overwhelmed by his gaze. Samuel’s attention seemed to strategically slide away from them; Duncan didn’t even need to ask him, the partition between the front and back seats rolled up languidly, almost absent-mindedly, and the car moved forward. By the time it arrived in front of Le Diplomate, Duncan and Kenzie were breathless, eyes glittering, breath hitching from the wild locking of their mouths, and Duncan’s lips were smeared with her dark lipstick. She put her delicate thumb up to his mouth as the car stopped, to wipe it away; Duncan captured the finger in his mouth, and sucked at it for a moment, lost in the ecstasy of her touch, the taste of her.
“Duncan,” she whispered, the longing in her voice inconcealable. “My lipstick is all over you.”
“Good. I want it there.”
She smiled at him, and he couldn’t hold back the moan; “Kenzie, baby,” he tried to kiss her again, his mouth hovering over hers, but she pulled away, the smile turning mischievous, and he knew she was watching the yearning in his gaze and his body with satisfaction; she quickly wiped the stain from his mouth before he could bite her finger again, and pulled her hand away.
“Later,” she said, their eyes meeting, and the core of his body tingled, as if touched by a live wire. “Later, I belong to you.” A chill coursed down his spine. He wanted to press his mouth between her legs and make her scream again. He wanted to press his face into the hollow of her neck, buried inside her. But patience was a virtue. He owed her his patience.
The partition went down, languidly; “Samuel, I’ll text you when we need the car. Thank you,” Duncan said. Samuel replied with the smile still dancing on his features, his bright eyes on Mackenzie. “Certainly, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Thank you, Samuel,” Kenzie said shyly, smiling back at him sweetly.
“It is truly a pleasure, Miss Stone,” Samuel replied, and she grinned.
Duncan helped her from the backseat, his large hand grasping her small fingers with fervent attention. “I like him very much,” she said to him quietly, smoothing her dress nervously; his other hand came around and felt at her waist, moving up and down for a moment, lost in the soft feeling of her, steadying her. “He likes you too,” he replied, bringing his face close to her again, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “Samuel’s worked for my family since before I was born, and I trust him with my life. I know when he likes or dislikes someone right away. He thought you were lovely. And you are. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”
He couldn’t stop himself; the words tumbled out of him, fervently.
“God, Duncan,” she said, her hair shimmering in the lamps outside the entrance, her breath sweet against his face, her eyes glowing, hypnotizing him in their ethereal embrace. “How are you so wonderful?”
“Kenzie, it’s for you. It’s all for you. Anything you want, I want to give it to you.”
She laughed. “Right now, I want dinner. And a glass of wine. That would be nice.”
“So much dinner and so many glasses of wine are in store for you, Madame.” He pulled away, grasping her little hand tightly, the eyes of DC society be damned for now. He’d reserved a private room, but he didn’t care who saw them on their way to it (and he noticed several unfamiliar but attentive eyes follow them through the dining hall--clearly they recognized him); he felt an encroaching abandon, as though nothing and no one could tear him away from her now; let everyone see her, let everyone see them together, and he would do whatever it took to protect her, to sway his immovable mother to good graces when the time came. But first, this evening. First, Kenzie. Angel.
He saw Kenzie’s hesitant face as the waiter helped her into her seat; she saw the exhaustive wine menu and an overwhelmed look came into her eyes at its massive length.
“May I order the wine?” He asked her, his eyes on her, gentle.
“Yes, please.” He wanted to soothe the worry from her; he wanted her to feel comfortable to let her guard down, to be herself with him. Wine menus could get fucked if they made her doubt herself. Anything and anyone could get fucked, as far as he was concerned, if they looked at her the wrong way.
“Château Trotte Vieille Bordeaux, please,” he murmured to the waiter after he perused its exhaustive length for a short minute; he’d looked over this particular menu many times before. He watched Mackenzie’s wide, beautiful eyes glance down at the menu, searching for the wine he’d chosen; they widened further and he knew she’d noticed the price tag. The waiter (a tall young man with a thin face, a long nose and close-cropped hair) nodded, eyeing Mackenzie very briefly with badly-veiled interest; Duncan could see that the waiter recognized him as well, and was clearly curious about the beauty sitting with him in a private room. A less observant person would have perhaps missed the look, but Duncan was almost preternatural in his ability to read others; a useful talent he’d learned from watching his mother and listening to her through years of gains on political stages. He wondered how much a future reporter would pay the man to give them information about Duncan Shepherd’s date at Le Diplomate on a recent Sunday in May, the details of Mackenzie’s appearance, the coy Instagram shots that could potentially materialize of them later. He could see the headlines on the gossip websites now. Duncan Shepherd Spotted Arriving and Leaving with Political Enemy’s Daughter From Intimate Dinner At Posh French Restaurant.
I don’t care, he thought, staring into Kenzie’s eyes, which met his with a mixture of hesitance and open avidity, and that crushing feeling around his heart recurred. He reached out and took her hand. I just don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this woman mine.
“$245. I saw that. Oh my god,” Kenzie breathed, holding his fingers tightly. “That’s the money I spend on groceries in a month.” Nervousness had seeped into her eyes as she stared at him, her mouth open in a kind of stunned realization.
“Kenzie. It’s nothing. My mother spends that much every week on cold-pressed juice.”
“Duncan.”
“You’ll love it. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect with the duck a l’orange, which is, by the way, better here than the duck I’ve had in Paris.”
“Duncan.”
“Kenzie.”
“I feel strange.”
She was biting her lip, and her eyes looked frightened. They pierced his heart; he ached to soothe her again, ached to calm her.
“Mackenzie, listen to me. Please don’t. This is my life. I understand that it may be strange to you, but I will do whatever I can to make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. Anything. Don’t be afraid, Kenzie. I want you here. I want you to be here with me right now, and no one else. Mackenzie Stone, I don’t care about anything else right now except being here with you.”
He watched her face, her eyes growing shiny with the tears hiding behind them, and her little mouth trembled ever-so-slightly, a strange smile falling over her features. She sniffed a little, and a single tear fell from her eye, dropping down onto the immaculate white tablecloth, spreading into a damp orb. He grasped her hand desperately, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. “Baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
She breathed, silently, her overwhelmed expression clinging to the certainty in his blue eyes; he watched her throat and the rise of her collarbones, wanting to press his lips against her there; he watched the whiteness of the skin between the plunging neckline of her extraordinarily beautiful dress. And then her expression seemed to clear from what she saw in his face; she nodded a little, the smile trembling still but steadying for him. “Okay, baby,” she whispered. And he squeezed her hand, his smile widening to her, nodding back.
