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thedilfoccult · 3 months

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WHEN THE CAMERA CUTS // CILLIAN MURPHY X READER

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x actress reader

Summary: A successful academy award actress is bound to be professional during intimate scenes, especially with someone equally as talented as Cillian Murphy. The recently divorced actor has yet to be touched by another woman since his separation and it just so happens that the role he picked up in the latest romantic comedy has a steamy shower scene that lets his desires towards the actress run wild. Physically reacting to her touch and nudity while the camera rolls can only lead to raw passion once the camera cuts.

Warnings: Age gap, smut, nothing too extreme a little vanilla tbh, butt stuff, mirror sex, vaping / alcohol drinking, dry humping, shower play, Oral, not too much personality from Y/N in this its focused on his pleasure

Notes: this is obviously pure fantasy he isn’t a divorced man but a girl can dream. This one is actually my bed time story I play in my head to help me sleep so might as well write it out. I’m obsessed with this man and his new GQ shoot, those pics are going straight to the wank bank. He’s actually quite nice in this one I made it maybe a little romantic instead of mean, creepy sex like my last two I’ve written so I’m sorry if it’s a little boring. I actually hate my job so much I just want money so bad I’m willing to endure everything to get it but I also feel like the people there don’t like me too much because I’m new. I very high key want to be an actress and aim to get to New York by the end of this year so please pray for me, I just want to make it in life :(. ENJOY! Purr x

—————

Of course Y/N had done intimate scenes before in her last few films, kissing attractive actors and rubbing up all against them was barely something she could complain about. This time around she was a little nervous, never actually exposing any nudity in front of cameras or the men she’d work with. Not to mention this time she’d be baring it all to the hottest man she’d ever seen, Cillian Murphy. Those piercing blue eyes stabbed right through her, sending chills and bumps across her skin every time he’d look into her. It had all been professional, even striking up a near friendship with the older actor. Sometimes, she almost felt embarrassed to be in his presence. Someone who was so talented, powerful and experienced had no right to be standing next to the trying to make it, short resume actress. Not to mention be kissing her and staring at her bare tits as they trickled in freezing cold shower water. The film was based on roommates who eventually fall in love and fuck but the fucking was the last scene to be filmed. So here she sat, preparing for the final scene to wrap up the movie.

“Are you nervous?” The makeup artist questioned as she dabbed the liquid foundation over the crown of her forehead down to the tips of her jaw.

“A little, I’ve never shown my body on screen before” Y/N eyes stared as the closeness of the artist was mare inches away, feeling her hot breath as she focused on covering the slight blemish perked on her cheek.

“I get that, but I mean with you know… Cillian and all” The makeup artist stood up and sighed as her fingers raised Y/N’s chin to get a better look at her final result.

“You could say that again. It’s threatening but I know it’s professional.” Y/N turned her head to check herself in the mirror.

“I hear you, you’re better than me though. I’d be squirming knowing I was about to twirl tongues with him” They both giggled. “Well… my work here is done. You look fabulous. Just remember, he’s probably seen a million pair of boobs in his life time, on and off screen. You’ve got this.” With a pat on the shoulder, the lady walked out the caravan and left Y/N alone with her reflection.

The last piece of advice didn’t help of course, for some reason Y/N wanted to be the most attractive girl he’d do an on scene with. She secretly hoped he’d be attracted to her bare body, her perked tits staring right at him. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of him in a sexual way before, who could blame her? A gorgeous Irish man with a deep voice that played with her ears and cheekbones that bounced light off like glass. Pouring herself a shot of tequila for liquid courage, in one gulp the sting of the liquid shot down the back of her throat, wincing at the cheap taste.

With a final twirl in the mirror, the best she could give herself was a ‘you’ve got this’.

—————

“Action!” The director stood out of sight behind large, obnoxious cameras that hid the rest of the small crew allowed to be on set. Y/N faced the shower head and felt the freezing water seduce her skin. The cooling effect of the water made her nipples erect and obvious, begging to be stared at. In some ways she was grateful for the freezing cold, feeling the internal burn of arousal and embarrassment of what was about to be filmed and shared for the world to see.

The water continued to fall gracefully over her, coating her hair in a slick wet as her hands rubbed from her cheeks up to her forehead and down the the tips of her hair. Standing in nothing but a nude colour thong, all that was left to do was wait for his arrival onto the scene.

Seconds later, a large pair of hands snaked round her waist, resulting in the faked shocked reaction that formed on her face.

“Jesus Neil! How did you get in here?” Covering her breasts for a sense of security, she snapped around to face Cillian, who was staring down at her with an expression she’d never seen in his eyes before.

“I thought I’d join you, I’ve waited so long to touch you, you know? I know how you feel about me… the way you stare. C’mon- let me see you” With that, he removed her hands from her chest, the moment she’d been dreading, exposing herself fully to the man in front of her. Her nipples pointed right at him, his eyes falling and meeting them in acceptance. A twinge of smirk lured in his eyes as he brought them back up to hers. “Fuck, you’re perfect” He said still keeping centimetres apart.

A silence filled the shower as the water drops slammed against the marble floor, the lines leaving her memory as she stared up at the actor she so desperately wished he meant the words he was saying.

“Touch me, Neil. Touch me hard.” Her voice laced with anticipation and persuasion.

In a split second his lips crashed against hers, pushing them both under the shower head. Her back strongly pinned against the wall as the water now fell over his head and covered him in wetness. His hand held her steady in a hungry fashion kneading against her waist, his other wrapped around her cheek as their tongues fought in circles. A gasp left Y/N’s lips from the sudden dominance he had applied onto her, returning her a low groan from his own.

The smacking sounds had now overpowered the water drops, false moans of pleasure leaving each others lips. His hips bucked towards her stomach and she felt a sudden hardness twitch against her navel.

‘Oh my god. Is that what I think it is?’ She thought. Her suspicion correct when another pulse bounced off her stomach. He has a boner. Taken aback by his arousal, she panted heavier against his lips as the kiss became more intense and real. Wavering off script, his hand fell from her face to her left boob, gripping and pulling at her. An uncontrollable moan had mustered at the sudden contact, not expecting him to get so physical with the cameras rolling. Pressing his erection harder into her, he pulled back his face to look her dead in the eye.

“Oh baby, I’ve wanted you for so long” The words he spoke almost fell off as a whine, a plea or a beg to be set free to unleash his desires.

“Take me Neil, I’m all yours” He grabbed her by the hips and spun her around, almost slipping as the swiftness of her forced movements moved her faster than she could comprehend. Her face had landed on the wall and a quiet whimper had left her, slightly spinning to look at him through the corner of her eye.

She watched as his gaze dropped from hers to her lower back to her ass, moving his thumbs into the dips in her lower back.

“Mmm, just how I want you” Her eyes continued to fall as they landed on his crotch, now soaked in his material of the thin nude boxer he was wearing. The water had suffocated his cock, outlining so obviously each vein that was pulsing for her. It looked as if it was in prisoned, twitching to be set free. The size of him made her eyes widen as he wasn’t a large man yet he hung his masculinity so strikingly. As the cameras couldn’t see below waist level, he pretended to enter himself into her, dry humping against her ass and much too evidently purposely making her feel his arousal. A series of moans and whimpers left the pair and he continued to hump her through the thin material that separated them both. With each grab and slam, she could feel his cock pulsing against her, him even leaving himself attached to her as he continued to pretend fuck her. His head swung back as his face curled in dissatisfaction, getting angrier and angrier with each hump. Arousal and stickiness had also began to form in her slit, feeling herself wanting to feel him fill her up.

“Just like that, fuck you feel so good” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought her torso up to him, snaking his other hand around her tit again. Kneading and pulling her at breast his hips never detached hers, pressing both of them against the shower wall now and humping harder and harder. Of course in this moment, her line was too agree how good he felt too but the intensity of what was happening had her mind blank in shock and anticipation. The wet slapping noises became louder as he began to reach his fake climax, pretending to pour himself into her as he slowed his pace and panted heavily. He lent over her shoulder and mustered a low, loud groan that swirled through her ear, bringing himself to a fake orgasm.

Still feeling his hardness pressed against the in between of her cheeks, she couldn’t help but feel flustered at the actions that had just taken place. Both of them didn’t move but stayed attached to one another as their eyes matched and a smirk plastered his expression, pulling back and looking at himself still pressed against her. There was a thin line between whether or not the pants leaving their chests were real or not, but something told Y/N that line was crossed before the scene even started.

“Cut! That was beautiful. Break in ten!”

—————

Later that evening in her trailer, a half drank bottle of red wine laid on her dresser and had her vape in her hand. Loosely covered in her silk robe that hid lacy matching black underwear underneath, she sprawled along the blue velvet couch in the corner of the car. Swiping on her phone on social media platforms and hitting puffs every so often was her ideal way to wind down after a long day of shooting, especially today after the shower scene. What had actually happened was incomprehensible, they hadn’t even spoken since. She was unsure of the nature of his erection as he was such an incredible actor she couldn’t believe his moans of pleasure were real, as much as she wanted to. The events repeated more and more as the bottle emptied itself. Her trail of thoughts were interrupted as a slight knock on the trailer door echoed through the walls. Standing up and lacing up her robe tighter, small steps were made to open the door.

There he stood, hands in front of himself looking sheepish yet mischievous.

“Hi… can I come in?” His Irish accent was thick and low, stern and blunt.

“I-yeah-sure.” She stood to the side and widened the door, each of them watching themselves as he walked past her and stopped in the middle of the trailer.

“Ha, wine huh? Again?” He chuckled at his observation.

“Yeah… helps me wind down I guess.” She stood awkwardly as she grabbed one arm, the room thick with tension that crushed the chest and made it hard to breath.

His gaze fell to her hand and he pointed at the colourful tube she held. “You need to stop smoking that thing, it’s so bad for you”

“We all die anyways, helps with stress too” Her eyes glued on the ground unsure where to look.

“Ah” He swayed back and fourth on his feet.

The silence could’ve been cut with a knife, each not knowing what to do or say.

“So… is there anything I could help you with?” He sighed at her question and made his way to her sofa, placing himself down and spreading his legs in classic male fashion, his fingers running through the mess his hair had become after a long day of work.

“I know you felt it today… felt me- I mean.” Y/N lent against the dresser and watched him as he spoke.

“Yeah I-“ She began but was interrupted “are you uncomfortable?” His question catching her off guard.

“Um, no? I guess I just didn’t expect it. Were you… uncomfortable?” He huffed.

“Clearly not. I felt you too you know. Not the fecking, freezing water but warm… you know. On me.” His neck slowly turned towards her. The silence felt like hours, neither knowing how to break it.

“Come here- sit on my lap” Y/N made her way slowly over to him and straddled over his crotch, their faces inches apart and chests breathing so heavily it filled the room. He lifted the back of his palm and grazed her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I’m too old for you, honey” His eyes never leaving hers. The weight of her on top of him already began to turn him on, feeling a cold rush leave his body to his cock.

“I don’t think so Cillian.” She blushed at the nickname he gave her, nuzzling her face into his palm.

“You don’t? You wouldn’t mind an old cock fucking you?” His voice soft and serious for the words he spoke. As the words left his lips, she felt a pulse in her clit and a warmth grow in her core.

“Not if it was yours” He chuckled. With that he latched his lips softly onto hers, pressing them onto her and in synch slotting his tongue around hers. The kiss was steamy and growing passionate, her hips circling his crotch to feel his erection hardening beneath her. A moan fell into her mouth from his and his fingers gripped desperately at her hips, pushing her down harder as she grind on him. The fabric of his jeans was a texture that rubbed on her opening, wincing at the hardness mixed with pleasure. Her hips circulated faster and faster as he began to hold her in place while bucking up into her, pressing himself to his satisfaction to feel her. He detached his lips and stared at her face, lips now puffy from suction and eyes watery with desire.

“You feel what you do to me?” He pressed her down further onto him. “You make me so hard- I- I can’t take it anymore” His head dropped back as he groaned, still latching his fingers deep into the flesh of her sides. Her fingers snaked to his zip, eagerly eyeing his manhood as she unzipped his jeans. He lifted his hips and hooked his pants down to his thighs, revealing the tent in his boxers pointed directly at her.

“Let me see you” His hands raised to the tie of her robe, undoing the half-assed knot and slowly dropped the silk from her shoulders, watching as the material fell from her body. His mouth fell open agape at the lingerie she wore under, his cock beginning to throb at the sight in front of him. He threw the robe to the side of the sofa and grabbed her tits in hunger.

“God, so beautiful” His lips locked onto her neck, sucking and darting with his tongue to leave marks of territory upon her body. She pulled away and fell to her knees in front of him sitting on the sofa, ripping away at his jeans that now laid next to her on the floor. Grabbing his erection in her hand through his boxers, she placed wet kisses on his clothed part he left out a sigh. Reaching under the seam by his hips, his cock popped out onto her hand and she slowly began to stroke him. Spitting into her palm for more lubrication, she felt his tip ooze with precum.

“Fuck… Y/N” His eyes stared into hers at the slight touch he was receiving. Taking his tip in her mouth she flattened her tongue underneath the underside of his cock, earning a wince from him. Taking more and more of his shaft in with each suck she found he was too big to take all in, using her hands to pump at the base she couldn’t reach. Flicking her wrist in small circles and sucking hard at his tip almost sent him over the edge, his hips twitching up at his pleasure.

