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15-dogs · 3 years

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hugger |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x reader

summary: you begin to develop feelings for newt, your employer, and accidentally do the one thing he hates: hugs (super super fluffy! pining, friends to lovers, takes place in between fbawtft and fb:tcog)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, getting injured (nothing serious!), a niffler giving birth (?)

guide: (Y/N) = your name, italics = flashback

word count: 2.1K

a/n: this was supposed to be a blurb LMAO i rewatched fantastic beasts and unearthed my 8th grade crush on him which gave me this as a product! i hope you like it!!

“Denied again?” you asked Newt. He gave you a curt nod as he paced towards the Kelpie pool.

You frowned; he always seemed to get quieter after he returned from the Ministry. It had been his third attempt to regain his international passport and, of course, his third run in with his brother, Theseus. And you knew how complicated their relationship was. Newt never really talked about Theseus, except for the offhand comments he would make about him.

So far, all you had gathered about the mysterious Scamander was that he was tall, an Auror, and quite the hugger. You nearly burst out laughing when Newt had mentioned that last little fact about his brother as if it were reason enough to dislike him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Scamander, but that just doesn’t seem like something to hate a person over.”

Newt exhaled in quiet laughter as he pet a Mooncalf, grabbing some treats from the bucket he held. He flashed a kind smile at the Mooncalf before turning off and dropping the bucket to the ground, staring you down from across his basement.

“You haven’t met Theseus, then.”

Newt refused to meet your eyes as he joined you in caring for the Leucrotta. You chewed your lip— perhaps you were making a mistake, talking to him so plainly. He was your employer, after all. You weren’t there to help him make nice with his older brother.

Yet, you continued to speak as if you were a personal acquaintance of his. “What I’m trying to say is you’re an incredibly kind, sweet person, Mr. Scamander.”

That got his attention. His head slowly raised to meet yours, and when he saw you were already looking at him, he looked away. But that did not deter you.

“You refer to yourself as these creatures’ mother!” you announced with playful exasperation. That got to him, a soft, harmonic chuckle escaping his lips. “You have such a big heart. I suppose I’m just a little shocked that hugging is the disqualifier.”

Newt’s smile faded as he processed your words. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, thick with emotion. He then shook his head as if it would drive the feelings away, pointing you off towards another creature in need of care.

“Well, what are you going to do?” you prodded, making your way beside him. “Try again?”

“Yes,” he stated with a nonchalant shrug, “that’s exactly what I plan on doing. And I’ll keep at it until I get that ban lifted.”

You snorted. “I can see why you were a Hufflepuff— dedication like no other, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt glanced up at you with a lopsided grin that had your stomach flipping for a moment. The tips of your ears began to heat up and you prayed to Merlin that your hair covered them.

You had known for a while that you had feelings for Newt. It started cultivating inside you with every adoring smile, every impassioned statement, every quiet appraisal. It had soon grown too big to go unnoticed and you knew you were in far too deep.

“Quiet now, quiet now,” Newt whispered to the little Bowtruckle, “mum’s here.”

You were padding down the steps from his apartment, reading the instructions on the back of a potion vile. He had advised you to get it from his medicine cabinet for your headache but you weren’t entirely sure that you picked up the right one.

“Mr. Scamander…” your voice trailed off at the sight of his maternal tendencies.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, “but change can be a good thing. On you hop.” He continued to pet the small and pouty thing before placing it into the makeshift nest he had created, where it was welcomed by the rest of its friends.

That small moment, seemingly insignificant, had caused you to completely fall for Newt. His soft, green eyes fell upon you with a gentle, questioning look at the potion you held. You nodded, answering his silent question without actually telling the truth because, if Newt could be as seemingly perfect as he was day in and day out, you could suffer with a headache for one day.

“Prepare the ointment, please.”

You raised the large container of ointment that you had mixed together in preparation for Newt’s return. “Don’t have to ask me twice, Mr. Scamander.”

He nodded his head towards a desk where you placed the container down.

Newt began to take off his trademark royal blue coat, flinging it onto a desk as he conversed with you about your work. “How has Molly been?”

You eyed the pregnant Niffler which was milling about in its cage. “Quite well, actually. She’s due any day now.”

“And the other Nifflers?”

“Niffler-y, as always,” you joked, earning a smile from the sandy haired man before you.

“Lovely.” Newt finally turned around, examining your state. “You’ll join me, won’t you? Kelpie’s are easier with two people.”

“Right, yes, of course.”

“Brilliant.”

You undid the buttons on your blouse with haste so that you stood in your pants and camisole, pulling your hair from your eyes as you prepared to hop into the pool. It wasn’t like it was the first time you’d done this, but each time had your nerves thrumming with anxieties that something would go wrong.

You spun around as you took a step towards the edge of the pool, standing shoulder to shoulder with Newt. He extended his hand without looking down, taking yours in his perfectly rough ones, your mouth instantly going dry. Newt looked over at you, so incredibly close that your noses nearly brushed against one another. He nodded and so did you, both hopping backwards into the pool.

Your camisole popped up from the sudden force and Newt quickly looked away as you tucked it back in to the best of your ability. As soon as you were done, you splashed some water his way, striking him in the chest. His eyes went wide with amusement as he did the same to you, hitting you square in the face.

A small wave knocked the two of you back under, the Kelpie swimming its way towards you. You and Newt managed to grab a hold of it, barely staying on as it bucked you two up and down.

After about the third time the Kelpie lept from the water, you cemented your grip. You let out a loud whoop as the cold air kissed your wet skin, Newt also cheering beside you. The Kelpie dove deep under the water, preparing to rocket you two up. As it breached the water, Newt sent you a disarming smile that had your hands subconsciously loosening. As the Kelpie snapped back under the water, you were thrown off, your body just narrowly missing the stone columns of the pool and splashing with a loud crack in the water.

“(Y/N)!” Newt cried out. His voice was drowned out by the water and by the fact that the pain from the fall had you slipping in and out of consciousness. It was the last thing you heard before you passed out, deep under the water.

You awoke to smell of a savory broth soup flooding in from the room over. You looked around the familiar space, soon realizing that you were sat on Newt’s couch, a blanket tucked firmly up to your chin. Your cheeks grew warm as you inhaled the scent that was distinctly him, scolding yourself for the childish crush you had developed.

You adjusted yourself, sitting up to see a tray of tinctures on the table beside you with a note that read, “Please take these when you wake! Newt.” You followed his orders, slugging them back with a wince at each unpleasant taste.

But then you heard a strange noise from the basement. It was a mix between a squeak and a whine, concerning enough to pull you from your cozy spot on Newt’s couch. You stood up and peered around the corner, hearing a soft, offkey hum ringing from the kitchen where Newt most likely was cooking his dinner. The sound of his voice warmed your heart and you almost, almost, got up to speak with him but you figured you had caused him enough trouble for the day. So instead, you headed into the basement by yourself.

You gripped the railings on the stairs with immense force, hoping not to fall over. Your body felt sore which you could only attribute to your accident earlier. You stopped at the bottom of the steps, peering around when you were met with a pained cry from the Niffler cage. You ran up to it to see Molly the pregnant Niffler whimpering in pain as another Niffler nudged at her stomach.

“Oh, Merlin,” you muttered, “you’re about to give birth, aren’t you, Molls?”

As if Molly could understand you, she let out a loud squeal.

“Oh, Merlin. Time to put that Hogwarts education to the test, I suppose,” you mumbled to yourself to give yourself the confidence you needed to deliver the little Niffler babies.

You snatched the pair of gloves from beside the cage and tugged them on tight, casting a spell so they’d perfectly fit your hands. You unlocked the cage to take Molly out, moving her into a small tray with bedding in it.

“Okay, Molls, you got this. Mum’s here.”

You rubbed her stomach in small circles, feeling the baby— no, babies— squirm around. One thing was for certain: you needed Newt.

“Mr. Scamander!” you called upstairs. No response. “Mr. Scamander, please!” Still no response. “Merlin’s beard, Newt! Get down here!”