----
The duck tasted even more wonderful tonight; it was simultaneously the best meal he’d ever had and the one he felt he’d remember the least, somehow; he could only think of and focus on her eyes and her hair and her throat and her gold headband adorned with moons and the tiny movements of her hands and fingers as she ate her bread or stabbed a forkful of spinach or a morsel of perfectly roasted duck or drank the (absolutely exquisite) vintage Bordeaux from her wine glass, catching the dim, romantic evening candlelight from their table in its reflection. He somehow felt he’d never seen another person so clearly and entirely before this night; she was a revelation, so real and so beautiful and her eyes were full of emotion and so open to him, it absolutely took his breath away. He watched her ease into the meal and into his words as they talked; she told him about her father, far away in LaLa land, writing about film, forgetting to send her birthday cards, about her best friend Claire (“shares her name with the president, oddly enough”), and the love she shared with her mother. And there we can agree, he’d said, and told her about his mother, too. “I know how she can seem,” he said, looking away, referring to Annette’s sharp television interviews and her well-chronicled contentions with the press, “but I love her deeply, and she loves me. That’s an unshakeable truth, and it gives me comfort in life.” Kenzie had nodded, understanding. “I feel the same way about my mother,” she had agreed. “She’s there for me when no one else is. She’s given me so much advice that has helped me survive; she’s been a guiding light to me. I admire her strength and fearlessness so much.” Throughout the meal and as they talked, they continued to reach for each other’s hands every now and then; Duncan pressing his thumb gently into circles in her palm, his hands trailing down the expanse of her slender fingers. She’d grasp his fingers one by one, caressing the shape of his knuckles, making him shiver. At one point as he gazed at her left hand in his between staring into her eyes (god, her eyes, I love them so much, like stars), he wondered what it would look like with a ring from him adorning it. He blushed at the imagining; and then he wondered, quietly, what kind of ring she would love. A moonstone, he thought immediately, somehow sure right away, as though she’d told him herself. A moonstone, because she’s like the face of the moon to me, penetrating my spirit, exquisite and divine. He kept the thought to himself, tucking it away to look at later, as she told him about her work as a journalist, how much it made her hope for and want to fight for a kinder, better world. His eyes clouded with her sincerity; he was shaken with a moment of doubt regarding the work he did for his mother, and he knew it was dark work, cloudy work, and not for the first time, he felt deeply conflicted, perhaps now more than he ever had, especially hearing her sincerity. “I feel as though I can’t say no to her, my mother is the only person who has always been there for me,” he murmured. The sympathy shone out from Mackenzie’s eyes, and he knew she did not judge him harshly; knew she understood his confusion.
“I’ve seen and felt how wonderful you are,” she said. “I feel it now. We can always work to be better, be kinder, be gentler. I think it’s something you do every day, little by little, work at like a sculptor chipping away at a stone. Eventually it becomes something extraordinary. But that’s from hundreds of days of tiny work. For me, working on a story is like that. A tiny chipping away to find the essence of truth in something. I think that’s what life is, really. Hundreds and hundreds of days of little work.”
“I want to try to do that with you, Kenzie. Work together like that, a little bit at a time, for hundreds of days.”
Her eyes settled into his. He watched her breathe out, slowly, setting her fork down, the velvet choker at her throat, its moon charm catching the light.
He said it before he lost his nerve. “Mackenzie. Would you...be with me? Would you be mine?”
“Duncan. Oh, my god. I…” Mackenzie trailed off, staring at him. Her shock seemed to extend, and she was quiet. Her eyes had taken on that greenish hue that startled him deeply again. Her soul, deep in thought, full of tangled emotion.
He bit his lip, his eyes darkening, and he looked down for a moment, grasped his wine glass, drank deeply. He set it down, slowly, carefully.
“I know...this all seems so sudden, so fast. But I feel something for you that I’ve never felt for anyone. I meant everything I said to you today. You’ve brought an ache into my heart. I want you. Not just in my bed. I want you in my life. I want you, Kenzie. All of you.”
The moment hovered, quieted. They regarded each other. He felt her eyes rove over him as soft, pulsing music played in the background of the room; down from his dark hair, thrown back, to his eyes, meeting hers with hope and desire, his lips (which would kiss you every day, kiss you always, Kenzie), the fine sheen of ever-present stubble on his cheeks, the bob of his throat, the high collar of his dark shirt, the fall of his velvet blazer over his tall frame, down his arm and to his wrists, his silver Cartier watch shining against the candlelight, down his long hands, one resting against his thigh, the other hovering an inch away from hers on the table, index finger stretched. Light seemed to cascade behind her head, and he was reminded of the way she’d looked last night, like there was a halo around her head, golden and iridescent. It was as if he could see the outline of her soul, and it shook him to the core, again, trembling. He was bare under her gaze; he felt like she was looking into the essence of him, weighing him, deciding his fate. He waited. He had decided what he wanted, and had spoken it to her, and so at least he had had the courage to be honest. At least, he said to himself, I was brave in the sight of her wonder.
She lifted her head a little, and the light danced off her headband adorned with moons. She looked like a queen to him in that moment; like a Waterhouse priestess, throwing gold dust and magick into the night, and he was struck by her lovely, coiled energy, her power over him. She smiled at him, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. It was blinding, overwhelming, filling him with her brightness, the beauty that shined out of her spirit.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steady, smooth, like honey. “Yes, I will, Duncan. Yes.”
He grinned, grabbed onto her hand, leaned toward her, his joy immediate.
“On one condition.”
He stopped. “Anything, Mackenzie. Anything.”
“Be mine, too, Duncan Shepherd. Will you be mine?” A little laugh flitted through her words. He could see the joy in her eyes, and it moved him deeply.
He breathed a sigh of relief; it felt like a weight was lifting off his heart, like wings were beating inside his ribcage.
“Kenzie, yes. Yes, a hundred times, yes. I’m yours.”
-----
They were anxious to be alone together, then; Duncan ached for her, and she whispered “let’s go”, draining her wine glass, the flash of her white throat setting his nerves on edge; Duncan had hurriedly passed his Black AmEx to the waiter, who brought it back to him with a swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. The evening seemed to be pushing them toward their private rendezvous; Duncan no longer wanted anyone else to be near them. He wanted her to himself, this divine goddess who had said she would be his; he still couldn’t grasp that she had accepted him, still felt terrified she’d disappear. He wondered if that feeling would ever fade, or if he’d always feel that fear, that ache for her, already dreading the moment she would leave.
Duncan had texted Samuel and as they practically ran from the entrance of the brightly-lit facade of the buzzing brasserie, their hands clasped together tightly, not noticing the eyes of some of the diners following them this time, not caring, he was struck with relief to see the BMW quietly humming on the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the lamps along the sidewalk. He opened the door for Mackenzie, catching her in his arms for a moment, pressing his lips into the soft space between her ear and her jaw, achingly. She leaned into him, her little body folding into his arms, sucking the air from his lungs, intoxicating. Angel baby. His own. She flitted away from him, disappearing into the backseat, and he followed her eagerly; Then I must be thy lady; but I know / When thou hast stolen away from a fairy land...the line hovered in his subconscious. She was like Titania, queen of the fae, scattering gold, her laugh making flowers burst into bloom, and as he pressed into her in the backseat, the flowers bloomed in his mind and his senses as he kissed her and her little mouth opened against him, her hair tangled in his fingers.
-----
When they’d finally arrived back at his penthouse, she hushed him when he tried to press into her again, impatient for her, his arms around her back, under her shoulder blades, trying to be delicate, afraid he might break her apart with his urgency. “I want a little bit more wine, baby, get me some?” The way she said baby, into his mouth, caused heat to pool in the bottom of his stomach. “Kenzie, baby...” he groaned into her softly, he couldn’t stop. Last night felt like it had happened a hundred days ago--he was starving for her again. He shook his head a little, dizzy, loathe to let go of her.