“Just like that, such a good girl” His cock was so hard it felt like wood in her hands, hollowing out her cheeks and filling the room with sucking sounds and moans from him hitting the back of her throat. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her even further down, tears swelling in her eyes and her mascara running. She felt his orgasm forming as he began to twitch in her mouth as his breathing became irregularly heavy. Her own arousal had now coated the entirety of her slit and had smeared to the sides of her thighs, clenching them together for a short moment of release. Grabbing her head up and his tip making a loud pop as it left her mouth, she sat with her hands on his thighs and saliva spread across the sides of her mouth, grinning in satisfaction from the dazed look on his face.

“Such a pretty girl for me, stand up” He guided her to the dresser and bent her over slowly onto the desk, her watching his every move in the mirror in front of them. She watched as his eyes and hands trailed from her neck down her back and dug into her sides. With one swift aggressive movement he hooked his fingers into her lacy underwear, pulling them down and letting them pool at her feet.

“M’gonna fuck you good. So good…” His eyes left her ass and met hers in the mirror “Do you want that Y/N? Hm?”

“I do Cillian, please fuck me! Fuck me hard” With that said he left a quick sharp slap on her ass that left a sting.

“How hard?” Another slap repeating the pain over the first strike.

“So hard… please Cillian I can’t wait any longer” Her knees becoming weak from desperation.

“Mm… good girl.” He placed his tip at her entrance and slapped it a few times on her swollen clit, a wince leaving her lips from sensitivity. He traced her slit with himself and groaned at the feeling. “So wet for me” A few more slides up and down her entrance and he slowly held himself in, pushing slowly to feel the stretch of her walls clenching around him.

“Oh god-oh fuck Y/N” His head swung back in pleasure, barely halfway into her. Y/N’s legs began to shake and give in to the feeling of his size, feeling herself accommodate him roughly as she was soaking but he was too big to fit. Pausing halfway to look down at his cock in her pussy, he slammed his hips into hers and filled her up completely. Y/N screamed in pain and pleasure at the sharp pressure that filled her core, a heat building up inside her and swallowing him.

“Fuck- you’re so big” Y/N moaned, gripping onto her glass dresser. Cillian looked up and stared at her face in the mirror.

“Look at me baby… look at me” Y/N opened her squeezed eyes through the harsh pace he was slamming into her and saw herself being fucked useless in the mirror. A second wave of arousal followed suit as she creamed a ring around his cock at the sight of them.

“You like watching me fuck you huh? You like the way you look when I control you hm?” His words became puffed out as the oxygen started to leave his brain. He placed his thumb of the outside of her anus and plunged his nail in, filling himself into all her holes at once. He groaned at the tightness that surrounded his finger.

“Oh fuck! Cillian- I-I love it” The foreign feeling of his thumb sent shockwaves through her system, her hips roughly slamming against the edge of her dresser in a way that would sure leave bruises the next day. Yet again, he intertwined his fingers into her hair and pulled her up to get her close to him, his other hand latching onto the skin on her neck and grabbing her harshly. He pumped shorter but faster strokes into her pussy and felt a knot forming in the base of his core.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum” His voice exasperated from pleasure. His actions became weaker and sloppier as his cock twitched aggressively into her, ropes of thick white cum coating her walls. She clenched around him as he filled her up, his strokes slower and weaker as he felt his balls empty into her.

He lent her back down onto the dresser and laid on top of her, their sweat sticking them together and their gasps for air filling the room. Pulling his hips back, he stood up and dragged her sides, standing her up against the dresser and turning her around. Pushing her hair back behind her ear once again, he grabbed her cheek and planted a wet kiss onto her lips.

The press tour would be a million times more interesting now.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian smut #jonathan crane #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #smut #oppenheimer #neil lewis

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microwave-core · 11 months

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I've been plagued by thoughts about the cooking skills of the champions for some reason and have no choice but to write them down so here you go. Blue strikes me as the type of person who has the potential to be a great cook but rarely ever puts the effort in. He just doesn't care too much for cooking. He has other things to do and he can get food somewhere else. That being said, if he is cooking for another person, than he is going to go all out because he is a try hard. Complimenting his cooking gives him the biggest ego boost.

Red is a microwave cooker, as in at least 90% of his meals are going in the microwave. Average meal consists of a cup of noodles and a mug brownie. It's passable, it works enough for him and that's all he cares about. Dude lived on a mountain for a long ass time, he doesn't need luxury, he just needs to get by. He has a male living space, I'm sorry.

Lance is pretty average. Your not getting anything incredible out of him, but you know it's never going to be terrible. He also seems like the kind of person to eat the equivalent of chicken and rice for every meal almost every day of the week. He's not against making something else or eating out, but he would prefer to just make something quick and move on with his day.

Steven is banned from the kitchen. This man will burn water. Anything he touches will be scorched in an instance. Don't ask him how it happens, he doesn't know, his hands just turn ingredients to dust upon making contact, and no amount of supervision or guidance can save him. The only reason he should be manning a stove is to be making Bismuth crystals.

Wallace is a great cook and also loves cooking. He will make a banger meal, every meal, every day of the week, and he takes pride in that. He loves to cook for other people, both to show off and take care of them. He is also the only reason why Steven hasn't died of malnutrition. If they ever get divorced, Steven is in danger.

Cynthia would be on the better end of average. Still not anything incredible, but, again, you know it's never going to be bad. But she definitely seems like the type who would much prefer to eat out at any and every opportunity, especially with company. She doesn't dislike the act of cooking, she just doesn't like how long it takes.

Alder is a grill dad. At every event-family gatherings, league mandated meetings, Ghetsis' court hearing-he is outside and he is grilling. He's got the kiss the cook apron and sandals and everything. Whatever he makes, it is going to be delicious, and you will almost defiantly be sent home with tons of leftovers. Man is just dad shaped.

Iris feels like she ranges between incredible and terrible. As in, she will either make one of the most delicious things you've ever had in your entire life or the worst thing you've ever put in your mouth, and there is no in between. It's entirely dependent on what she makes, like she has some recipes that are baller and anything outside of that is risky at best. Also seems like the type who would make really good ramen.

Diantha is also a great cook, but she rarely has the time to do any actual cooking. Girl is way too busy juggling the work of being both a champion and movie star to set aside time to cook. She's almost always going to eat out, mainly around Lumious City. She's practically a regular at every major café, as she constantly cycles between them for each meal of the day.

Kukui is pretty good, but is also a group cooker. He needs to be cooking with another person, whether that be his wife, or his pokemon, or one of his many adopted children, or his actual child. It doesn't matter, he just needs to be with someone to talk and mess around with. it's lonely when no else is there.

Hau only eats Malasadas. It is the only thing he has consistently eaten for years. The fact that he is still alive is a mystery. People close to him are constantly offering to eat out because that is the only way he will eat literally anything else. It's not that he doesn't like other foods, or that he's a picky eater, he just really likes Malasadas.

Leon is on the lower end of average. He can usually make a passable meal, but he's gonna miss sometimes. He's also never at home, so he rarely even has time to cook with to begin with. However, as a baker? He's nothing short of immaculate. Easily the best baker on this list. He would win The Great Galarian Bake Off every year without any competition.

Geeta is an enigma. Is she good? Is she bad? Incredible? Terrible? Only she knows. She's also the type who barely ever has time to cook to begin with, being the workaholic that she is. She probably hasn't touched a stove in years, and has very little desire to change that fact. Do not ask her to cook, she will not do it.

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wildbornsiren · 2 years

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Sweet | Rhett Abbott x F!Reader.

Sweet.

Synopsis: Rhett Abbott drops by to help you repair some fences. He finds out exactly how sweet you are.

One shot 2,687 words. AFAB/Female reader.

Warning: EXPLICIT. MINORS DNI. vaginal fingering, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex.

Notes: Special love to @hederasgarden (seriously, go read their fics. So goddamn good.) and @writercole for the beta read. Comments and reblogs are so appreciated. Likes are loved. Thank you so very much for reading. It means the most.

Tagging in: @a-reader-and-a-writer and @mayhem24-7forever

Your mom had taken you in the divorce, moving far away from the wide-open spaces of Wyoming and ranch life. Your dad had left you the ranch when he passed and, wanting a break from the rush and press of city life you went home, much to your mother’s chagrin. It had taken a while to get into the groove of small-town life, and even longer to adjust to the open hospitality of those around you. It was the fact that things just happened rather than you having to seek out help.

Like now. Rhett Abbott had shown up on your doorstep that morning, the sun barely rising above the horizon. “Fence is down.” His voice was quiet, rough, full of sleep and grit. Intense blue eyes lifted to look you in the eye, then dropped again. “Figured you’d need a hand with it.” He turns slightly, head tipping out toward the pasture. “Don’t want any of your stock getting loose. Your old man’s ranch hands are shit.” He turns, clattering down the steps and climbing into the beat-up truck. The engine growls as he sets it in gear, driving further into your property.

It was the most the man had said to you. Sure, you’d seen him around town—everyone knew Rhett, and many of the older women had warned you away from him—especially since you hadn’t been around him since you were kids.

There was something that drew you toward him, though and it was impossible not to run into him, no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. He’d be polite, saying hello, or tip his hat if you said anything to him. For the most part, he kept to himself.

A few hours have passed, and you can hear the ringing of a hammer striking nails when you step outside. In the distance there’s a pile of splintered wood heaped next to a pickup truck. You squint, shading your eyes from the sun, and you can see him, white shirt and dark hat standing out in contrast against the ever-stretching sea of dusty green.

The sun is warm and high in the sky as you clear the fence, walking across the field. You smooth the fabric of your t-shirt a little nervously with one hand. You’ve got a basket in the other, loaded down with sandwiches and a couple of bottles of water and beer. “You hungry?”

He looks up at you from where he’s kneeling on the ground, hammer in hand nails caught between his lips. The way his gaze rakes up and down your body, makes you shiver, an entirely different hunger creeping into his eyes. He nods, turning back to secure a loop of wire to the post. He gets to his feet, stripping his work gloves off and putting them on the fence post. His fingers brush against yours when he takes the offered water bottle, twisting the cap off. Half of it goes into his mouth, the other spilled over his hands, scrubbing them free of dust. He’s flushed from exertion, shirt sweat soaked and clinging to his wiry frame.

“Thanks.” You look at the fence that he’s repairing. A storm a few days ago had brought it down, and you hadn’t had the first idea of where to start to fix it.

His shoulder lifts in a shrug. “It’s nothin’.” He walks toward his truck, and you find yourself following. He takes the basket from you, his hands settling on your waist. He lifts you easily, the muscles in his arms cording. He sets you on the tailgate next to the basket and hops up next to you. The way he manhandles you keeps any further questions at bay.

“Don’t like eatin’ alone.” He grumbles leg pressed against yours, heat washing over you.

“Food is meant to be shared,” you shrug as you hand him a sandwich, and an open beer.

He taps his beer bottle against yours, “Fair enough.”

The silence isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. It’s easy and natural, like breathing. He keeps his leg pressed against yours as the two of you eat in silence. He finishes one sandwich quickly, licking crumbs from his thumb before he’s reaching for another one.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, knocking back half of his beer in one go. “Appreciate it.”

“I get the feeling you wouldn’t stop unless you had a reason to. So, I’m giving you a reason.”

His lips twitch up into a small smile, and your heart nearly stops. It changes his face completely, and fades slowly. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re helping me out. It’s only fair.”

“Like I said, your old man’s ranch hands are shit. They’d either not do it or do a crap job.”

“Do you want me to help?” You want to offer, though you’re not sure what you could do other than hold nails.

He takes one of your hands, turning it back and forth in his own, and inspecting it. The slow glide of his rough thumb on the back of your hand makes you shiver. “I got it. Your hands are too nice to get messed up.” He lets go, and you bring your arm back down, hand resting on his thigh. You can feel the muscle shift under the touch, and the subtle flex of his jaw.

“I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You sigh quietly as you look down at your hands, chewing your lower lip.

He's quiet, eating the second sandwich slower than the first. “You’ll figure it out. Plenty people around to help. They liked your old man.” He’s looking out onto the field in front of you. “Where’d you and your momma land?”

“Seattle,” you say. “Mom was having an affair with a tech guy. Moved us out there, got married. She ended up leaving him and taking half of everything.”

“She sounds like a real peach,” Rhett says with a roll of his eyes.

“When Daddy died, she wanted me to sell this place. I mean I probably will, because I’m not a rancher. I can barely tell you the different cuts of meat when they’re labeled at the grocery store.” He snorts softly and that small smile makes another appearance. “It didn’t feel right just handing it off to someone. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“Not a rancher, what are you then?”

“A literature teacher at a private school. My days are spent dissecting the classics and reading plagiarized essays.” You lean back reclining a little bit in the truck bed. Your hand burns from where it had landed on Rhett’s thigh, and you could still feel the pressure of his thumb against your skin.

“Do you like it?” Rhett asked, fidgeting next to you.