No later did you hear heavy steps growing louder behind you. “(Y/N)! You’re awake! Are you okay-”

You didn’t have time for his rambling. You sent a panicked look over your shoulder, meeting his wide eyes. “Molly is giving birth. Triplets.”

“Merlin’s beard.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in contemplation. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s a fighter, I’ll tell you that.”

“What can I do to help you?”

You whipped around. Apparently you’d be delivering the babies. You took in a sobering breath, steadying your shaking hands.

“Something shiny, some snacks, and a towel.”

Newt scrambled around the workspace as fast as he could, dropping the items in front of you. You laid out the towel and snacks beside Molly, massaging her stomach as you felt the babies start to move more than before. It was time. You pulled the shiny object out from behind your back, dangling it above Molly’s head as she delivered three adorable Niffler babies, so distracted by the object that she didn’t realize that she’d given birth. You escorted the babies onto the towel, allowing them to nibble on the snacks as you stripped the gloves off.

“Merlin,” you murmured to yourself in astonishment, “Merlin! I just…”

Newt’s smile was so big it nearly split his face. He nodded, sharing in your excitement. “You did,” he assured.

Completely forgetting about professionalism, you hopped onto him, engulfing him in a tight hug while you laughed melodically. Newt’s thin frame stiffened in your grasp. You gasped, jumping off of him with your hands up.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Scamander. No hugs, I forgot.”

Newt simply stared at you, searching your eyes. You gulped as he took a step closer to you.

“Theseus tends to believe that a hug is just as useful as an apology, so I don’t quite like hugs for that reason.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say.

The corner of Newt’s lips twitched upwards, looking around before meeting your gaze. He took another step forward before taking you in his arms. You began to wonder if he could feel your heart pounding in your chest, whether he assumed it was from adrenaline or knew that it was him that drove you mad.

“You should be proud of yourself!” He pulled away to look in your eyes, his arms slinking downwards to rest around your waist. “And, please, (Y/N), no more with the Mr. Scamander business. I’d like to think that we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Newt.”

If professionalism was damned before, it was most certainly damned now.

Merlin, he was so close, you couldn’t help yourself. With your arms wrapped behind his neck, you pulled him into a long overdue kiss. Your heart thundered in your chest but you were too focused on the way his lips melted perfectly into yours, the way he kissed you back with such hunger and vigor that you had to hold onto him tighter, the way you began to smile as he attempted to figure out where to place his hands.

You pulled away a moment later, Newt following your lips with unpleasant surprise. All you could do was let out a soft chuckle as your cheeks turned pink.

A teasing grin grew on his lips that had your stomach flipping. “I’m positive now that we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Newt.”

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general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft

#newt scamander #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander fanfiction #newton artemis fido scamander #theseus scamander #magizoologist #magizoologist reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander oneshot #tw injury #newt scamander fluff #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald

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caguaydreams · 4 years

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A thorough analysis on why Vah Medoh’s dungeon theme makes me want to cry

Yep, that’s an accurate title. Hi there! do you have a moment to hear about Breath of The Wild soundtrack? posting for yet a third time in hopes that tumblr won't hide it. I'm so tired

What started as a quick and harmless post, pretending to simply point out a couple of things, rolled downhill, out of my grasp and turned into a massive snowball of a short essay. How and why did this happen? Well, I assume a lot of people know about this song, and know what I’m talking about when I say that it makes me tear up and sob uncontrollably with every change in key as the seconds tick by and I spiral down into a dwell of misery from where I struggle to find the exit and to later recover.

……No?…..At the VERY LEAST it makes you a little uncomfortable. And I state this with much certainty, because after reading hundreds of comments everywhere online where this song is present, I picked up on a vast majority of people who expressed to feel the same way I did when it came down to our current music subject. See, statistics don’t lie… normally. So, naturally, my intrigue got the best of me. I wanted to find out exactly why this soundtrack was mercilessly stirring up everyone’s emotions, so I caved in and we ended up with this.

Buckle in, fellas.

Out of all Divine Beasts’ dungeon themes, Vah Medoh’s is the one that I can’t sit through. Not without growing antsy and wanting to turn it off as soon as possible. I find it genuinely difficult to listen to, and it’s not only because Revali is my favorite character and the song is just, plainly put, depressing, mind you.

We’ll start from 0 terminals activated.

It opens up similar to the other three dungeon themes; the pace is slow but eerie, gives off the impression that it sounds broken somehow. Something is off here, and it’s easy to figure out what that is from the get go: you’re basically entering a majestic, ancient, mechanical mausoleum, where everything went terribly wrong a century ago. Someone is gone, someone you knew, someone who was probably close to you, but it’s impossible to be sure. You don’t remember a thing, and this entire ordeal is confusing at best, and terrifying at worst. It’s your duty to make things right again.

It’s the same for all four Divine Beasts upon entering, save for the obvious little differences that separates them from each other and make them unique. Ruta’s is played on a major key, adhering to a sense of hopefulness. Naboris’s begins with a startling smashing of the piano keys, much like thunder of a sudden lighting strike. And Rudania’s theme starts threatening, dangerous, like scalding lava.

But now, back to Vah Medoh. The tone here is… alienating. The dissonant chords are all over the place, and feel disconnected, cold. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t want us to be here, or just like the elusive key, our presence is unexpected. Fitting, for a Divine Beast that’s high above the land, impossible for most to reach, yet we somehow made it. Apart from the piano, we have the occasional hint to rito culture, in the shape of a short, synthetic version of the rolled chords at the very beginning of Rito Village. A quiet reminder of where we come from. There is also, of course, the morse code distress signal, but we’ll talk more about that later.

As soon as this formal introduction is over, we finally get to the more, say, intimate stuff. Oh, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just tragic.

One terminal activated.

There’s no better short way I can describe this passage, other than anxiety-inducing. Especially when the strings come into play, and there’s two reasons I can think of why I feel this is an important thing to point out:

1- Characters and Symbolism.

I tend to associate stringed instruments, all of those which compose the violin family, with rito culture. And Revali, most specifically. In Creating a Champion we can see the early concept art and designs for all or most major characters in the game, and Revali’s highlighted rough design might be the one that changed the most throughout proper development of the character, out of all champions. He looks quite different from our usual depiction of him, it’s fascinating. What truly catches my eye, however, is the design of his bow.

You thought bird puns were bad? Oh boy, how do you feel about Revali having a bow that looks like a violin/cello/viola??? And do you need a bow to play it also??? Like, is it even an instrument or it’s nothing more than a mere fashion statement?-

Anyway. I believe this was originally going to be a not-so-subtle wink to rito culture, being heavily musically inclined as we can see and conclude for ourselves. Perhaps Revali was going to be a musician as well, now how cool it that!

Needless to say, the idea was eventually scrapped. But one detail I am CERTAIN carried over to the character we know and love today(okay not all of us love him but seriously if you dislike him why are you still here lol): strings. The association between bows(weapon) and stringed instruments, aside from being a quite clever and creative one, goes beyond the concept art and remains strong as part of Revali’s character, settling for having a presence via score. After all, Revali is a master of archery, so in that way it makes sense to keep strings as symbolism to reinforce the idea and drive it home.

But can you guess what other thing Revali excels at? That’s right: flying. He’s the only rito we know of who successfully managed to take advantage of wind currents and bend them to his will. And do you know what musical instruments are often used to evoke the feeling of flight and gale? If you thought of bowed strings, you’re correct! Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much support on this topic online, so you’ll have to take my word for it. I am most certain that this is fact, although not something worth discussing on the Internet, by the looks of it.

