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boyfhee · 5 months

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이희승 、SHARED VICE

heeseung has a bad habit, but with your help, he can fix it. unforeseeably, you turn out to be a bad influence instead.

ꔫ pairings : play boy! heeseung x fem reader ꔫ warnings : kissing, implications of smoking ꔫ notes : this was supposed to be a roommate series

“i thought i told you to clean up,” your voice takes in the way he fixes his t-shirt while looking in the mirror, pausing for a brief second as his eyes settle on you before travelling back to his reflection in front of him.

“giving me orders in my own room,” and he sounds a little too haughty, especially with the smirk that dances on his lips. his eyes travel down to you— up and down, as he looks at you with a teasing glint, kicking a few empty packets of snacks lying around his gaming setup aside.

“that’s a nasty habit,” you’re commenting this for the thousandth time ever since he moved in, the scoff that falls off his lips tells you how much he expected you to say the same words over again.

“everyone has one,” he shrugs, sighing as he pushes the keyboard further on the desk, leaning against it before his lips curl up into a cheshire grin as he leans down towards you. “you have too, i know about it; your very, very nasty habit,”

and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat, knowing a little too well where this conversation was heading. he stares at you for a while, finally bored as he sighs, getting up from the desk and taking a step towards you— careful not to break eye contact.

“i’m off, hope you clean this—” but you’re quick to react, taking a step back just as soon as he leans closer, looking away and pointing your index finger at the empty packets and unwashed clothes lying around. “—shit,”

“lend me a hand?” he leans back with a soft sight, slightly tilting his head to the side, the grin on his face never leaving. “i could really use some help here,”

“and why would i do that?”

“maybe, i can help you with your nasty habit in return,” he suggests with a certain innuendo, towering over you with a heavy gaze, one that figuratively makes it difficult for you to even move. “roommates need to look out for each other, right?”

and heeseung is a wrong deal in himself.

you’ve seen the way girls around the campus fawn over him and also the way they walk out of his room with tears. you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve come back to the apartment, seeing him with a new girl. you know better than gravitating straight towards him, although your heart keeps swerving. you hate his habits, he smells of cigarettes and the strawberry candies that keep his mouth busy during hours of valorant sessions. it’s a deadly combination, vinously so.

“i don’t know—”

“you can stare at me all you want while helping me clean the room,” another step towards you, another step back taken by you— and you’re against the edge of the bed, whipping your head around frantically as you almost stumble, although not sure if it’s because of his actions or the close proximity in between. “don’t you like to do that, pretty?”

or if it’s both.

“we’ve only been roommates for a while but i know exactly what you’re thinking right now,” he leans down further, lips almost brushing against yours. “do you think i haven’t noticed your eyes being all over me?”

your mouth is dry, mind rushing at thousand miles per minute to think of any words to defend yourself. you thought, you’ve been discreet with it— the stolen glances at him from across the room, the subtle smile on your lips whenever you two talk, despite most of it being just annoying banter. it wasn’t news to your friends when you told them about your little crush on your roommate, however you made sure to keep it a secret from him. he tilts his head to the other side, gazes switching between your eyes as your lips, the feeling incomparable to how you’re drawing him in.

“hee—” you’re cut off by the sudden movement of his arm around your waist, perhaps to keep you from falling down on the bed, but maybe it’s yet another excuse, this time made to hold you close, just enough to make you feel all the butterflies.

“maybe,” the words caress against your lips, making your head dizzy. “it’s a shared vice,” and before you could retract— his lips are yours, hands pulling you close by your waist to hold you in place, feverishly kissing you as you feel his tongue brush against your lips.

it's another nasty habit, one he can’t get rid of— the one he won’t get rid of, especially at the way your lips feel against his, it aligns with how he thought you’d taste. your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt in nervousness and yet, you leave him breathless and intoxicated with the lack of air. it’s like a drug, gets worse the way your hands hesitatingly rest on his chest as he tilts your head, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. it’s an addiction, and good for heeseung, you’re just as hooked as him.

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edenesth · 4 months

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The Royal Librarian

Pairing: tutor!Yeosang x librarian!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

ATEEZ Masterlist

"Yeosang, if you don't confess your feelings to the librarian soon, I swear I'll do it for you."

The royal tutor's eyes widened at the princess' words. Resisting the urge to slap a hand over her mouth, he hissed, "Your highness! You will do no such thing, that's highly inappropriate." Despite his disapproval, she merely smirked, enjoying the panic in his eyes as you walked past the two in the palace library, checking the newly arrived books.

Arms folded, she locked eyes with the tutor mischievously, retorting, "You can't tell me what to do; I'm the princess." Yeosang sighed deeply, questioning why he was stuck tutoring this unruly student instead of her disciplined elder brother.

"Why won't you just leave me be? I promised I'd talk to her soon," He pleaded. She scoffed, "You've said that before, and I don't see any progress. This is your last chance, or I'll take matters into my own hands."

With a defeated sigh, he smacked his palm against his forehead, muttering a curse. The princess grinned, satisfied, and resumed her studies with a quill in hand, "I'm only doing this for you because you're my favourite teacher."

Yeosang gave her an unamused stare, "You do realise I'm your only teacher."

She smiled sarcastically, "Exactly, so you have no choice but to do as I say."

As their lesson concluded for the day, the princess shot a threatening squint at her tutor, her fingers subtly gesturing, 'I'm watching you,' before she gracefully exited the library.

Defeated, Yeosang nodded and bowed lightly as he watched her leave, a sense of resignation settling over him. If he wished for a peaceful existence, compliance seemed to be his only option. His heart raced as he turned his attention to you, who were diligently ticking away on your checklist, ensuring the library remained well-organised, as you always do.

He found himself captivated by the sight of you working from a distance; in his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. From the very first encounter, he sensed it was love at first sight. As he got to know you better, he discovered that your allure extended beyond physical beauty.

Your kindness, knowledge, and passion for your work set you apart. It might sound cliché, but to him, you were incomparable to anyone else. While the princess' lessons could be torturous at times, your presence never failed to brighten his day.

He took a deep breath and dared himself to approach you. Nervously, his hands instinctively moved to straighten his hair and adjust his clothes. Despite having spoken to you before, you always made him stumble over his words like a bumbling fool.

Upon noticing the handsome tutor's presence, you greeted him with a warm smile, setting down your work documents, "Hey Yeosang, how was the lesson today? I hope her highness wasn't too difficult; she's been in a good mood lately. Do you think it has anything to do with the painter she's been seeing in town?"

He chuckled shyly, "It was alright, thanks for asking. I've heard about her new friend; she won't shut up about him. Unfortunately, that doesn't change the way she torments me."

Laughing, you shook your head, "You poor thing. What will it take for her to let you live, hm?"

Yeosang hesitated, unsure whether to be honest. He did know what it would take for her to go easy on him. This could be the perfect time to broach the topic, but he searched his brain for a way to smoothly transition the conversation.

Scratching his head sheepishly, he said, "Yeah, trust me, I always ask myself why I'm stuck with her. It would've been great if only I got the crown prince."

You nodded with a knowing smile, "I know what you mean; the prince is certainly very mature compared to his sister. It's reassuring to know the future of our kingdom is in good hands."

Drawing closer, he leaned against your work desk, attempting to appear cool, unaware of how awkward he looked. You giggled into your fist, finding him adorable. His shyness had always endeared him to you; the tutor was unlike any other guy you'd ever met.

If only he knew how special he was... to you.

"Speaking of which, the sudden news of the prince's engagement was quite a surprise, wasn't it?" He tried to steady his heart as he began his mission.

You brightened immediately, "Oh, it sure was! What a joyous occasion it is. We could use more positive news like this around Wonderland, especially with the ongoing tensions with Utopia."

Enthusiastically agreeing, he said, "We sure do! Have you also heard about the duke and the mapmaker's recent engagements?"

You nodded excitedly, sighing wistfully, "I have. It must be the season of love. Makes me wonder if my turn will ever come."

Here's my chance!

Biting his lip, he prepared for the pivotal moment, "Well, perhaps it will come sooner than expected," Your breath hitched at the direction he was taking, "Perhaps Wonderland could use another engagement soon..."

Your heart pounded as he circled around your desk to approach you, "Yeosang... what are you—" He cleared his throat and whispered your name, "I've been in love with you from the moment we first met. Will you allow me to court you?"

While you were convinced you must have been dreaming, he persistently proved you wrong by dedicating all his efforts to courting you over the next few months. The two of you became the centre of attention among the palace staff. Although he had initially hoped the princess would let him breathe, she had shifted her attention to urging him to propose.

Once he was certain that your feelings matched his own, he needed no further pushing from his student. True to his word, he kept his promise, and before you could fully grasp it, you found yourself strolling around the library with a beautiful ring adorning your finger.

"Wow, what a gorgeous ring you're wearing," Your head snapped up to find none other than your fiancé teasing you, "I know, I'm getting married soon." You responded smugly. His confident grin left you amused, marvelling at the transformation from the timid royal tutor you first met.

Gone was the once shy Kang Yeosang.

You gasped when he gently pushed you against a bookshelf, his hand shielding the back of your head as he leaned in, "Care to share who the lucky guy is?"

Slapping a hand on his chest, you attempted to push him away, "Not here, Yeo—"

But he cut you off, "Tell me."

You relented with a sigh, "It's you."

His smile widened, "That's right, my love." Any resistance melted away the moment he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

Just as he had predicted, Wonderland witnessed another engagement, and this time, it was yours. It was an unforgettable union, etched into the minds of all, thanks in no small part to the princess who claimed all credit. She proudly reminded everyone that her tutor was, at last, marrying his dream girl—the royal librarian.

In case you haven't already noticed, all the parts of this series are sorta interconnected since it's in the same universe. This one also teases the next member's part. Have fun guessing who it is, teehee.

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #yeosang x you #yeosang x reader #ateez fic #yeosang drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #yeosang imagines

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frenchbreadandeggs · 10 months

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The Other Variant of Her

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

summary: Out of nowhere, Gwen Stacy appeared on your Earth, inviting you to the Spider Society in Nueva York. As you reluctantly took her offer, you were shown the beauty of every spider person around HQ. Meeting the founder of the group, Miguel O’Hara. You never knew him, but it seems that he does.

gn!reader, also a spider person

cw. angst, soon.

After I watched ATSV, saw Miguel, I was like—why not make it more sadder? Also made this while I'm fucking writing a travel log for our project, action paper, and capstone. I SWEAR my obsession on writing fanfictions never ends. Gotta go so I can study for finals and defense this week. This was supposed to be a full fic and not by chapters but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Shit!”

You dodge at a car that was thrown in your way, quickly swinging yourself using your web towards a building to land on. As usual you do your superhero things around Kings, York New, beating up villains and chasing down thieves and criminals. But you sure do that this Doctor Octopus you’re fighting isn’t yours, you felt like it was not the doctor that kept chasing you down.

“Come back here you—!” he somehow glitched, a series of colors switched with his body for a split second before Doc Ock shrieked as the grip of his talons of his mechanical tentacles loosened on the blue brick walls, his body now falling.

Quickly, you shot a web on his chest, shooting another one to hold yourself from sliding towards the end of the building as you tried to pull Doc Ock. When he reached the top of the building, you grabbed him by the collar and dragged him on the concrete floor. Not wanting to risk him to go rampage again and destroy half of the city, you wrapped him up with webs, securing his mechanical tentacles on the wall.

He grunted, still recovering from his unusual glitching. You’re going to ask Doctor Strange about this later.

As you were going to bring Doc Ock to the wizard, a person stood in your way—or more like jumped out of nowhere and blocked your way. They wore a white spider suit with pink and black accents.

“Woah,” startled, you backed up, covering the still recovering Doc Ock, “I didn’t know there’s a comic con today—”

You were stopped by a strange tingling at the back of your head, you have spider senses, but this was different.

“Wha—don’t tell me you’re?”

“Holy—you look so cool!”

“What—”

“I’m Gwen Stacy, you are?” she reached her hand towards you after she took her mask off. Blonde short hair with pink dip-dye, the side of her head was shaved, blue eyes and eyebrow piercing. She seemed harmless even though you are still skeptical, but your guts said she is not a problem—and your gut is always right.

“SpiderSlinger.” you introduced yourself, taking Gwen’s hand and shaking it.

“So,” you started, “This is not a joke alright? Is there any cosplay going on somewhere here?”

She snorted, like what you said made no sense to her.

“No, I’m from another universe—I take care of anomalies like that Doc Ock you have there.” she pointed at your back, you looked back to see Doc Ock glitching.

You were not closed about the multiverse existing as Doctor Strange has already mentioned this to you. Though you did not expect for a person outside your universe to come and visit—let alone take care of a person who is not supposed to be in your world.

You looked at her, tilting your head at the side as you grabbed Doc Ock using your web shooter and slung him on your shoulders, unbothered by his weight. Lifts were helpful for you, “By yourself?”

Not too long you tagged along with Gwen, she has explained to you that she is in an elite group called Spider Society where they keep the multiverse from any threats and prevent it from collapsing. Very ambitious you think, the size of the multiverse was incomparable to your thoughts, knowing it is larger than what some people might think. On your way to HQ Gwen mentioned to you, she received a call from someone who’s named ‘Jessica Drew’. You minded your own business when Gwen started to respond to her watch with hushed words, you might have guessed that they were arguing. Gwen sounded pleading all of a sudden.

“Are you sure I’m allowed to go with you?” you asked her after she ended her call. Gwen nodded at you, her head seems like it is going to fall off her neck if she does not stop.

“Absolutely, I already notified them that you’re coming with me.” she handed you a blue wristband, “Here, to keep you from glitching.”

You took the wristband from her and wore it, “Thanks…?”

You have not experienced the ‘glitching’ she was telling you, so it might’ve been like Doc Ock’s situation earlier. Gwen tapped on her watch before a portal appeared in front of you. Your eyes widened in amazement, multiple neon-orange hexagons stood up from the dark but sparkling void—some looked like singular strands of web stretched across the portal, forming in some kind of path to who Spiderperson knows where.

“You got to do this?” Doc Ock still hanging on your shoulder, you pointed at the portal that was formed by Gwen’s watch.

Gwen laughed, smiling at you, not realizing she was showing her gap teeth, “Yeah, all the time.”

“Sick,” you said, still gaped at the portal, “should I…?” you looked at the Doc Ock on your shoulder then to Gwen.

“Oh, yeah definitely.”

With a lift, you pushed Doc Ock inside the portal, his unconscious body sucked into the portal’s abyss. Gwen then looked at you with a reassuring nod and went into the portal, following Doc Ock. You stared at the portal for a while, the city is fine for now since there were no attacks other than Ock—though you were unsure if this was the right idea.