“It’s a job, I liked it more when I first started. It’s more about making sure the top tier kids get shining grades and look good on paper than teaching.”

“When you got money, nothing else really matters does it?” He gets down from the truck, offering you his hand. “Come on, I got more to do before I lose the light.” He pulls you down, his other hand supporting you, bringing you flush with his body.

“Go on then.” He releases you, and it’s as if the oxygen comes flooding back all at once. You leave the drinks in the shade of his tailgate and head back up to the house.

You look up at him, his brilliant blue eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. He’s got a cut on his nose, a split lip, tanned from working in the sun. He’s hot, the warmth searing your skin, you can feel every ounce of strength barely contained in lean muscles and well-fitting denim. Your heart skips a beat, and those hungry eyes follow the path of your tongue against your lower lip.

“I’ve got dinner cooking. If you want. Later.” You manage to get the words out, your throat so dry, feeling your body curve against his naturally.

Hours pass and you lose yourself going through various boxes your dad had packed away over the years. You had paused long enough to put a roast in the oven, the house starting to smell wonderful. Even if Rhett didn’t join you, there would be enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking for a few days. A peal of thunder makes you jump, dropping the stack of books in your hand. A quick glance out the window confirms that the sky is dark and angry, rain beating against the window. You almost don’t hear the doorbell, but something tells you to check the door.

Rhett is leaning against the doorframe, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “Truck won’t turn over. Can I come in?”

You nod, stepping aside so he can come in. He hangs his hat by the door, fingers carding through his hair pushing it away from his eyes. “Shower’s upstairs. If you want to get cleaned up, I can put your stuff in the dryer.”

“You gonna give me a hand?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, one that makes you clench your thighs, knees feeling weak.

You exhale, steadying yourself as you step toward him. Your hands move on their own accord, yanking the heavy cloth of his shirt, tugging it free of the waistband of his jeans. Snaps pop open, and he only helps to twist out of it. He leans down, mouth closing over yours when your fingers slip under the hem of his white undershirt. He’s all hard planes and angles, abdominal muscles jumping under your touch. His hands are on your hips, and your back hits the wall.

Rhett’s braced over you grip tight on your hip as his other hand sneaks under your top. “Been wantin’ to get my hands on you all day.” The scruff on his jaw scrapes against your skin and you can’t stop the soft moan that spills out. “Coming out there with that little basket and a tight shirt. Barely touching me, driving me crazy.”

You manage to get his shirt up and over his head, fingertips exploring his chest and torso, carefully avoiding bruises and scrapes from his last round of rides. Fingers find purchase on his belt buckle, opening it, using it to pull him flush against you.

He grunts, catching both of your hands with one of his. He brings your arms up over your head, pinning them to the wall. Your jeans are unbuttoned, a rough hand sliding under the fabric, fingers pushing the edges of your panties aside, teasing at your slit. “Ladies first,” he mutters, mouth hot on your neck as those calloused fingers rub teasingly. He moans against your neck raggedly when he sinks his fingers into your pussy, body tight around him.

You had been throbbing since he hoisted you into the bed of his truck, and nothing would soothe the ache—no matter how hard you had tried. You had brought yourself close, whimpering and begging, your fingers diving into your pussy, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The stretch and unrelenting pace of Rhett’s fingers, however? Had you spiraling and soaring, hands clutching into fists and releasing over and over desperate to touch him. “Rhett…” Your head hits the wall behind you, arching against him desperate to feel more of him.

“Come on girl, you feel so good.” His low, gravelly voice had you biting your lip and grinding against his hand. His thumb traced tight circles on your clit, still fucking two fingers into you. His weight presses against you, the scruff on his jaw scraping against your cheek “What’s the matter? City boys too afraid to get their hands wet?” he teases as he tightens his hand around your wrists.

He smells like sweat, leather and dirt. Overwhelming you with his body alone, fingers curling and pressing just right. You’re caught breathless, whimpering and crying out for him as you come. Rhett continues to fuck his fingers over that spot, pleasure wracking you until your toes are curled and you’re writhing against the wall. He keeps you upright as he eases his fingers from you.

“You really are sweet,” he says as he licks your release off his fingers, maintaining eye contact with you as he does.

Then he's leading you by the shirt, practically tossing you behind him, bending you over the arm of the couch. You stretch a little bit, feeling him adjust your hips, tugging your pants and panties out of the way. Warm hands smooth over your ass, as his knee parts your legs. You can hear the rasp of his zipper, his low groan as he palms his cock. He’s thick, splitting you open as he presses in. There are a few seconds of adjustment, and you can feel the tremor that runs through him when he bottoms out. His fingers flex against your hips, before he’s drawing you back and thrusting into you.

You grip the couch cushion, holding on as he pounds into you, each stroke of his cock setting you on the path toward coming again. The jingle of his belt buckle echoes in your ears as his pace quickens, hand skimming up your back, into your hair. Fingers knot in it, tugging your head back, using your hair as leverage as you ride back against his cock. You catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. His head is tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted as he loses himself in you. It’s hard and fast, taking, rutting against you. Primal, raw fucking, your voice cracking as he hits that spot again and again, with the full weight of his thrusts.

“That’s it, take it darlin’.” He pants hard, grunting as he pistons into you, his fingers bruising your hips.

Your legs give out, collapsing against the couch, unable to support yourself. This only drives his hips into you harder, rough and wet. You tip over the edge again, biting the palm of your hand as you come hard. You can feel Rhett twitch, his thrusts faltering slightly.

He comes on the heels of your second orgasm, buried inside you. His weight drops on top of you, still fucking into you as he fills your cunt with cum. Eventually, he slows, panting, hands tight on your hips holding you still. “Good girl,” He mutters as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “So good.” He pulls out of you slowly, drawing a needy sound from your chest. A soft, masculine chuckle comes from behind you, his fingers brushing up your thighs, pressing his cum back inside of you. He slides your panties back up your legs, and you can hear him fixing his jeans. His hands slide around to your front, pulling you up, letting you lean back against his chest.

“Holy shit,” you mutter. His hand circles your neck, fingers spreading to rest on your jaw. “I don’t know what I should thank you for. The fence or your cock.” Another kiss lands on your shoulder with a soft snort of laughter.

“Fence isn’t done yet.” His voice is hoarse and well fucked and it sends shivers down your spine. He’s pulling away from you, though a hand remains keeping you steady if your legs give you. “Come on,” He’s tipping his head toward the stairs. “Get you cleaned up. Can’t eat when I know you’re leaking my cum.” He's got a hold of your hand and electricity sparks through you when his chapped lips brush your knuckles.

“You’re staying for dinner?”

“Can’t go to bed just with something sweet on my tongue,” he says with a smirk as he leads you up the stairs. You shake your head, finding yourself grinning despite the ache already settling in.

#Rhett Abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x female reader #outer range #outer range fanfic

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persephonescottage · 1 year

Text

EXES PAST: Year 3.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader.

Summary: Corrupt Benjamin March.

Warning: References to sexual situations, violence, blood, mutilation, trauma, swearing, obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, violence, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+.

If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

Gift giving, hot cocoa and pine trees everywhere. Billy wasn’t a big fan of the holidays but if it meant he’d see you at the Castle’s Christmas party he was all in.

Even if his baseball team lost and now he had to wear the stupid sweater Karen got him last year.

As soon as he stepped in the Greenwich house he looked for you, the warmth blushing his face, still some snow on the shoulders of his coat from the outside weather.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Karen said excited jumping to hug him and Billy knew she had a little too much eggnog already. “I thought you wouldn’t come cause of the sweater. Oh my God look at the sweater!”

She points as she rambles to Frank who is next to her and Billy looks down at his outfit. A red sweater with a three dimensional Christmas wreath and a plush reindeer coming out of it.

He couldn’t even turn sideways safely without knocking someone over with it and God knows he wasn’t gonna let anybody know it sang jingle bells if you pressed the nose.

“I hate you.” He said simply taking his his coat off.

“No you don’t! You love me, that’s why you’re wearing it.” She smiled.

“Well I’m a man of my word.”

“Come on in.” Frank said this time, his lips in a line trying not to giggle “Let’s get you drunk so you’ll let us press the nose.”

As he followed his friends he scanned the room. Karens news paper friends and some old marines popped from the corners of the home but not you.

“She did come.” Frank whispers to him as soon as they reach the kitchen island that’s covered in half drunk bottles and people mingling around.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Billy smiles in complicity.

“Sure Bill.” Franks sarcasm makes Billy laugh “She’s outside with her boyfriend, he’s a smoker.”

Oh right, the boyfriend.

Billy had learned his lesson with the lizard king, you would never surprise him with a boyfriend ever again.

Keeping tabs on you was complicated, you were a social butterfly but thankfully he had a never drying fountain of gossip in Karen and he’d often got Frank to grumpily drop tips on you.

He also hacked your phone, email and social media.

Again, you’d never catch him off guard and this was a fun one to crack.

Benjamin March was a well known man around New York. Partner in one of the city’s top legal firms he had made a name for himself with a file of high profile clients. Most of them politics and men of influence.

And he would always win.

Red flag number one.

He married a former Miss North Carolina whom he divorced about a year before and who he left practically on the streets alleging a horribly balanced prenup.

Poor girl, at least she was pretty.

Red flag number two.

Late night at his office after ANVIL was completely empty a few nights before Billy tried to convince himself he’d only intervene in your relationship if Benjamin March had all three strikes against him.

As if he really needed a single reason to murder a man just to get you all to himself.

Luckily for Billy he found the third strike, and it was a big one. The big kahuna of dirt he had now saved in a usb drive that was burning his pants pocket.

He couldn’t wait.

His hands vibrating with anticipation when you walked inside all by yourself, taking a shot Karen offered you on sight.

“Nice sweater Bill.” You press your lips together trying not to laugh and he smiles at you.

It’s all he can do.

“Merry Christmas angel. Not following the rules I see.” He says pointing at your outfit. “We agreed, no mini skirts. They make me nervous and you know it.”

“Well we also said no cozy looking sweaters.” You can’t hide the laugh after the sarcastic comment.

“If this makes you horny you have some serious issues.”

His laugh is interrupted by a man about a foot taller than you. His arm twisting around your torso in a possessive way.

There’s a fruity smell lingering from him and Billy wants to puke.

This man vapes?

As if he needed a fourth red flag, he thinks.

Billy introduces himself, a proud smirk on his face when Benjamin admits he already knows who he is, reassuring his status.

It takes a while before Karen pulls you to her, the motion lifting your skirt a little too much for Billy’s sanity and then you disappear with the blonde off to meet some of her friends.

It even feels orchestrated when somehow he is left alone in the kitchen with Benjamin March, the closes person holding their drunken state on a column of the dining room.

But Billy isn’t worried about Karen’s drunken co-workers and he wastes no time on handling the lawyer the usb from his pocket, releasing the speech of accusations he had prepared.

It’s not surprising when the man doesn’t deny Billy’s accusations.

Benjamin March had been helping elite men get away with fraud, murder and other crimes that made Billy’s stomach turn.

But he didn’t look remotely sorry.

Maybe a little sorry he had been caught when Billy hands him the incriminating proof, it’s all there, pictures, documents and audios, served in a silver platter that can lock the lawyer up for a long time.

Billy isn’t sure he’d ever been more offended than when Benjamin offers him money for his silence.

As if he wanted his disgusting money.

“What do you want then?” Benjamin seems more annoyed than worried.

“I want you to break up with her.”

“Fuck man! You went through all this trouble for some pussy?” He mocks.

He has no idea.

“You got a deal. She’s all yours.”

He agrees without even thinking twice and Billy wants to break his jaw for talking about you as something so disposable.

They fine tune the details and Billy wishes to tell him he has no interest in pursuing his downfall after he breaks up with you. Then he’ll become just another corrupt lawyer in New York City and he couldn’t care less.

And when March finally decides to leave he makes sure he makes himself even more punchable.

“Hit me up if you ever need a lawyer.”

“Maybe you should have some water angel.”

Did he tell Benjamin March to break up with you?

Yeah.

Did he tell him to do it right now at this very party in front of other people?

No!

For a lawyer he had no common sense and now Billy had a very drunk girl half crying half laughing on the Castle’s couch.

He eyed you quickly, trying to miss the way your legs shine under the low lights of the home when the red skirt you wore rises up.

He couldn’t tonight. You were drunk and sad and he didn’t want you like this but you seemed determined to get him though.

“Man I really was smart with the no sweater rule. You look so cute!”

He looks down at the cursed sweater wanting to laugh with you, but you don’t, you seem serious about it.

You’re holding what seems to be your tenth shot of tequila and giving him those flirty eyes he often saw in his head during his jerk off sessions.

There’s barely anyone left at the party and it would be so easy to get you in one of the rooms and lift that tiny scrap off fabric you call an outfit.

Stop.

There’s a big red stop sign going on loop in his head, not only was this his best friends home, your cheeks were bright pink from the intoxication and life was so unfair to him.

The one time you wanna fuck it’s because you’re drunk.

“We should get you home angel.”

He didn’t need to say it twice and you hold yourself clumsily up the couch using a sleeping Karen as a prop while Billy grabs your coat.

“Can you stay with me tonight Bill? Please I don’t want to be alone.”