She grabbed the sides of his velvet jacket with her little fingers; “get it for me baby, I want it,” and he loved the pout on her lips, loved it like he loved her eyelashes, her glowing cheeks, her sweet smell, her insistence. “Kiss me first,” he begged, and he knew he was begging, and he didn’t care, he was lost in her. She pressed her open mouth into his bottom lip, sucking it carefully, slowly, and he pressed his hands into her breasts, trying to hold back the rough desire he felt, the skin between held in her plunging neckline, feeling her hot skin there. “There,” she breathed, releasing him. “Now, baby, give me what I want.”
“Mhmm,” he murmured, his head swimming, letting go of her, aching. He looked back as he moved through his vast living room with its lush carpet and low leather couch, trailing his finger absently along its back, watching her watch him (with eyes ringed in gold) move into his study, where he kept an opulently stacked wine rack beside the standing bar. He pulled a Chablis Grand Cru from the middle rack of the temperature-controlled glass case (a bottle worth an absurd amount of money--at least a grand--but his head swam and he couldn’t care at all, money meant nothing to him right now next to her) and as he turned, he saw that she had followed him, boots cast aside somewhere, on soft, bare feet, into his study behind him, hair shimmering, the gold of her glimmering. She pouted. “I wanted to scare you,” she whispered, eyes glowing.
“You look like an angel,” he replied, the bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. She smiled, turning, looking at him over her shoulder, the dress falling in the light, beautiful beyond words to him. She turned her face towards the wall that faced his desk (her hair in waves of gold); and she gasped, her eyes falling over the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus. She paused for a moment, staring, and then took two hesitant, soft steps toward it, clearly in awe. He came up behind her, setting the bottle to the side of his polished mahogany desk, folding his arms around her waist, nuzzling his mouth into her neck.
“Is this real?” she whispered, leaning into him.
“Yes,” he murmured, kissing under her ear, kissing the incline of her neck falling into her shoulders. “It’s real. It’s called The Youth of Bacchus. My mother gave it to me when I was 18.”
“God. Duncan. It’s so beautiful. It’s beautiful beyond words.”
“No,” he whispered into her ear, kissing it, capturing the lobe in his lips, “you are, Kenzie, you are, only you…”
He turned her face to him, kissing her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, her scent crashing into him, and his arms turned her so he could grasp her hips, and he lifted her, light as air, onto the edge of his desk, her little elegant feet suspended several feet in the air, dangling over its edge. She pressed her hands back onto its smooth surface, and he leaned into her, tasting her, hands running over her in ardent waves, whispering into her, “angel, beloved, baby” and he moved his head down, pushing up the velvet folds of her flowing dress, cut to her body like it was part of her, finding her panties (wet against her for him again, god, he loved it so much), these ones made of soft lace, and his hands pulled them off her, hurried, impatient, and he buried his mouth on her clit, sucking with urgency, and she threw her head back, “oh my god, Duncan, fuck, babyyy,” and he saw her eyes floating back and forth between him and the gigantic painting against the wall of his study, caught up in its beauty, caught up in him, and her eyes clouded with green and gold, as he worked his mouth against her, her hand finding the back of his head, holding him flush to her sweetness, and as she came, crying out with a sound that threatened to overwhelm him in the crashing wave of his desire, he saw a tear fall from her eyes, catching the low, soft light, and he thought about god again, thought that maybe there was something in the universe that had brought her to him, into his arms, and he was full of joy.
----
He led her into the bathroom, the joy still dancing in his heart, inside his blue eyes. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and she giggled, clutching his hand, feeling carefully along the doorway with the other one, bare feet padding onto the cold, seamless stone tiles. She stopped; he pressed the fingers of his right hand, hot with his want, along the white skin between her breasts where the dress fell down into the void of her, against her neck, thumb trailing over her bottom lip.
“Okay, baby, open them.”
She opened her eyes wide and gasped again; all along the edges of his claw-foot tub there were roses, so many roses, dozens and dozens of roses, their stems stripped of their thorns and woven together in a tapestry, all the deep carmine red of her lips last night when she’d kissed him under the night sky for the first time; handfuls of petals floated over the surface of the water, steaming into the air, and the bath itself was surrounded by white pillar candles, illuminating the otherwise-dark bathroom with a soft, melting glow. He watched her delighted face with relief; “do you like it?” he asked, unable to keep the hopeful, wistful edge from his voice.
“Oh, Duncan, I love it. I love it so much. It’s wondrous. It’s divine.”
You are, you are, you are, he thought, his mind repeating it over and over, the only prayer he ever wanted to recite. Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie.
He watched her, aching, in the candlelight. She gazed at him, her face aglow. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Undress me.”
He leaned into her, desperately; his hands found the zipper at her back, pulling it down with soft urgency as she ran her fingers along his neck and his chest and against the rise of his crotch, pressing carefully and insistently. He moaned, shivering, pushing the heaven-soft sleeves down her arms, feeling her skin with his fingers, relishing the way her breasts, nipples hard, emerged from the cupped embrace of her plunging bodice, his mouth on her neck again. Her dress fell to the ground in a soft heap; she stood before him and he thought of another Bouguereau painting, its beauty flashing in his mind yet paling to her before him in the flesh, one called Evening Mood, the white-skinned nymph of twilight hovering over soft waves, her head softly turned in ecstasy, a crescent moon hanging behind her bowing head.
“You look like the moon,” he said, wonderingly, as her hands pulled at his jacket and pushed it away and her demanding fingers undid his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling the zipper of his pants down, pulling out his hard, aching length, her mouth open, her face looking up to him, her eyes impatient, her moon headband and black choker, hugging her neck like a lover (him, her lover) the only things she now wore. He loved that she was wearing her adorning jewelry again, like last night, as they were about to fuck; he loved the artistry of her, unpretentious, unstudied, gold and soft and starry and his, his own, for she’d accepted him, and she was his now, and he was hers, and that was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Her hands drifted over the length of his cock, languid but concentrated, and he pulled away from her touch, leading her to the steaming bathtub, the roses making way for them as he pulled her down into it with him, pulling her on top of him again, loving the feeling of her body hovering above him that way. She reached down into the hot, almost scalding water, its heat causing goosebumps to rise on both of them; gripped the length of his cock again, fingers grazing his sensitive head, her face hovering over his, her mouth almost kissing his, but not quite, her breath cascading into him and she moaned as she stroked him and he moaned into her in return, lost in her, his impossibly blue eyes falling into the night of her, “Mackenzie, baby, that feels so fucking good, you’re as beautiful as an angel, oh god, Kenzie, I love you--”, and the roses clung to the sides of her white skin, the steam that rose off the water enshrining her, and her mouth finally clashed into his, stifling his ardent admission, and he thought again that he could die and be content in the death, content because his last moments had belonged to her.