You bit your lip.

“Fuck it she already announced my arrival, might as well go in now.”

Biting back the hesitation of not going in, you leaped into the portal leaving your worries for your city and jumped into the unknown.

You were thrown on the floor face flat on the smooth pavement, you grunted, muffling ‘I’m fine’ even though you know no one would care less. Surprisingly a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you up to your feet.

“Thanks,” you said, patting the dust off your spider suit. You looked at the scenery around you.

And holy shit you could not believe your eyes at what you are looking at right now. Buildings were everywhere and each building had a bridge attached and led to another building. There were multiple pillars sticking out and attached on each building. That did not amazed you though, it was the massive fucking spiderpeople lounging at the area you are right now.

Not even a hundred were here. It might be thousands of different spider people and you’re one of them. You stared, still in shock at how much spider people are with you here. Taking a hold of Gwen, you gripped both of her shoulders and shook her.

“This is amazing…” you grinned at her, she mirrored yours.

Suddenly, you felt like you were forgetting someone.

Realization hits you, with high alert you asked Gwen, “Where’s Doc Ock?”

“I took care of him,” she placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring look.

“Ok,” you took a relaxed exhale, “Well what you showed me was super amazing—very fucking cool—now I want to join—well if that is fine, it looks like y’all won’t be having understaffing for a long time though.”

“Oh—dang, then you should meet Mi—”

“Ooo who’s the newbie here Gwen?”

A distinct voice captured your attention, looking at your back you saw two spider people walking towards you and Gwen.

Pavitr Prabhakar and Hobie Browe were their names given to you in exchange for your Spider name. They were fun to be with, Hobie and Pavitr's shenanigans immediately started right after they met you. You met other spider people, them greeting you back gave you a tingling feeling inside you—maybe it's the fact that they are cool and decided to notice you.

Not for too long Pav said his goodbyes and went back to his Earth while Hobie tagged along when Gwen is guiding you to this ‘Miguel O’Hara’ person. She told you that he was the founder of Spider Society and may or may not have severe anger issues.

“The guy has FANGS?” you looked at Gwen with disbelief.

“Yup, heard that it paralyzes anyone he bites with it—with venom I suppose—obviously.”

She then turns at you, “Alright, we’ll be entering his office. I just hope he isn’t pissed off.”

“He is alway pissed, what do you mean?” Hobie interjected.

“You guys are scaring me—should I like—give him something so he won’t do…?” you wiggled your fingers, hoping they understand what you mean. Hobie just snorts, Gwen shakes her head and takes a grab of your wrists and pulls you with her.

“No, no need.”

The three of you entered a blue dimmed room. Hobie sat on one of the metal seats, watching the scene slowly unfold in front of him. There was a floating platform just above you and Gwen, both of you stood still. If you squint just a little there are yellow-orange colored monitors, cool, you thought, your world’s technology was below this Nueva York’s tech. There on the platform was a man’s back, broad shoulders and messy hair.

You are a patient person, but the platform was painfully slow.

Finally, the platform reached the floor, he did not turn around or anything but continued working on his devices.

“So this is the spider person you are talking about, Gwen?” he spoke with a husky voice. His attention was still on the screens, dragging his fingers on them as he spoke with Gwen.

“Yeah, they’re from Earth-14215. When I came there, they already took care of the anomaly.”

With a blink he was already in front of you, his body looming over you like a vulture. If you were not intimidated by him, you would admire the structure of his face—everything about him.

His eyes rounded on you, inspecting you like you were prey. There was something bugging you, he felt…something that you could not comprehend.

His intense stare at you made you feel like you needed to remove your mask, so you did. Your hair looked perfectly fine even though you wore a tight mask. Looking at him with a toothy grin, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

At a moment you saw a glimpse of Miguel’s face in shock before turning his back at you. Did you scare him? Or maybe disappoint him? You sure hope not. You watched him walking back to his monitor, he called for someone named Lyla, in which in response a yellow woman appeared in thin air. He spoke to her, though you could not hear them talking.

Not knowing what to do, you turned to Gwen in which she just shrugged—not expecting the lack of emotion from Miguel. You walked towards Hobie and sat next to him, still amazed at him and all of those inconsistent art he has, he did tell you he does not believe in consistency.

You and Hobie started talking to each other, Gwen butting in afterwards. Hobie started talking about the consequence of industrial revolution, him not liking the prime minister—whom you do not know, another consequence about capitalism and it went on and on.

“Hey,” Miguel called, the three of you looking at him at the same time, “No—no the new one.”

You stood up and walked towards him, he tossed you something. You caught it, it looks like a watch of some sorts, similar to Gwen and Hobie and the other spider people have.

“That’s a goober—”

“A gizmo.” Lyla interrupted

“Whatever,” he tries to shoo the AI away from him but Lyla glitches to another place away from him, “that gadget gives you the ability to jump to a different universe. That’s it, I’ll give you instructions for your first mission…Welcome to the club.” he stared at you for a while, a kind of longing feeling from him vibed out you just shrugged it.

“Thanks!...Boss?”

He shook his head, then walked away from you, “Don’t call me that, it’s weird.”

“Huh, alright then. I’ll call you Miguel if that is fine with you.”

He did not respond.

Not bothered by his lack of response, you ran back to Gwen and Hobie, waving the ‘goober’ in your hand. Gwen smiled whilst Hobie greeted you ‘welcome to the spidey club’, it was never really your intention to join but it seems that you got in.

You’ll wait for the first mission Miguel will send you.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderverse #ATSV

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livefromcastledracula · 5 months

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Book Carmilla vs Adaptations (SPOILERS)

Here are a few 'interesting' adaptations. I like some of them for their own merits, but mostly dislike them as Carmilla adaptations for the below reasons, with some notable exceptions: Vampyr: The Dream of Allan Gray (1932 film): The first Carmilla inspired movie, although it keeps almost NOTHING from the novella except 'female vampire'. In this case, a creepy old lady rather than a charming young lesbian. This is a really moody, slow, acid trip of a film though, a treat for fans of vintage vampire film. (3/10) Hammer Karnstein Trilogy: The Vampire Lovers is the gayest and most book-accurate. Carmilla still kisses/seduces men before killing them, boo. The second one her identically-named reincarnation is blonde and has sex with / falls in love with a man booooooo. She's not in the third one at all. It's all very 70's and nowhere near queer enough, but at least we got the incomparable Ingrid Pitt in the first movie. 5/10. Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust: 'Carmilla' shows up as a surprise third act villain. She's an elegant and imposing vampire queen with a castle called "Cjethe" and the Vampire King offed her previously for being A Bit Too Extra. She's... Bathory. She's Elizabeth Bathory, right down to the name of her historical castle, the elaborate gowns and the blood-bathing. Bathory in Castlevania Nocturne even looks a lot like this one. Cool scary vampire lady, but Carmilla In Name Only. 4/10 Castlevania (Games): She's fine here, but mostly just kind of a big Dracula groupie like most of the other non-Dracula vampires. Often depicting as a flying skull or mask crying bloody tears, with optional succubus-like figure reclining on top of it. Cool. Rondo of Blood has her appear together with a ninja vampire Laura with bunny ears because why the hell not. 6/10 Castlevania (Netflix show): Baddass, angry Karen. She's amazing in the first season when she's scheming against Dracula, but after that she just sort of sits on her butt sipping wine and griping about men for a whole season until Isaac storms her castle. A cool character but not a great Carmilla, because Carmilla for me is defined by how much she loves women, not how much she hates men. Still amazing voice work by Jaime Murray though and her last stand was insanely baddass. 7/10

Carmilla Web Series / Movie: My favorite adaptation. It's obviously playing waaaay fast and loose with the canon and reframing her as a charming antihero in a zany urban fantasy, but there's deep current of love for the source material, especially in the movie. Natasha Negovanlis has charisma off the charts and the Hollstein romance is adorable. This Carmilla might be a black-leather-wearing snarky millenial goth with a Canadian accent, but as the show goes on it peels back layer after layer of the romantic, poetic, wistful, world-weary immortal hinted at by the novella. This show redeems LeFanu's lovelorn villain in all the best ways. 10/10. 2019 movie / Styria movie: I still haven't seen these, have heard good things about the gothic cinematography on the most recent one but not good things about the rest of it. The trailer looked moody and pretty though, I may watch it at some point.

#carmilla weekly #carmilla #carmilla karnstein #sheridan le fanu #carmilla castlevania #carmilla of styria

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vs120shound · 2 months

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Three kinds of SF models/actresses: The Overrated. The Underrated. The Properly Rated. Priscilla of SmokingModels (Florida, USA) never got the "props" she so richly deserved! Gorgeous. Exquisite. Sultry!

NEW SERIES! - *

VIDEO OF THE MONTH (SF HALL OF FAME) 🚬 NO. 3 IN THE SERIES!

For February 2024

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ | Five “Stars”

From vs120shound staff | ★★★★★ (4 total: L)

Dual-Media 3-Post, 21-Pack Megapost!

SPARSE CONTENT OF PRISCILLA POSTED ON SMOKINGMODELS! WHY?

Priscilla: Unceasingly pretty. Exquisite. Graceful. Classy. Seductive. Its one incomparable combination for an SF model/actress! Such elegance!

* - Note below

How much different would the world be if Priscilla of SmokingModels.com (Florida, U.S.A.) were a showcase SF model/actress for their brand? Well, the United States would still have a terible one-two punch choice for president during the 2024 election, right? Instead, an alternate reality can not be substituted in for what exists. Back to SF . . . so we're forced to deal with what is, or at least what was. Pretty Priscilla was never going to be a heavy-hitter for SM web-master/web producer Austin. "Prescious" Prescilla might have participated in just a handful of video projects for their network, and we doubt she was ever considered -- nor did she consider -- being a participant in SmokingErotica.com with its NSFW content but far, far removed from receiving "XXX" "XX" or "X" content classifications. "R" for sure. She is a stunner. That's for sure. You can learn a lot about Priscilla by listening to this substantive video. She opens up and does so in a grounded way; nothing outrageous. Well, we learned she loves Coldstone! Nothing too outlandish about that, is there?

… well, how and why did Priscilla stay stuck in her lot with SM when she is uncompromisingly gorgeous? From listening to her spiel ⏤ or is it a conventional interview with webmaster Austin darting in and out of the framing for the stationary camera (on a tripod?) several times ⏤ and how she interacted respectfully and somewhat chummy with him, the Austin-Priscilla relationship seemed to be on steady enough ground not to be the source for her failure to climb the SmokingModels ladder. At least at the time of this video's shooting, their rapport certainly would not lead to the precluding of her from reaching the stardom for which she might have been destined to attain on SmokingModels. Maybe it all went south soon after this video was released; perhaps it got away from them many months later. Austin's reputation within the Greater SF World Community scene is not negative in the least but he's known as being particular, merely seeking to keep all aspects of his operation of two websites as structured and as orderly as intended and as needed. Without a true staff it IS a lot of work. The personality that Priscilla conveys in the 7:08 span of the video indicates that she has a strong personality as well, believing what she believes and liking what she likes. We're going to extrapolate and say that Priscilla very much makes the connection between smoking cigarettes and having fun and be sexy and living life to the fullest (no need to bring up the actual health risks in this sentence 😉 ). She grasps the Smoking Fetish and understand its hold upon those who are afflicted. Much of her personality is revealed when the topic becomes smoking. Such discussion is prompted with Austin's question, "Tell me about enjoying the look of your smoking," he said. Priscilla responded with, "I think it looks so classy and I don't know. I don't know what peoples' problems [are] with smoking; I think it's pretty," she says. "It makes me feel older, too, to smoke." Austin asks about smoking during sex . . . he is an SF aficionado above all else, so why wouldn't he be curious? Priscilla gives it some thought, following the specific question about having a cigarette before getting it on. "Definitely," she says, "before and after." Heck, she's our kind of gal, isn't she, after all! The format of this video is not compelling in any way for she does not move. Her emotions do not swing wildly. But she shows off her habit. Strong exhales. Many drags. And her smoking routine is consistent with both her personality/character and the theme of the website that ties in smoking and elegance, cigarettes and glamorous style and allure. But she is so pretty. Won't go so far as to claim there's only a handful of BHYSWs (Beautiful Hot, Young Smoking Women) in our community who are more attractive. Won't do it. Might not be among the Top 25 in beauty among all SF personalities (there's Dorine Zopp, Soléne, Janey of Random Snaps, Courtney of Specialized Videos, Cassandra and Julie of InRealLife, Quinn of USA Smokers, Shannon of Smoking Sexy Girls; Anka Zapala, Natasha Marley, Josee Real-Smoking-Girl and, W-H-A-T Skittlez Cano is ugly now all of a sudden!) but it's not stretching it to say she's in the Top 50 and certainly in the Top 100. Priscilla is in elite company. Great body but not reminiscent of Busty Deelight yet that body sculpting would be calling attention to herself. And Priscilla strikes us as likely being humble or modest. Could not find video of Priscilla within our network while this post was in various stages of production. A few photos, so these are her introductory videos on our family of blogs/vlogs/webpages. If you are new to Priscilla, we hope you enjoy this Megapost! Another SF star whose exclusion from the Honorable Mention list of the "unofficial" official Top-25 all-time favorite SF model list published on vs120s-1 some 14 months ago represents another strike against us!

THE MEDIA!

Previous Posts on Our Network of Priscilla!

From vs120shound-2 on March 2, 2024 . . .

From vs120shound on June 15, 2018 (the seventh post in the history of vs120s-1, with a revision in early-August 2022!) . . .

Photographs of Priscilla from a Variety of Sources!

From www.smokingmodels.com and various SF websites . . .

Nine photographs from thelibrarian120 (some duplications included in this compilation, but not 100 percent replicas of identical photos; there are composition, cropping and editing nuances among the repeats to make them ostensibly somewhat different)!

YouTube Video of SmokingModels (Cameo Appearance by Priscilla at End)!

From YT's "goosenation" webpage on 2011 . . .

youtube

Priscilla appears in the final five seconds of this video, the length of a typical Instagram SF post!

*- Note: The Video of The Week series has been replaced by The Video of The Month series effective in late-December 2023! (The Video of The Month | Honorable Mention division was published on March 1.

The Video of the The Month (Honorable Mention) for February!

From vs120shound on March 1, 2024 . . .

#SF #Hot women who love smoking cigarettes #Smoking cigarettes #Smoking #The Video of The Month | Hall of Fame division!#Priscilla of Florida!#Priscilla of SmokingModels (Florida -- U.S.A.)!#YouTube's “goosenation” webpage!