He’s doing his best to be good, helping you put on your coat and your voice is so tiny and cute as you beg him standing by the Castle’s front door.

Again, life was so unfair.

He nods immediately anyway, his body betraying his reason and before he knows it he’s driving towards your apartment.

He has to help you walk into the elevator when you arrive since even in the state you are you refuse to take your heels off and something tells him you’re not as drunk as you pretend to be when you hold on to his bicep, resting your face of his chest in the elevator saying you’re dizzy.

As soon as you enter your home you disappear down a hallway and Billy looks around. It smells powdery and sweet just like you and he wants to fuck you on your pink couch.

But he won’t.

Instead he marches to your kitchen, opening the fridge to gather ingredients for a sandwich the he offers you as soon as you walk back out of your room wearing tiny cream short pajamas with polka dots on them.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Your voice sounds innocent but he knows better. You’re gonna be the death of him.

“Here, eat this.” He ignores your request handing you the plate “It’ll help your stomach after all that tequila.”

“But I’m not hungry!”

“I didn’t ask. Eat.”

He barks a command as he would one of his soldiers even when he knows he has no power here.

Not after you sit on the counter of the kitchen, your legs slightly spread and a force of gravity pushes him to walk in between them.

You’re taking your time to chew and you look tired but the bread seems to be absorbing the alcohol just fine.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why boys keep breaking up with me. No one takes me seriously, no one wants me. I’m good enough to fuck but not enough to be a girlfriend.”

Billy can feel his heart shrinking with your statement and he wishes he could tell you that they do want you. All of them do. In fact he had to use violence and threats to get rid of a couple already.

But he gives you a warm smile instead, using his fingertips to put some of your hair behind your ear.

“Maybe you should stop dating assholes.”

That didn’t come out as comforting as he wanted to and you sigh and use your forearm to move him from that sacred place between your thighs, getting off the counter.

He tried his best to ignore the jiggle of your curves as you do but he can feel the zipper of his pants tightening.

“I can’t finish it” you say, a yawn escaping your mouth.

“Fine.” Billy sighs, taking the half eaten sandwich from your fingers “But have some more water.”

“Hey, I didn't mean to force you to stay with me tonight, I’m sorry. Thank you for driving me but you can go if you want.”

‘Leave dickhead’ his head screams ‘It’s time for you to leave’

“I can stay a while.”

The voice in Billy’s head throws it’s hands in the air in exasperation.

“Okay.” Your reply is a whisper but there’s a small smile on your lips.

Billy wishes he had kept the moment cute, but he can’t help his gaze to skim over your body, the outline of your nipples through the tiny cotton top. You adjust the strap on it and Billy looks away, afraid you caught him staring.

“I know this is stupid but I like having you here.” You admit toying with your own fingers in a nervous state “I feel safe.”

Billy knows you mean it as a compliment but the sudden image of all the dangers of the city surrounding you made him anxious. Did you not feel safe when you were alone?

“How long have you been living by yourself?”

“A while. Since Karen moved out.”

That’s a long time. Too long.

You turn to walk towards what seems to be your bedroom and he makes sure he leaves a space between your bodies. He’s not sure if he does it so you know he won’t be creepy tonight or because he wants to watch your ass jiggle with each step.

He wants you to sit on his face.

But you’ve been drinking. You’re not falling down drunk but you’re still drunk.

“Billy?” You call to him from inside the bedroom.

Maybe a little make out session wouldn’t be the end of the world, he thinks.

But that’s it.

There’s a rustling of fabric as he steps into the room and sees you crawl into bed. The sight of you shimmying into the blankets, hair spread on the pillow, waiting for him steals his breath.

He can feel your gaze burning into him and Billy has a sudden urge to flex his muscles, to show off, that until he figures you’re actually staring at his sweater.

Damn that singing reindeer.

“I’ll take it off.” He laughs.

“I actually like it.”

You’re on the right side of the bed, lying on your side facing him. Leaving a space in your bed for him.

“Would you stay for a while longer?” You ask.

“Sure angel.”

“Sorry, you don’t have to, it was dumb of me to ask. I can walk you out if you’d like to go.”

“No, I’d like to stay. I can’t stay the whole night but I’ll stay a little more.”

Billy doesn’t elaborate why, because the why is simply that he won’t be able to control himself sleeping next to your soft body. If he was still there in the morning there was zero chance he wouldn’t fuck you.

“You should rest a little then, before you drive home.”

Your hand is touching the spot next to you on the mattress and Billy gulps.

“You worried about me angel?”

“I’m worried about the other drivers. I’ve seen you drive.”

Your laugh fills the dim light room and it seems to make it easier for him to get closer to the bed, sinking his knee on the soft surface.

“Sorry I don’t have anything your size to put on.”

“Put on?”

“To get comfy. Like pajamas.”

He nods like it was obvious what she meant, but why had his brain gone straight to condoms?

“I suppose you could just… take your pants off.”

Yes.

Yes he could do that.

His body is fighting a battle of mind against dick and he waits for his conscience to win. To tell him to keep his pants on and to walk out the front door, but it never does.

Pants off it is then.

And that god awful sweater while he’s at it.

Standing there in your bedroom in his white under t-shirt and blue briefs Billy realized he’d take whatever punishment the universe threw his way for getting in bed with you in that state, even if you just slept next to him.

He was going to hell anyway.

#Exes past #This is unnnecesary long #But that’s ok #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #i didnt proof read this sorry #my writting

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permian-tropos · 11 months

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metropolis, an essay

today in the new york metropolitan area, the sky is getting chalky overhead again, due to wildfire smoke spreading from canada. while the west coast has been pummeled by wildfire smoke year after year, the east coast finally gets its fair share of the most aesthetically consonant part of the climate crisis—where the sky turns scary apocalyptic colors and the air tastes like ash. two things are on my mind: that the wealth hoarders who used their power to delay critical action against climate change deserve rage, and that the rising ride of global fascism is poised to co-opt that rage and then drive us all into hell.

I’m gonna write a little essay about it, most of the facts off the top of my head, I hope my memory is correct about everything. it’s about the most impactful movie of my life, that is also my ideological nemesis.

one of the first films I ever watched (first time I was like, two years old) that stuck in my mind was fritz lang’s metropolis, and I’ve revisited it over and over throughout the years and I have a tendency to shove it and my analysis of it down people’s throats every chance I get. because it is gorgeous and striking and very worth watching—if you have the extremely important context that the co-writer of the film, fritz lang’s wife thea von harbou, joined the nazi party, while fritz lang divorced her and fled germany, evading the nazis’ attempts to recruit him into their propaganda machine.

metropolis is very dear to my heart because visually it was extremely inspired by new york city, and I cannot help but think of the german expressionist haze over the skyscrapers when I see pictures of downtown manhattan consumed by wildfire smoke.

it is a nazi film that was directed by a man seemingly who did not realize he was making a nazi film, because it didn’t aggressively scapegoat anyone or promote german nationalism or call for militarism and conquest. that is why I perversely love this film; it so aptly demonstrates fascism sneakily corrupting a socialistic message long before people have been tricked into racial hatred. it shows you the seed of bad ideology.

metropolis tells the story of a deeply unequal society of upper and lower classes, where the proletariat labors in a hellscape under the city while those on the surface enjoy high culture and luxury while managing those below.

I’m not going to discuss the main character of the film much but he is a rich ass boy whose call to adventure is that he goes down and sees how badly the workers are treated and compares their toil to victims being sacrificed to a barbaric god (european capitalists be like: what are we a bunch of indigenous people? but okay sure, mechanistic rather than religiously-motivated human sacrifice is normalized in capitalist society, is a point I’ll gladly make)

blaaaaaaarghh look at that guy. it’s moloch!! the devil himself. eating the shit out of the working class.

there are two characters who propose solutions to the workers, and fittingly one is the doppelganger of the other. the saintly maria promises the workers that a savior will come to resolve the class contradictions between the “head” (upper class, management) and the “hands” (laborers). he will be the “heart” and this sounds nice but you have to remember this is nazi shit so what I see is that this abstract idea of a city/state/nation’s “heart” is the seed of fascism

not to mention, that people have been sorted into “head” and “hands” is treated as a fact of nature. the proletariat will always be the dumb brutish power and those who manage them will always be the brains behind society. the only way to resolve the contradiction is to... <3 bring them together in love and peace and harmony <3

and QUITE INTERESTINGLY TO ME, there is a total omission of any sort of enforcement of class inequality by a police force. there is like, one character who is a bit of a henchman/secret police hired by the protagonist’s father, the city ruler, but other than that, no cops are putting the working class in their place. state brutality is not needed to convince the proles to stay in their place. just their intrinsic understanding of their place in the world

fascist propaganda pretends that the world runs the way it does on natural inherent distinctions between human beings, and that no enforcement is needed, while it actually is the most cop ass ideology of all time.

so what is the “heart” that unites the national bourgeois ruling class and the proletariat without eliminating the class distinctions between them and simply causing them to be equal human beings...? if you remember this is a nazi film you may guess the real answer (hating scapegoated minorities), but the film skillfully avoids specificity because it was co-written by a nazi and a possibly unsuspecting non-nazi. there are no villainous subhuman groups in the film. just... well... a nonhuman villain and the single bad guy who creates her.

presenting the alternative to maria’s pacifism is the glorious ~robot maria~ who is famous for inspiring george lucas in his design of c-3po and doctor who in its design of the cybermen.

don’t worry, those beams of light give her a pretty face so she can pass as an adult human female and trick those gullible workers and bougies alike into wanting to have fuck with her

she is essentially a golem, created by a rather jewish-coded villain (I recall the doors in his lair have stars on them, albeit five pointed, not six), who wants to undermine society by inciting it into violent revolution. but he’s not literally jewish, so that could fly under the radar. he’s just a mean and nasty magician-scientist with a grudge against the city’s ruler and lust for his dead wife. but instead of recreating the dead wife, the city’s ruler commands him to make the robot into maria so she can be discredited to the workers because even her liberal ass bullshit is too much for him.

the inventor lets his robot loose on the underworld and she riles the workers into a frenzy and calls upon them to smash their machines, rise up to the surface, and destroy the city. in the meantime she also puts on a hot sexy dress and dazzles the bourgeois with cabaret or whatever basically it’s decadence the movie is portraying decadent degenerate lust as distracting the bougies from what’s going on below

this is the cultural marxist agenda: sexy ladee. but of course the movie itself IS this very spectacle embodied, you get to look at this sexy robot while shaking your head and going I don’t agree with that

anyway the workers, because they are very stupid, make a critical mistake in their revolution: they forget about their children and leave them behind in the underground as it is being flooded because they’ve destroyed the critical infrastructure keeping it un-flooded.

because the working class would never rise up for the sake of their children’s future! no they don’t care about that they’re just yknow selfishly trying to escape a horrific life of toil in a literal hell, because an evil robot tricked them into being angry and also noticing there are no fucking cops in this city so who’s stopping them from revolting

anyway thanks to the brave actions of rich boy and pacifist liberal maria, the future of white working class children is secured. rich boy is declared to be that savior and “heart” of metropolis (oh yeah and that big machine they smashed earlier was called the heart machine).

I feel like I’ve made my point clear enough throughout this essay, but in conclusion: metropolis promises to resolve class contradictions by simply granting an idea of a nation or of some nebulous “heart” to the bourgeois and proletariat alike. it does not ask society to be restructured, it does not question the unequal state of things, it simply says: we need a savior to make people feel unified.

and so it presents the nazi vision without once promoting genocide or imperialism. once you’ve been coaxed into ignoring the role that state oppression plays in maintaining class, once you’ve been convinced through lies of omission that the working class is made of humans who are inherently workers and the owner/ruler/manager class is full of inherent brainlords who were born to manage and dictate, you will start to be pulled down the road to fascism.

and it’s still a beautiful movie. I never forget that, I never try to pretend it is ugly or does not move me. I’m just aware of the games it’s playing and how its message eventually leads into the genocide of my ancestors.

finally: we stan robot maria, who is mother af, and is trans jewish golem coded to me, and also right

#long post #cw nazi mention #what do i fucking tag this lol #I just wrote it on a whim #share it if you like

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candybowbeansies · 1 year

Text

Did I?

warnings/notes: ayyy inspo came up after hours of spotify lmfao i hate writer's block 😂 reader has a sweet li'l tot, inspired by a song, this is a few years after divorce, reader is a BAMF, reader may or may not have a new s/o, C/N = child's name, angst with a soft ending of the start of reconciliation? or not! up to ya'll 🥺

Underage characters are Aged Up!

~Masterlist~

did i? did i?

Only a few years old, but damn, your kid was protective, and you were proud of them. The ever observant tot noticed an unfamiliar hulk approach you, and waddled up to cling onto your leg protectively, craning their head up and bravely giving the man the cutest glare.