“Come for me this time, baby love, come for me, okay?” She murmured these sweet words into him, and he nodded, his brow furrowed, completely lost in her touch and her voice; she stopped the firm stroke of her hand around his hardness, and moving her hips, eased down onto him until he was buried in her, gasping, and she moved again, grinding down on him, causing him to stutter “fu-fu-uu-ckk” into her neck, against the softness of her chin, into her skin, and she said “I love you too, I’m yours baby, all yours, come for me,” and he couldn’t stop it, his release was so deep and so consuming that his moan bled into a wild cry that he tried to stifle between the space of her breasts where her dress had plunged, showing her heart to him under the shadow of her delicate bones, and he couldn’t believe that he could have ever felt so good, clutching her little body against him, her soul held in his hands this way. She was his, she had said yes, she was his, this angel, an angel, she loved him and heaven had fallen to earth, and he was holding it, her, she was heaven, heaven in his hands, heaven on his lips, heaven, heaven, heaven...
#millory#body and soul#duncan shepherd#duncan shepherd au#millory au#cody fern#billie lourd#collie#cody x billie#duncan x mackenzie#duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone#duncan shepherd x mallory#ahs apocalypse#house of cards#collie au#michael x mallory#my fic#body and soul millory au
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Do you have a tips on how to write lust? Like, the yearning/craving part before things are heated and not necessarily the sexual act itself. I do think there's emotion or at least the "dang this person is attractive" element but at the same time with the latter it can just be the 'it' moment where the character realizes they start falling, you see my pain? ;-;
Completely understand what you mean. And to be honest, I prefer writing that moment than the sexual act itself. Idk, it’s so much fun to play around with it!
It always depends on the kind of character you’re writing. I always lean towards the shy stance—you get that feeling, and immediately the minds goes ‘oh shit, I wanna bang’ but the body tells a different story.
One thing that happens when we get the hots for someone else, it’s naturally a rapid beating heart. When the heart beats rapidly, it pumps more blood to the veins. This is something that happens in, overall, any moment of anxiety, so it can be used rather widely. But if you point the reader at the specifics, it paints a clear picture: a rapid beating heart causes for a rush of sweat, and there’s always the age-old cliché (which I LOVE) of sweaty palms. It’s that rush of blood that also causes for you to blush—a burning sensation at the neck, your body heat growing slowly, like you’re catching fire, and because of that your breath grows short.
Pay attention to those tiny details to paint a picture—whether your characters are close to one another or not—like how there’s that heat growing inside themselves, how does the body feel then. A certain weakness to the legs too, but be careful with this one because unfortunately, a hundred 19th century french dudes have transformed this into a ‘AND SHE FAINTED WEAKILY ONTO HIS ARMS, HER MARBLE-WHITE SKIN BLUSHING AT THE CHEEKS IN A CHERRY-PINK TONE’ and unless that’s exactly the time period you’re writing it’s.. outdated, to say the least. But not a bad thing, just pay attention to the wording—instead of fainting, they might walk around to sort of relax their muscles, shake their hands, take deep breaths.
I think it’s important to note on body reactions before the body language. How do you physically react, as I stated above. The wording used, though, it’s something to pay attention to: if you’re writing erotica, you have a wider range of words to use, and by all means, go for the vagina—I’m serious. The tingling sensation that crawls up your legs, bruh, that’s your ovaries sending a Kill Bill Sirens warning up your body, and in erotica you have a bigger freedom to make these sort of references (just don’t use me for an example here on this one because I don’t write erotica and am terrible at it). If you’re writing YA or something aimed at teenagers, you should also pay attention to the explicit terms, but that’s something we’re all aware of. I myself lean towards the sensation of the thing—how the body feels versus the thoughts, and how that all ties together: conflicting thoughts, for example—I want them, I can’t have them—or just plain ‘damn that ASS boy I wanna grab it so bad’. The possibilities are really endless: so try to understand what your character is like, how they would act, how would they react (always feel free to message me if you need help, I don’t mind at all!)
As for the body language, I’m going to leave you these two images I’ve kept for months because they’re super useful. They’re not super complete, but I think they’re a perfect starting point to explore your possibilities:
(Check desire and passion)
One thing for me that works wonders is the eyes: how the character sees the object of their lust can convey just how bad they want them. A woman might look at a man and make a mental note of his physical traits as overall attractive—he has, idk, black hairs, a chiselled long face, bright eyes of whatever colour, and expressive eyebrows, for example. But when the hearts beats fast, she will see the details: she can see the outlines of his muscles under his shirt, or the way his slender fingers touch something (I’m a hands kind of person so I adore describing hands and fingers), or maybe a tick they hide—like twirling their hair, biting their tongue when they concentrate. It’s a small detail of who they are, but that comes off super clear all of a sudden, and the way they see it, it’s demonstrative of their attraction: it’s cute, it’s beautiful, it’s just so damn specific to themselves they can’t let go of those details.
And, of course, there’s the mental side of it all—no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about them! This is the part that varies a lot depending on the character, of course. They could sit at their desk writing hearts on a notebook; they could just lie down in bed, staring at the ceiling, taking deep breaths—maybe concerned for the way they’re feeling—wondering how the hell did that happen?!, or how did they come to fall in love—and want them, even! They could avoid that at all costs, pushing down their feelings as best as they could. They could be imagining them naked—who hasn’t? They might even run to someone to confess their crush—if they’re the sort of character to overshare (like ME).
I’ll show you an example of something I wrote. In this case, the female character reencounters an old love she never thought she’d see again, under the attentive eyes of a powerful clan, and they have to live together in the same residence for a month—but because her husband is a goddamn whoremonger, she avoids it all costs (and fails):
It truly felt as if temptation shared the corridors of the ó Móráin with her—living in the same quarters, dining with her at the table, provoking her in the cordial gestures of a man before the young daughter of the ó Móráin. Whenever the memory returned, her stomach warmed and twisted venomously at the same time; whenever her thoughts wandered into the most dangerous corners of her mind, she could feel a shudder in her legs. Brigid help me, she thought. She could not succumb to her desires; she could not equate herself to her husband.
There is jealousy here involved—which the character acknowledges and scolds herself for. Take jealousy as something natural, I hate to see it approached as a plot device for two women to hate each other, when it doesn’t have to be. Selena here is jealous with good reason, but like, she’s perfectly aware of why and how silly it is.
He smiled rather confidently, too; he seemed toprovoke her, in a way, by presenting himself as a bold man who did not hesitatein showing his desire for her—while at the same time exposing his inner charmto lady Ariene. Oh, for Brigid, she thought to herself; don’t be stupid.
This is the moment (LONG before) Selena realizes she is in love with him:
Selenahelped him take his shirt off and put on a new, clean one; in silence, sheavoided his eyes, even though she could feel them glued to hers, piercingthrough her skin. She could see lines of a past traced along the skin of historso—scars of perhaps past battles he had fought in, signs of a life she didnot know entirely. Gulping, she helped him tie the laces of his jerkin andwrapped him around a thick mantle, at last taking the pendant out.
“I’msorry I took this from you,” she said, gently kneeling before him. Her heartraced, beating so abruptly against her chest it made her feel dizzy. She placedit around his neck and stood still—unable to move. Her hands were slowed down,hovering above his lap—and his fingers gently curled around hers. Looking down,Selena watched his thumbs move tenderly, fondling her hands so softly his touchfelt like a soft breeze, a caress shared not just secretly, but a touch almostillegal in itself. I was a child of crime, Selena thought clearing her throatand pulling her hands back, staring into his hazel eyes at last; they werehumid and honest. A child of crime, she thought again—a crime perhaps deemed torepeat itself—and the words whipped her chest like a tornado, burning her face.Selena rested her hands on her knees, feeling her palms sweaty, heart stillracing, her body shuddering before something she didn’t want to uncover.