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jqnehr · 8 months

Text

trial and error | Miguel O'Hara

you hate your life as spider-woman. you hate how demanding it is—yet, a chance meeting with three others who understand sets you on the path to redemption from pain—but a certain Head of the Spider Society seems bent on making sure you know just how much he hates you.

pairing: miguel-o'hara x f!spider-reader warnings: sfw, angst, enemies-to-lovers, eventual fluff, mean Miguel, etc word count: 3.2k note: first time posting something! this man has been plaguing my mind ever since I saw the movie in theatres, so here we are. this is likely the first part of a series, so let me know if you want part 2! tysm for reading <3

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part one ⋮ masterlist ⋮ part two

...

You hate your job.

You hate your powers.

You hate the duty that was forced upon you the moment that damned spider bit you.

And you hate being Spider-Woman. You can’t stand how slack the police have now become ever since you stepped into the picture. It’s as if they just kicked off their shoes, put their feet up, leaned back and just watched you clean up all these messes while they shoved doughnut after doughnut into their potbellies without a care in the world.

Except for Captain Stacy. He was a real one.

Until he got crushed by some fallen rubble after saving a kid.

You now stand at the foot of his grave, staring at the gleaming, polished, fresh marble of his headstone. At the neatly scripted words Captain George Stacy, beloved officer and hero that mars the face of the monument. At the solid reminder of how the only person you ever trusted is now six feet under.

Captain Stacy was the only soul who knew your real identity. A real father figure to you—one you haven’t had since your poor excuse of a dad took off with some millionaire’s daughter when you were seven. You hadn’t seen the guy since.

Not that you really care. You can’t remember his face now. Probably a good thing.

You don’t bother buying flowers for Captain Stacy. Why must you always have flowers to pay your respects? There’s already a mountain of bouquets, real and fake, piled up against his gravestone. Almost blocking out the text on the obelisk. Just standing there silently, bearing with the icy late-winter wind, hands shoved in your pockets, hair messily pulled up into a hairclaw would be enough. Captain Stacy wouldn’t mind.

Captain Stacy didn’t have a cliché death. He didn’t go out with a bang or a whisper. He just died in your arms, blood streaming down the side of his face, your tears soaking the inside of your mask, his eyes full of tranquillity as the light faded. As he breathed his last.

Captain Stacy died with no regrets—and yet, you are full of so many.

There’s so much you want to say, so much you want answers to. You aren’t going to question, why did you do that? because it was a toddler, and you would’ve done the same.

That’s the job, isn’t it? Even though you never signed up for it.

But Captain Stacy would actually have to be alive to answer your questions. Questions on the tip of your tongue right now, your drawn-out lips, pressed together tightly, acting as a dam towards the onslaught of whats and hows and whens and whys just itching to burst forth.

But you hold yourself back. You’re Spider-Woman—you have to lock it all away to make sure everyone thinks everything’s all right.

It’s not, and it never has been. You have no one to relate to—not even Captain Stacy understood, but you pretended he did.

You fed yourself lies, and you eventually believed them. Not so much anymore. Reality’s a bitterly cold shower that really hits hard.

Behind your spider-mask lies a not-so-young woman anymore. Almost thirty, you’ve had your fair share of trials and tribulations over the past fourteen years. The past ones were incomparable to this one. You had no one to rely on anymore.

So you went MIA.

The public knew that you and Captain Stacy were good friends. He was your mentor, your adviser, your go-to-guy, your right-hand-man. And all the news reports went on about how tragic his death was, and how hard a hit it must’ve been for you. Memorials and condolences were everywhere—online, particularly your fanpage, and YouTube videos went viral for their consideration of your feelings to the death of such a great man.

You decided to take a break.

You shut off your phone, your laptop, your TV—everything. You couldn’t bear to see anymore reminders of your surrogate father’s face. He had a daughter, Gwen Stacy, but she’s only little. You expressed your empathy for his wife and the heartbreak she must be going through, and she cried, making you feel even worse, and the kindly woman handed you a tin box full of an assortment of homemade brownies, cookies and personal favourites of Captain Stacy.

That was three days ago. You haven’t touched the tin. It’s just sitting on your kitchen counter, unopened.

You brush some flyaway hairs from your eyes, the chilly wind drifting by, and even with the heavy puffer jacket on your shoulders, the cold breeze still nips down your spine.

You look up. On some tall building is a billboard, Captain Stacy’s face plastered over it, the bold words You Will Be Missed written under it. Then it flickers over to a picture of you, your suited and masked figure in your signature royal purple suit with gold as the colour of the spider-web design over your bodice, black knee-high boots and elbow-high gloves, and your purple mask. Equally bold words line the poster beneath your face, Where is Spider-Woman? letting you know of just how long you’ve been AWOL for.

You drop your eyes to your shoes, turning away and walking out of the graveyard.

You hate your life.

You puff out a breath, the winter air turning it to a visible white in front of your face. You’d go home, but the suffocating quietude of your apartment, caused by your brooding, would not help to clear your head.

Usually, you’d jump around the city as Spider-Woman to blow off steam, but putting on the suit and mask right now is the last thing you need.

Usually, you’d have the suit under your clothes, your mask stuffed into the inner pocket of your coat or bag, easy to access when needed.

You haven’t put the suit or mask on under your clothes in two weeks. And that isn’t going to change any time soon.

The police would just have to handle bank robberies and other petty crimes for now. You deserve a break from being a hero.

You never wanted to be one in the first place.

You’d have to come back sooner or later, but for now, you just need space to breathe. To live. To grieve in peace.

To wallow in self-pity for a while. Because under that mask is a human being. A mutant human being, sure—one with spider-powers, but you still feel things. You have a brain, you have a heart—and both are currently aching deeply.

I need to get out of here.

But where could you go? Home? What does that word even mean anymore? You just lost your only family.

Sighing wearily, you turn and head for the cinema. Might as well watch a movie. You can’t exactly afford it, considering how, even at thirty-years-old, you’re still working minimum wage.

If you hadn’t gotten bitten by that spider, you’d have gone to Princeton. You had gotten the acceptance letter just before you graduated high school, but spider duties trashed that dream.

Another thing you hate about your powers. It’s ruined everything for me.

You wish you could just quit. As if on cue to your depressive thoughts, the radio you keep on your person crackled to life, the voice of a police officer filtering through its speakers.

You dip into an alleyway before the people milling around you could hear the sounds.

“—Got some dude with a fish bowl on his head flying around and spouting green smoke.” You listen to the officer, curious. You don’t plan on going out there and helping, but if they’re a serious threat, you’d then have no choice. Suddenly, the officer cusses. “What the hell—the guy’s glitching? Looks like something out of a comic—”

The radio cuts off with static, and you immediately make your decision. Grumbling under your breath, you dart out of the alleyway and rush off for your apartment complex, which is nearby. Once inside, you hit the sixth floor button in the elevator and throw on your suit when you get to your apartment. Slipping on your mask and making sure your web shooters have plenty of web fluid at the ready, you sneak out of your apartment and exit from the window at the end of the hall.

The radio decides to crackle back to life at that moment. You wrench it to your ear to listen, using your free hand to swing you around speedily.

“This is getting out of hand, man,” says the officer from before. “Any sign of Spider-Woman?”

Someone else then answers. “Nope. She has a radio, though—so, if you’re listening, missy, this weirdass villain is currently terrorising Maria Hernandez Park.”

“Gotcha,” you mutter under your breath in response, more or less to yourself, before changing direction and swinging north.

You soon arrive at said location, observing the quiet air. Too quiet. Furrowing your brows, you glance around, eyes sharp and alert and not missing a thing.

Suddenly, a tree began to enlarge.

“Woah—!” You leap out of the way as you sense something flying in your direction, before the world around you is all warped and twisted, leaving you terribly disoriented.

Shaking your head and blinking, you can’t seem to clear your mind and get a grip—everything is fuzzy and swirling around. Nausea settles within your gut, along with the almost painful tingling of your Spidey Senses. Something is very wrong.

“Are you Peter Parker? Why am I in New York?” A gravelly voice speaks up to your right, and you whirl around, muscle memory kicking in as you settle into a fighting stance.

Hovering above you is a man in an armoured suit with a red cape flying out behind him and—as the officer had put it—what looks like a fish bowl is encompassing his face, the inside foggy. You are unable to make out any facial features, just a disembodied voice laced with confusion and bitterness. Immediately, you got a deep premonition; that this person is not from here.

“Who’s Peter Parker?” You question, eyeing him warily. “And who are you?”

“You’re not Spider-Man.” The man does not answer your questions. “You’re some fake. Either way, you’ll do for now.”

“What do you me—” You are cut off by that feeling of disorientation and something messing with your head; the world around you becomes all warped once again, your brain muddled and eyesight all fuzzy. One of your hands flies to clutch your head, eyes squeezing shut.

“Argh—stop it!” You feel like you’re about to throw up. You back up, before your stomach lurches with the feeling of freefalling. Frantic, you unleash a web, trying to latch onto something—anything, black ants scuttling around the edges of your vision.

Something bright and colourful flashes, and the distinctive sound of a motorbike roars from somewhere above. The sensation of warm, strong arms wrap around you, and suddenly you’re flying for somewhere—but not the ground.

The person holding you lands, and your eyes fly open, looking up into the masked face of a man clad in a pink fluffy bathrobe and an empty baby sling clipped to his front. His mask is red and blue, his eyes two large circles coloured white and lined with black. They blink, perfectly in sync with his eyes movement—much like yours. “Hey, there.”

You blink also. “Hey.”

He sets you down gently, helping you to your feet. The world around you is normal again. Bathrobe man gives your shoulder a friendly pat. “Give us a moment—we’ll deal with Mysterio and then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Uh, okay.” You don’t really know what else to say; everything is so surreal. He turns away before something white and familiar shoots out of his wrist—exactly like you. You gawk as he tugs and it pulls him into the air.

The rumble of a motorcycle echoes again, and you whip your head around to see a woman with yellow goggles sitting atop a—you guessed it—motorbike, that same white substance shooting out of her fingertips.

Bathrobe Man and Motorcycle Lady leap and bound around, Fish Bowl Head darting out of the way of their attacks before that bright and colourful thing appears in the sky again.

Something red and glowing shoots out and wraps around Fish Bowl Head, stopping him in his tracks immediately.

Bathrobe Man immediately whoops at the sight, still swinging around freely. “About time, Miguel!” At his words, another figure leaps out of the circular, colourful object in the sky. Is that a portal?

Bathrobe Guy continues cheerfully. “What was the hold up? You’re, like, twenty seconds late.”

The figure lands on the ground with a smooth roll, bringing down Fish Bowl Head with him. He is very tall, and extremely muscular. His suit is mostly blue, but streaks of blood-red line it and almost seem to glow. Those same streaks outline his eyes, which narrow menacingly as he turns his head in Bathrobe Dude’s direction. Said man lands lightly next to him, throwing some spiky-looking thing on the ground, which immediately encloses Fish Bowl Head in some kind of glowing-red-web-trap-thing, identical to the same stuff the guy wrapped the villain in as he jumped from the portal. Bathrobe Man seems undeterred and unintimidated by the taller man’s threatening glower. “Not in the mood for jokes, Peter.”

Fish Bowl Head immediately pounds his fists against the material that traps him, yelling, “Peter! Let me out and fight me like a man! I’ll destroy you—everything you live for, I swear vengeance on you—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Bathrobe Guy sighs wearily, before turning to the super tall dude again. “Anyway, Miguel, we’ve got a real confused Spider-Woman over here. Should we, uh…?”

“Let me,” Motorcycle Lady finally speaks up, her motorbike now cruising along on the ground like a normal person, not swinging about midair. She comes to stop in front of you, the engine resounding softly. “Hey.” She smiles, holding out a gloved hand. “I’m Spider-Woman.”

You take in her appearance—she’s black, with glossy, curly hair piled up on her head with those cool yellow goggles, and you can actually see her eyes, unlike the other two. They’re a deep coffee brown and twinkle with friendliness. You slowly take her hand, still staring, as she pumps it up and down in a cordial shake. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

“Hold on—I’m Spider-Woman.” Before you can think, you’re frowning in confusion, forgetting to greet her back. “How…?”

Her kind smile doesn’t waver. Almost as if she’s heard the same thing plenty of times before. “Yeah, it’s a bit confusing at first. However, everything’ll make sense if you come back with us to HQ.”

“Jess.” That red-web guy approaches the two of you, and you’re immediately intimidated. You stand at a tall five-foot-nine, but this man absolutely dwarfs you. He pins his stare on you for a second, and you can feel the intensity despite his eyes being obscured from view behind a mask. He looks at Motorcycle Lady again. “I decide if she comes back to HQ.”

You are utterly lost. “I’m really sorry, but I’m confused. Who are all of you guys?”

“The name’s Spider-Man.” Bathrobe Dude saunters over, tone chipper. “Nice to meet you.”

The really tall one sighs somewhat wearily. “And I am, too—but, more specifically, Spider-Man 2099.”

“Okay, okay, that doesn’t help.” You shake your head, as if trying to clear your mind. “You’re all…like me?”

“We are.” Motorcycle Lady smiles. “We were all bitten by a radioactive spider, became Spider-Man or Spider-Woman or something else and now protect our home, New York.”

You blink. “But…there are more of you? Okay, well, I’m Spider-Woman, but to avoid confusion, my name’s Y/n.”

“We know who you are.” Is the cold reply from Spider-Man 2099. You’re taken aback, blinking in offence to his borderline rude tone. He turns his back on the three of you, tapping at a watch on his left wrist. That huge colourful portal-thing appears before you again. “Let’s go, guys.” He stoops down and heaves up Fish Bowl Head and throws him into the portal, all in one fluid motion. As if the villain weighed nothing. He turns to glance back. “And…” you feel him look at you too. He sighs. “You, too, I guess.”

“Wait—I never said I wanted to come along.” You cross your arms. “I have no idea who any of you are, and for all I know, you could be some strange organisation luring in Spider-People and…” You let your sentence hang, the insinuation clear. Spider-Man 2099 stands in front of the portal, back to you, no longer looking at you three and silent, listening. Bathrobe Man and Motorcycle Lady look at you with understanding in their eyes. You hate it—it feels as if they're pitying you. “Besides, I’m going through a rough patch right now, and putting down the mask is what I need most right now. I’m sorry.”

They stay silent. It frustrates you. “And…thank you for the help with that fish bowl guy.”

Bathrobe Guy laughs. “Haha! ‘Fish bowl guy’. I love that.”

Motorcycle Lady turns her eyes to him, her stare stern. “Not the time, Peter.”

He ahems and falls silent, solemn once more.