The man-your ex-husband, stared back down at them, and the contest continued before your fellow side-kick approaches. He was a sweet young man, helping you out with your kid, sometimes. "Hey, can I--ohh." he speaks up, immediately recognizing the harsh pro-hero, shrinking somewhat under his glare. "Nah, I'm fine." you give him a sweet smile, and he smiles back. "Alrighty, I'll take Totter, then. Upsy-daisy, baby!" he says to your kid, bending and hooking his hands under their arms, hauling them up and moving them to settle on his hip as he closes in to whisper to you. The moment they are picked up, they start throwing an angry tantrum; somewhere along the lines of they were so close to chasing off the scary man! "Call if you need me, yeah?" he whispers, and you giggle. "I know, hun." you reply, the nickname heating up his cheeks. But it's long forgotten by a sudden punch from the toddler who was now near-tears, and he's off bouncing your kid in his arms, attempting to soothe them.

You wave your hand in front of a livid Katsuki's face, noticing his glare at the younger man. "Don't glare at him." you say once you gain his attention. "Who is he?" Katsuki growls. "I don't need to answer that. Touch him, and you're dead to us." you snap back calmly, despite the anger bubbling up in you. Who did this asshole think he was, getting jealous after everything he put you through?

He narrows his eyes down at you, clenching his jaw. You take a deep breath and sigh. He approached you on his own, so he probably wanted to speak to you. Some of this anger simmers, and you open your mouth to start.

"I'm sure, you've got a lot of things to say." you speak up, knowing that look in his eyes. "I know...you had a lot of things on your plate." you grind out. "But..." you trail off, stopping yourself from calling him familiarly. "But that doesn't excuse what happened." you tell him firmly, and he averts his gaze. "Remember when you promised you'd always be there...for me? By my side, and all that?" you say, your heart thudding-and not in a pleasant way-at the memory, noticing he was looking towards your child who was now happily preoccupied. "I told them the truth." you tell him, and your words make his gaze lift to yours. "Daddy got so busy, he couldn't keep his promises." you say, striking a chord in him. You could tell by they way he'd winced, wearing a pained expression.

Why did he look so hurt, when he hurt you most?

You snort, feeling a few tears begin to gather at your eyes. "Did I hurt your feelings when I went through that door?" you ask. "What I said, I meant it." you tell him. "Did I hurt your feelings movin' to the Aizawa's for a year? Not letting you see me, not answering your calls?" you ask.

His pitiful look only made you angrier.

"Did I hurt your feelings when I moved out, not leaving a fucking trace?" you ask. "I hope you fucking suffered." you tell him. "Did I waste my fucking time...trying to keep what we had afloat?" you ask him, "Y/N, I--" "Yeah. Yeah, I think you were right." you interrupt him, "I wasted all those years, and that's on me." hitting the nail in the head.

'You are annoying!'

"You can try to say you didn't mean it." you interrupt him again, not letting one excuse in.

'We might as well have nothing because of you!'

"Try to say there was nothing behind it." you say.

'Fuckin’ crybaby,'

"Every fucking word. I know you meant every fucking word, Katsuki." you pin him with your words, leaving him defeated.

'Don’t know why I even married you!'

"I know you." your voice wavers. "Even if you don't mean it now..." you trail off, a few tears falling. "You meant it when you said it." you say. You fish a pocket mirror and some wipes from your bag, thankful you didn't go too heavy on the makeup today, and there were only a few things to fix.

There's a short few moments of silence, even after you've finished touching up, his eyes guiltily lingering on your child. "One chance." you say, and his crimson gaze lifts to you once more, the hopefulness in his eyes making your stomach lurch. You sigh softly. "One chance. You'll get one chance with C/N. Fuck up, you'll never see them again." you warn him, "Wait here." turning on your heel to make a detour. You had to calm yourself down-you had to be your usual self, after all. You didn't want to scare the apple of your eye.

"I'm sorry." you hear his gruff voice uncharacteristically waver as you walk away.

You couldn't forgive him, yet. But if your baby was willing, you'd give him one chance.

One chance, and just maybe, the scars will heal over.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #dynamight x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #inspo'd by song fic #Spotify

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trashno0dle · 10 months

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so now that ao3 is back from the war i was finally able to post the fic i've been working on. so if you're a fan of scream, murder girls and stuilly (silly) then consider checking this out!! it's going to be a full rewrite of the first scream movie but with a twist, and that twist role swap :)

(it's pretty easy to guess which main characters are swapped here)

Summary:

Billy Loomis was sixteen- going on seventeen years old when his parents divorced and his mother left, leaving him mostly alone in a world that couldn't understand him. Feeling broken beyond repair, he tried to carry on as normal, but when his hometown descends into chaos in the wake of a series of horrific murders, he comes to realize things will be anything but normal.

Sidney Prescott was sixteen years old when she stood before the corpse of her mother's killer. Blood dripping down her front, a red glistening knife clasped firmly in one hand and a plastic mask in the other, with a smile on her lips.

[sneak peak below the cut]

Sidney Prescott was sixteen years old when her mother was killed.

Sixteen years old when her life changed forever, when her father lost everything including himself and when the town of Woodsboro, California was shaken by a horrific murder. There had been a lot of speculation as to why the murderer had targeted her, why whoever had killed her snapped in the first place. But the most important questions of all, one that would proceed to keep many up at night, would the killer strike again? And who would be next? It was a case that tore the entire community apart, leaving them rightfully paranoid and on edge and with so many burning questions. No one got answers to them of course, for no one knows how a killer's mind works, only the killer themselves.

The murderer was never found. No, they were good at hiding their tracks. They'd done what they pleased and were careful enough to make sure nobody knew. Nobody did. Nobody suspected a thing and after weeks without any leads, the case became a cold one, the murder of Maureen Prescott was left to collect dust as the days ticked on, there was still nothing.

Months later, a man by the name of Cotton Weary was found dead in his home, blood pooling around him, a gash in his throat and a knife still in his hand. The wound appeared to be self-inflicted. Although they were suspicious that the man's death was coincidentally close to the murder that had shocked the town just a few months before, the officers couldn't trace him back to her at all. There was no evidence to support the two had ever known each other, nothing that tied Cotton Weary to Maureen Prescott together and so his death was ruled simply as a suicide and forgotten about just as quickly.

Nobody thought much of it. People got sad sometimes, lost, and in some cases they couldn't get any help for it. No one could ever imagine there was something else, a darker truth lurking in the shadows. Because nobody could understand how greatly a tragic loss could affect someone, could drive them to do unspeakable things in order to quench the desperate thirst for revenge, their darkest desire. Nobody except for she who had felt it all.

#scream #scream movie #scream 1996 #scream fanfiction #scream fanfic #billy loomis #stu macher #sidney prescott #tatum riley #gale weathers #dewey riley #randy meeks #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #scream au #noodlesfics

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calronhunt · 4 months

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question about the wac human au because i forget if that's ever been mentioned: how did canary and mariner meet? what was their first impression of each other? same questions for crane and scout!

literally became so obsessed with this I wanted to draw a little thing for it lol

I wanted to keep the spirit of how they meet in canon so I say they meet on the beach!! Mariner walks the length of the beach stretch most evenings he can and watches the sunset even in human au, and I think one night Canary is just there. She probably recently moved into the town trying to find herself while still being too scared to go too far away from family (which is why she came to the same city that Crane lives in). Mariner really isn't a very social guy, but decided to strike up a conversation with her since she was just watching the sunset like he does, and they started talking. Honestly I think the canon conversation they have would still fit pretty well here (with a couple changes); Canary talking about not knowing where she fits into the world and Mariner replying with that's what's great about the sea, it's wide and vast and we haven't even explored all of it. there's always something new to learn.

and then Canary laughs at him because Mariner can't say a normal sentence to save his life, and Canary asks him to tell her more of his thoughts. and their relationship blossoms from there. Canary initially sees him as a strange little man with funny words, while Mariner sees Canary as someone who will listen to him, and engages with his jumped philosophers thoughts.

AS FOR CRANE AND SCOUT, they met in a bar. Crane was a young adult and wanted to express some freedom that her mother had barely given to her, and she met some young army recruit in a bar and had a one night stand with him. Goose, Crane's mother, was very very upset with her, but she continued to see Scout cause she loved him and, again, wanted to stick her new found freedom to her mother.

Crane and Scout were in love for a time, but it was just an initial wave of infatuation that dissipated as they grew closer. They were already married by that point though, and neither really wanna go through the hassle of getting a divorce (especially cause it would get rid of their tax benefits)

#ask #waves always crash #my art #i care these guys so much

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sapphire-weapon · 10 months

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horny ask is hard cause i feel like you've covered a significant amount of ground already, but your (Leon)ardo DiCaprio take on Leon was very funny. so, does current Leon (Death Island let's say) have a Tinder profile and how would that go in your mind? Any stupid pick-up line he uses, does he make a total fool of himself, what's his age range set to

OK I ACTUALLY HAVE A LOT TO SAY ABOUT THIS LMAO

once he goes full DiCaprio, his age range is set to 18-25, so he's shocked if he ever gets matches at all -- because, really, there's girls out there who are actively looking for a man his age??? but it makes for such an easy icebreaker that it's key to his success -- because if he had to try to DM women closer to his age, his cringelord nature would take over and he would just strike out every single time.

but it's very easy to DM a girl with something like "did Tinder glitch, or are you actually looking for a guy my age?" and get a response -- especially since his pfp is angled in such a way that you really can't tell how old he is at a glance, so most girls have to actually go into his profile and look at the rest of his info/pics in order to understand what the fuck he's talking about.

and, for as much as Leon is a depressed sack of shit who hates himself, he's also very vain when it comes to his appearance if he's not balls deep into a depressive episode. and I'm sure that there's been more than one occasion where a girl has accused him of something like "lol whats the name of the model you stole your pics from?" to which he responds with an offer to video call her on the spot in order to prove that he is who he claims he is.

shockingly, he has a 60% success rate on Tinder. when he messages a girl, he has a better chance than not of actually fucking her -- and not a single fucking girl that he ends up with understands him or believes that he's fully telling the truth, but they don't care because he's hot and willing to roleplay out their daddy issues.

like, it doesn't make sense to any of them how this guy, who looks like he does, with as much money as he seems to have, with the way he respects their boundaries and treats them with respect (unless explicitly requested otherwise) is really:

not married or not recently divorced or not currently in a relationship and also completely childless

like, that doesn't make any sense to them. that doesn't real. he's got to be lying, in some way, shape, or form.

but, like. they're not looking for a boyfriend in him. so it doesn't really matter, in the long run. but it is definitely a thing -- all of them think he's a fucking liar, when he's really not LOL

well. for the most part, at least, he's not lying. he does lie a little bit.

he doesn't actually go by "Leon" on Tinder; he goes by "Scott." and he's never honest about what he actually does for work. he just nebulously says that he works "for the government." and if she presses hard enough, he'll lie and say he's an IRS agent. but he's pretty sure that if any of those girls find out that they're about to jump in bed with a strange man some 20 years older than them who has actually killed people before and will definitely kill again, he'll never actually get laid. so. he lies.

but because of all of this, it's very, very, very rare that he ends up meeting up/hooking up with them the same day/night he messages them. there's usually a whole "building up of trust" period that he has to clear first -- which is anywhere from a few days to a week or two. there's some "getting to know you" talk that happens during this period, but the conversations are mostly sexual.

he'll ask simple questions at first like "are you a virgin?" (and if she says yes, he'll actually break it off with her; violating that seems like a step too far, for him -- which is VERY FUNNY because some girls tell him "yes" even if the truth is actually "no" just because they think that that's what he wants to hear, and now they've just iced themselves out of getting laid LOL) and "have you ever been with an older man before?" before slowly working up to asking how she likes to be touched and how she wants him to treat her and what gets her off the hardest, etc, etc. maybe some light sexting and/or phone sex happens before they actually meet up in person.

but here's a fun thing about DiCaprio Leon -- before he actually turns the conversation in a sexual direction, he will fucking card the girl that he's talking to. like, straight up, he'll ask her for ID. and if she gets weird or defensive about it, he's just like "if you're ever talking to a guy my age and he doesn't ask you for ID, that's not a guy you want to be talking to." which usually gets him an "ok ok, sorry, dad" in return LMAO

the biggest issue for him is what to do after the fact. he doesn't want any of these girls to get attached to him, but he also hates the idea of just ghosting them. so he just kind of... tries to be nice if they contact him again, until he can actually gauge what their intentions are for doing it. if he has to let them down, he tries to be as kind but firm as possible.

every once in a while, he'll find a girl that he does go back for seconds -- and maybe even thirds or fourths -- with. like, it's someone who literally only ever texts him because she wants to get fucked that night and seems completely disinterested in him outside of the bedroom. but girls at that age who are like that are unicorns, so he makes sure that they know how special they are every time he finds one.

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jackalmeat · 1 year

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This particular little sequence between Vander and the two traders is neat to me in a low-grade way:

It says a great deal on its own that even people from Clearly Elsewhere know who Vander is, and that his identity/history carries enough weight for them to quickly deescalate when they realize exactly who they're dealing with. At this point we already know that Vander has a violent past; but hearing confirmation of the sobering reputation he carries from the mouths of people who aren't even from this area lends a greater sense of scale to that reputation -- (a quietly looming, ever-present understanding of what he's still capable of, even if he's 'not that man anymore') -- and implies that the scope and gravity of his past deeds go far beyond anything we yet know.