Anyhow, violins/cellos/etc are ever-present whenever we’re close to Rito Village or dealing with a rito related mission. Attack on Vah Medoh, for example, features a sequence of strings that is meant to evoke the strong winds we’re fighting against in that particular moment(*). Another great example is The Final Trial, the song that plays at the shrine of resurrection nearing the end of the Champions’ Ballad. Preceding the activation of each terminal, you’ll notice that a new instrumental element joins the crowd: the first one corresponds to the tambourines, related to the zora and Mipha; the second one are strings, referencing the rito and Revali, etc. I tell you, the moment I heard this during the trial I almost started crying like a baby. And, although strings have a lot to do with Rito culture in general, they tie most strongly to Revali, since he was the champion of his people, and his legacy carried over throughout the years. His accomplishments became material of folk tale, a legend, a source of pride and inspiration for the village. And let’s not forget that, at the end of the day, Revali is the crucial and foremost connection Link has to this place. Other than appeasing Vah Medoh, Link’s responsibility here is to free his past fellow champion’s spirit from Ganon’s malice. The soundtrack is referencing Revali first, and by extension his devotion to his home.

With all that in mind, let’s move on to our next point:

2- Nowhere to Go.

You shoot the canons, land on top of the Divine Beast, do what you gotta do, activate the first terminal and the soundtrack goes off unannounced. Like some sort of surprise anxiety bomb. The rhythm turns fast, the melody erratic, incredibly desperate in its execution. There’s this sheer despair, fear, this feeling of suffocation almost, which are so well achieved in this particular piece.

And that is, partially, because a quite familiar resource is used here as well; one that we’ve heard before in songs such as Rito Village or Revali’s theme. You could even think of it as a motif: two notes are played in an semitone interval, repeatedly and in quick succession. For the sake of later convenience, we’ll call this the Flight Motif, now let me explain why. In Breath of The Wild, this semitone loop is often followed up by some form of resolution. In Rito Village, formerly known as Dragon Roost Island(**), that resolution consists of a graceful descent of the melody, from a high that was built up previously during the motif. On the other hand, if you listen to Revali’s theme, you’ll notice that the interval repeats itself for a couple of times as thought charging up, to then rise fast and determined into a triumphal reprise of Revali’s distinctive assigned melody. This juxtaposition supposes the difference that lays between common rito flight and Revali’s trademark ability; both musical sequences are speaking of flight, albeit in two different languages depending on the way to achieve it. While the rito traditionally use their wings to glide and let themselves get swayed by the air currents Buzz Lightyear style, Revali takes full advantage of his flying capabilities to somehow create an updraft of his own, rising meters above the ground whenever he likes or needs to.

So, now that I layed out my base of thought when focusing on the strings, this’ll be much easier to explain. We’ve settled what the instruments themselves are a symbolic representation of Revali, in this scenario specifically. He was the only one inside Vah Medoh, and the score is, in a way, a retelling of what we can vaguely assume went down here during the Great Calamity, as much as it is what sets the tone and ambience for Link’s mission. But what are we hearing exactly? What we talked about, the Flight Motif, is being repeated nonstop. And that’s the thing, remember how I mentioned that this sequence usually finds resolution at the end? Well. Inside Vah Medoh,… it never does. The melody picks up in numerous occasions, but it’s not nearly as graceful, or calculated, as we’ve grown used to by now. It gets tangled and lost, and then inevitably falls to the ground in disarray. The pattern repeats itself, reaching higher after a handful of failed attempts, but no matter how much it tries, the cycle never ends. What used to tell us about flying and freedom in the skies, has morphed into an almost sinister musical incarnation of a tornado, and there is no way out of this trap. What do you think it must feel like to mindlessly flap your wings against wind currents so strong and violent, that it is impossible to get anywhere nearby, let alone take off every time you lose your balance. Or every time you’re shot down. On top of that, trying to aim and fight back in whatever short breaks and opportunities you get, at an enemy that’s much more powerful and relentless, who’s using your own element as a weapon to destroy you… it’s a risk Revali surely had to take in order to put up a fight. Even knowing full well that the odds were not in his favour, that he was most likely going to lose this battle, that he was going to die. Let that sink in. I’ll skip the activation of the second terminal, since there’s barely any change registered in the theme in general. So-

Three terminals activated.

I know this post is supposed to be a breakdown of the song purely, but that doesn’t mean there’s no place for a little theorising, and the following scrutiny is also quite relevant for our discussion. Bear with me for a bit. I’ve read almost everywhere about people’s most common interpretations on the Divine Beasts SOS signals, and how everyone thinks that Revali’s coming in last (a few seconds later than the other champions) has to do with him holding on for longer. Or, also, overconfident as he was, it means that the idea of calling out for additional support didn’t cross his mind until it was too late, and that’s why the beeping sounds more frantic and panicked than the others’ when it does appear. After giving it some thought myself, I’m betting on the latter option holding more ground, and that’s not all. I want to touch upon a detail of the piece that I never acknowledged was there until very recently(after seeing myself obliged to listen to this song fully and a handful of times, suffering every minute of it for the sole purpose of this analysis. It’s okay I didn’t need my heart anyway). Soon after activating the third terminal, the SOS signal disappears, or grows distant and faint enough that we can’t make it out from the background anymore. In its place, we’re confronted by this… shrill, piercing and painfully slow tune. It sounds synthetic, artificial, devoid of life. And it’s funny, because you know what it reminds me of? I’ll tell you:

A heartbeat flatline sound.

And I want to highlight that this doesn’t happen in any of the other Divine Beasts themes. All their SOS signals carry on, but Medoh’s is no more. This abrupt stop, followed by this bone-chilling tune…. makes me believe that Revali was the first of the champions to fall. A few days ago I came across SuperZeldaGirl’s video on a similar topic, theorising that this could very much be the case. There is not much evidence to support this claim other than some visual cues that could be suggesting to it, but after I found this in the soundtrack, and if we’re to rely on it for anything, I believe Revali was either the first champion to be ambushed by Ganon, or well…. the first to be killed. It is plausible, because short after Calamity Ganon unleashes his power, Revali parts from the group and flies directly to Vah Medoh, and he very well could’ve been the first pilot to arrive.

On this note…. we’ll have to wait and see for ourselves, when Age of Calamity provides long-awaited answers to many of our questions.

Four terminals activated.

An interesting melody is being played on what, for me, would qualify as a glockenspiel or a celesta, which are keyboard based instruments that produce a sound similar to that of a music box(***). If you want to pay more attention to it, I suggest listening to Vetrom’s Instrumental Mix Cover of the theme, where they practically zoom in on this part of the song (keep in mind that it uses the All Terminals’ time signature so it’s being played faster). For some reason, this particular addition makes me feel profound empathy. The sound of this instrument could be described as cute or childlike, magical, even. It is more often than not used to represent innocence, but I highly doubt that’s specifically the intention here. Much like the leading strings’ melody, the melodic contour of this one is trapped in a loop of going up and down constantly, but the difference is that this time around it sounds more under control. And much more uniform too. It doesn’t lose focus or takes risky, fruitless leaps, but rather chooses to stay on a path of waves that consistently rises and falls without taking detours. Like a determined battle strategy, giving it your all. You fall, but get back up again, and try again, and again. It reminds me of Revali’s approach to training, being persistent to the point of overworking himself. He had discipline nailed down to a tee, which I also think served him well in combat. It’s not just about being hard on yourself, either, but being confident and having complete faith in your abilities; believing that you’ll make it. For this to appear now, that the SOS signal is almost completely gone, is significant because it means that by this point, being so close to success on Link’s behalf, the music is sparing genuine encouragement for once, in spite of the tragic outcome of the past and the danger of the current situation. But, in all honesty, this is probably just me reading too much into it. Perhaps the composer just thought this addition sounded pretty bitching and there’s not much else to it, which is completely fine. Although, intentional or not, sometimes coincidences do happen, and at the end of the day, interpretations like this are a form of appreciation for an artist’s work and for what they can unknowingly accomplish.

All terminals activated.

This is the moment when the song finally lightens up. Notice how the strings abandon the wave pattern for a more even contour. The beat quickens, the melody stabilizes. At first I thought, coming from our flight analogy, that this meant a cease in movement entirely, and it was partly one of the reasons why the song in general makes me anxious. But thinking about it now, …there is something different going on here. The strings are playing on a steady rhythm. It resembles a march, it’s like a pounding heart. It’s a lively, hopeful statement. And what’s interesting is that, up until this point, there was so much fear and helplessness present in the score, even going as far as to reach a dead end when we activate the third terminal. But that’s it, isn’t it? the music just keeps going further.