Here’s an example of a male character realizing he’s fallen in love with the female character—and trying to kiss her (though I left that part out):
When he drew near, it was an instinct he couldn’t holdback, an act perhaps premeditated since long ago, maybe even on the very momenthe had first smiled at her heroic stance at the bar, waving a bat at thebullies who threatened to make the lives of migrants miserable. But it was onlyclear then. Every feeling nurtured in the past appeared with clarity, and heknew he was very willingly and almost unapologetically falling for her – evenif there was no sign he could tell that it was mutual.
I HOPE this big ass message (oh my god I need to control myself) helps, anon!
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The Homelife Series - Part One
TITLE: The Homelife Series - Part One - Artisanal
AUTHOR: @missgeek83
RATING: NC-17
SUBJECT: Ed Sheeran
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Allllllllrighty ladies. This one is a no-thought, writewritewrite, kind of deal. Forgive me if it seems choppy. Trying new things! Hope you enjoy though. Looking to make a “let’s fuck in all the rooms” kind of series. We’ll see... ;) As always, ADULT style content ahead...and also painting. Of sorts.
PART ONE - “Artisanal”
I was home a bit earlier than I'd planned, which was atypical considering how most of my trips to the store went. The house was quiet as I hauled my bags inside and closed the front door behind me. I scanned the living room on my way to the kitchen; he'd been here when I left, where had he run off to? I shook my head, smiling to myself as I put the groceries away. 'Always into something, that boy.' Popping a berry into my mouth before closing the refridgerator door, I decided I'd better make sure he was still alive. I shooed the cats off the counter then went to search for my missing ginger.
“Ed?” I called, poking my head into the bedroom. No signs he'd been there. Or the bathroom. Or the studio upstairs. Only place left in the house was my craft room. 'What would make him hide out in there?' I wondered as I went back downstairs and down the hallway to the back of the house. My “studio” was an old workshop that Ed had turned into a craft haven for me when we moved in. It had a high ceiling and extra windows, which I always loved when painting for extended periods. On days where he was in his own studio, furiously writing and recording the newest inspiration, this was the place I spent my time. Sometimes he'd spend days on the same idea and the only way to keep my sanity was to throw some acrylic onto canvas. I didn't consider myself an “artist”, due to the random and, at times, spastic way I created, but Ed had insisted on putting some of the pieces throughout the house and I'd had a couple requests for personal commissions. His favorite piece of mine hung in his studio, right above the sound board. It was a plain white canvas with a half bar of music notes in solid black. On our first tattoo excursion, I'd picked it out from a sheet music book and gave it a home on the left side of my lower back. So of course it became the first thing I painted in our new home. It made me smile to think that he loved all of my hobbies the same way I loved his, considering the vast difference in the two. He was always sending me out to buy more equipment and supplies, always being the supportive boyfriend. No one had to tell me I was lucky, I was reminded every day. It had always been my wildest dream to live such an enchanted life, but how I stumbled into this one was completely beyond me. It was a not small amount of the time that I found myself enraptured by his mere existance, laying in bed beside me with the sun refracting rainbow colored sparkles from his bright red hair. My own Lumiere.
I came up to the door of my little alcove, and paused outside to see if I could hear anything going on inside. All was silent. I turned the knob slowly, trying to be quiet. I didn't see anything strange as I walked in, everything seemed to be in the same place. Then I turned left and saw a massive canvas set up against the far wall. There were large containers of paint lining the bottom, along with paint stirrers, rollers, and some seriously big brushes.
Oh, and there was a naked man in front of all of that.
He was grinning like the Cheshire cat, sat up on his side with an arm bent to hold his head. I brought a hand to my mouth to hide my laugh.
“Hello there,” he mused, throwing his eyebrows in a put-on sexy way.
“You...” I looked to the side and shook my head. “You are ridiculous. What is all this?!”
“This...is a good time.” He used his abdominal muscles to bounce his cock up for a second and wiggled it at me with his hand.
“Oh, clearly. How silly of me! Where do we start?” I took my shoes and jacket off and walked over to where he was sprawled out on the floor.
“Well first, you're entirely too overdressed.”
His eyes left mine and trailed down slowly, one eyebrow raising. I brought my hands to the ends of my tank top and stopped, giving him a 'Hmm?' look. He nodded enthusiastically. I drop my hands and grin before traipsing off instead, grabbing a stir stick and dunking it into an open can of hot pink paint. Before the paint has a chance to drip off the stick, I lift it about waist height and spin in a circle, fully extending my arm. Paint splatters across the room – onto the canvas, across the back wall, then across Ed's torso as he stands up. He jumps, hands out, as the cold paint sticks to his technicolor stomach and I throw my head back laughing. As I double over I hear shifting feet and am quick to run and hide behind the canvas, but not before I feel paint hit the back of my pant leg. I look down to see bright orange paint dripping down my calf.
“Come out, love, I got a surprise for you...”
I poke my head around the end of the canvas to see him following me. Giggling madly, I sprint away from the set up to try and hide behind a tall set of shelves. I trip over a bucket of tools on my way and slide across the concrete floor.
“Ooh, baby girl are you alright?” He's laughing because I'm laughing, having fallen directly on my funny bone to brace my fall. “Thought you were gonna pop your face open. You ok?”
“I'm good,” I say through gasps, holding my elbow and rubbing it. He's next to me suddenly, holding out a hand to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me into his arms. “Mmm...super, actually.”
“Yea?”
He presses his lips softly to my neck, arms hanging loosely on my hips. I run my hands up his arms and bury the tips of my fingers in the soft hair at the base of his neck. He trails more kisses down my shoulder, then back up, as he undoes my jeans and pushes them down. They pool at my feet and I step out of them, kicking them behind me. I use my leverage and gently pull his head up to kiss him. His hands wander up my back to undo my bra, and I can feel his erection growing against my stomach. I feel him slide the straps down my shoulders and I shrug out of them then let the article fall to the floor.
“God, I love these,” he whispers, running a thumb over my nipple and then cupping the breast with a full hand. He watches my skin harden beneath the fabric of my shirt and brings his bottom lip under his teeth. I let out a sigh as he softly touches me, knowing that no one else could ever know the map of my nerve endings the way he did. Even when there wasn't a clearly marked path, he could still find it and make it light up. I shivered under his skillful touch and moved back in to kiss him. He accepted and pulled me tight against him, our noses bumping with each pass.
I felt a hand wander down my backside and along the line where my underwear met my thigh. Three fingers ran across the barrier and slipped easily underneath before gently delving into my wet folds. I moaned into his mouth, and the fingers went deeper. One at a time, he pumped them in and out until all three fit snuggly. The pressure was good, but not nearly enough.
“I need you.”
“Where?” His voice was low, soft with need and lust.
“You know where...”
His fingers stopped. “Say it.”