So, the fact that he conducted his life very differently in the past isn't new information in and of itself. The part that's actually more interesting to me than that is the language used in the above sequence, and how that language supports what we know about his past and offers possible, minor nuances, if not necessarily event clarity.

⚙️ Obviously 'Hound of the Underground' is a moniker that Vander earned in the past; but 'hound' nonetheless strikes me as a slightly unexpected choice of frightening beast motif on the surface level. Were it not for the 'Vander becomes Warwick' scenario that seems highly implied for the future -- (and thus, were there not a need to lean into certain, fitting themes for the sake of foreshadowing) -- I'd have expected a large, powerful man like Vander, known not for finesse as a fighter but for brute strength + durability, to be associated with something like a bear instead. In turn, that suggests to me that the in-universe + non-meta reason for this moniker had less to do with his physical traits, and more to do with behaviors/roles that he performed in the past.

The word "hound" -- (as opposed to others with similar meanings such as "dog", "cur", etc.) -- specifically invokes connotations of unrelenting fixation upon a target, pursuit, hunting, etc. It's interesting to think that a guy like Vander perhaps didn't actually earn the truly fearsome part of his reputation on the merits of his imposing strength, but rather the intensity (and effectiveness) of his 'prey drive', for lack of a better term. Maybe as someone who performed functions/deeds in the general vein of a repo man, hitman, etc.

⚙️ "I expected something...younger". The more natural choice of word in a scenario like this would generally be 'someone'. 'Something', while not necessarily incorrect, nonetheless rings in the ear strangely by comparison, and suggests that the trader's mental portrait/impression of Vander is so divorced from humanity or personhood as to be reflected here in her use of language.

Again, "foreshadowing toward the 'Vander becomes Warwick' scenario" is an obvious argument to invoke; but for now the most reasonable (and, once more, non-meta) explanation for the slightly unexpected word choice within the context of this moment is simply that Vander's past was indeed far more brutal, shocking, and/or unsettling than we as the audience yet realize -- so much so that this trader, who knows his reputation, very possibly perceives him not so much as a man, but more as a mythic figure, force of nature, or monster.

It's not deep stuff. But I do think it's neat all the same how much can be reasonably implied with a mere word.

#Arcane #Vander #Arcane meta

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josiebelladonna · 1 year

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paraselenae | rose quartz

pairing: eric peterson x alex skolnick (flowers for alexander)

genre: sci-fi/steampunk!au

fandoms: testament

*18+ only; minors dni (especially here, holy god)*

Warnings: sex toys, boys being hot

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: eric and alex having a little fun together in the middle of the night (this is one of my biggest hang-ups, too: eclipse and black moon had toys and i had trouble with both of them)

Word Count: 4228

There was a moment before the rise of the ship to the skies over San Francisco and ultimately, the California coast, a moment which Eric had found in the midst of the patch between him and Florence, and he believed the whole thing was over and done with, and he knew that he had his work cut out for him in the end if he let the whole thing drift forth. He needn’t lose Florence, not to something so arbitrary and something that was so far outside of context, either. Those divorce papers still stayed within his mind: there was no way that he could lose her, not to this.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but relish it. Florence was suspecting him of cheating, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was with a woman, as well.

If only he could show her that that simply wasn’t the case at all.

And yet, the moment came about right before the papers were even in consideration, and Eric thought he could go about with the actual affair with no strings attached and no problem at the helm.

There was a shop in San Jose which he had visited on a whim: he had gone out for a cup of coffee at the nearby café there while Florence was at the garage where she worked, and there was nothing better to do back at the rehearsal space, especially since it was all about to take place on a giant airship over the Bay Area and most of the West Coast as far as he knew: and as far as he knew, it was all about to carry itself out over the country as well.

A light marine layer had sunk all around the corners of the valley, and the sun shone all around the area before him. Given the marine layer burgeoned on the absolute lowest level of the fog, there was a bit of a chill in the air: Eric zipped up his jacket as he walked to the center of town, right to the corner which beheld the view of the shop. He looked all around him to ensure that no one was watching: though the street was deserted, it felt as though everyone was looking and waiting to strike him sideways for even so much as considering it.

The sex with Florence was alright, but nothing to write home about: but then again, there was the other side to it.

The other person.

The other man.

It was a man.

Eric bowed inside of the shop as if he was running for cover from torrential rains. He shut the door behind him and looked around at the shelves about the floor there before him. All manners of toys and things, things that never would have crossed his mind one time during the honeymoon part of the relationship, although he had considered them at one point. Florence was more fixated on the challenges of the mind rather than the body at first. All it took was one round of vanilla sex, missionary position, to get her moving forth on his bed.

There was a whole manner of vibrators over on the shelf closest to him, such that he shivered at the sheer sight of them.

He turned his head again, and that time around, he spotted the woman behind the counter with a devilish grin upon her face and a little twinkle in her eye, as if she knew something that he didn’t. He swallowed and shivered again.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I'm just—a little bit chilly is all,” he sputtered, and she giggled at that.

“Have you ever been in a place like this?” she continued.

“Not really, no. My wife hasn’t mentioned it, neither has, uh—my lover.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, two is better than one, if you ask me, especially since I like both.”

“Ooh, it’s not the first time I had a bisexual in here, and I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last, either. What'd you have in mind?”

“Well, um... what do you recommend?” The warmth of the room washed over his head and shoulders, and to the point that the rims of his ears radiated with the heat of embarrassment. She squinted her eyes at him.

“Nothing to be alarmed of,” she told him with a shake of her head.

“It’s just... I never really told my wife about him—” He stopped himself right there.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You’re in a place that’s taboo already, babe. Nothing is off-limits in here.”

He closed his eyes and let out a low whistle.

“Come on, come with me,” she gently coaxed him. Eric opened his eyes, and he took her by the hand, and she led him to the nearest shelf to the front counter, and she showed him a series of black boxes all about the surface there. It looked like a small shoe store if nothing else; albeit the boxes had a rich sheen to them, as if they had been crafted out of the finest stone known to the entire continuous Bay Area.

She handed one of the boxes to him, and he opened it up as if he was revealing a little nugget of buried treasure to the world. He swallowed at the sight of the things tucked inside of there.

But she assured him that it was all for the best.

“Don’t you dare tell the wife, either,” she encouraged him in a low voice, and he nodded his head and swallowed down his fears.

The blanket of night fell over his head and shoulders as he made his way out of the house to the street beyond. The orange lights which penetrated the pillars of steam about the horizon beyond there followed him about like the lights from ghosts. Eric tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked along the sidewalk towards the end of the street.

He had told him to meet up with him near there, near the same place where they had eaten muffins together that one morning. The middle of the night only served as his cloak every step of the way there: Eric reached the corner and his heart pounded in his chest from both the excitement and from the thought of being close to him, that time with something special tucked in his coat pocket.

He took another turn around the corner before him, and the orange light of a streetlamp washed over the span of his head, which in turn gave his smooth jet-black hair a healthy bright sheen at the very crown. He shivered from the feeling of the cold breeze from the bay all around him, and he thought about the prize that awaited him there at the very end of the line.

He reached that one stretch of sidewalk before it wound into the heart of town, and he turned his head for a glance across the street. Underneath the shadows, there at the front porch, there he was, seated in a spindly wooden chair with something sprawled across his lap. Eric swallowed and stood there on the sidewalk with his eyes fixated on his dark silhouette over there, a lingering demon ready to take him down to the underworld, the world which held his deepest, darkest secrets and the place where he never explained to anyone else ever, not even dearest Florence.

There was a light plucking noise, the sound of a banjo, there from the shadows. Eric glanced about the street once again, that time to the pillars of steam on either edge of the horizon. The only trees there on the block with them were those scraggly oak trees that were beginning to shed their leaves with the impending autumn all around them. He sighed through his nose and padded across the black pavement to the sidewalk there: another pluck of the banjo string and he caught a glimpse of those bright eyes, bright as diamonds through the blackness around him.

“I was hoping to find you here,” Eric declared as he reached the other side of the street and stood before Alex with his hands pressed onto his hips. Alex himself stopped plucking at the banjo and held still with his gaze fixed on the crown of Eric’s head there before him.

“It’s just a regular thing, my man,” Alex told him, as his low, velvety voice caressed Eric like the softest fingers on his skin. He climbed up onto the sidewalk and the step before him: his eyes adjusted to the rich darkness, and he rested a hand on the edge of the table next to Alex. The glow from the orange lights washed over his dark silhouette, all to where Eric could see the body and neck of the banjo against Alex’s wiry, lovely body. His oval face looked like that of a ghost, pale and slightly rounded, and with the plume of gray at the top of his forehead and those bright eyes, he legitimately resembled the devil to Eric. To dance with the devil as he brought forth the sinister wilderness through the doubled banjo strings.

“Where’d you get the banjo, by the way?” he asked.

“Same place where we always get our guitars,” Alex replied without a moment of hesitation. “There’s this whole line of banjos near the back of the front room. I had never played banjo before so—you know—nice little change of pace.”

“You have to pluck the strings really quick,” Eric suggested.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘really quick’ but if you want to play effectively, it’s imperative not to freeze up over the strings. You know—” Alex held his fingers over the neck of the banjo, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Eric watched him with close intent, complete with one hand rested on the top of the table between the two of them.

Alex plucked at the strings for that classic banjo sound, and then he picked it up a bit. Eric nodded his head along to him, and then Alex picked up more and more for something that sounded like a piece straight out of a bluegrass song. He barred his teeth and then he stopped and shook his right hand around.

“Too much too soon?” Eric asked him.

“Nah, it’s just some adjusting to do,” Alex replied. “Like when I first learned how to play bass.” He flexed his fingers, to which Eric nibbled on his bottom lip as he had no idea where to go forth from there. “So, a little bird told me that you have indulged in a little bit of shopping of sorts. Shopping at a place to enhance all that is fleshly and powerful.”

“And that little bird would be correct,” Eric declared with a slight drumming of his fingers on the tabletop.

“You know, this building behind us here has a back room where we can—” Alex plucked at the strings again, and then he followed it up with a straight strum like he would with an actual guitar. “—do the thing.”

“You really wanna do that?” Eric asked him, taken aback.

“Eric, it’s twelve-thirty at night. I'm wrapped in black velvet and playing a banjo when I've never played one before in my life. I want to know what you have for me.”

Through the darkness, Eric could see Alex turn his head towards him: that time, he genuinely resembled a ghost, a spirit straight from the lacy veil to help him indulge in all that he held in his hand. With that cool gaze fixed onto him, Eric reached into his coat pocket for the black box, and he set it down on the table between the two of them.

“What’s in the box?” Alex lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.

“You tell me,” Eric challenged him.

“My ticket to ride?”

“Maybe. How ‘bout you show me that back room you were just talking about?”

Alex never moved for a good, long minute. Then he held onto the banjo by the neck, and, further in ghostly fashion, he stood up and walked over to the edge of the step, and then the sidewalk; Eric followed suit out there to the orange lights, which began to collect a heavy haze within his eyes. There had to be a better light in that back room because it felt as though he was sleepwalking.

Alex led him around the building to the alleyway between it and the bakery next door, but he kept going to the very end and the sight of the door right there at the corner.

“Watch this,” Alex told him; through the dim light, Eric could see his fingers fan out as far as they could before he pressed his hand up against the panel of the door, which opened in utter silence. It seemed unimpressive in the least, that is until Eric closed it behind them, and Alex turned the light switch on next to the door.

“That thing is heavy,” Eric remarked, and he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He blinked against the bright golden light from the ceiling and faced Alex right before him, still with the banjo in hand. The room was small but cozy, complete with a tweed couch in one corner and a soft rug underneath their feet: the makings of a hideaway in the event of a collapse in the Bay Area.

“Surprised me, too,” he assured him with a shake of his black curls about with the flick of his head: the golden light washed over the crown of his black hair in the form of a soft sheen; his gray plume swept over the right side of his bangs in the form of a little wave against the rich black of his curls. “But when I spread my fingers out like that and push against the side, it nudges open no problem. From what I'm told, it’s an alloy of chromium, cobalt, and nickel—and it’s a lot heavier than it looks.”

He glanced down at the black box in Eric’s left hand and swallowed. Eric then showed him a smirk and opened the lid. Alex peered inside and raised his eyebrows at what was in there. Eric peeked in there himself, and he noticed something was missing.

He reached into his pocket and felt it. He showed Alex the ring, to which he raised his dark eyebrows at the smooth silicone surface.

“I want you to put this on,” Eric told him.

“What for?” Alex asked, and he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed about a bit. Eric moved in closer to his face, and he could smell the cologne on the smooth side of his elegant neck.

“I want you to wear it and look at me as it’s vibrating,” he explained in a low voice. Alex swallowed again and shifted his weight.

Not only was that door behind them heavy, but it blocked out most of the noise from outside. Silence settled over them. Alex leaned the banjo against the couch next to them.

Slowly, he dropped his jeans around his legs, right in front of Eric’s eyes. His underwear came next.

Eric nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight there before him, out there in plain sight for him to see for himself.

Alex took the ring, with its light blue silicone surface and the little black switch on the side. All it would take was the flick of his finger to switch it on. He shifted his weight a bit and then he slid it over the head and the shaft. He wrinkled his nose: it was a tight fit, but he managed to slide it over the head.