It’s saying: this isn’t over yet. Even after complete and utter defeat, there’s still hope and an underlying wish to overcome this predicament, and we started to hear this as soon as a fourth terminal is activated. The melody we previously talked about? it’s here as well, and its beat is much more daring and confident.

And I just want to say… this is so powerful. Because this sentiment is deeply tied to the game’s story and Revali’s character arc. You see, he is introduced as someone who resents Link for being the manifestation of his failure, in a way, because Revali has trained arduously his whole life to be where he is, to be recognised. And yet… this hylian gets chosen by a magic sword and some tale of divine destiny and, apparently, that’s all it takes for him to be deemed the hero that will save the land. In Revali’s eyes, Link has done nothing to prove his worth before him, so it is easy to see why he despises the silent knight so much; he is yet another individual that was born into their destiny. Meanwhile, Revali has had to build his reputation from the ground up, earning him a place among the greatest warriors of Hyrule, and even then he finds himself surrounded by people who grew up praised for being born gifted. We can see how Revali is the odd one out, and can map out the reason for him acting so antagonistic towards Link.

But once we’re on Medoh, things start to change. When Link enters the Divine Beast, Revali greets him with disdain, as per usual. Of course, Link has no recollection of whatever happened a hundred years ago, other than a small glimpse of the rito champion talking down to him, a memory that came and went in a flash. So as Link, we more than expect Revali to act cold and mocking, which he does. He provides us with as little help as needed in order to free Medoh, reluctantly, shielding his wounded pride over having to wait for Link, of all people, to come to their rescue. But you can hear him starting to open up bit by bit(I wish I could translate his dialogue directly from Japanese but I’ll make do with a couple of dubs and other numerous sources from translators online). With each little step Link takes towards success, activating the terminals, the perception Revali has of him shifts from one of resentment to one of genuine admiration and respect. By the end of it all, he is willing to not only cheer on Link during the boss battle, but to trust him with his life’s worth achievement. And once left alone, he admits defeat and lets go of his bitterness, realising that he was wrong to underestimate Link, and later wishes he could’ve had a chance to measured up to him. To take all of this into consideration and work with it in the soundtrack I think it’s genuinely splendid. And for once, I am grateful that it ends in somewhat of a positive note that puts my soul to rest. I still have a hard time listening to the first two thirds of the entire thing, but now I can look forward to a hopeful and earnestly heartening conclusion for all the pain that this composition puts me in. I must admit that it’s beautifully and brilliantly crafted, and that I am enamoured of it regardless.

That is why I wrote roughly 4k words about it! I hate myself!

If you’re as crazy as me about the soundtrack of this game, I recommend you read the published cd interview with the composers themselves! if you haven’t already. I just found it yesterday(unbelievable but it’s true) and… after writing all of this and checking it out, I felt validated. It sure is a one of a kind feeling.

Alright folks, we’ve made it to the end. Congratulations for sticking around and thanks being interested in my nonsensical rambling!

I also hope that you, like me, will now be unable to listen to bowed strings without being reminded of Revali. Good luck!

————– Annotations/Sidenotes/Whatever

(*)The Flight Motif(in point number 2) is also present in this track. We can hear it in the background right after the Rito leitmotif, as per usual. It starts with a clarinet, I think, before the strings take the lead. (**) Note that the Flight Motif only comes into play in the Breath of The Wild rendition of the song. (***)I strongly associate this instrument with Mipha, given that it is used in her theme, in every “response” to the initial melody. It can be heard in Attack On Vah Ruta, as well, it enters the scene when the notes Mi(E) and Fa(F) are played. The initial tune, Si and Do(B and C) are played on a clarinet or oboe, wind instruments just like the flute that leads Sidon’s respective theme. The celesta can also be heard inside Vah Ruta, activating the first terminal…. when the song really takes a turn just like Medoh’s. Mipha has nothing to do with the song of this analysis, however. We must understand that instruments, although they are attached to characters/various story elements in some cases, can always be used outside of that context, for that is the nature of an orchestral soundtrack. If you have this many tools at your disposal, you will make good use of them.

#Revali #Vah Medoh #botw #loz #aoc

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flooffybits · 4 years

Text

Loona reacting to a tsundere s/o

Anon: loona reaction to having a tsundere s/o?

Heejin:

Heejin finds it cute how your words don’t always match up with your actions. She’s tried to cuddle you way too many times and you would push her away, telling her to stop being so clingy. When she does stop, she’ll quietly count in her head, watching as a pout would grow on your face while she’s trying not to laugh.

Eventually, she’s back to cuddling you despite your silent protests because she knows that you can’t really say no to her even when you pretend not to like what she’s doing.

Hyunjin:

The two of you are so alike that it’s sometimes funny. When you tell her you don’t want her being so touchy, she’ll pretend that she didn’t want to be anyway. It’s a back and forth of “Stop it.” and “I didn’t want to anyway.”

When people see her and Heejin with the cameras on, that was only half of how she could be since Heejin was very open to affection. Around you, Hyunjin will pretend to look for Heejin whenever you tell her you don’t want to be so lovey dovey until you’re pouting and sulking in a corner.

Haseul:

Ever the understanding and caring person that she was, she had no problem when you were being so cold. She knows that it’s not because of something that she’s done, rather because you weren’t used to someone being so affectionate.

And since she’s dealt with her members’ different personalities, so she knows what she’s doing. Even when you try pushing her away and pretend not wanting her around, she’s clinging to your arm and assuring you that she’s not going anywhere.

Yeojin:

Yeojin will not stop pestering you especially when she clearly knows that your words never usually match up with your actions. She will tease you whenever she can but knows not to embarrass you when around so many people.

She may sometimes take things too far, she’s also quick to make it up to you in her own way. And when she knows that you really don’t want to show too much pda, she’ll settle with just holding your hand or linking her pinky with your own.

Vivi:

Kahei is a bit pouty when you tell her to stop being affectionate the first few months you’re together. She’s aware that you don’t mean to be harsh at those moments so she’s patient with you. But after a while, when she’s adapted to your personality, she can read you well and will not hesitate to wrap her arms around you even when you tell her not to.

You could be whining at her to let you go but since you make no move in pushing her away, she just giggles and even adds a kiss to your cheek just to see your cheeks turn red.

Kim Lip:

Be prepared to have your ears bleeding with this one. As amusing as it was for the girls to watch the two of you going at each other like a married couple, there was something endearing with the way you both acted toward each other.

Though Jungeun pretends not to care about you being less affectionate, the girls could see her pouting and sulking somewhere until she’s trying to make you jealous by clinging to her other members. When it works, she was a wide smile plastered on her face, but when it doesn’t, she finally marches up to you with a glare and her hands resting on her hips.

“Yah! Pay attention to me!”

Jinsoul:

You’re both complete opposites so expect a lot of whining from this one. Jinsoul loves showing her affection whether it was towards you or her members. But since you both started dating, she likes to shower you with so much affection that you complain when she does so.

You’re both just whining at each other when ones does or doesn’t give affection but when she starts to stare at you with a pout, brows raised in their trademark look, Jinsoul is grinning in victory and claiming your lap as her personal throne while her arms are either around your neck or torso as she cuddles you.

Choerry:

Yerim is such a bright and happy person that she is rarely affected by your contrasting personality. While you’re always stating about not wanting to be so close or disliking the things she does, the most she does is an adorable little pout before you’re not so reluctantly pulling her into your arms and letting her do as she pleases.

Though you get teased by her friends about being soft for the girl, she knows how much you care a great deal for her and she’s more than happy with that, alone.

Yves:

Ha Sooyoung does not give a damn what you tell her. If she wants to hug you, kiss you, or smother you with her love, she will do so. Even when you complain about her being too clingy, she refuses to let you go and will, instead, give you a side eye or sassy remark.

Of course, there will be times she’ll give you a break, but best believe that she won’t leave you alone for more than five minutes because she will be back to giving you as much love as possible just to show you that she loves you even when you can be annoying with your hot and cold personality.