You can’t help but feel a tad bit amused at this particular guy’s personality. Not hard to get along with, he seems, but you still have no intentions of heading back with them to ‘HQ’, as the motorbike lady put it. Even if you have that gut feeling that they mean no harm, that they’re the good guys—it doesn’t take away the fact that you just want a break from all of this. From being Spider-Woman.

You want to be normal again. But you know that’s too much to ask for.

“I understand your concerns.” Spider-Man 2099 finally says, voice holding no emotion whatsoever. “You don’t have to accompany us. However.” He faces you, fists closed at his sides. Once again, you can feel just how piercing his stare is. “This responsibility we have…we can’t just take a break from it.” You tense slightly at his tone and words. Dislike floods you. He lowers his head slightly, as if conceding to your views. “It’s my life, their life, your life. All of our lives. I don’t usually do this, but I think you’d understand better if you came back with us.”

You don’t like his countenance. Nor his tone. It’s apathetic. He says nothing more, and steps inside the portal, disappearing.

Bathrobe Guy sighs, shaking his head. “Please, don’t take his words to heart. He doesn’t know how to comfort people.” You get the feeling that he’s giving you an empathetic smile behind his mask. At least this guy’s approachable and unimposing. “But, he’s right, as much as I hate to admit. You’ll be in a great environment. Because we all understand how you feel.”

Bathrobe Guy gives a light, friendly punch to your shoulder. “Well, it’s up to you now.” He turns to Motorcycle Lady. “I promised MJ that I’d take care of Mayday this afternoon, so I’ll be off.”

Soon, he disappears into the same portal Spider-Man 2099 did. Leaving you with the woman.

She sighs and gives you a look. “So…you wanna come, or…?”

“I’ll…think about it.” You answer; however, you know your ultimate answer will be no. You don’t want to bear this burden any more.

But there are others. Your more rational side rebuts. There are more. You’ll finally have someone who understands you.

You look at Spider-Woman. And she stares back with a clear-eyed, firm look. As if she knows.

Her lips turn up into a smile. “See you on the other side.”

…

part 2

Tags:

@autismsupermusicalassassin @klqwnlol @thel0velykey190 @lauraolar14

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #peter b #astv #2099 #miguel ohara #miguel x reader

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whumpwillow · 10 months

Text

Hazeshift 14 | villain whump

This is a series! masterlist

ummmm yeah here ya go

{ Chapter summary: Haze, delirious, shows him images with his powers of what happened to him at Lisle’s hands }

warnings: past torture, unreality, hospital setting, low self worth, imposter syndrome

Two Davians. Two Davians.

Haze’s mind spun trying to work out why this was important. He knew somehow that it was, but couldn’t figure out why.

He felt lightheaded. Every part of his body buzzed with pain. That wasn’t unusual. He felt hot and sticky, and it took him a bit to remember that it was blood. He was being beaten. By Davian. Or Davians. Was that why there were two now? Because the first one was tired so the second came to take his place?

His fears seemed to prove true for an instant as he saw one of the Davian’s move closer to him with alarming speed, running toward him. That Davian punched the other one, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the far wall. Haze watched, stunned, as the man who’d been beating him just moments prior became nothing more than a ragdoll on the floor.

This new Davian crouched down at Haze’s side and threaded his fingers through his bloody hair. He didn’t tear or rip or pull, but held him gently, resting Haze’s head in his lap.

Ah, so this was another one of those peaceful visions.

He must have had his fill of pain and his mind had conjured up this image to comfort him, just like Davian giving him the apples. The blankets. Holding him like he was now, stroking his bloody cheeks with his thumbs, caressing him like he was something precious and breakable.

Haze tried to smile, split lips pulling back to reveal bloodied teeth. His eyes became glazed and unfocused and he saw Davian’s own lips moving, saying something but making no sound. Haze couldn’t tell what the words meant, even if the world seemed to play out in slow-motion. Davian’s mouth moved and made words, but all Haze could hear was ringing in his ears. He tried to focus on the shape of Davian’s lips, what they were trying to say, but all he got from that was how he’d never really taken a chance to look at them and realize how beautiful they were.

…

Davian looked down at the villain in his lap, heart thumping so hard against his ribcage he thought it might break. The sting of his fist from punching Lisle was negligible, incomparable to the hot blood that slicked over his fingers as he touched Haze. He reached out slowly at first, disbelieving of the battered figure that lay on the floor in front of him was the man who had lain in his bed with him just yesterday.

The Haze now was practically unrecognizable from that man. He lay near-motionless on the ground, covered in blood, his arms out at his sides and one of them bent at an unnatural angle. His hair was mussed and matted, wet and sticky, and his eyes had glazed over and now stared right through him. What scared him the most was the smile—sharp and bitter, like nothing he’d ever seen before, it was plastered over Haze’s face with blood-stained teeth and malice. So much malice.

Davian would’ve thought the man dead if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the unstable rhythm of his hitching breaths.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

Why did this have to happen? He’d told Haze that he was safe. That he’d be safe here. He was supposed to be safe.

He gathered Haze into his lap, running a hand through his hair. Was horrified when it came away red. He shivered along with the villain he held, who’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Hey, Haze, Haze, wake up. It’s me. It’s me, Davian.”

Not Lisle.

He’d seen Lisle on the ground, straddling his former torturer’s hips, beating him to a pulp. More accurately, he’d seen himself doing it, the shape-shifted form of himself Haze's tormentor wore. He knew who it was without having to think—he knew all of Lisle’s tricks with shapeshifting from the academy.

Or at least, he thought he did.

Lisle had shifted into Davian himself to beat up Haze…he’d taken on the guise of the one person Haze found safe and desecrated it. A pressure built up in Davian’s chest that he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

Why did this have to happen?

He brushed the back of his hand over Haze’s cheek. “Hey, Haze. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe—sa-fe—”

Davian couldn’t even get the words out. He inhaled sharply in the middle of it, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes burned and soon he felt hot tears escape them, only to land on the unchanging face of the villain he held in his lap.

He wasn’t safe. He was hurt. Davian had failed him, he failed to protect him, he lied lied lied—

Fucking useless, you are! There you go, screwing it all up again, a nasty voice in the back of his mind told him.

Davian was used to it by now, always whispering to him during missions what a failure he was. How he didn’t deserve to be known as the city’s greatest hero. That he was a fraud.

But this wasn’t about him.

So why couldn’t he stop crying?

Through the bleary haze of tears, Davian didn’t notice the smoke building up in the room until it was too late. He tried to cover his mouth, but he knew that would do no good, for this was not real smoke, not the kind from fires or those blasted cigarettes Lisle wouldn’t stop buying. This was the kind that didn’t rise or fall and didn’t blow away in the wind. The kind that brought with it not coughing fits but visions of disaster and torment.

This was Haze’s power.

Davian only had a moment to glance down at Haze’s wrist and the broken armband that had been restraining his powers thus far—evidently damaged in the scene Lisle had caused. After that, the smoke wrapped around him, obscuring his vision until it warped into something else entirely.

Haze sat in his cell, his body curled in on itself. Unhealed wounds wept with fresh blood, though he made no move to fix them. A voice came from behind. Haze turned around.

Lisle.

Then came the salt crystals. Rough, gritty, and coarse, Lisle rubbed it into the lashes on Haze’s back, tearing into them with his hands with a bitter callousness Davian never expected to see from his friend. An awful chill had settled over the man as he tortured the villain, a smile cresting on his face.

You broke faster than I did.

Lisle’s words. Teasing, mocking, vindicated.

He wondered for how long this had been happening, how long Davian had let this happen. Davian sucked in a breath, only filling himself up with more of the vision-smoke. Distantly, he figured it didn’t matter. All that really mattered was what the smoke showed him—how clueless he’d been. How blind.

Haze wasn’t the villain here.

Lisle was.

The smoke shifted again. The air grew thicker and Davian struggled to breathe. He pitched forward, trying desperately to get air into his lungs, but it was only visions. Memories.

The smoke settled and Davian could breathe again.

He was in the hospital room. The visions overlayed itself with where Davian presently sat in reality, though the unconscious body of Lisle that Davian had punched was not lying on the floor in the corner as he realistically should be. No, the vision-Lisle stood by Haze’s bedside, while Haze himself looked up with fearful eyes. Cali was there as well, standing on the other side of the bed. She held out her hands and asked Lisle for confirmation, to which he replied with words that sounded so wrong to Davian’s own ears, but seemed to convince Cali of his goals and her assumed purpose.

No.

Davian realized what they were going to do. He knew what Haze had suffered at the hands of the vigilante Sorrowborn, he knew what this would do to him. Lisle knew it all and intended to use Haze’s greatest fear, his greatest pain, against him. For revenge.

Davian tried to move. He made to leap up and stop the scene from happening, but his body wouldn’t obey. He was trapped, motionless, helpless as he could only watch as Haze thrashed under Cali's power as she sent jolts of electricity into his body. Worse than being tazed, worse even than if he were to stick a fork in an electric socket, the shock tore through the man’s body without mercy.

Davian screamed for them to stop, but the vision never wavered. Haze begged in the same voice as Davian was now, and neither of them could do a thing.

The smoke dissipated and Davian sucked in a breath. He was back in the hospital room, the real one this time, with everything where it had been moments prior. Lisle still lay unconscious to the side, but Davian couldn’t even look at him right now. He didn’t even know what to think about his former friend, the same man he’d gone to the academy with, studied together, laughed together, saved innocent lives together with.

And Haze.

The villain. The monster. The lackey for a group of people so evil that it couldn’t be put into words.

The injured boy. The fragile thing. the one who had been wronged so thoroughly and by so many people. Including himself.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: hazeshift #oc haze #oc davian #oc lisle #unreality tw #villain whump #villain whumpee #heroes and villains

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jerzwriter · 5 months

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Caught in the Act

A ride to a charity function is just a ride to a charity function, right? Not when the couple in question is the insatiable Carricks. See how a misunderstanding led to a fun-filled escapade. 😉

Thank you to the incomparable @/artbyainna (IG) for capturing this as only she can! God, the look of horror on Casey's face juxtaposed with Tobia's proud little smirk! adfdjfdkfdj!!! I live for this and bow at the feet of my queen!❤️

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey MacTavish Carrick) Rating: Explicit - 18+ Words: 1,389 Warnings: NSFW, sexual content Summary: Above A/N: Participating in @choicesnovchallenge - Day 22 - Go for a Ride (indeed... lol)

The backseat of the stretch limo was peculiarly quiet. Tobias seated at one end of the long seat while Casey sat perched at the other, doing her best to keep her bare back from falling against the cool, black leather. Though their hands met in the middle, fingers lovingly intertwined, their eyes were focused out of their respective windows. For other couples, this all may be normal, but for them, it felt anything but.

Casey sighed softly, hoping the delicate sound would open a window. But Tobias was lost in his own thoughts and hadn't heard a thing, so the silence lingered. He squeezed her hand tightly as he exited his self-imposed fugue, eyes still focused on the window.

"All right, hon," he grumbled softly, "what did I do?"

Casey's neck flung in his direction, her furrowed brow speaking for itself. "Huh? Why do you think you've done something wrong?"

"You haven't said more than a couple words the whole drive. That's unlike you."

"Me? You haven't been chatty either, and look at you... you're still turned away from me... I thought I did something wrong."

"You?" he replied, finally looking her way. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Casey sighed again; this time, it was filled with relief. "I’m sorry if I haven’t been myself tonight. The truth is, I wish we didn’t have to go to this event.”

“You wish?” he chuckled. “Babe, do you think sucking up to a bunch of donors is what I want to do after a long week? Especially with you...” he paused, teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes slowly trailed her body. “With you looking like that.”

“Looking... looking like this?” She blurted. “You haven’t even looked at me since we left home!”

“Of course I haven’t! If I did, I’d be far too tempted to unravel the back of that dress, watch as it fell to your feet, and do what I really want to tonight... which is you... for hours and hours on end.”

His wife blushed, and the car filled with her delighted little giggles. “Well, that’s much better,” she said, patting his knee.

“So,” he smiled lecherously, “How ‘bout it? I can text Ma, tell her we had an emergency... then we can do... our thing.”

“I’d love to,” she said, her hand running down his cheek as she inched closer. “But this fundraiser is for a worthy cause...”

“Yeah,” he lamented. “Ma’s charity helps an awful lot of kids.”

“It does. And face it, we’re both charming as fuck... we’re good at separating rich folk from their money for a good cause... she needs us.”

His eyes gleamed in acknowledgment. “Damn right, she does.”

Resigned, Casey slunk back, no longer concerned about the goosebumps that erupted over her flesh as her warm skin pressed against the icy leather. “Well, let’s look at it this way. We can watch each other in action all night, just imagining what we’ll be doing after. All I’ll be thinking about is how I’m going to have my way with you once we’re back home.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” he concurred, fingers running through her hair until he gently grasped it at the nape of her neck. Now, her goosebumps had goosebumps. “Only one problem with that scenario.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“It means waiting hours to have you.”

“It would,” she teased. “So, what do you suggest?”

“I suggest this...”

Without another word, he tugged her in his direction. His lips eagerly fell upon hers as his tongue forced them open for a searing kiss. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and a salacious groan rumbled through her, stoking his desire all the more. His lips pressed harder, a ravenous, breathless kiss as he unlatched his seatbelt.

“Come here,” he gasped, failing to catch his breath.

“There?” Casey asked with a raised brow, her smudged lipstick doing things he couldn't control. She tilted her head toward the front of the limo. “There is a driver there, you know?”

“Of course I do,” he teased. “Come here... live a little.”

“Tobias?” groaned playfully, but he sensed her trepidation.

“You know this isn’t a rental, right? It’s from my family’s fleet.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that divider is truly soundproof... we have total privacy back here.”

Casey glanced at her gold filigree watch. “With no traffic, we should be at the museum in about fifteen minutes.”

“Right. Except there is always traffic in Boston, even if there’s not... I know you’re familiar with the quickie.”

“I am, but... it’s not my favorite way of....”

“Mine either,” he cut her off. “Look, we can still eyefuck all night, dreaming about later... but I might be able to separate rich pricks from their money more easily if I’m a bit... satiated.”

“Hmmm...” she giggled, “so the key to separating rich pricks from their money is satisfying your rich prick before we go in?”

“Baby,” he said, unfastening her seatbelt. “Don’t say go in and expect we’re not doing this.”

Casey hoped the divider was as secure as Tobias had said because a playful holler escaped her as he reached over and pulled her onto his lap. So deftly and with such force, she knew surrender was inescapable. She hissed as his tongue trailed along her skin, from atop her cleavage, up her neck, and settling at her chin. His eyes met hers, an impish grin on his lips. “So, we gonna do this?” he asked as if it were a question.