“I need you inside me. I need you fuck me, Teddy,” I breathed, empowered by his gentle demand.
With a soft grunt he turned us around, laying me down on the plush rug in front of my desk. It ended just short of my calves but I was thankful not to be on cold rock. He had my cotton hiphuggers off before I could make another move and sank between my knees. He nipped and kissed his way down my torso, stopping just under my belly button.
“Here?” He placed a kiss against my inner thigh, pulled up and pressed lightly against his face.
I nodded 'no.'
“Hmm...here?” A kiss to the other thigh.
I whimpered.
“Here then...” he said with his eyes trained on my core. He traced the outside folds with his tongue, weaving from side to side.
“Yessssss,” I hissed, bringing my hands to his red mop and twisting the strands between my fingers.
With a chuckle, he licked a path straight up the middle and back down, dipping inside every so often. It felt nice, but a fire was starting inside me and I needed more.
“More, please. Need...”
“Yes ma'am.”
His hand crept up and two fingers slipped into me, arching up on the downstroke, while his mouth found a new home on the aching bud up top.
“Yessss, baby. God, that mouth.”
Increasing the tempo, he added more pressure until I was grinding against his face desperately.
“Ahhh, baby, that feels...fuck, YES. Tongue fuck me, fuck, god damntEDDY!”
His expert mouth was suctioned on my clit, soft tongue flicking up and down, up and down, his hand pumping in and out of me like a piston. I could barely catch my breah as I jerked and twisted against his skillful supplementation. The fire exploded in my belly and I yelled out, pulling a leg back in anticipation as it overtook me. It shot out, kicking a small tower of paint cans. One of the cans fell over with force, and the loosened lid clattered to the floor. Paint seeped out onto the plastic sheet and I could feel it pooling under my shoulder.
“Oh, paint, cold!” I squeaked. I rolled up slightly and looked back to inspect the area. Only partial coverage, but still. Hearing a creak, I looked up just in time to see the canvas' frame buckle behind us and it all came to the ground with a 'CRASH!'
“Brilliant!” Ed was laughing. He turned to face me with a wild smile. “Time to make some art.”
He handed me a paint brush and ran off, his beautiful red cock bouncing with each step. I looked around me for a color to use and spotted a can of neon orange. With evil intent, I dipped my brush into the paint. Ed was bent over in front of me moving some small cans around to find a suitable color. I brushed my paint across the left side of his ass, not enough to cover or drip, but enough to give that pretty bum some color. He turned around and glared at me. I pulled my lips under my teeth to hide a snicker and shrugged innocently. He seemed to laugh it off for a second, then brought up a roller, intent on getting my whole front. He got my hands instead, and I could feel the paint squish between each finger on the way down. Before I could protest, he grabbed me up and placed a fierce kiss on my lips.
“Mmm, you look good in blue baby.”
“YOU would look better with me on top of you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “By all means...”
Laying down across the canvas, he propped himself up on his crossed arms and waited. I threw a leg over him and bent over at the waist, settling my blue hands on either side of the lions head on his chest. I slowly fell into a split, wiggling just over his erection – still going strong. He bounced up on his hips, poking his head into me for a second.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I chided. “Patience.”
Playfully I bobbed up and down, just barely encasing the deep pink tip with each go. Then without warning I sank down hard. Our rhythm immediately turned frantic, meeting each other with sharp gasps and tiny growls. At some point we rolled over, Ed still slamming into me with a passion that bubbled over into me. My fire-hearted boy, the only man I'd ever known who could bring me to such insanely delirious heights again and again. His hands slid underneath my ass and he bore down harder, gripping each cheek tightly as he drove home. I reached my hands back to hold the metal bar across the bottom of my desk and used it to give our meetings more force. My clit was grinding deliciously against his pubic bone and I ached for release. I mewled beneath him, relishing in the sounds of his grunts and the slap of his balls against my ass.
“Over,” he growled.
Immediately I sat up and turned to rest on all fours. He slid back into me with ease and a moan tumbled from my lips. His hands were on my hip bones, pulling me back toward him fiercely with each thrust. I groped at the rug, desperate to find purchase between my fingers to keep me steady.
“Love this tattoo, love watching it sweat while I fuck you.” He fingered the black notes gently, or as much as he could with his hands still firmly in place.
“Oh, God, Teddy...so close.” My eyes screwed shut and I braced myself for wave that was about to roll through me.
“Gonna come so hard inside you, love. Gonna fill you up...”
“YES!” I threw my head back and shouted, pushing back as hard as I could to get that last hard bump right where I needed it. My vision burned on the edges and my knees wobbled, then buckled.
Ed was close behind. “Yes, yes, yes...unh!” He continued to thrust in and out of me until he was empty, slumping over my back in exhaustion.
I laughed at our position, attempting to stand as soon as the feeling came back to my legs.
“Quite the painting sesh, hmm?” Ed said, using a nearby towel to clean himself off and offering me one.
“Eh, never said I was a traditionalist.”
We stood back, admiring our masterpiece. The whole canvas itself was warped, indented from our weight. There was a clearly defined neon orange buttcheek on the one side where we'd first rolled, then a large teal smudge on the other, and some rainbow colored fingers and toes to finish it off. I giggled to myself, then turned to Ed.
“Well, where should we hang this one?”
“Right above the bed, where it belongs.” He ruffled my already tousled hair and a quick grin spread across his face. “Race ya there!”
I huffed, bracing myself for a sprint as he ran off ahead of me. “Oh, no you don't!”
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Masterlist here.
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How to be Drawn by Terrance Hayes
A CONCEPT OF SURVIVAL (after Jenny Holzer)
It was a good enough request at first
written on prophylactic packages PROTECT ME
FROM WHAT I WANT the shy genes exploding
just outside the late streetlights and later
in other quarters it was found stamped
inside all the Midwestern Bibles PROTECT ME
FROM WHAT I WANT not just in hotels where
sometimes the condoms were sheathed
and unsheathed but in the pews and desks
of churches and churchgoers in nursing homes
where the aged lived long enough to find pain
shameless my grandmother’s uncle jumped
naked on his bed the last time we visited him
our mood was baffled and ugly PROTECT ME
FROM WHAT I WANT appeared on neon signs
and banners it was typed on the ticker tape strips
buried in fortune cookies so that opening one
after my meal I looked over my shoulder
to a vanishing waitress I was told her shift
was done I’d fallen in love with her as I always fall
for anyone taking my order sometimes fortune
explodes quietly PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT
to be thoroughly drunk and immune to hunger
to dream a means of survival a bubble of luck
milk pours from the pastoral holes in the body
or blood when you are beaten tender in the woods
I want to feel the trees around me I want you
to smell the leaves on my breath PROTECT ME
FROM WHAT I WANT paranoia is a form of intuition
it carries a flashlight and never sits with its back
to an exit the water always threatens to come indoors
I want to enter someone else’s hide and hide
I want to sleep enough to never need sleep again
too many years have passed since I went dancing
since I cried publicly or was so small my mother
could lift me with her one free arm from the floor
***
ELEGY WITH ZOMBIES FOR LIFE
The trouble with living like thinking is feeling is it’s not
Really living. I think, for example, these are good times
Save the mornings I want to say “Shame on you mother-
Fuckers” to the motherfuckers trafficking homemade posters
Of death on the corner between my home and the cemetery
That holds among its dead the bones of the great pianist
Mary Lou Williams, the mother of jazz. Music was her child
Because she had no child. For Mother’s Day my children
And I took my wife to visit Mary Lou’s headstone (May 8, 1910-
May 28, 1981). We found it unmoored and untended,
Unattended on a hillside. People who say don’t live in the past
Don’t have a real sense of the past, would you agree with that?