Chuu:

This little ball of sunshine doesn’t know what personal space is when you two start dating. She’s always so clingy with you and it doesn’t faze her when you tell her you don’t like being affectionate. She’s gotten used to it before you got together and she did not stop gushing when you had tried asking her out.

She’s always pressing kisses to your face and she loves doing them when you least expect it. Your expressions are always the best and she can’t stop smiling every time she sees it. She continues to be very affectionate with you in hopes of making you less shy whenever you really want her to be with you.

Gowon:

Park Chaewon can be a brat when she wants to. And when you start acting like a tsundere, she will make sure to play that game with you. If you let go of her hand after she tries holding it and then try to take it back, she’ll raise her brows at you before asking in a mocking tone. “I thought you didn’t like my affections?”

She won’t stop doing this until you learn that she can be just as stubborn as you. Maybe more. But on days where you’re either sick or tired, she eases up and will take care of you the best she can.

Olivia Hye:

Hyejoo isn’t called boss baby without reason. Seriously, this girl will not stop clowning you if you ever decide to tell her you don’t like holding her hand but refuse to let go anyway.

Either that or she stares at you with a blank face and address you in a monotoned voice. “I will literally carry you just so I can drop you on the floor.”

Chaewon has a lot of fun teasing you when Hyejoo lets her. But overall, when you tell Hyejoo that you don’t like her, she stares at you with the saddest puppy eyes and the word no disappears from your vocabulary.

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not-safeforsanders · 4 years

Text

Be My Baby / Devil Like You

This fic is based on Bea Miller’s Be My Baby, and Gareth Dunlop’s Devil Like You. Yeah I know, that’s a bit of a whiplash between two songs.

Fic Synopsis: Roman knows how to dance, Patton knows how to pray, Remus knows how to use his mouth and Logan knows how to shut it. Meanwhile, Virgil and Janus think they’re all idiots and are begging for some healthy communication. (University!AU) (18+)

Warnings: A little bit about depressive states, and a fear of abandonment (one paragraph).

Ships for the whole fic: Intrulogical, Royality, Anxceit, Logan/Remy/Remus/Emile. (Lomile and Remus/Remy separately too)

Word Count: 1645

“You…” Remus pokes Logan in the back from behind with a smirk “...have a crush!” Logan’s cheeks go very red at the statement and he scoffs lightly, turning around to look at his partner, the man grins at him with his trademark mischief and any word the other has on his tongue simply dies. “Look at you, you’re wearing your best shirt, your tightest jeans, and you took half an hour styling your hair, you...have a crush! On a man that is practically married no less!”

“Aren’t you...upset?”

“Me? That my best boy is getting some experience? I’m vicariously living through you and no less,” The darker-haired man jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter, “...so you knew each other in high school right?” Logan makes a humming noise of confirmation “I see, and you fell out of touch?” Another hum. “And you were so sexually repressed you couldn’t tell you wanted to hop on his dick?” Logan, half way through filling his bottle of water, sighs. “So what’s his boyfriend like? Is he also cute?”

“Remy is a headache dressed in leather,” Logan replies curtly, shutting off the water. “Now come on, or we’ll be late,” He screws the cap back on his bottle and slides it into his satchel, pulling it over his shoulder. “And for the love of everything holy and unholy, try not to end the day sleeping with either of them,” Remus gives a mock two-finger salute, but there’s an excited bounce in his step; when he’s happy he can be like a child, unrestrained, excitable, Logan finds it nothing less than adorable that even his happiness is uncontrolled (although he would never dare to admit it); Remus doesn’t care for people who stare at him strangely as this 20-year-old man bounces up and down the streets, walking backwards so he can talk to Logan and walk in front, spinning on the spot and gesturing wildly with him arms. He is so animated that occasionally he seems unreal.

In such fashion, he throws open the cafe door and waltzes in, leaving the door to be awkwardly caught by Logan in an attempt to not get his face smacked in by it. Remus recognises Emile sat at the table, and then computes the smaller man sitting next to him, wearing sunglasses atop messy brown hair. Both of them smile and wave them over, the stranger (assumedly Remy), offers Logan a hug and pats him on the back in a way that was intentionally supposed to make him wince.

“It’s nice to see you again specs,” He grins before plonking himself back down in the chair next to Emile, his gaze goes to Remus then, where he leans his arm on the table and holds out his hand with a grin that is nothing short of flirtatious “And very nice to meet you,” Logan and Emile both roll their eyes, meeting each other’s gaze as Remus accepts the handshake.

“Likewise,”

“Alright, behave you two,” The psychology student interrupts, shaking his head, but he’s smiling with his cheeks slightly flushed. “What’re we drinking?”

“Vodka, if I have my way,” Remus mutters.

“I like his style,” Remy clips in.

“What’s a frappuccino?” Logan adds, a little absent mindedly as he squints up at the menu. Remy looks at him with varying degrees of upset, Remus looks like he’s questioning their entire relationship. He orders a frappuccino in the end.

They sit and talk for a couple of hours, the afternoon starts to blend into early evening and they’re accumulating coffee cups and little plates that once housed biscuits at their table. Emile talks about his degree, the things he’s learning about the mind that make him genuinely question the fragility of mankind. Logan listens, his head leaning on the palm of his hand, hanging off every word that leaves Emile’s mouth with rapt attention that cannot waver. Remy and Remus exchange small looks with each other between the two and their one-sided conversation.

Remy talks about his work, he works in a coffeeshop and he genuinely enjoys it too “...customers can be rude but I’m making and drinking coffee all day every day...” he hums a little, sucking at the straw to his iced coffee way too slowly for Remus not to follow the movement with his eyes. Logan doesn’t notice, and if he did he still wouldn’t have minded. Remus talks about his studies and the sort of music he likes, and his brother, but then he goes very quiet and shakes his head, deciding he’d talked enough.

Emile looks at his watch around 5pm, with a sigh. “Sorry to cut this short...” he says with a small smile that does look genuinely apologetic “...but I have an appointment with Patton in about half an hour, so we should start heading out.”

“Ever so dedicated to your work,” Remy grins, and although his smile is teasing there’s a heavy load of pride in there that is sweet to witness. Remus and Logan don’t really do sweet that well, either because of pride or discomfort, as their relationship is based on gentle bullying and eyerolls. “I should probably head home and sort out my work for tomorrow.” He grins as they stand, “It was nice to see you Lolo.”

“I hated that nickname then and I hate it n-” his complaint is cut off by the other man drawing him into a hug, he sighs and wraps his arms around his old friend, not quite understanding when he started to enjoy physical affection.

“I like it,” Remus comments, standing beside the two. He would. When the two friends part, Remy offers him a hug too and the other man accepts with enthusiasm. The taller never really does know his own strength but Remy is twice his body mass so when he receives the rather forceful hug that would usually send Logan flying, he manages to keep perfectly balanced.

Mutely, internally, Remus considers that a little hot.

“I’ll see you later Emmy,” Remy leans up to kiss Emile’s cheek gently, before the four of them part ways.

He likes his alone time; not because living with Emile is anyway suffocating, nor does he dislike it at all. He loves him, and he loves the time he spends with him, but he thinks every human being likes to be alone sometimes, with their thoughts, even wandering through a rather active campus and watching the world turn around him. All the people and the noise fade into the background.

He’d missed Logan, he likes Remus too, but there’s this gnawing anxiety in the pit of Remy’s stomach that he hasn’t felt in years. When his feelings for Emile had first come to fruition he’d never once thought he’d have a chance, anyone with eyes could see this man was hopelessly in love with Logan, except apparently the one person who was supposed to realise.

Remy finished his last year of high school in a city he didn’t know because the worst loneliness he felt was the thought of being so far away from Emile. His parents had let him, they’d thought it was admirable that their friendship meant so much to him, that it was a sign of strength and kindness.

He’d been fucking terrified. At the time he had no intention of telling Emile he loved him in a romantic sense, he was content to spend his life never telling him, never once expecting more than his friendship and a life of obedience to a man who was forever in love with someone else.