She had become skilled at removing a bow tie at record speeds, and his was already undone as her fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, her hands eagerly running along the planes of his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathed into her ear, his tongue darting out to trace its outer edge, his teeth gripping her lobe with a gruff tug, eliciting a wanton moan as Casey’s hips desperately gyrated against him.

“Undo your pants,” she ordered.

“Gladly,” he smiled as she hiked her skirt.

“We have to make this quick,” she gasped as he lined himself against her soaked center, both groaning in pleasure as she slowly sank down on him.

“Oh, my God...” she panted, his hands holding her waist in place as he thrust deeply inside her. “Oh my... God.”

She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue trailed over her collarbone, never letting up the pace as red-hot passion left them both forgetting where they were. Tobias’s grunts were met with her unladylike moans. With each one that escaped her, he wanted her even more.

“Quick, you say? You don’t seem to be in much of a rush now.”

With a playful glare, she lifted her hips and slammed down against him as a punishment. One he accepted with delight as his head fell back.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned. “That’s it, make me pay for being an ass.”

With a giggle, Casey happily complied when a loud click made her head turn in horror. She looked like she had spotted a ghost, but Tobias’s face morphed into a cocky grin.

“You ever hear of knocking first, buddy?" he admonished as their driver stood frozen in horror.

“Oh, I... I’m sorry... I thought you heard me announce that....” he diverted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s nice and all,” Tobias began, “but if you want my forgiveness, close the door and let us finish here.”

Casey turned to him with widened eyes.

“What,” he mocked, “do you want to go inside in this condition?”

“Close the fucking door,” Casey demanded. A loud slam followed, and a grin stretched across Tobias’s face.

“Now, there’s the girl I married.”

“Less talking,” she breathed, her lips enveloping his as she moved quickly against him. “... and more action.”

“I’m all about action,” he chuckled, flipping her onto her back, kissing her long, shapely legs as he wrapped them around his neck. “Let’s finish the job,” he grunted, delighting in the way she unfurled as he thrust inside her. “Then we can go schmooze with smiles on our faces.”

“Ah, fucking for charity,” she panted, her giggles reaching an abrupt halt when he hit that sweet spot. Pleased with himself, he smirked over her.

“You were saying, dear?”

Casey reached behind his neck, gruffly pulling him into a kiss. “Shut up and fuck me, Carrick.”