“God damn it,” Alex groaned.

“Hold still,” Eric advised him as he offered to put it on the rest of the way up his shaft.

“Phew, that’s tight!” Alex stood still with his arms held out on either side of him, even though there was nothing to hold onto from there. Once Eric had the ring secure right smack in the middle of the shaft, Alex took a glimpse down and let out a low whistle.

Eric then held back and reached for something else, something long and with a handle on one end. Alex parted his lips at the sight of it: Eric took a glimpse down to the ring around his shaft and he could see that its grip was tightening more and more. He shoved his own jeans down his legs and revealed his truth to him.

“Is that a—a—”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Eric said as he held the vibrator next to his own dick. “It is—exactly—what you think it is.”

He clicked it on, and then he reached for the ring around Alex’s dick and clicked it onto the lowest setting.

“Oh, god, that tickles!” Alex burst out laughing. He then gasped and inched back from him as the ring picked up the pace. Eric held still before him with the vibrator going at a low level, and he locked eyes with him for a good long minute. Alex sank down to the floor with his legs wide open. He breathed harder as if he had gone out running for a time.

He reclined back onto his elbows: all the while, Eric stood over him, still with the vibrator up against him. The feeling only made him rise more and more, and he wondered if that ring went any higher or if that was the sole setting.

He lunged for the space between Alex’s legs and brought the side of the dildo up against the side of his shaft. He turned it up to the middle setting.

Alex clenched his teeth and lay his head down on the floor underneath him.

“Fuck... fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

“Yes!” Eric declared.

“FUCK!” Alex shrieked, the loudest that Eric had ever heard him shriek before since they had known one another. Eric giggled as he kicked up the dildo to the final notch and then moved it along the side of the shaft. Alex rolled his head to the side and let out a low groan that sounded as though it came from somewhere: as Eric moved the tip of it along the side of the shaft towards Alex’s thigh, the moans grew louder. He tilted his head back to show off his Adam’s apple, and Eric flashed him a grin even though he couldn’t see him.

The feeling only made Alex breathe harder, as if he was running in a marathon somewhere. His chest heaved, rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath from the feeling. The heavy breathing led to a fit of hearty laughter as he rolled his head back forth and a few stray locks of dark hair spread over his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

“You bastard!” Alex cackled out. “You bastard! You bastard!” He let out the softest, lowest, most mellow moan that Eric had ever heard from him: he glanced down and found the little pearly puddle of cum right underneath his knee. When he moved his leg back, he was met with a little streak of it on the front of his bare knee.

“Want me to try on you now?” Alex offered to him in a broken voice.

“You know I want you to,” Eric said with a slight chuckle. “And I know you want to, too.”

Alex wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; Eric meanwhile lay back down on the floor and spread his bare legs apart.

Alex’s inky black hair sprawled over his shoulder and his upper arm down to his elbow: he held that long thing vibrator up against Eric’s shaft, and all the while, he had it turned up to the middle setting.

“Higher,” Eric told him, and he clicked it up to full speed. He massaged it along the shaft towards his nuts and that space where his thigh met with his hip.

“Higher!”

“I’m right on top of your balls, Eric,” Alex said.

“There’s a toy over there for the—the—the prostate.”

Alex frowned at that.

“You want me to shove something up your ass,” he declared in a flat tone.

“Please do,” Eric told him with a clearing of his throat. “I need it because this just isn’t doing it for me. And it’s not just something, either.”

He rolled over onto his stomach, so his bare ass pointed up towards him. Breathing somewhat harder, he lay there face down as Alex made his way over to the other vibrator on the table there, long and thin and blunt on one end. He watched Alex pick it by the handle with a slight quiver to his hand and wrist, and then he turned his attention back to him.

“There’s a switch on this thing,” he told him. “Does it vibrate?”

“You bet your cute booty it does,” Eric assured him with a swallow and a nudge of his jet-black hair away from the side of his neck. “There’s a little tube of some lube there, too. No way you’re putting that thing in bone dry.” He then rested the side of his head upon the backs of his hands and awaited Alex and that vibrator. Alex himself, meanwhile, swallowed down again as he wiped some of that water-based lubricant onto the blunt end of it. He let out a low whistle, and he crouched down over Eric’s thighs. He ran his fingers along the bare skin to steady himself there on the floor.

The blunt end went in, and he clicked it on at the low setting. Eric breathed a little harder, but Alex knew where he was going with this. He wrinkled his nose as he pushed it further in.

“Higher,” Eric commanded; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alex shooting out his tongue.

Middle setting next, and he buried his face in the carpet. The vibrating was almost too much to bear, but Eric knew that he could do more with it. So much more.

Eric raised his head and opened his mouth for a soft moan of sorts. Alex let out a low whistle and Eric knew that he was being aroused by the whole thing as well. One of them was going to come first, and Eric hoped that it was him.

“Higher?” Alex asked in a hoarse voice still.

“Please!” Eric exclaimed, and Alex turned it up to the highest setting.

“That’s it! That's it! That's it! That's the spot! THAT’S IT!”

He pinched his eyes shut and spread his arms up over his head and body. He shrieked right into the carpet below them; though it was completely muffled from the get-go with the door behind them, he knew that there was no way anyone would hear it. No one would hear or know what went down there in the room.

The single line of cum shot out from the tip of his dick onto the carpet between his legs: he felt the plug being pulled out from his ass, and that was followed by the hot feeling of Alex’s dick in its place. Eric let the boy ravage him with the deepest euphoria and rapture all at the same time. The finest razor to walk along, especially since this was the first time either of them had done anything that involved their asses outside of a light spanking of sorts.

Alex thrust in as if he was about to churn up some butter: all it took was three times for Eric to let out a loud yelp and another ejaculation that emerged from in between his legs. Alex gasped and let go of his grip on him: Eric felt him fall back away from him and onto the floor behind him.

“Oh, god,” Alex groaned out. Eric coughed and lifted himself up from the floor, and into a push-up position. Alex pushed his long black hair back from the side of his face and neck: the little plume of gray at the crown of his head still resembled a little wave.

“You okay?” Eric asked him.

“Yeah. That was—oh, god, that was something.” Alex stayed reclined back onto his elbows, and still with his legs open for Eric to see the ring still firmly in place on his dick.

“How’s your dick? You clean?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Amazingly, yeah,” Alex replied. “I’m still going to wash, though. There's a bathroom around the other side here—I'm guessing we wash these, too.”

“Well, yeah,” Eric said with a little flutter of his eyelids at him. Alex nudged his hair back from his forehead once again and let out a low whistle. Both the vibrators lay on either side of him: it looked like a photograph straight out of Playgirl magazine.

“There’s a part of me that just wants that thing to stay shoved up my ass,” Eric groaned out.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Alex said with another clearing of his throat.

“No, not you—the plug.”

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skyedestiny · 2 years

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Quoth the Author: Our Next Book

Hello, everyone! I know I haven’t been here very much lately. Well, in an effort to change that, I wanted to talk about a stream I’ve been running on Twitch lately, called Quoth The Author. I run it on Sundays at 5 PM EST, and it’s sort of a book club.

For the longest time, I’ve wanted to get back to reading books, but it was always so hard to find the time and motivation. In talking to some friends, I found out that we were in a very similar place in regards to that. And if there are some of us like this there are actually bound to be a lot of us.

In Quoth the Author, I let the audience know about a book we’ll be starting in advance so that you can procure your own copy, if you’d like. But it isn’t necessary as, during the stream, I will read a section of the story aloud. From there, the goal is to discuss, together, about what we’ve read.

If this interests you, please stop in, using the link above! And if you’d like to catch up on the progress of our current book (The Midnight Library by Matt Haig), you can check out my youtube channel, where all previous episodes are posted.

But that’s not exactly what this post is about. This post is about enlisting your help to pick the next book that we’ll cover! Below the cut, you’ll find the covers and blurbs of the five books we’re considering moving on to. Please check them out and let me know in the replies (or the poll on facebook or twitter, depending on where you guys are coming from) which sounds the most intriguing to you.

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King:

“Nine-year-old Trisha McFarland strays from the path while she and her recently divorced mother and brother take a hike along a branch of the Appalachian Trail. Lost for days, wandering farther and farther astray, Trisha has only her portable radio for comfort. A huge fan of Tom Gordon, a Boston Red Sox relief pitcher, she listens to baseball games and fantasizes that her hero will save her. Nature isn't her only adversary, though - something dangerous may be tracking Trisha through the dark woods.”

Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones:

“Sophie has the great misfortune of being the eldest of three daughters, destined to fail miserably should she ever leave home to seek her fate. But when she unwittingly attracts the ire of the Witch of the Waste, Sophie finds herself under a horrid spell that transforms her into an old lady. Her only chance at breaking it lies in the ever-moving castle in the hills: the Wizard Howl's castle. To untangle the enchantment, Sophie must handle the heartless Howl, strike a bargain with a fire demon, and meet the Witch of the Waste head-on. Along the way, she discovers that there's far more to Howl—and herself—than first meets the eye.”

Lightning by Dean Koontz:

“A storm struck on the night Laura Shane was born, and there was a strangeness about the weather that people would remember for years. But even more mysterious was the blond-haired stranger who appeared out of nowhere – the man who saved Laura from a fatal delivery. Years later – another bolt of lightning – and the stranger returned, again to save Laura from tragedy. Was he the guardian angel he seemed? The devil in disguise? Or the master of a haunting destiny beyond time and space?”

Skyward by Brandon Sanderson:

“Defeated, crushed, and driven almost to extinction, the remnants of the human race are trapped on a planet that is constantly attacked by mysterious alien starfighters. Spensa, a teenage girl living among them, longs to be a pilot. When she discovers the wreckage of an ancient ship, she realizes this dream might be possible—assuming she can repair the ship, navigate flight school, and (perhaps most importantly) persuade the strange machine to help her. Because this ship, uniquely, appears to have a soul.”

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman:

“Nobody Owens, known to his friends as Bod, is a perfectly normal boy. Well, he would be perfectly normal if he didn't live in a graveyard, being raised and educated by ghosts, with a solitary guardian who belongs to neither the world of the living nor the world of the dead.

There are dangers and adventures for Bod in the graveyard: the strange and terrible menace of the Sleer; a gravestone entrance to a desert that leads to the city of ghouls; friendship with a witch, and so much more.

But it is in the land of the living that real danger lurks, for it is there that the man Jack lives and he has already killed Bod's family.”

Please make your selections, friends! I’m excited to be heading off on another literary journey with you!

#books #literature #writing #Quoth the Author #stream #twitch #book club #The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon #Stephen King #Howl's Moving Castle #Diana Wynne Jones #Lightning #Dean Koontz #Skyward #Brandon Sanderson #The Graveyard Book #Neil Gaiman

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un-aesthetic · 1 month

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Chapter 1 of whatever tf this is. Intro to the family.

Every family had a smell. I was absolutely adamant about that growing up as a child. Whenever i'd go to some family friend's house, there was always a smell associated with them, their house, and clothes. It wasn't a repulsive or putrid smell at all- it was just, distinct. If my friends would lend me clothes, or if they'd come over and leave something at my place- i'd immediately know whose it was. Though, the weird thing was that I never recognised a smell, or anything symbolic that would stand out to me from my own family. Maybe it was because i'd just gotten to used to it, or maybe my family was so distanced and fragmented that there was nothing associated with us. I guess i'll just never know.

Some days, I think that the world to me was small as a child, and my issues were minor. But I never savored that peace- i was just so adamant to just grow up and leave. I regret that descision now- honestly i started regretting wasting my childhood as a young teenager, but I don't think I ever did anything about it. Maybe that's why my teenage years also passed away quicker than ever. People say it's a universal experience, that everyone regrets their teenage years, wishes something else happened, so maybe i'm normal. But other days, i'm happy I grew up- legally of course. I'm happy I left everything, it would've been worse back there.

Divorce had drawn a jagged line through my childhood, splitting my world in two and leaving me caught in the chasm between my parents' fractured lives. I was only maybe five or so, when they split. Although i'm not sure if i'd prefered them together or apart. It's kind of sad, now that I think about it, because I was alone back then, and i feel like i was the only person that was affected by it. My younger brother was only a few months old when it happened, he didn't have to experience anything. In a sense, this was a good, and bad thing.

My parent's were fucked as soon as they'd gotten married. They were both born and raised in India as part of rich families- and they'd been arranged to get married. My mother was the youngest of four, around 24, and my father was the oldest of 2, around 28, when they'd gotten married. My mother was sort of a fire- passionate but also raging, she was dedicated but let her emotions out of control easily. Perhaps this was because she was sort of spoiled growing up, having two older sisters and an older brother to do her work, help her through her tantrums, and she never had financial problems, being allowed most things she wanted.

She'd just finished one of her degrees and was certified to teach English at one of the schools part of my family owned- she wanted to become a professor and get another degree, but she'd gotten married. This meant that her husband now 'owned' her and would decide if she were to continue her studies or not.