He’d also been furious though, some part of him still is. Emile was their age, graduating high school a year early to go to college in a city full of strangers and Logan just never...talked to them again. Radio silence. They didn’t know if he was dead or alive, if he was angry, or upset, or if he’d just forgotten about them so quickly. His best friends.

Turns out it was none of the above, Logan had a habit of knocking up walls whenever he was scared, and perhaps unconsciously they were both reminders of something that he didn’t even know how to remember.

But it’s not his place to really be angry is it? Logan hurt him too, yes, but not even a fraction of what it did to Emile. Remy had to drag him out of bed, make him food, push him out of the door to go to class because his entire life seemed to fall flat. Perhaps that’s why Emile fell in love with him, because he’d felt abandoned and Remy utterly refused too even when he was being reckless and insufferable. Remy even refused to blame him for his depression, he didn’t really blame Logan either.

“It’s just a bad situation,” he’d say “Logan wouldn’t just stop talking to us without reason, so he’s probably going through something too.”

It’s still strange to see Logan now. He’s taller, his hair is getting long, his eyes are so full of life, he talks with expression and holy shit his laugh. Years of knowing that man and not once had he seen such expressive joy in his face. Is that because of Remus? Because of his new friends? Or is just the time and place and happenstance? He doesn’t know, but he does know despite the little bit of anger that still resides in him that he is genuinely happy for the other man.

He’s happy for Emile too, because he knows his feelings hasn’t changed and Logan was looking at him like the stars shone in his eyes.

He’s happy for them.

Besides, if the expression on Remus’ face through half of that little double date were anything to go off, he’s thinking he might be getting a little something out of this too.

#bmbdly

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bulletballetarchive1 · 3 years

Text

💍 Rings 💍

SO, this started off as something I wrote in third person. Then, because I was showing it to English Professors I rewrote it in 1st person. Which was my first time writing anything in this narrative. The only other thing I want to point out is that rather than New York, I placed The Littlejohn Family in the Midwest because I hoped the locality would better resonate with the audience. And with that said here we go!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me.

The ability to recall my days spent within the walls of Julienne have brought on many gazes of wonder. But nothing brings forth an abundance of questions more than the fact that I can recall my grandfather with the same clarity.

Even as I keep to myself, the sight of menthol cigarettes neatly packaged and placed atop shelves reminds me of billowing smoke drifting through his dining room. A place I spent much of my childhood studying in.

Then, there are times when my heart swells with warmth when I see men like my husband conceal his silver locks with a flat, rounded cap. Unless Granddaddy was working in the barbershop or, if he was within the sanctity of his own home, a hat would always stay perched on his head. Yes, it was his trademark.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget.

In our early days together, my grandfather’s lover told me that she was not my mother and in that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven year old counterpart required when it came to maternal care.

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

Her full name was “Lucille Tallulah Masters-Bedel.” At the time, I did not know how a person could have two last names, but later I would find that ‘Bedel’ came from her deceased husband. This was not necessary for me to know at the age of seven.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place: seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time.

Being the ever obedient child I was, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. But even with this said, I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

My belief would be silently proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me run errands. I can even remember believing Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white with a delicately laced-collar. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry. That evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

As I had mentioned, I was an obedient child. If someone said, “don’t do that,” I would not engage in whatever was before me. If somebody said, “don’t speak,” I would never open my mouth. So being given permission to trace rings and necklaces and earrings with my little fingertips filled me with the utmost delight.

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s.

Granddaddy’s rings were thick accessories of solid colors, more often than not the dimmest shades of silver and gold. It was almost as if they were old decorations that lost what could once make them shine. There were a few bumps and prongs, but frankly, there is nothing else I can say that compares them to the mesmerizing jewels in Ms. Bedel’s prized jewelry box.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful little rocks in Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past, and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.”

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories? Where does the hatred end and the sentiment begin?

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no particular reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.”

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age I am now. Ironically

enough, I feel I can understand her without even having the full pieces of her story. My grandfather was a lover of women who were respectable and clean. Women who would not taint his image by being well-known throughout the city for scandalous tales.

I will never say that Ms. Bedel was not a woman who presented herself with high caliber. She sang opera long before becoming involved with my grandfather. She possessed clothes in her closet that continued bearing their tags. Perhaps it was loneliness that brought my grandfather to her, but that I do not know for certain. All I know is that at the end of the day, Granddaddy felt Ms. Bedel would be the most appropriate woman to guide me through my adolescence.

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life.

However, at that particular moment as a child, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” she lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“My mother was never married.” With that unpleasant remark came another pause that I felt lasted forever. When Ms. Bedel spoke again: it was clear and amazingly without strain, “she hailed from a place in the South that was so unimportant that it can’t even be defined by a name.” She paused, asking me: “Do you know what slave labor is?”

Even in my discomfort, I nodded. “What is it then?” Ms. Bedel did not believe I had a wealth of knowledge. I knew it just from the strength of her gaze. Timid, my fingers slid against the hardwood of her dresser. Not knowing any better, I began recalling how at the age of five Granddaddy decided it was time I learn how Africans - not even colored people, but Africans - were chained like dogs and brought to America. After that, they were bound to pick cotton all day under the sun. That was slave labor, my young mind decided.

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own. “No.” My idea was correct, but wrong. “My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused, “We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. “That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.” My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable. “From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. And after my mother passed on, this has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.” Not only was I soothed by a far more preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp. “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…” “My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant. “Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.” It was not shortly after this, but in gradual due time that when preparing me for an outing, Ms. Bedel would retrieve one of the necklaces from her sacred box and fasten it around my neck. In some cases, it was to enhance my church dress, or to simply show I was a colored girl of high esteem as she and I walked to a show downtown. Each time this was to occur Granddaddy would part his lips, sneering that Ms. Bedel was making me into a ‘fast’ girl. Originally, his disdain was ignorable. As the sole man in the house, if Ms. Bedel disagreed - and I, as a result, found a voice to also disagree: I could exit the house, beautiful.

Unfortunately, the days of the feminine rule Ms. Bedel and I shared left when cousin

Winston moved in. Although Winston and Granddaddy were separated by generations, their “masculinity” gave them a higher sort of power. If Granddaddy thought I was fast and if Winston thought I was fast, then it was so. From that point on, shiny gems would never again be around my neck.

I did not like this change. Prior to my aunt placing Winston in Granddaddy’s custody, I would receive comments from adults of how “lonesome” I must have been as an only child. I never thought I could be lonely, not when I had Granddaddy and Ms. Bedel’s company. In addition, I was also quite aware of the luck I possessed, because never did there come a time when I argued about what belonged to who. While the alterations that occurred in my childhood home were minimal at best with Winston’s arrival, they were quite jarring all the same. Breakfast was smaller, lunch and dinner too. I also had to be tolerant - patient - when Winston sat by my side, giving his own outlandish variations to the personalities of my beloved dolls. His rough housing even led to the tearing of Marilyn! And even though tears fell on my pillow that night by sunrise, I forgave him. One of the most noticeable changes was in how Ms. Bedel began to seldom speak to me. I thought it would be wise if I did not speak to her, as I acknowledged not just her body language but the dryness of her voice. The change that occurred was not my fault. Ms. Bedel simply detested my cousin.