“With pleasure,” he smiled... wondering if those words would one day grace their headstones.

~~~~~

I imagined they needed a few minutes to look fit for public consumption. But those smiles and their delicately rumpled clothes left little question in the minds of those who knew them best. After emptying donors' pockets, they left the party early... eager to utilize the limo once more before returning home to their little girl. Parenthood was not about to change these two. lol

Thanks for reading!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @openheartfanart

Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #choices fanart #open heart #choices open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #open heart fanart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #tobias x casey #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanart #choices stories you play

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buckysimp101 · 2 years

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Everything the Light Touches (18+) - Chapter Four

Mafia!Bucky x Reader

chapter warnings: language, angst, drinking, smoking

a/n: oh besties. strap in. we’re about to find out why Bucky ghosted her all those years ago (by means of a flashback. YN wont find out yet.). Oof this was a long chapter @ 4k+ words! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Silence filled the space where you had just stood. Your words hurt just as much as the stinging imprint of your hand on his cheek, but he knew they were deserved. Bucky Barnes knew that he deserved every single word and slap you could ever deliver and it still wouldn’t be enough for what he did to you. Yet he stood there and managed to convince himself that while he was deserving of your actions, his actions all those years ago were not completely unjustified.

Natasha and Steve both stood there quietly for a moment before Natasha scoffed, “way to fucking go, Barnes,” before she took off behind you. Bucky didn’t care what she did at that moment. Your words were affecting him more than he wanted either of them to know. But Steve knew. He was the only person to know why Bucky made the decisions he did all those years ago. And now he stood next to Bucky, silently weighing the gravity of the situation, and waiting for his best friend and boss to tell him what he needed next. Bucky ignored him and headed back to the VIP section, stopping by Clint at the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey.

“Wouldn’t want you lying to your men about how you’d never hurt a woman,” your words were stuck on repeat like a broken record in Bucky’s head. He’d forced himself not to outwardly wince at the anger that laced your words, he didn’t deserve the chance to show that vulnerability. Stalking up the steps to his table, Bucky’s eyes landed on Megan, a sight that was not very welcomed after his interaction with you. Megan couldn’t seem to read that the mood had changed, Bucky didn’t keep her around for her emotional intelligence. When her eyes landed on Bucky she turned on the charm, a sneaky smile painted on her lips and Bucky inwardly groaned. He just wanted to get drunk in his club and go home. Alone.

So before Megan could even say one word Bucky spoke clearly, “Megan it’s time for you to go. I’ll order you an Uber,” he could tell she was gearing up for an argument so he merely held a hand up to stop her, gave a shake of his head, and pointed to the door. Megan knew better than to argue at that point. Bucky had said all he was going to say. If she tried to argue more then she’d be met with a very willing Thor Odinson practically throwing her out of the bar, as professional as possible of course. Megan wouldn’t have been the first woman that Bucky slept with that the bouncer had kicked out. Megan’s chin jutted out defiantly as she stepped around Bucky to go meet the Uber that Bucky was working out for her. When she finally disappeared, Bucky slumped into the booth and uncapped the bottle of whiskey in his hand, taking a long swig that burned as it made its way down his throat. But even the burning of the whiskey was incomparable to the words you spoke to your former friends before leaving.

Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts by the shifting of the curtain revealing a frowning Steve Rogers and a fuming Natasha Romanoff. “If you’re here to tell me off, you’re wasting your breath. Just go,” Bucky drawled, not caring how mad he made his two best friends in that moment. Natasha must have noted the nonchalantness in his tone because she stormed off without another word or glance in his direction. Steve let out a loud sigh as he plopped onto the booth next to Bucky, grabbing the bottle and taking a drink just like Bucky had moments before. The two friends sat in silence, trading pulls of the fiery whiskey. Steve decided to break the silence.

“She looks great,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact with Bucky.

Bucky huffed out an unimpressed laugh, “of course she does. I didn’t leave her because she was ugly,” the words tumbling past his lips almost cutting him as deeply as your own. Steve cringed at Bucky’s crass words, the words were just more proof of how much had changed in the last decade. Steve merely shook his head, took one final drink, and stood from the booth.

“You ever gonna tell her why you left her, Buck? It might soften here view of you a little bit?”

“Why would I do that? It’s better for her to hate me anyway,” Bucky responded before taking another long sip, feeling the slow-growing haze of the alcohol taking control.

“What about Natasha, Buck? She deserves to know the reason why you made her leave her best friend,” Steve poked carefully, knowing the topic was one that was known to make Bucky twitchy and angry.

But Bucky just rolled his eyes and shrugged, “she’ll get over it. She did before.” Steve repeated the loud sigh from when he’d flopped into the booth minutes before as he left Bucky alone with his thoughts.

It only took about ten more minutes of being stuck with his thoughts and a bottle of whiskey before Bucky headed out the back door for a smoke. The smell of burning tobacco reminded him of how much you’d hated it.

Ten Years Ago

“Buckyyyyy you know I hate it when you smoke,” you had whined after kissing him and making a face of disgust.

“Sorry, honey. It just…helps,” he’d thrown the shitty answer out without providing much of an explanation. You knew what he meant. As soon as Bucky had turned eighteen and his father had made him take on the mantle of underboss officially he’d been more stressed than ever. Stressed that he would do something wrong and jeopardize the family and the business. Stressed that you wouldn’t want to stay with him the more you found out about the things he’d had to do.

But you only looked at him with that all-consuming look of adoration as you’d teased, “Mmmm, there are better ways to help with the stress,” as you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek. He’d cheekily tried to turn his face so you were forced to kiss his lips but you’d pulled back before adding, “sorry, love. The taste of tobacco doesn’t do it for me.”

He’d rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum. The laugh that came from you at his cheeky intentions warmed his heart. Every one of your laughs were like a spot of sunshine on a dark and stormy day. They warmed him from the inside and he just wanted to be a cat and bask lazily in that warmth.

The next two days went by as any other. Bucky hadn’t heard from Megan since he’d dismissed her from The Underworld two days ago, it wouldn’t surprise him if Natasha had said something to her on her way out that pissed her off. He knew he’d hear from her eventually when she was ready to let out all her frustrations. The legitimate ones and the sexual ones. But Bucky preferred to contact her, not the other way around, in order to maintain some semblance of control and order.

Tonight was the Barnes Family Dinner. At least once a month, his mother tried to get every member of her family in one place to have dinner and pretend like they lead mundane lives. The one time that Bucky had rebelled against the idea of it when he was in his teens he’d made his mother cry and he’d gotten a verbal lashing from his father about how his mother didn’t ask for much and she just loved her family and wanted them to be together. Bucky had never questioned it again.

But today Bucky was questioning everything. After drinking himself to sleep two nights ago he’d woken up with a killer hangover, the first in years, and had attempted to drown his sorrows yet again only to be stopped by Steve and Natasha. Bucky had regretted ever giving the two of them a key to his place in that moment as Steve looked at him with the sad puppy dog eyes he’d perfected over decades; meanwhile Natasha smirked evilly like she wanted to grab all the pots and pans in his kitchen and play them like an instrument to further agitate him. When he asked them what they were doing there, Steve explained that Winnie had called him in a nervous tizzy about how she’d tried calling Bucky a thousand times and each call had gone straight to voicemail. Bucky had groaned in response at the realization that his phone had died and of course it would die when his mother wanted to talk to him.

Not wanting Winnifred to think he was died, he’d thanked Steve, dismissed him and Natasha, and plugged in his phone to contact his mother. Sure enough, twenty missed calls and at least fifty text messages from “Ma” sat awaiting response. She’d only called originally to remind him of family dinner the next night and the location she’d chosen. The call turned into a tense reminder that he needed to be more diligent about his phone so she knew he was safe. Bucky’d laughed internally at that. Nothing about his life was safe. But Winnifred Barnes knew that very well.

So here he stood, outside a bougie French restaurant on the Upper East Side, one he’d been forced to many times as a child and teen, awaiting his parents arrival.

“Oh look at my boy, oh you’re so handsome!” He heard his mother before he saw her, in true Winnie fashion. Bucky was scooped into the arms of his mother before his father could even try to stop her. She pressed a kiss on Bucky’s cheek before pulling away to get a better look at him, as if it had been years since she’d seen him and not just a few weeks.

“Hi, ma,” Bucky drawled, pulling her in for a tight hug. Winnifred Barnes was drop dead gorgeous. Nobody in all of New York could argue that her genes weren’t the strongest because she said copy and paste when it came to her only child. Dark brown hair streaked with grey, ‘because it made her look distinguished’ and ‘I’m not trying to look twenty five anymore!’, and a pair of the most striking blue eyes to ever stare you down. George on the other hand, had fully embraced the greying, his black hair and brown eyes looking more weathered and worn as the life took its toll. Bucky pulled his father into a quick hug, offering a clap on the back, before leading them inside to dinner. Winnie was talking his ear off about how he should try to see them more, how dinners a few times a month can’t make up for actually seeing and talking to him, Bucky was working on drowning her out a little when he noticed that she’d done it naturally. Because as they were walking through the restaurant, Bucky wasn’t on full alert like normal. And that would cost him.

Because sure as they rounded the corner, his mother stopped pestering him and nearly squealed in his ear, “Oh my god, Y/N L/N, is that you sweetheart!?”

Bucky’s blood ran cold as he froze mid-step. Sure enough, when he turned to the left, there you were. With Senator Liam fucking Stinson. Looking like prey in front of its predator as your attention turned to the Barnes family. Bucky’s parents both started towards you with twin looks of glee and Bucky groaned inwardly, knowing that this night was going to be longer than he’d anticipated.

“Oh my sweet girl, hello how are you!?” Winnie spoke, enthusiasm brightening every word, as she paid no attention to the man beside you and swooped in for a hug. The surprise and confusion on your face told Bucky that you’d never expected this sort of reunion with his parents.

“H-hi, Mrs. Barnes, I’m well, I hope you are,” you started but Bucky’s mother cut you off.

“Oh dear its Winnie, Mrs. Barnes is my mother-in-law,” she teased, an easier smile playing on your lips as you relaxed a little into the easygoing conversation. It didn’t last long before George Barnes himself was pulling you in for a tight hug as he whispered something into your ear, making your eyes take on that embarrassed look, before you whispered some response back, pulling out a loud laugh from the older man.

Liam Stinson looked concerned. As he should be. He had to have known that the Barnes family was aware of his ‘detective’ work and they were onto him. But judging by the look on his face, Stinson hadn’t realized just how close you were, well had been, with the Barnes family. Finally Liam spoke, making his presence known.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, James, nice to see you.”

“Oh my goodness, little Liam. All grown up and a Senator now. Marsha must be so proud,” Winnifred spoke in a practiced voice. Bucky almost snorted at the statement because if there was anyone that Winnifred Barnes disliked most, it was Marsha Stinson.

Liam continued on about his family and how they were doing but Bucky felt two sets of eyes on him. Yours and his fathers. Bucky knew that George was trying to get a read on him, to see how he felt about his former love being with the man who seemed to want to bring down the Barnes empire, but Bucky let that go. Your gaze was a mix of confusion and anger. Emotions that Bucky knew were well-deserved. The conversation was coming to a close as the hostess circled back to reroute the Barnes’ to their private table in the back.

“Oh well we won’t keep you from your dinner, Y/N it was good seeing you sweetheart, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” his mother spoke, a trace of sadness lacing her voice. Winnie had always been close with you, you had once considered her to be like a second mother to you. That is until Bucky ripped the supports out from under you.

“You’re as smart and beautiful as ever, sweet girl. And remember, if you ever think about leaving Stark, Barnes Inc. has a spot with your name on it,” George teased with a wink. Bucky froze yet again at what his father was suggesting and decided the conversation had truly gone far enough.

“Let’s leave the good Senator and Ms. L/N to their dinner,” he spoke before following the hostess to their table without a second look in your direction.

During dinner, George and Winnie seemed to have read that something was up with Bucky and that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about you, so they talked about everything else instead. It wasn’t until dessert was brought around that George spoke about you.

“So Y/N’s back in town. Smart and beautiful as ever. It's a shame, there was a time when I thought you two kids would run Barnes Inc. side-by-side. She’d be the Nala to your Simba,” he teased the Lion King joke that had at one point been an ongoing inside joke with his family, “but then she just…disappeared out of our lives one day. Moved all the way to California and we never heard a peep out of her again. Even Y/F/N and Y/M/N never talked about what she was doing. Any clue why that is?”

Winnie seemed interested in the answer too, and Bucky sighed as he took a sip of his cabernet sauvignon before answering, “dunno, dad. Ask her yourself if you want the answer.” Bucky’s response ended the questioning in its tracks, but the look in his father’s eyes told him that this wasn’t the end and there would definitely be more questions in the future.

When he’d made the decision to up and leave, Bucky had only told Steve, much to George’s chagrin. He knew he couldn’t tell his parents the reason why he’d left you, he didn’t know if it was from fear of how their feelings would change towards him or you, so he just pretended like he had no clue why you’d stopped showing up, at the same time pretending like he wasn’t hurt in the slightest. Because the reason Bucky left you stuck with him to this day.

Ten Years Ago

Bucky arrived at the L/N townhome, nervously playing with the ends of his coat sleeves. He wasn’t one to get nervous, but your parents had requested his presence today. A nineteen year old James Buchanan Barnes was not scared of anyone…except your parents. Ever since the two of you had started to date your parents’ opinions had soured towards him. When you were just friends they were the happiest they could be, albeit a little more strict than most parents in your socioeconomic class, but the second that playfulness turned to flirtation, they turned their backs on Bucky. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was the rumors that flew around about the Barnes family and their business, and maybe your parents just didn’t want you connected with it, but something had changed.

Your father opened the door, a frown crossing his face at the mere sight of Bucky, before he moved out of the way gesturing for Bucky to come inside. Bucky was led to the sitting room where your mother sat in a high backed chair conveniently located next to where your father would sit. In that moment they looked like a King and Queen calculating their next move. Bucky gulped as he moved his hands into his lap to keep from fiddling with his coat.

“James, I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve called you here,” your mother started, her tone icy as she seemed to look upon Bucky with an ever-growing sneer. Bucky tried his best not to physically shrink back at her tone. Even though she’d started to be very cold in her actions towards him, he’d never experienced this level from her before. That’s when Bucky realized this was the first time in a decade that he’d ever truly been alone with your parents. The nerves were back.

Bucky merely nodded his head, so your mother continued, “ we’ve noticed that you and Y/N have grown…closer…these past few years. And while that was fine once upon a time, things have changed. There have been…rumors…that the two of you are very close, and I know for a fact that you’ve even discussed your futures together and the wish to grow old with one another. I hate to be the bearer of this news, but that will not happen.”

Bucky’s confusion only grew as your father took over, “Our daughter will not be made a part of the Barnes family. She will not be your queen and she will never ‘work’ for Barnes Inc.”

Bucky’s heart was thundering in his chest at what your parents were implying. True you and Bucky had mentioned in passing a few times that you wanted to get married one day and start a family but that would be after college. You’d never even talked about wanting to work at Barnes Inc., partially because you knew what went on there. Bucky had tried to keep you somewhat sheltered from the life in the beginning but that just became more and more difficult as the years went on. His head was reeling as he tried to take in what your parents were saying while simultaneously trying to figure out where the hell you were.

And that’s when your mother delivered the fatal blow, “You see, James. Y/N will never be a pawn in your game, because she’s already a soldier in ours. The Pierce family has our alliance and since the day she was born, our daughter was always supposed to marry Liam Stinson, to strengthen that alliance. And you will not prevent that.”

Ice flowed through Bucky’s veins at the mention of Pierce. Alexander Pierce was the, practically, sworn enemy of his father and somehow he’d managed to slip right under Bucky’s and George’s noses and steal the loyalties of the L/N family so easily. The ice melted into anger at the mention of the latter half of your mother’s statement. Liam Stinson was Alexander Pierce’s stepson. Some rumors had been tossed around once or twice when Bucky was younger that Pierce and Marsha had actually had an affair when Liam’s father was alive, but shortly after Marsha announced her pregnancy her husband had died in a tragic accident down at the docks. Not long after Marsha was marrying Alexander, and he was acting as father to her baby. Marsha never took the Pierce name and neither did Liam, Bucky was never sure why that was. But now, hearing the name Liam Stinson and Alexander Pierce and how they were all connected to you…broke him.

Had you been lying to him all these years? There was no way that you didn’t know about the person you were practically betrothed to, nor could you have possibly remained as unattached to Pierce in all the years of your family’s loyalty.

In that moment, Bucky felt lied to and betrayed, and he felt his emotions roiling inside of him, waiting to burst. His emotions threatened to slip out, but Bucky took on a calming air and waited for your parents to continue. It must have been the right decision because your mother smirked evilly in his direction before acknowledging your father to say his piece.

“You see, James. Y/N is a more valuable player in this game than you could have ever imagined. That’s why, you’re going to leave her.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide and he finally let a little of that anger slip as he growled, “there’s no chance in HELL of that happening. I love her.”

“HA! Love. You’re a child. You don’t know what love is. And like all men in this life, the only love you will truly know is power. Now I suggest, you do as Y/F/N just said, and leave her for good. Or so help me god, James Barnes. We will rip your world apart,” your mother threatened.

The anger was back as Bucky managed to utter, “and how do you expect me to convince her of this? Not sure if you’ve been paying attention but she’s smart, smarter than anyone I know. She won’t believe any lie I try to feed her.”

“Ah, see here’s what you’re going to do, James. You’re going to forget she ever existed. You’re going to lose her number, you and your friends are going to ignore her completely. Block her if you have to. But you will never have any sort of relationship with my daughter again. Do not take my threat lightly, Barnes. I mean it with every ounce of me. I will bring the entirety of the Pierce Army to your door and destroy every one and every thing you have ever loved.”

The ice in your voice was extremely chilling, and in that moment Bucky knew your mother was more serious than he’d ever seen her. But Bucky’s brain was confused and back on the train of betrayal as he thought about you and the now-obvious connections you had with Pierce and how you must have known about this plan for so long, so why would you never tell him.

‘Maybe she was spying, maybe she wants to marry Stinson, maybe she lied to you,’ his brain supplied and before he could shake the thoughts from his head your father was leaning back in his seat, appraising Bucky’s every move.

“Do we have a deal?” Your father’s voice brought Bucky back from the edge. In a minute, he’d made up his mind.