Life is not about what you learn, really, but what you remember.
I was in a diner once when I saw a young mother passed out
With her face in her plate. I have been thinking about the horrified
Expression of her little boy as a waiter approached the booth.
Near me a lady in a business suit sighed, “For that kind
Of woman, abortion should be free.” Think about the theory
That crime rates have declined since Roe versus Wade versus
The theory that sexually transmitted diseases have increased.
Think about identity versus ideology versus idiocy, the Center
For Bio-Ethical Reform versus the sinners of the bio-unethically
Formed. The Center for Life and Hope versus the Center for Death
And Despair. Because thinking is feeling. I think about death
All the time: the food under my nails, the nails underfoot,
The skullish sockets packed with dirt. Maybe the soul is tethered
To the body like an embryo even when the body is no longer alive.
Maybe zombies have taken over. Are you for the Humans for Life,
The Families for Life, the Armed Forces for Life, or are you for
Something else? Because thinking is feeling, there are thousands
Of compartments and pigeonholes in my brain, there are polemics
And porn flicks and utopian blueprints, court briefs, sketches,
Graphs, philosophical theories like “Cruelty is a form of laziness,”
But there is only one version of death. It takes work to imagine
The ineffable, which I think is the word for something that can’t be
Effed up. I think the sanctimonious are worse than people who hate
Music, would you agree with that? At this very moment, they are fighting
about the order of things we should value: God, Family, Country—
No: Love, Justice, Money. I can no longer grasp the logic
Of conflicts. In the pro-life versus pro-choice debate, for instance,
It’s the versus that’s of interest to me. Remember Fred Williamson
Saying to the friend who became his enemy at the end of Bucktown,
“I don’t want to kill you, I just want to beat the hell out of you”?
I love the lovely restraint in that. Cruelty is pretty damn lazy, actually.
It takes more effort to earn someone’s love than it does to punch
Someone in the face. May you be punched in the face, may you weep
Until your nose is fat and crumpled as the hood of a child’s raincoat,
That’s my curse for the self-righteous. That’s the “Thug Life for Life”
In me, a former self versus a self who wants to change, Cassius Clay
Versus Muhammad Ali, who said, “A man who views the world
The same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life.”
The trouble with thinking thinking is feeling is sometimes
There is no feeling. Twenty years ago I would not have believed
My unborn child would still be here pushing a cry out of me.
***
ANTEBELLUM HOUSE PARTY
To make the servant in the corner unobjectionable
Furniture, we must first make her a bundle of tree parts
Axed and worked to confidence. Oak-jawed, birch-backed,
Cedar-skinned, a pillowy bosom for the boss infants,
A fine patterned cushion the boss can fall upon.
Furniture does not pine for a future wherein the boss
Plantation house will be ransacked by cavalries or calvary.
A kitchen table can, in the throes of a yellow fever outbreak,
Become a cooling board holding the boss wife’s body.
It can on ordinary days also be an ironing board holding
Boss garments in need of ironing. Tonight it is simply a
Place for a white cup of coffee, a tin of white cream. Boss calls
For sugar and the furniture bears it sweetly. Let us fill the mouth
Of the boss with something stored in the pantry of a house
War, decency, nor bedeviled storms can wipe from the past.
Furniture’s presence should be little more than a warm feeling
In the den. The dog staring into the fireplace imagines each log
Is a bone that would taste like a spiritual wafer on his tongue.
Let us imagine the servant ordered down on all fours
In the manner of an ottoman whereupon the boss volume
Of John James Audubon’s Birds of America can be placed.
Antebellum residents who possessed the most encyclopedic
Bookcases, luxurious armoires, and beds with ornate cotton
Canopies often threw the most photogenic dinner parties.
Long after they have burned to ash, the hound dog sits there
Mourning the succulent bones he believes the logs used to be.
Imagination is often the boss of memory. Let us imagine
Music is radiating through the fields as if music were reward
For suffering. A few of the birds Audubon drew are now extinct.
The Carolina parakeet, passenger pigeon, and Labrador duck
No longer nuisance the boss property. With so much
Furniture about, there are far fewer woods. Is furniture’s fate
As tragic as the fate of an ax, the part of a tree that helps
Bring down more upstanding trees? The best furniture
Can stand so quietly in a room that the room appears empty.
If it remains unbroken, it lives long enough to become antique.
***
ARS POETICA FOR THE ONES LIKE US (after Mark Rothko & Leonard Cohen)
I like the story about the man who talks
God into letting him live until he is done
With his masterwork. In some versions
He is a painter, but in this one he is a singer
Who then sings every sentence, whose song
Becomes a poem that does not end
Because it is eternally revised. Who can say
Whether Orpheus, when he found honey
In other hives, did not sing to let the devil know
His body was alive? He was the first to grieve,
Years in advance, the news of his death.
At the wake I explained that the poem could be
Thought of as a house: a bedroom where a boy
Undresses before a slightly older girl and vanishes
In her shade; a basement where the furnace
And subliminal pipes are kept; an attic
Where aesthetic and spiritual innuendos drift.
If I could have stepped out of the poem,
My feet would have remained four or five inches
Above ground because the ground was covered
In four or five inches of snow. It is breath
That makes the tragic endurable. It is earth
That provides our basis for being rooted
To ourselves. It is evening that lets us,
For an instant, be possessed by someone else.
I believed, for example, that I was in control.
The girl, I have almost forgotten her name,
Told me the poem would want the windows
Closed. I tried drawing her face to my face
So that her face could be exposed.
From inside the poem I was asked to map
The world outside and the adventure to unfold.
I looked at the window, but I could not see
Through the window because it resembled
A painting of light coloring a veil
Shaped like a window. Some things in this world
Do not depend on speech to be felt.
Remember too that the eyes are not flesh,
That crisis is initiated by the absence of witness,
That Orpheus, in time, became nothing
But a lying-ass song
Sung for the woman he failed.
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New Post has been published on Myupdatestudio
New Post has been published on https://myupdatestudio.com/lady-steals-mobile-from-boys-pg/
Lady steals mobile from boys’ PG
A Girl, who had her face covered and was maintaining a knife, allegedly entered a boys’ PG accommodation in Zone 15 and every day a mobile smartphone this morning. The Girl was seen whilst leaving the region by way of the landlord’s daughter.
Youths, who are students of DAV College, have been bowled over daily research that a cellular telephone changed into severe Jaylen from their room, that every day by way of a Woman. Sources said Mohit’s cell smartphone become severe Jaylen at the same time as he was napping. His roommate had gone every day the washroom whilst the incident every payday every day.
The Woman was visible whilst leaving the location through the landlord’s daughter, who wondered her regarding her visit. “The Woman replied that she had come to investigate about the PG lodging,” a supply said.