In her eyes however, I was different. Different in the sense that when she met my grandfather, she met me too, and therefore knew what would come if she decided to move in. Winston was unlike me, not just due to gender or behavior, but because she never agreed to provide for him. Still, I did not know this. Instead, there were many days where I wondered if I had done something to evoke her coldness, but in truth I just didn't know of the hostile conversations taking place between the adults of the household. Some of my days were better than others, but the moment I made my greatest mistake came from one of my worst. I returned home with low spirits after school. It did not matter that it was Friday as the memory of Lucinda Carter’s wrongdoing remained fresh in my heart and mind. I will admit that in my childhood I more often than not felt an intense desire to be accepted by my peers. I was well-aware I had been viewed as the perfect, ideal child by my elders, but to those in my classroom I was thought of as little more than an old woman, masquerading as a child. During the occasional moments they were willing to overlook my small, shifting eyes and unusual silence, I was filled with jubilance. With the little friends I had, I joyously followed to play Duck, Duck, Goose. With Lucinda circling us, I could feel the tension build. Each moment was thrilling. No one knew who the Goose would be, and I even speculated that it may be Thomas or Claude who would chase us around the courtyard. I did not expect Lucinda’s palm to fling into my face as she declared I was the wild goose. And what a fool I was, trying to rationalize the assault. I understood it was a part of the game. But I knew that with the way Lucinda usually treated me, it could not have been a giddy mistake. Still, I did not say anything to the teachers. Tears no longer slid down my cheeks by the time I climbed the concrete steps of my home. At that point, I began to think of the things that made me happy, and in that moment it occurred to me the last time I felt at peace was when I was among Ms. Bedel’s treasures. This is what brought me to her side, rather than confiding to my grandfather of the humiliation that occurred to me on this day. “Ms. Bedel,” I began meek and soft, “can I see your diamonds?" My first crime of that day was not realizing how Winston was among her. I was not aware Winston’s eye size doubled at the sound of diamonds. “Yes you may.” All I knew was that Ms. Bedel looked greatly unhappy that I approached her, “but put everything back as found. Do you hear me? Everything, Delores." “Yes ma’am.” And with that, I was on my way, embarking on my second sin. After retrieving the jewelry box I navigated to the private sanctuary of my bedroom, shutting the door. Any other time I would not have done this, but it felt relieving to know that I was keeping to myself. Alone. Laid out on my wooden panels, I observed every pearl, opal, and amber gem. In this solace, I could not wait until I had my own collection of jewels to possess when womanhood approached, for surely everyday would be spent in happiness. “Delores!” The sound of Ms. Bedel’s voice ripped me from my adult fantasies. Before I could rise to my feet and ask ‘ma’am?’ she opened my door, scolding me once more: “you better keep this door open, young lady. I don’t know who you think you are, secluding yourself away from the world! You are seven years old!” She did not have to curse at me as I hear some mothers do their children. She did not have to strike me as a reminder that she and my grandfather’s words were the law. I already felt the harsh sting of shame and humiliation coursing through me, and so although she did not keep watch on me with a critical gaze after ensuring I kept my door open: when she told me to put everything back, I did so - with the belief I had gathered everything. It was my fear of further disappointing her that ruined my judgment.

Saturday was fine, Sunday was as well as we attended church like a prim and proper family. It is horrible to reflect on the change that came a mere few hours after our worship.

“Ever since you took that boy in he’s been nothin’ but trouble! He wasn’t even sick on Tuesday, he was connin’ you!” This was not an argument that could be ignored. It was clear as the siren of an ambulance: both Winston and I could hear the clashing of our guardians echo through the walls. Ms. Bedel’s fury summoned Winston to crouch outside our elder’s bedroom. I was tempted to steer him away and convince him to mind his business until all was calm, but I was also taken by the enragement. “I didn’t know you was a doctor!” “I was with him that entire day!” Ms. Bedel shouted, “I could see him running and jumping and just actin’ a fool! Maybe if you weren’t trying to keep up with these young men out here-” “Woman!” I jumped at Granddaddy’s raised voice, “You don’t know a THING you talkin’ ‘bout!”

Hearing the heavy thud of Ms. Bedel’s feet, I wondered what if the door swung open and the nosiness of Winston and I would be displayed before her eyes. Surely we could never live it down.

“Look -- damn you Amos, look!” However, she did not open the door. Ms. Bedel was elsewhere in the bedroom, and I could only assume she took a stance by the dresser. “My ring is gone! I know that he took it and he sold it to some...some-”

“Some what?” Grandaddy snapped.

“Some hustler!”

My knowledge of the streets were limited, but I knew the title she used for Winston was not right. “You should have seen him - the way he was looking when Didi had mentioned I had diamonds. I could just about read his mind!”

“He’s nine years old, who does he know? If he took it, he prolly gave it to some lil’ girl!”

“Amos! Why are you defending that heathenistic-”

“Shut up!”

“No good-”

“Dammit woman, I said shut your mouth!”

“Ungodly grandson of yours!”

There came a sharp sound. The sound of skin hitting skin. It was stronger than how Lucinda hit me, that I knew.

However, this was not a new sound for Winston. In contrast to his excited face, I was cringing as if I personally witnessed Granddaddy’s powerful strike.

“You hard headed woman.” He hissed, “y’ain’t gonna keep standing here and keep callin’ my grandson outta his name. Y’got one more time t’do that and I’ma drag you outta here. Keep on talkin’ about some itty bitty ring. Keep on.”

“It was my mother’s.” “Your mama was the thief you’re makin’ my grandson out to be. Your mama wasn’t nobody.”

At that point, Winston was stretching his legs and placing his palm against the door knob. I decided that if Winston would get himself in trouble for getting into the adult’s business, so be it, but I personally would have no part in it. But the truth of the matter is, by not prying I spared myself from the sight of my grandfather - a man who was more commonly stern whilst simultaneously doting, in a state far different than what I was accustomed to. I knew he was in the wrong - he was terrifying me, just to overhear him in this private moment. But what would I do if I looked at him? Caught him in whatever dominant position he stood in? Then, I heard Ms. Bedel weep.

“I hate you.” As she continued to weep, my heart broke. “You old bastard - what makes you think that I have to be with you? I don’t have to be with you. I accepted your granddaughter, willingly, I never had to do that for you. Then you put that grandson on me, and...and I’m too damn old to be going through burdens like you! Get away from me! Go on!” Don’t go… I can recall thinking, I can recall wanting to act out: to cry and scream, but instead I was biting at my bottom lip, thinking: Don’t go. I felt shame at that point, too. Incredibly small, irrelevant. A burden. Now, I was willing to peep through the door like Winston, treated to the sight of Ms. Bedel moving faster than I had ever seen her. Apathetic and rough, she tossed the jewelry box on the bed, grasped at her coats, blouses, and furs.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Granddaddy had the audacity to ask, as if he had not personally told her to remove herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?!” I did not know where the ring of Ms. Bedel’s mother had been. Truly, I thought it was in the box as it needed to be. The truth of the matter was that it was under my bed, somehow knocked there by my little feet as I spent my Friday evening admiring it all. But never would I have stolen from a woman I respected. At this moment, I did not think of my own potential mistakes, but I did think about letting my tears fall and what it would have been like if I rushed into Granddaddy’s bedroom, asking him if she could stay. “Move, move!” My surely disastrous idea never came to be as Winston grabbed my shoulders the same time Ms. Bedel’s feet came our way. Before I knew it, we were scurrying like small, brown mice to my bedroom. It was very likely Ms. Bedel saw it, but hadn’t possessed enough care to say anything.

“When y’find that damn thing,” Granddaddy followed her, not caring about our wide eyes. “You can’t never come back here. Never!”

“I don’t plan on it, Amos!”

Ms. Bedel would only return to Granddaddy in the pursuit of her fine china. Shortly afterwards, I believe she left Dayton to return to New York.

This would be the first memory that brought me pain and discomfort: something I could not dwell on because it was too harsh. At some point, my grandfather realized that the woman he loved was forever gone, because he would issue cold gazes to Winston. Asserting that if he took her ring, he should speak up. Each time, Winston claimed innocence.

As the months came and went, so did the severity of the emotional wounds of that day. Never would we forget the disaster, but we had to shoulder it and proceed on with our life. Though, one day, I would find something shiny below my bed. Like a calling, the light green streaks requested for my attention in an abyss of darkness. As I cupped it and brought it to light: that fateful day would hit me all over again.

Needless to say, as a teenager I spent many of my days wishing to turn back time. I wished that I could have considered that maybe it was I who made a mistake. Then, I would run to my bedroom, I would search up and down until I found that emerald ring and both of my guardians would enter a state of calmness. This was my fantasy. But silent, I would keep this ring. Though I would never wear it. Not even as eleven became thirteen. Or thirteen became sixteen. Or sixteen became eighteen.