I don't believe my father was that cruel- but his biggest issue was that he was a mama's boy. And his mother- aka my grandma, was the biggest fucking cunt alive. She was basically one of those evil and fucked up mother-in-laws that you'd see in tv- she'd just want everyone's lives to be worse, specifically my mothers- and she was a grand manipulator too. And everyone knew that she was also a stubborn, undiagnosed pathological liar. Honestly, in the few times i'd unluckily met her, she'd strike me as similar to my own mother- not in the pathalogical liar part, my mother was straight-forward- but in the stubborn way. Both of them were incredible stubborn.

Naturally, she just wanted everyone's downfall for no reason whatsoever, so she told my father to stop my mother's education- and him being his mother's little dog, he did it.

My grandfather though, was probably the most level-headed person in the family. He'd always try to take my mother's side- but again he was a weak man like my father- despite knowing what's wrong and what's right, he'd just stay in the shadows of his wife- my grandmother.

He was sweet though. Most memories of me living in that hellhole with my father's side of my family were mainly with him. Despite being unable to yell at his wife, he was still incredibely comforting. Taking me on walks, buying me things- he used to order pani puri (an indian dish) for me every day as a child because i'd love it so much. (this was later stopped by my mother because it was unhealthy) My family had the same opinion of him. Although, I heard stories from my family that he was also quite stubborn (runs in the family i suppose), that he was picky with his food, and he would hate when people moved things around even an inch in his room- which to be fair, is quite similar to things I do. In the end, he was probably my favourite family member from my father's side- I liked him more than my father to be fair. I just wished he'd have more courage.

My uncle- or my father's younger brother- was a different story. He was the exact copy of his mother- same snake-like person. Although he was more of a 'i fucking hate this family and i don't care about any of this.' Which wasn't too bad to be honest, he was just absent- and he talked down on some of my grandmother's behaviour a lot- which i was grateful for.

Most of my family lived in North India- althought one of my aunt's family were living in Mumbai as well. We were hella mixed- not really 'belonging' to a specific state. This was important because in India- states are basically like different countries at this point. Each state spoke a very different language, had different customs, more different religions, etc. To put this in perspective, India has over 700 languages spoken in it, but there's only 28 states and 8 Union territories. So some parts of my family were in Kashmir and Jammu- near war, some were in Punjab, running business and taking care of most of our farm property, and some lived in Dehli and Mumbai. But we were mostly situated in Haryana- my father's family as well- althought thankfully they were on completely different sides of Haryana. We lived in Rohtakh, and they lived in Karnal. Some of family from my mother's side was also from Spain- making me 23% hispanic- and some left in Pakistan after the division in 1947, making me 12% Pakistani, and also Arabic and Australian (we live in Australia now) from my father's side. But I was still mainly Indian.

So like every 5 or so years, we'd have this whole flight shenangin where for a month of two we'd first go india, then Spain, then Dubai (not Pakistan for obvious reasons sadly- we're honestly not even that connected in pakistan, we just know names), and finally finishing in India, before going back to Australia. This was so we'd able to at least keep ties and keep in touch with all my family across the globe. I actually enjoy the diversity of my family though- I remember going to my cousin's quinceanera- although they live in the US now.

So yeah, sometimes growing up I felt a bit weird- not really from the ethnicity bit, but mainly because of the lot of religions in my family. Although the closest to me were all Hindus- sometimes it felt a bit weird meeting the Muslim part of my family. It wasn't too difficult hanging our the Catholic part of my family though, as I lived in Australia and went to Catholic Private schools. But to be honest, I enjoy all the religions- we all follow God, so to me personally, religion just means to believe in God and be a good person- and the only difference is to receive that message through whatevers associated to your religion- whether is be the Quran, the Bible, or The Vedas.

(to be continued ig???)

So, i just kind of wanna write like a story- mostly kind of just based off of my life, how i feel about it and what happens in it- but with different charcaters obviously and stuff. Maybe because like i have a journal- but i can't write like daily recaps and all that shtuff- so i want to kind of make it into a small book, but like the book is just about significant stuff that i remember in life. Idk how to explain it lol. Basically just a freebie book, that probably will never have an ending and it'll just be a bunch of chapters about random shit- not even chapters, like broken paragraphs tbh lol. So ig that was kind of the opening chapter. (also guys gimma title ideas cuz idk wtf to write in this.) Also this'll have no tags btw.

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somethingboutafic · 4 months

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Based on...

A Hungry Heart by jacaranda_bloom (E) word count: 27,601 Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos.

7 Up by cherrystreet (E) word count: 51,973 Very loosely based on the British TV Show "The Up Series" and somewhat inspired by "Something I Need by One Republic." We follow Harry & Louis in an interview setting every 7 years. They fall apart & come together, their lives & emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the arse.

This Wicked Game by cherrystreet (E) word count: 70,010 An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

we are ghosts amongst these hills by orphan_account (M) word count: 84,172 Harry spontaneously buys a house in Yorkshire because the universe, or fate, keeps leading him to it. What he didn’t know, is that his new house comes with a past that seems to be mysteriously tied to his own life. Before he knows it he finds himself travelling back in time, stuck in the middle of a century old love story. Featuring Louis as a farmer with a passion for gardening, Zayn as the heir to the local manor, Niall as a pub owner with a secret, and a truly underappreciated Liam. Based on Mariana by Susanna Kearsley

Home For The Holiday by Larrysmomfics (M) word count: 86,789 Harry needs to run away. In an attempt to get out of his own routine and his own life for a while and get over his extremely toxic ex, he decides on an emotionally fueled whim to do a house swap with someone in LA who's itching to get out of his own routine and get away from his best friend and business partner for a bit. In a quirky turn of events the best friend Liam was so desperate to get away from happens to be the most lovely, kind, and beautiful man Harry's ever met. What ensues is a self healing journey with the help of a found family, a wonderful man who becomes his home, and above all love. OR A "The Holiday" inspired AU where Harry meets Louis after agreeing to swap houses with a stranger on the internet for three weeks over the holidays.

House of the Rising Sun by Itsmotivatingcara (M) word count: 101,928 “It wasn’t me.” Louis said after they’d walked a block in silence, Harry glanced over in surprise but this time Louis didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking ahead. The moonlight cast shadows under his striking cheekbones, and not for the first time, Harry thought he was eerily beautiful - though immortality would likely have a hand in that. “It was supposed to be, but I got caught up in something else.” “Something more important than murdering a witch” Harry snarked, “Will wonders never cease.” He felt Louis’ irritation before he spoke again, “Careful, little lamb.” He murmured. Little lamb. Harry despised the nickname Louis had given him when they’d first met nine months prior. Little Lamb to the slaughter, Louis had said mockingly. Or The Originals AU that no one asked for.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove (E) word count: 124,165 five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone. now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him. (or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Take My Breath Away by RealityBetterThanFiction (E) word count: 153,658 There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground. - Top Gun AU

my heart is breathing for this moment in time by usedtothebeach (E) word count: 159,845 When Louis first saw Harry at the 2010 X Factor Auditions, he thought he was watching a peculiarly special stranger. But Harry has known Louis ever since he was five years old. Because Louis has a rare genetic disorder that causes him to Time Travel to important moments in his past and in his future - and to Harry, always to Harry. When they're put into a band together, it seems like everything Harry has been waiting and wishing for has finally come true. Except for the small fact that Louis doesn't know that Harry is in love with him- that Harry's always been in love with him. Fate, it would seem, is just getting started. A story about growing up and growing together, and the impossible love that makes it all worthwhile.

The Afterlife Fic (The Best I Ever Had in My Entire Life... Or Death) by LovingCup (E) word count: 491,253 AU- After dying in an accident, Louis Tomlinson arrives in the Afterlife. Not Heaven and not Hell, Louis finds himself in Judgment City UK: a pristine city where the food and entertainment are divine and the newly departed must undergo a Review of their life on Earth to determine if they have lived a life worthy of advancement in the universe, or if they must be returned to Earth to be born again in a new body. On his first full day in the Afterlife, Louis meets Harry Styles, and the two have an instant connection. Over the course of their Reviews, they fall in love and begin to find that even though they didn't know each other on Earth, they are nonetheless linked to one another in perfect ways. Both are hoping to move ahead in the universe together, but they are challenged with the threat of separation if one or both of them is sent back to Earth to be born again. Loosely based on the Albert Brooks' film "Defending Your Life" starring Brooks and Meryl Streep. One scene in particular is drawn from the movie, but other than that scene and the general concept, this story veers far away from the film. There were no blowies in the 1991 movie, I swear!

#larry fic rec

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books-recommendation · 6 months

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Finding Love Again novel by Thane Frankel: Declan Harrison and Gemma Davis novel

Synopsis of Finding Love Again novel by Thane Frankel

Title: Finding Love Again

Author: Thane Frankel

Main characters: Declan Harrison and Gemma Davis

Genre: Modern

My whole world came crashing down when I caught my wife cheating on me. Our three-year marriage turned out to be one big joke. I couldn't stay with a cheater, so I divorced her.

"Women are scum!" I said and decided to give up on love.

But as fate would have it, a woman came crashing into my wrecked life. A car accident brought the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her name was Gemma. And she was such a sweetheart. She made me feel like the only man in the world.

Holding her hand, I made a solemn vow. "Now, it's my turn to take care of you. I'm willing to dedicate my life and give my all for this."

Unfortunately, several people threatened our love. Will our love stand the test of time? Why don't you come with me to find out?

👉👉 START READING 👈👈

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Finding Love Again novel Chapter 1 The Unfaithful Wife

"Baby, keep it down. My husband's home."

In a luxurious villa, Declan Harrison paused by the bedroom door and caught hushed voices from inside the room.

The voice was unmistakable to him. It was Khloe Harrison, his wife.

"And what's a man in his condition going to do even if he hears? Don't worry about him, sweetheart," an unfamiliar voice replied.

As Declan stood there, supported by his crutch, a wave of emotion washed over him.

Fury clouded his judgment.

A resounding crash echoed in the villa. Declan had used his crutch to force the door open.

Inside the room, a man and Khloe were making out.

"Khloe, how could you?!" Declan asked in anguish, his hands balled into fists.

Khloe raised an eyebrow and coldly said, "Remember, you're just an orphan my grandfather took pity on, and you're living off my family's fortune. You can't even find a job. Had Grandpa not insisted, why would I have married a worthless person like you, considering you're a cripple?"

"I crippled my leg saving you!" Declan shouted at Khloe, his eyes brimming with tears.

"You, trash, consider yourself lucky. That leg was a small price for my life!" Khloe spat out with pure disdain.

Standing aside, Austin Watson smirked and chimed in, "How dare you use a favor like that to demand something from Khloe? If you talk back again, you'll be hopping on no legs."

"Always the big-hearted billionaire, Austin. Only asking for a leg from this nobody," Khloe quipped, playing to his ego.

Austin chuckled heartily. "Of course."

Khloe turned her attention back to Declan and demanded with utter derision, "Get out of my room, you loser."

Her expression was that of undisguised superiority. To her, Declan was like nothing more than a pest.

"While Austin is sealing deals with powerhouses like the Davis family from Lorphis, you're just clinging to the coattails of my family's name."

"Why bother telling him that? He probably doesn't even know how important the Davis family in Lorphis is," Austin remarked contemptuously.

Although Declan was not deeply entrenched in business affairs, the wealth and influence of the Davis family were common knowledge. They were worth trillions.

"Stay away from my wife!" Declan demanded, fury blazing in his eyes.

"You dare meddle in my affairs? What's a crippled man like you gonna do?" Austin retorted with a sneer.

Declan said nothing. However, he was visibly shaking from anger, and his hands were balled into fists.

Austin furrowed his brow and questioned, "What are you gonna do?"

"I'll fight you!" Declan lunged and brandished his crutch at Austin.

The latter, quick on his feet, evaded Declan's attack and landed a powerful punch on his jaw, sending him crashing down.

"You think you, a cripple, can stand up to me?" Austin scoffed, pointing and laughing at Declan's plight.

"Damn you!" Declan swung his crutch and managed to strike Austin's leg, which ignited his temper.

"You cripple, How dare you hit me? I'll fucking kill you!" Austin stomped on Declan's crutch, breaking it, and then spat on Declan's face.

"Get lost!"

That evening, Declan was thrown out of the gates of the Scott family's residence.

At this moment, he struggled to his feet and stared at the closed gates with his fists clenched.

His nails dug into his flesh, which resulted in bleeding palms.

However, Declan seemed oblivious to the pain. His heart was consumed with a seething desire to charge back into the house and exact revenge on the two.

But the fire in him slowly dimmed. His grip loosened, and a vacant look replaced the anger in his eyes.

"I'm just a cripple. I can't even beat Austin. What can I do?" Declan said to himself.

Lost in thought, he limped his way to the street.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a car horn pierced the air.

Declan turned and saw a high-end car barreling toward him.

It was a Maserati, a luxury ride with a starting price of $200, 000.

With a violent crash, Declan was hurled a distance, and his cherished ring was smeared with his blood.

This ring, a memento from his parents, now pulsed with a captivating red glow upon contact with his blood and seamlessly fused into Declan's being.

👉👉 START READING 👈👈

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The CEO's Proposition (Sebastian Brothers), by Margarette Grey

Mafia Desire (Erotica), by inspiredwriter

Imperfect Marriage : A Billionaire's Love Scandal, by Aurorae25

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