Bucky Barnes fixed your parents with a cold, steely gaze before replying, “Deal. But if you fuck with my family or any of my friends, know that you aren’t the only ones with an army. And that goes for Y/N as well. If I hear one word about how you’ve mistreated her or made her unhappy in ANY way, I will rain hellfire on your entire organization.”

The looks on your parents faces were mixed of light approval and anger as they carefully took in Bucky’s threat, the promise lying clearly in between them, before your father extended his hand to Bucky and the two shook on it before Bucky was shown to the door.

Bucky kept his promise. He stopped talking to you. He made Steve, Natasha and Sam ignore you. He told only Steve, his best friend’s reaction was one of extreme alarm and sadness. Bucky could’ve sworn he caught a smidge of regret in Steve’s eyes over his actions, but he shook it off. Bucky did it for Steve’s own good. For Natasha’s. For Sam’s. For Winnie and George. He never gained any concrete evidence that you had actually been as deeply involved as your parents, but the betrayal still stung ten years later.

But a small part of him still regretted that decision to this day.

taglist:

@youlightmeupfinn

@la-undercover-latina

@niki-is-a-thing

@gloriouspurpose01

@wintasssoldier

@crazyunsexycool

@the-fool-who-jingled

@missvelvetsstuff

@enchantedbarnes

@asoftie4bucky

@theluvcafe

@snufflet

@some-lovely-day

@mochie85

@fangirlvoice

@juulle987

@fab-notfat

@jackiehollanderr

@hallecarey1

@sherlockstrangewolf

@lokisasgardianvampirequeen

@tripletstephaniescp

@potatothots

@desert-fern

@dhoruwolfie

@emmabarnes

@sky0401

@broadwaybabe18

#mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky x yn #mafia au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #BuckySimp101 #everything the light touches fic

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stereopticons · 5 months

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I don’t know about you all, but I’m struggling to get in the holiday spirit this year. It’s been a rough year for a lot of people, I think. So I thought, why not share some winter/holiday fics and encourage people to do the same? So the rules are simple. Post any (or all) of your fics in any fandom that are set in and around the (northern hemisphere) winter holidays! Or southern hemisphere! I don’t care, just share some nice fics. Then tag some people to keep it going. Hopefully we can all read some new things and enjoy some old faves.

Christmas:

you light me up like starlight [david/patrick, M, 5.8k] - Patrick and his band go home to Schitt’s Creek to play in the annual Christmas concert and David goes with him, but he’s not out to his parents yet. Will be the sequel to indie band Patrick when I finish it lol.

if the fates allow [david/patrick, M, 4k] - the follow up to @blueink3’s beautiful exes stuck in a cabin at Christmas duo that follows the year after their reconciliation. For extra sads, listen to the podfic of the first fic in the series by the incomparable @celeritas2997

wrap me up like your favorite sweater [david/patrick, T, 5k] - Patrick has an accident while putting up some Christmas decorations, so an anxious (and slightly guilty) David rushes him to the hospital.

The Great Schitt's Creek Holiday Bake-Off [david/patrick, T, 16k] - David agrees to participate in the Schitt’s Creek Holiday Bake Off to promote the store. He gets paired with a snippy guy from a local bakery. Contains entirely too much baking related innuendo. Also me of the first SC fics I ever wrote.

Hanukkah:

a new tradition [david/patrick, T, 2.2k] - David and Patrick make latkes together during their first Hanukkah as husbands

Winter:

a marshmallow world [david/patrick, T, 5.8k] - David and Patrick and the hot chocolate advent calendar (and it’s accompanying spreadsheet). This probably goes under Christmas because it’s advent but I do what I want.

the world would make sense again (if i held your hand) [twylexis, T, 2.7k] - Twyla gets over her fear of flying to go visit Alexis in New York for the new year.

Please share your holiday fics @jettestar @alienajackson @rosedavid @indestructibleheart @kiwiana-writes @mostlyinthemorning @rmd-writes @blackandwhiteandrose @hippolotamus @lizzie-bennetdarcy @apothecarose @chelle-68 @beaiola @nontoxic-writes @welcometololaland @vanillahigh00 and anyone else who wants to share!

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek fic #david rose #patrick brewer #david x patrick #patrick x david #twyla sands #alexis rose #twylexis

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foxofsunholt · 3 months

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NOT RELATED TO FOS but just want to ask for my own fun:

I am very interested in knowing what your favourite novel/book series are! Please reply or send in asks with them—I’m always interested in recs! Doesn’t matter what genre or type of novel; I like everything, I assure you lol

Please let me know what your favourite books are ❤️

Under the cut are some recent liked reads of mine:

FIRSTLY… use your libraries. truly the best places in the world. 90% of what I read was from a library and the other 10% was books I bought years ago and finally decided to read

The Spear Cuts Through Water — Two men shepherd a dying god through the lands to help overthrow a tyrannical regime. One pet love letter to oral history, one part gay love story, one part creative epic fantasy. This novel is stylish, artsy and not for everyone but for the people that it’s for!!! it’s for you!!! The story is told in layers: YOU, the reader in second person, the story itself, the ghosts of the people inside of the story. I think to see if this is for you, reading the first couple of pages is a good indication of the style and prose and if you’d like it. (I paired it with the audiobook and enjoyed reading both in tandem)

Know My Name — a memoir by Chanel Miller—certainly read the description and check TWs for this. because the subject is not easy but I sobbed so hard during this. Not just for her pain but for her joy. If you’re interested in memoirs, I recommend this one! (I also enjoyed Tara Westover’s “Educated”, which i read years ago). Honestly reading this book I kept thinking THIS IS A MUST READ, THIS IS A MUST READ–heartbreaking, poignant, cathartic. It’s long, but if the subject matter interests you at all, i’d say give it a try!

Chain Gang All-Stars — Fight to the death to earn your freedom from prison! I’ve read some reviews of this book that call the allegory heavy-handed, but I didn’t mind that at all. A novel obviously about the prison industrial complex in America, Chain Gang All Stars made me rethink how I view compassion, and personally seek out and research the prison abolition movement. This novel isn’t perfect, but it did for me exactly what the author was intending. I also couldn’t put it down. The Audiobook is great, it has multiple narrators! If you’re interested in thought-provoking speculative fiction…

Project Hail Mary — A man wakes up on a spaceship with no recollection of why he’s there—learning that he needs to save the world. I didn’t like this as much as everything else on this list but I think it’s a more easy recommendation. I had a lot of fun with this book and found it to be an engaging read all around. This is the only Weir I’ve read, and I don’t think I’ll be seeking out The Martian anytime soon if that says anything about the novel (I did really like it I swear lol)

ANYTHING SHIRLEY JACKSON — I read We Have Always Lived in the Castle and Haunting of Hill House and loved both a lot. Not the sort of books if you like plot, but if you’re into creepy atmosphere and characterization…i think there might just be a reason Shirley Jackson is a classic. The way she bends reality, seeds chilling aspects and weaves horror around settings is very sharp. I recommend We Have Always Lived In The Castle more (it’s short!) and it’s great as audiobook or physical

JUNJI ITO…king — I read Uzumaki and re-read a lot of his short stories and Gyo. KING. The visions of his art haunted me. If possible, I recommend reading these physically, as the act of turning the page on to whatever unspeakable horror awaits you is incomparable. If you like body horror at all, even a little, this is a mangaka I think you should try as if you haven’t already lol

Our Wives Under The Sea — God. What can I say about this? A story about grief, a story about watching your loved ones change beyond recognition. Body horror. Sapphic. Beautiful prose. Tragic. Loved all of it.

Metamorphosis — Yes the Kafka one. Yes I liked it. Yes I related a lot to being turned into a burdensome, ugly roach.

Roaming (graphic novel) — Not a story where a lot (or anything) happens. But I found this relatable and able to capture that age of girlhood with expert precision. Not much happens, really nothing happens; just a snapshot and fragment of this price of these girls lives. They are immature, messy, weird. (I also really enjoyed It Happened One Summer and one of my favourite movies is Only Yesterday so that should tell you a lot about my tastes in slow, character snapshot pieces). The art is lovely, of course

Eileen — Stinky, miserable, unlikeable Eileen Dunlop becomes obsessed with mysterious, attractive Rebecca. This one very aggressively I have to say ITS NOT FOR EVERYONE. I can’t even explain why I liked it so much, but I as so absorbed into the setting. I had the feeling of being transported into Eileen’s cold, gloomy New England. Eileen is gross, putrid, hard to read and nothing happens at all until the end. But also i loved it. I can’t explain this one. I don’t even recommend it but definitely check TWs. Now it’s a movie starring Anne Hathaway and I finally got to say “the book was better”

Bluest Eye — CHECK TW FOR THIS ONE I’ve loved Toni Morrison since highschool, but I never actually finished any of her novels. This being her debut novel is so shocking; it was poetic, devastating, uncomfortable. Another book I don’t exactly recommend because of its graphic nature, and how sharply and uncomfortably certain scenes are written, but so much was so poignant—I have a lot of this book highlighted and to share:

I recommend reading the Author’s Note, the description and the TWs and see if it interests you! I think Toni Morrison explains herself and her intentions well in the author’s note. (I need to get around to Morrison’s other work, but for some reason I started in chronological order)

I’m going to stop here because I’m realizing I like a lot of “weird” books that I know are probably not widely liked but akfjkskd WHAT CAN I SAY I LIKE A WEIRD LITTLE FREAK

Other notables: I read a lot of Grady Hendrix and I don’t LOVE love him, but reliably I do have fun. I couldn’t even stomach the scene (YOU KNOW THE SCENE) in my best friend’s exorcism—i’d recommend him for some intro to horror! I liked How to Sell a Haunted House but my friend didn’t so there’s that too.

I read this around when it was published but I will never shut up about In The Dream House (another memoir) so good. so strong. so beautiful. AH.

I also started the Locked Tomb series and I only didn’t put it on this list because I’ve only read Gideon so far but I liked it a lot also.

I’m very excited to do more reading this year. Mostly I’ve been getting through the popular titles…as you can see…. But i’m hoping to read more fantasy and sci-fi this year! it’s just unfortunate they’re so long 😭

#not fox of sunholt #books can be so divided #people I love and respect and adore have hated books i loved #and vice versa #and you just gotta learn that’s okay!!!!#which is my way of saying you might hate these books #DONT BLAME ME lol #borkclub

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animehouse-moe · 6 months

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What do you think are the best anime adaptations from manga (can be series or movies)? Why do you think so?

This is a really good question considering what we've seen in the last year or two!

I think there's quite a few, and they can earn that title through a few different ways. Though personally, I have my biases for what I look for in an adaptation, so there will be a bit of a trend in this list for sure. (also, this will largely stick to series that I've read at least a bit of the manga for)

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End

I mean, even if I have my gripes with some of the content in the manga, it's impossible to say that what Saitou and Madhouse are doing here is anything less than a stellar adaptation. Coaxing Shingo Yamashita out and into the episode was an incredible feat, and it's just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what Frieren has delivered. So some pieces may not be for me, but in terms of quality, yesterday's episode is pretty damn impossible to beat.

Heavenly Delusion

While I just said Frieren was unbeatable, I personally don't believe that as an adaptation in the full sense of the word, it can match up to what Hirotaka and I.G did for Heavenly Delusion. One of the biggest things with an anime is finding how to improve on the source material. Faithfulness is just a single piece of the puzzle, and Hirotaka and co are a great example of that. They add so much to the anime in terms of original scenes. Even more with how they choose to execute on some sequences as they add totally new meaning to them. As a story, Hirotaka's adaptation is the pinnacle of what an adaptation should be. Adding to the original context, re-ordering events for better executing in an animated format, trimming the fat and pieces that don't quite stick. And then adding on top incredible work in terms of art and animation. The value that Heavenly Delusion's anime imparted to the series is entirely incomparable to what others have done.

Bocchi The Rock!

I mean, this one is sorta self-explanatory. Taking the simplicity of a 4-koma manga and using that to explore anime as a medium? Saitou was a madman on this project, and the team behind its adaptation deserves their flowers. Story doesn't matter here near as much as expression does, simply because of the style of the series, and Cloverworks delivered on that in spades. It's pretty crazy how good 4-koma adaptations can be sometimes.

Spy x Family

This is an interesting one because really, nothing can quite stand out at a glance. But I think when you start to dig further into the series, it becomes apparent how much passion and dedication is held for it by the two studios working on it. There's a lot of added moments and details, and they work tirelessly at expanding upon each panel. It's not at the same level as Heavenly Delusion, nor does its expression stretch the limits like Bocchi's does, but I think it puts in commendable work on both ends regardless.

Kaguya-Sama: Love Is War

Another sorta self-explanatory one. Aka Akasaka certainly has ability and quality, but if you believe for a moment that the manga is the superior way to experience the series you'd be sorely mistaken. A-1 has elevated Kaguya-sama to stardom through its incredible sense of humor, and sheer dedication to comedy. The rap episode from the most recent season is just a prime example of the depth with which they approach the content. If you're a RomCom series, Kaguya-Sama is the gold standard of an adaptation you'll always be reaching for.

The overall "idea" with this list is adaptations that add something that the source material was unable to. Expression, humor, depth, structuring or symbolism- they all add to the material in ways that only an anime could. Frieren is the odd one out in that sense, as it brings sheer dedication to the manga above all else. You could argue that the flashbacks have more detail, which I would agree with, but it's not tantamount to an improvement in what Frieren aims to do with itself. A great example of my expectations for "improvement" is the Heiter-Fern flashback scene from the second episode where he first meets Fern. A great change to the narrative that places far more focus on Heiter in the present (of that flashback) than it does Himmel in the past.

Anyways, I think these are some of the most standout adaptations in the recent years, with some of them like Bocchi The Rock! and Heavenly Delusion being ones that will be remembered for an incredibly long time due to what they were able to accomplish.

#frieren beyond journey's end #sousou no frieren #frieren #heavenly delusion #tengoku daimakyou #spy x family #spy family #bocchi the rock #bocchi the rock!#kaguya sama: love is war #kaguya sama wa kokurasetai

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robinico · 2 months

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The Lost Hero, Tristan and Piper McLean, and Native Americans and Palestinians.

TL;DR: An essay/vent about Rick Riordan writing offensive stereotypes about Native Americans and Arabs while including a positive throw-away line about Israel and the connotations of this in young adult fiction. And insight into the relationship between Native Americans and Palestinians.

So, I'm rereading The Lost Hero as Rick Riordan's several mythological series are comfort books for me that I reread every so often. Some quick background that I'm sure is a common sentiment among readers: when I was younger and first read The Heroes of Olympus books as they were published, I never really questioned the writing or characterizations. I was too young and too caught up in eagerly eating up more of the Percy Jackson world that I loved. As I got older, learned more about the real world, reread and actually analyzed the books, I found a lot of flaws that has made the quality of The HoO series incredibly incomparable to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Every time I've reread the PJO series, I've gained further appreciation for the writing (which has its own flaws, of course), whereas my frustration has grown with The HoO series, lol. Again, I know this is not an unpopular opinion.

This includes Piper McLean's characterization and the representation of her Cherokee ethnicity. I've read some insightful posts in the past explaining how Rick Riordan really messed up with Piper and while he's gained brownie points for diversity and trying, it does not absolve him of the specific choices he made with representing her Cherokee culture and how his writing is insulting to the broader Native American identity.

Throughout Piper's chapters, readers learn several things. Piper is Cherokee through her father, Tristan McLean. They are from Oklahoma and her grandfather Grandpa Tom had a home that Tristan still owns despite being a famous actor because it is the physical link to his ancestry. Grandpa Tom and Tristan taught Piper a lot about her Cherokee heritage including their beliefs and folk tales which Tristan has denied believing in them the way his father did. He still obviously feels strongly about his identity and the pain of historical discrimination and oppression against his people and this trauma passes onto Piper. It is the reason why he never plays any Native American role.

Specifically, I want to highlight this excerpt from Chapter XXI, in which Piper recalls a conversation with her father about the movie roles he's accepted.

"He'd played all kinds of roles— a Latino teacher in a tough L.A. school, a dashing Israeli spy in an action-adventure blockbuster, even a Syrian terrorist in a James Bond movie."

She then follows by asking her father why he never accepts Native American roles.

"'Doesn't that get old? Aren't you ever tempted, like, if you found the perfect part that could change people's opinions?'

'If there's a part like that, Pipes," he said sadly, "I haven't found it.'"

When I first read this, I remember being deeply uncomfortable with the Syrian terrorist example. Yeah, as a Muslim, I'm very familiar with the stereotypical Middle Eastern terrorists in media. I know the reason it exists and why it will continue to exist. Riordan could've and should've chosen any other example of a different character role.

However, rereading this today has made me so upset on another level because I did not remember the prior example and Riordan's connotations until now.

"A dashing Israeli spy." I cannot describe the disgust I felt reading this. No, my disgust is not because it's a "trendy" opinion to hate anything Israeli. I am disgusted because in the three examples Riordan gives, only one has a positive adjective (dashing) attached to the stated role (Israeli spy). The other two roles are minority identities (Latino, Syrian) that have no positive connotation attached. In fact, the latter has a negative attachment (terrorist). It's almost laughable how Riordan decided to write "dashing Israeli spy" and "a Syrian terrorist" in the same sentence and thought that was okay. This is what Americans are led to believe. The narrative that "Israel is good and the Middle East is bad" is so ingrained in American culture, that it is so casually placed in young adult fiction.

And even more disrespectfully, this is about a Cherokee man. A man whose ancestry is tainted by several lifetimes worth of oppression, genocide, ethnic cleansing, and censorship. It should be common information now that the injustice and horrors Indigenous Americans faced (and are still experiencing less publicly and obviously) is aligned with the very same injustice and horrors the Palestinian people have been experiencing for 75 years. The relationship several Native American tribes and Palestine is strong. There is a shared history and solidarity between these oppressed groups. I strongly recommend learning more about their relationship if you haven't already. The Palestine Pod, a podcast that aims to educate the public about Palestinian history, culture and resistance, did an episode with Dr. Steve Salaita, author of Inter/Nationalism: Decolonizing Native America and Palestine (p. 2016) in May 2021. Several reviews have described the writing in the book as heavy on academic language so I believe the podcast will be more digestible.

There is absolutely no way a character like Tristan McLean would ever accept an Israeli role. The man who rejects any Native role because there is no perfect part that is written well and respectful enough for his standard would play the role of an oppressor? What the fuck Rick Riordan? And let's not forget that he is a brown man. He is not white-passing, which is why he can fit different minority identities and the Spartan king role. So of course, Israeli spy is just perfect isn't it? Even if someone wanted to argue that Israel's actions as a colonizing state were not as well-known in 2010 and Riordan's writing is unfortunate ignorance, that argument does not hold up when you remember that he clearly compliments the Israeli role (dashing) which highlights his personal bias. Oh, but maybe he's grown and learned more in the past 13 years and has changed his opinion? Except, remember when he released a really detailed neutral statement on the "conflict"? I will acknowledge that he said, "genocidal proportions" regarding the attacks in Gaza, but he also calls for support and security for Israeli. Whatever, I don't care for dissecting neutrality. I'm not exactly shocked by Riordan's position.