The Lady then sat in a Quick vehicle and left the spot. Later, the victim came every day recognize that his cell was every day men.
mobile car Wash Cash Flows
One important hassle inside the cellular vehicle wash commercial enterprise is the abundance of cash and tests that come in from daily. If you have crews out there every day every day be daily every day display the state of affairs every day prevent employee theft. Many going every day the mobile automobile wash or vehicle detailing commercial enterprise ask themselves; How can I set up a machine day-to-day prevent robbery? Who collects the Money? Produce other mobile automobile wash proprietors encountered the state of affairs wherein their personnel did the car wash and collected the Cash, however, did no longer record the wash so ‘pocketed the Cash’?
worker robbery is ramped within the America and a few consider that 33% of the labor inside u. S . A . could deceive their employer if it intended they may thieve $2.00 without being caught for lying or stealing. mobile automobile washes are inclined and if you do no longer watch yourself they’ll scouse borrow from you daily. So yes all owners of cell vehicle washes are recommended day-to-day the case and you every day manage the float of Cash and in particular coins, blank tests, as day-to-day from time day every day leave the “Pay day-to-day” line clean. Maximum Cash daily is accrued via credit card or debit and satellite tv for PC processing on the website.
if you are cautious the usage of the assigned paintings sheets and use human dynamics of employees in opposition to their will day-to-day do less and get extra (i.E. scouse borrow) then you can solve this problem. The worker is paid hourly and the driver of the unit revenue plus fee. If an employee steals the driver might be looking. If the driving force steals the worker would really like every day to have his process and receives a commission extra and could turn him in. You notice? Humans are so predictable, no matter wherein they faux daily working. You day-to-day are questioning here if you are considering walking a cellular car wash enterprise. Think about it.
What daily Do In case your Your mobile cellphone is Severydaylen
Losing a mobile cell phone isn’t always an unusual component for all and sundry in this world. You day-to-day have heard that your friend or every other individual forget about his or her smartphone in a hotel, vehicle, garden, park. And whilst she or he is going daily choose up the cell phone, the mobile cell phone isn’t there. Now what day-to-day do If your cellular telephone is everyday men.
In many nations like United kingdom, there’s cellular smartphone database, that can save you lost or severe Jaylen mobile phones from being used on any cell community, as a consequence, these severe Jaylen cell telephones are nugatory daily all of us. This system precisely works like a silylene credit card, whenever you unfastened your credit score card, you sincerely make a telephone name for your requisite financial institution every day deactivate your credit score card. Similar is the case with cell telephones, you call your provider issuer and give them a particular variety every day deactivate your severe Jaylen cellular phone. This device applies daily both prepay and postpaid packages.
Every mobile in this world has a unique code called as Global cell system identification (IMEI variety). That is a completely unique serial range of each cell smartphone. if you provide this serial range for your community opera everyday, they will deactivate your everyday an mobile phone. Nobody can use your cell telephone even supposing the individual that has severe Jaylen your cellular, insert new Sim within the cellular. This mobile may be useless for all networks or service companies. All cell community opera daily rs will deactivate or disable the phone by way of reference to this specific IMEI range of the cell telephone.
Now the query is every day everyday get this IMEI quantity? This quantity can commonly be located below the battery of mobile telephone (searching something like 087489/99/125486/nine). you may also get this range from the smartphone software, by way of entering following useful code. without a doubt write down for your mobile phone the following code.* # 0 6 #
A fifteen digit code will appear on the display after pressing ship but day-to-day, or in a few phones it comes mechanically just by means of writing * # 0 6 #. So whenever you purchase a cellular smartphone, get this code from the battery or sincerely write above code on your phone and get IMEI quantity.
After this, report this 15 digit IMEI range and your telephone range in your private note ebook, region this ebook at a secure region and that is it. Now suppose in case you lost your smartphone, make a name on your service issue and supply them your phone number and this particular key,i.E IMEI quantity. they will deactivate your silylene mobile telephone. You probably might not get your cell phone again, however at least you understand that whoever daily it cannot use/promote it both. If every person do that, there could be no factor in people stealing cellular phones
Don’t forget your mobile telephone could be very valuable for you. You could have very crucial information saved in it. So cope with your cellular phones. Don’t use your cellular in crowded areas or in which you might sense risky. Authorities is trying every day inspire cell smartphone corporations to offer more alternatives for improving mobile cellphone security.
So Take kinda everyday this simple code * # 0 6 #. Tell all of your buddies and colleagues every day get IMEI number with the help of this code. If every person truly complies with this tip of creating cell comfy, agree with me, No one will everyday attempt day everyday steals your cell smartphone.
day-to-day mobile smartphone Fraud Together with your employees
It is an unhappy fact of life, however, humans every so often steal what they can’t find the money for or truly what they need. This is something we all kinda assume everyday manifest in our lives – seeing shoplifters, cars being silylene, purses being snatched and people being mugged. In a way, we’ve nearly day-to-day numb every day the whole enjoy. It’s almost like theft has every day everyday something we expect to peer.
but there may be a darker aspect everyday theft and that’s whilst it takes place in which you work. For some bizarre cause, the equal those who would in no way scouse borrow a car Assume It is flawlessly Good enough daily scouse borrow from their employers. They justify this via using the “However the enterprise is worth tens of millions/billions” kind of excuse in order that it would not hassle their conscience.
Now there are varying stages of robbery and it tends day-to-day work on a sliding scale. if you take a pen or a p.C. of sticky notes home from work I Don’t see that as a real robbery in line with say – this is extra like you being daily lazy to go and purchase the pen or sticky notes yourself. Don’t get me incorrect – you are nevertheless stealing from your business enterprise however, It is not likely you’ll do jail time for stealing that fancy employer notepad with the best paper which you love doodling on. The one exception I can think about right here is the mother and father I saw raiding my old enterprise’s stationery cabinet whenever the kids were going back everyday school – and people identical parents had been earning $50K in line with the year but they nonetheless pillaged till the room changed into nearly naked.
The kind of theft I am speaking about is where employees use company assets for their personal gain and That is mainly actual of mobile phones. Loads of groups provide group of workers a cellular cellphone as part of their activity package deal – you get your desk, your day-to-day and your enterprise cell telephone. Now the majority are one hundred% honest and use these phones only for business motives and not anything else.
however, there may be a group of individuals who see an opportunity in the entirety given daily them and not in a great way. A guy I used everyday work with mechanically made Worldwide smartphone calls and lied about it being for the enterprise. I’ve seen different personnel use their cellphone for Facebooking all day. And then the actually silly ones who download person content on daily their phones. Or use the smartphone as a hotspot for his or her day-to-day at home. Worse again are the guys who proportion personal organisation information With your competition and receives a commission for doing it.
right here’s the shocking reality of ways plenty robbery takes place in the work region. more than 70% of humans steal from their employers at least once throughout their employment. almost half of of that 75% will steal again and again once more – once they realize they can get away with it. This place of job robbery costs corporations everywhere in the international more than US $50 billion consistent with 12 months – it is sufficient Cash every day build 10 Space shuttles or buy 1/2 of recent Zealand.
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