Maybe most young readers would pass over the excerpt as a whole like I first did. But for others, it lingers. The connotations are clear and pervasive despite being a small insight into a tertiary character in the grand scheme of such a large series. Riordan's attempts at representation mean nothing when his writing is flawed, contradictory, and insulting regarding his characters of color.

I am glad that I am rereading TLH. It's reminded me the importance of reading old and new material. I channeled the anger I felt reading this excerpt into writing this post and finding a new informative source on Palestinian and Native American oppression. It is important that we continue to challenge ourselves, our nostalgia, our biases, our understanding of the world. It is important to grow from there and continue learning. Especially for Americans and Canadians, we must understand the systemic censorship against Native Americans in order to unravel the problems caused by these very systems.

Continue fighting. Fight for the oppressed. Fight for Palestine.

And do your daily click!

#free palestine #palestine #percy jackson and the olympians #native american #israel #piper mclean #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #the lost hero #rick riordan #cherokee #pjo #hoo #tlh #percy jackon and the olympians #rr #rrverse

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Eighteen

TW: Dark! Rafe. Smut. Language. Degrading Language. Dom!Rafe. Cheating.

SUMMARY: Your sister’s boyfriend shows you a special kind of attention the night of your birthday.

WORD COUNT: 2600

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Can you please please do Dark!Rafe fucking his girlfriend’s little sister ??? 💜💜

Eighteen

Becoming eighteen meant freedom. Adulthood finally cresting to open the doors seventeen years prior had been closed. It meant you could now vote, although you held little interest in politics. It meant you could play the lottery, although you had no need as your trust fund was worth more than any 'jackpot'. And it also meant that you were of age for him. His eyes had always followed you and what you believed to have been some form of protection as he had been your sister's boyfriend for the last eighteen months. But all of this would be subject to change tonight. The night of your eighteenth birthday.

You couldn't really understand how or why your sister and Rafe had even begun dating as they barely seemed to act like anything more than mannequins when they were together. Posing for photos seemed to be the reason behind the apparent longevity of a relationship everyone was surprised to have lasted as long as it had, including you. But this was because of the way they interacted. Undermining and belittling one another, almost frustrated that the other was breathing their air, but always acting in love when a series of eyes were set to them. And during those times, you would catch him looking at you with a humorous 'save me' look that you always believed was innocent enough, his way of being close to you without crossing any strange lines. But he had every intention tonight to obliterate those lines and twist them as he pleased as those once kind eyes trained on you from across your family's beach house.

"Happy Birthday!" Sarah exclaimed, wrapping you in a warm embrace that was truly incomparable to any others. She had become a close friend despite the fact she was a few years old and having already graduated, but she always treated you as an equal.

"Wasn't sure what to get a girl that has everything…" She teased as you offered a polite 'you didn't have to do this', before finding the most gorgeous silk dress wrapped beneath that now pulled bow.

"Oh my god-"

"Your sister and I spent hours finding the perfect one. Blush pink, your favorite color-" You wrapped your arms around her neck as you had only wished for one thing this year. Not the dress. Not the color or its fabric. But to be seen as an adult. A woman. And this dress was certain to do that.

"Better hurry and get dressed…Everyone will be here soon." She clapped excitedly as you ran up the steps and into your bedroom, standing before the mirror before taking the dress against you. For a moment, you began to play with your hair to see if it looked better up or down, curled or straight, before stilling in place as you caught his eyes on you. But when you turned to validate this, the space left in the door left ajar was completely empty as you could even hear him laughing with Sarah’s boyfriend, Topper, just beyond the door. Offering the idea of this just being wishful thinking as you could help but have a crush on him when he was always kind and handsome, funny and protective of you, you returned your focus to the dress.

Descending the steps an hour later, a vision in the near pastel silk and hair pulled to a bun with loose tendrils barely kissing your skin, you seemed to have aged in that short span of sixty minutes. Even as you smirked and spoke, maturity seemed to set in as you began to make your way through the guests. But unbeknownst to you, you were unaware just how one particular set of eyes had been glued to your every movement. Especially when anyone of the opposite sex would pay you any form of attention. As far as he was concerned, you were dressed for him. Only him. And a part of you had. A part of you wanted to seem mature to him, as if some fantasy would prompt him to notice you…

How unaware you were that this was his very intent.

"Here…" One of your male friends spoke before producing a Tiffany's necklace as a gift. Although lavish in thought, it might as well have been something from a quarter vending machine as far as Rafe was concerned. You deserved a neck full of diamonds not a dainty teardrop that was anything but the style you now wore. Because of this, he scoffed as Sarah and your sister would note but overall ignore his response. Following this, you took your leave to the bathroom for a moment's reprieve.

But you were present in the room for a second before the door opened at your back. You stood in silence for a second as you watched him lock the door behind him.

"I wanted to give you my gift." He spoke dramatically as you still felt safe, despite his domineering and even edgy actions.

"You didn't have to buy me anything…" Your mind ran wild for what he bought for you as you knew whatever it was, you would cherish it always. It could be a cheap plastic ring and you'd keep it on hand just in memory of him. Or it could be a diamond ring with the promise of forever and you'd die young and beautiful in this moment. But that was a pipe dream for many reasons.

At least you thought so.

"I didn't."

"Oh…good, I don't need-" But he walked towards you, palms set to the vanity at your back as he had you pinned against him.

"You're going to be showered with clothes and jewelry," He flicked the necklace he detested, "All things that aren’t unique, even if you make them uniquely beautiful…" Your breath hitched at his words.

"But I'm going to give you an experience. Something no one else can…" You swallowed hard as he moved even closer to you before turning you towards the mirror.

"But I want to know one thing first…" You slowly nodded.

"Are you a virgin?" Your eyes widened.

"No." You confessed as he seemed torn between disappointment and relief before you noticed how his eyes ran up the lines of your curves from behind, meeting with yours in the reflection as he'd finally speak in return.

"Good. I didn’t want to make you bleed today-"

"Rafe-"

"I know you think about me. I know you've had a little crush on me…it's cute…But I also know you need someone to show you how it can be…"

"My sister-"

"This is about you. It is YOUR birthday. God knows she makes every other day about her." His hands were now at your breasts. The fire of guilt burned in your stomach, but lowered along with his fingers.

"Take 'em off."

"We can’t-" He took the back of your neck in an unkind hold.

"What are YOU gonna stop me?" He scoffed, "Either you take them off or I rip them off." You stood wide eyed as he turned you to face him.

"I don't want ro make you cry on your birthday, sweetheart, but if you keep pushing my buttons, I'll marvel at the sight…I'll get over my guilt." He teased as you obliged, sliding the underwear clean from your hips as he quickly apprehend it.

"You can beg. You can say my name, pull my hair. You can even come anywhere you want. Just NOT until I say and you have to keep it down…would hate for you to ruin that perfect little reputation because you couldn't keep your mouth shut-" He kicked your feet apart.

"God knows you already can't keep your legs…" even if the words should have pained you, the thrill of what he could do without even touching your body had been enough to forgive it.

While taking hold of your hair and pulling it slowly backwards, he guided you backwards until you could look up at him.

"Open." You obliged as he put the panties in your mouth.

"Sweet?" You nodded.

"I'm gonna find out for myself. You touch those, and you're gonna have to explain to both of your sisters why this pretty little dress got ruined…" He was on his knees in seconds, dress pulled to your hips to expose your ass as his teeth traced each cheek. Leaving behind a line of this graze, a sudden slap to your ass would make him chuckle behind you. A dark humor that reminded you how forbidden this had been. And just as your lips parted to warn him to stop, to remind you both that this was wrong and crossing a line neither of you could or should allow, his hand guided you into such an angle that his tongue could meet your clit.

“I knew you’d be sweet for me…”

“Rafe-” What sounded like a warning would be silenced as he guided your touch to his hair as he quickened his paces and even deepened his tongue in exchange from yrou clit to your sex, teasing what was to come, before bringing you to tremors you’d never had prior to now. He would only stop when he felt you were satiated enough for him.

“Look at yourself…Breathless for your sister’s boyfriend…letting him put his fingers and tongue wherever he wants because you’re so fucking desperate for it.” It was this that made your stomach twist. The thought of a role reversal and how you wouldn’t wish it on anyone. No matter if your sister and you weren’t as close as you’d like or if you had burned for Rafe like you had since you could remember.

“We can’t…” You tried to explain as he seemed to agree, a slow nod making you relieved.

“Then why are you dripping down your thighs for me?” The sound of him unbuckling and unzipping his pants sent you to turn to face him, but he would only correct you with a hand to the back of your neck.

“I am trying REALLY hard to not make you take me on your knees, but you try me one more time and I’ll have to ruin that pretty little makeup…” He cocked his head, “How WOULD you explain why you’d be so raspy then, huh?”

“Please, Rafe…I don’t want to hurt her-”

“Funny…please right now, that’s all I want to do…” He was suddenly inside of you, the force of his body against yours, sending you into the painful edge of the vanity’s counter.

“Fuck…” He groaned, pulling your hand from his hip and onto the surface before you both, pinning your fingers flat on both sides, as he glided effortlessly to and from your welcoming heat.

“Rafe-”

“You look so fucking pretty right now…Trying to be good…Wanting to do the right hting…” He scoffed, driving one of those hands to your neck, squeezing enough to silently order those eyes open. “But you’re a whore…MY whore…To use exactly how I want….Say it.”

“Please-” He forced your neck into a turn as you would be forced to face him.

“Say it before I have to mark up my favorite part of you…” He explained while teasing your ass with his second hand, leaving your fingers clutched to the vanity all on their own.

But before you would have the chance to speak the words or be reprimanded for your silence, a knock came to the door. The sound of your name came from the edge of your sister’s lips as your eyes widened in horror. He would withdraw, but only to turn you to face him and lift you onto the counter, his cock returned between your legs, before you could stop him. A hand over your mouth would still the shakes of refusal made from your hair, as he would only bask and grin to your fear as it endorsed him, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you to your whimpers and silent pleas having informed you of this darker side of him you weren’t aware of.

“You’re gonna come for me..right fucking now…while she’s just outside that door.” He spoke into your ear as you shook your head.

“Please…Please don’t…We can’t-”

“Then why are you clenching me? Hmm? Why you THIS close?” He asked, withdrawing again, pulling your slick to his fingers and driving it between your lips, before reinstating his cock once again, all motions that made you winded and into a further descent of your guilt for just how you relished in each of his movements.

“Suck on my fingers for me…be a good girl…Let me share it with you…” You obeyed but only to use his fingers as an outlet for your withering silence, before his paces quickened.

“I’m gonna give you my cum. THAT is my gift.” The sudden hand around your neck would set you into the mirror as his fingers came to the lines of your necklace. With a scoff, it was pulled from your skin.

“Rafe-”

“You’re better than this. You deserve a necklace all for you.” While explaining this, he set his hand around your throat.

“Isn’t THAT better? Perfect fit…Beautiful…” You slowly nodded as he squeezed just enough to play with your breath and control it as he deemed satisfactory.

“You know why you get my cum today? Not because it’s your birthday…not because I have been dying to tear you out of this dress all night…but because you’ve been a good little whore for me. But you still don’t get to come until you say that…You’re a big girl now…use those big words for me…”

“Whore…” You whimpered as he leaned closer.

“What was that?”

“I’m your whore.” You finally spoke as he pulled you harder into him.

“Good girl.” He groaned before quickening to such a pace that words were no longer needed. You knew every thrust made and every indent made of his fingers had been another display of the forbidden rush you both found in this moment. But the moment never seemed to end. When you’d find that edge, that satisfaction, he would tease its arrival only to scoff and pull back. It left you whimpering and trembling, but also desperate, as he would take pity.

“I want you to beg for it. I know it hurts.” He bit his lip at the idea. “God, I love that it does…But, I’m gonna make it feel REAL good for you…” You nodded as you began to plead. A soft timbre would rise into desperation as your nails ate into his skin.

“Keep going…But don’t come-”

“Rafe-” He tightened his hand around your throat.

“NOT. UNTIL. I. SAY.” He growled as you nodded, an endless display once again, before he finally spoke the word you felt no longer existed.

“Now.” And as if his voice activated some button within you, you were spilling over his cock, allowing him the further lather that let him pound into you with his own release.

“Look-” He pulled that grip around your neck lower until you saw the stain made on his pants.

“Rafe-”

“I was wondering if you were a squirter…”

“I-”

His eyes darkened. “And I am the ONLY one who will get to know that. You let anyone else touch you…feel you…even dance with you tonight, and I’ll kill ‘em.” You wanted to laugh off his words, but you knew they were true…

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cy-gogglin · 5 months

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Welcome to Johnny Cash’s world of whiskey, sin and lyrical doom

Johnny Cash is a Mount Rushmore figure in American music. He had a voice as deep and ancient as the wellspring from which his folk and country heritage sprang, and a face that might well have been carved from a mountainside. Across seven extraordinary decades as a recording artist, from his debut single Hey Porter (1955) to his 67th and final album American IV: The Man Comes Around (2002), Cash wrestled with love, hate, crime, punishment, forgiveness, redemption, death and salvation. He was the God-loving sinner who could deliver his most famous line, “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die”, with the same conviction he brought to a gospel spiritual.

“I have a feeling for human nature in difficult situations – don’t know why, but I always have,” Cash told me during an interview in 2003, the year before he died at the age of 71. We spoke via a transatlantic phone call, and I can still recall the thrill of hearing him come on the line with the four words he’d uttered at thousands of concerts: “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” That famous gravel voice was instantly recognisable, if a little shaky with age. When I asked him whether, looking back over his long life, he had any regrets, he laughed. “None that I’d really like to publicise. I don’t cry in my beer – or milk, for that matter.”

Cash was then in the midst of a late-career flourish, releasing a series of stripped-back albums produced by Rick Rubin. More than just a coda to a rollercoaster career, the American series framed Cash as an immensely complex figure, embodying and embracing the many contradictions of being human. “Truth is what ties it all together,” he told me of his vast recorded output, almost all of it featuring sparse productions that made no concessions to fads. “I never thought about doing it any other way except the simple, straightforward bare-bones way that felt right in the beginning. It carries my message in the song without a lot of adornment. I try to keep it down to earth – play it as it lays and say it as it is.”

Standing 6’ 2”, and with an incomparable gravitas, Cash was a big man in every sense of the word, and it takes a big book to do him justice. The Life in Lyrics is a proper doorstopper, a large-format hardback of 374 pages that weighs in at 4.5 lbs. Structured partly chronologically and partly thematically, it attempts to tell a life story in songs and pictures, packed with 125 lyrics – from the 600-plus Cash composed – plus hundreds of photographs, handwritten letters and memorabilia from his personal archive.

Cash with his son John Carter Cash in the mid-1970s - White Rabbit

The photos are glorious. In shots from 1969, a year in which Cash saw off the challenge of Elvis Presley, The Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel to be named the biggest-selling recording artist in America, his hands are bony and rough-skinned, testament to a poor childhood spent picking cotton and fights. His face looks whip-thin and dust-blown, brow deeply furrowed, eyes sunken and haunted. Those were his wild, mean days of amphetamines and whiskey. “I always thought somebody was trailing me,” he told me in 2002. It may have been the ghost of his beloved older brother Jack, who died, aged 12, in a horrific chainsaw accident. “I probably never did get over it,” Cash admitted.

But he certainly worked through it. Among the classic songs that Cash composed, and are reproduced here, were the deathless romantic ballad I Walk the Line, the bitter confessional Folsom Prison Blues, the epic Big River, the tragicomic flood narrative Five Feet High and Rising, the careworn lament Don’t Take Your Guns to Town, and the stark protest song All of God’s Children Ain’t Free. At their best, Cash’s lyrics are carefully wrought, with the basic structures and rhyming schemes of folk poetry underpinned by rough-hewn wisdom, sharp observation and quick wit. His signature song, The Man in Black, from 1971, remains an enduringly powerful statement of empathy for his fellow man: “I wear black for the poor and beaten-down / Living on the hopeless hungry side of town.”

These songs were written to be sung, however, and in The Life in Lyrics, without that inimitable voice to sustain them, their essential simplicity can appear trite. The accompanying text, written by authorised Cash biographer Mark Stiepler with dewy-eyed contributions from Cash’s son John Carter Cash, is informative but hagiographic, with a tendency to exaggerate achievements and gloss over failings. Cash’s brave 1969 anti-Vietnam war song, Route 1, Box 144, which describes a dead American soldier being returned to his family, may offer genuinely touching commentary, but is it really “the greatest argument for peace ever devised”?

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There’s also an unfortunate tendency to brush over or excuse the darker elements of Cash’s life, the drug addictions, infidelities and appalling behaviour – despite the fact that these gave his music so much depth. The 1964 hit Understand Your Man is a song of spectacular bitterness directed at his soon-to-be ex-wife Valerie while he was already having an affair with future wife June Carter, yet it warrants only a brief, glib paragraph. I could have done with fewer stories about the deeply pious impulses behind Cash’s gospel hymns, and more tales about, say, the time he smashed every crystal chandelier in a hotel lobby in a drug-fuelled rage over his amorous rejection by a friend’s widow. The Man in Black accepted the darkness within him: it’s a disservice to try to whitewash his image now.

As well as being a songwriter, Cash was an interpreter who could make a song completely his own, but this aspect of his art is inevitably missing from a book of his lyrics, so there’s no commentary on such Cash hits as Ring of Fire, A Boy Named Sue, The Ballad of Ira Hayes, Highwayman or his definitive cover of Hurt (originally by the industrial metal group Nine Inch Nails). We do, however, learn of the genesis of one of his last and finest songs, the mysterious, apocalyptic The Man Comes Around. Composed in 2000, it was apparently inspired by a dream about Queen Elizabeth II, who told him: “Johnny Cash, you’re like a thorn tree in a whirlwind.”

In the last song Cash wrote, Like the 309, he imagined being carried away by a heavenly train, and viewed it with anticipatory relish: “Take me to the depot, put me to bed / Blow an electric fan on my gnarly old head.” As we reach the end of this mighty book, with the cumulative impact of Cash’s sincere words, the photos of his creased face changing over the years, his clear and consistent love for June and family and, indeed, his fellow man, the final pages become incredibly moving. Blind and weakened, Cash awaits his inevitable end, still embracing life with humour and pathos.

When I spoke to him that day, he was stoically suffering ill health, and in such constant pain that, having kicked his pill addiction, he was required to take painkillers just to function. Yet, when I asked what was the best advice he had ever received, he didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t sleep with your whiskey bottle by the bed,” he said, laughing deep and low. “That’s a piece of advice that has probably kept me alive this long.”

Johnny Cash: The Life in Lyrics is published by White Rabbit

Story by Neil McCormick || The Telegraph

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