Always, this ring was to be hidden. Forever my secret.

Even now, it is in my own jewelry box. And though Ms. Bedel’s mother stole it - and I in a way inherited this ring through the tradition of ‘stealing’ it, have never worn it. It has always felt taboo. Instead, what I do is keep it safe.

I am blessed to remember things as well as I do, yet precise memory can be a curse.

#long post tw #stories.#memories.

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1111

Something a little bit random and silly for my 1111th, just because.

survey by joybucket

List three things you love that start with each letter.

A: Art and most forms of it; anchovies, in most cases; and Angela.

B: Burgers, Beyoncé, and buffets.

E: Escargot, the name Eloise, and elephants.

F: FISH, Friends, and some folk indie.

S: Sleeping, signing off work at the end of my shift, and all kinds of seafood.

T: I’m obsessed with tteokbokki; trying out new food; and table tennis.

Q: I like the quiet time I occasionally give myself; quail eggs, especially in the form of kwek-kwek; and quattro formaggi pizza.

R: Rainbows, the rain, and riding planes.

O: Old movies, the ocean, and Okinawa milk tea.

List a phrase including an adjective, noun, and verb for each letter. Examples: "angry artist anticipating", "rude rascals running", "dirty dogs dancing", or "empty elephants eloping." Have fun!

A: Adorable animals appearing.

F: Fabulous fingers frolicking.

C; Chummy classmates cooking.

S: Suspicious self salivating.

R: Rambunctious raccoon running.

T: Tired turnip tumbling.

Q; Questioning quail quipping.

J: Joyful joggers jamming.

I: Inquisitive igloos imagining.

L: Luxurious lemonade luminescing.

Z: Zesty zebras zoning out.

E: Ethereal eagles embracing.

List three different occupations starting with each letter.

O: Orthodontist, oceanographer, opthalmologist.

E: Engineer, equestrienne, elementary school teacher.

F: Firefighter, flight attendant, farmer.

S: Scientist, singer, seamstress.

T: Talent agent, tricycle driver, tennis player.

I: Illustrator, inspector, IT technician.

E: Economist, editor, electrician.

L: Lawyer, librarian, lifeguard.

A: Accountant, actor, architect.

Y: Yoga instructor, youth pastor, yogurt maker?? if that counts, lol. Otherwise I got nothing else.

List three adjectives that begin with each letter.

A: Affable, abrupt, adequate.

B: Broken, blunt, bleary.

C: Crazy, clear, clingy.

D: Daunting, delirious, dark.

E: Existential, enraged, exemplary.

F: Fantastic, far-flung, flavorful.

G: Ghastly, gentle, gigantic.

H: Harrowing, healthy, hopeful.

I: Intelligent, identical, impervious.

J: Jovial, jaded, joyous.

List three nouns that being with each letter.

K: Kangaroo, keychain, kiwi.

L: Lemonade the album, lemon the fruit, and Liz Lemon.

M: Mall, maple syrup, and mop.

N: Nightingale, nest, napkin.

O: Ogre, olive, orange.

P: Piano, panini, and pizza.

Q: Queen, quill, quilt.

List three verbs that begin with each letter.

R: Running, raking, reliving.

S: Singing, sailing, surfing.

T: Tricking, tossing, teeming.

U: Understanding, urging, unwrapping.

V: Villifying, venerating, vaccinating - get vaccinated, folks.

W: Wandering, washing, wriggling.

X: I don’t know if there are any and I can’t bother to look it up.

Y: Yawning, yelling, yearning.

Z: Zipping, ziplining, zapping.

List three...

girl's names you love: Olivia, Mia, Emma.

boy’s names you love: Mason, Jacob, Lucas.

girl’s names you dislike: Karen, and our local versions of Karen, Marites and Marivic.

boy’s names you dislike: Chad, times three.

things you hate about summer things you hate about winter things you hate about spring things you hate about fall things you love about spring things you love about winter things you love about fall things you love about summer Crossing these out because my Southeast Asian ass can’t relate, but if you do decide to take this survey feel free to un-strikethrough them!

things you miss from your past: Having more freedom to make mistakes; not having to worry about the future; and friends I’ve since lost.

people who have really hurt you in the past: Gabie, my mom, Marielle.

names of people you have had crushes on: Gabie, Andi from 5th grade...and that’s it, really.

names of people you have gone on a date with: Only Gabie. And I guess maybe Mike? Since he asked me to go with him to his ball as his date.

places you've been and would love to go again: Sagada, Jeju, Bali.

places you want to visit before you die: Morocco, Spain, Thailand.

items on your bucket list: See Times Square, live in a condo, plan a solo trip.

health conditions you have: Scoliosis, lactose intolerance, and very possible depression.

health conditions you've had in the past but don't anymore: Dehydration, UTI, and some kind of weird low-platelet-count thing that was just that, and never diagnosed as anything.

things you are allergic to: Possibly some types of grass, and maybe face masks. Idk how to confirm it really; I just know my skin gets irritated around them sometimes.

youtube channels you love to watch: Good Mythical Morning; the KBS YouTube channel mainly for clips of Return of Superman and 2 Days 1 Night; and Binging With Babish.

favorite drinks: Water, coffee, Long Island Iced Tea.

favorite foods: Sushi, chicken wings, pizza.

favorite desserts: Cheesecake, MACARONS, cupcakes.

favorite holidays: The only one I care for and get super excited about is my birthday, if that counts. Christmas is fine, but I only get the excitement for it on the actual day itself.

favorite colors: Pastel pink, white, maroon.

people you would like to meet: Ysa and Bea, my teammates at work. I’ve met them only once before, and I wish we can be allowed to report to the workplace physically soon so that I get to see them more often and strengthen my relationship (both working and personal) with them. I’d also love to be able to chat and chill with Hayley Williams even for just 30 seconds.

people you want to meet in Heaven: I don’t believe in that, but I’d love to have met my great-grandfather on my maternal grandfather’s side. Also, Audrey Hepburn and Princess Diana.

good names for a dog or cat: Depends on their personality.

reasons why you get up each morning and keep on living: Because I’ve been able to see myself get better, and why stop all the progress?; because I’d want to be able see if the future will get better; and because I’m afraid of what will happen to/who will look out for my dogs if I’m suddenly gone.

For each name, think of three people you know with that name, and list their occupations.

Amanda: I only know one Amanda, and she’s a friend of my ex’s younger sister. She’s only in senior year of high school. I know an Amandine which is close enough I suppose?? and she’s a dentistry student.

Sarah: She’s a media contact and I’m constantly in touch with; she’s the editor-in-chief of a local magazine. I think she’s the only Sarah I know.

Ashley: Also a media contact. I’m not sure about her title, though.

Beth: @bionic-beth is a teacher! :) But I don’t know any Beths in real life, I think.

Katie: Well I know Kate, and I’ll sometimes playfully call her Katie. She works in a government agency and she’s one of their PR people. The HR person who recruited me to come work at my current employer is a Kate, but I have never and have no plans to call her Katie.

Matt: That’s too foreign-sounding a name where I live.

Emily: Don’t know any Emilys, either.

Chris: Media contacts. They run blogs or news sites of their own.

Mike/Michael: The one Mike I know is currently a med student. Not sure if he’s working on the side - I think he is, since I saw him post about a job update on his Facebook a few months ago; but I can no longer remember what he does, or if he’s still doing it.

Jessica: I went to high school with a girl named Jessica but I don’t follow her on social media, so I have no clue what she’s up to now.

Becca/Bekah: Rita’s sister is a Becca. I think she is currently a grad student.

For each name, think of three people you know, and list one adjective to describe each person. (Skip if you don't know anyone with that name.)

Laura

Michelle: Hilarious.

Victoria: Strong.

Tessa: Friendly.

John

Claire: Influential; motherly.

Briana/Brianna: Bitch.

Vanessa

Brittany/Britney, etc.

Allison/Allie/Ally, etc: Kind.

Olivia

Jordan

Jo/Joe: Ambitious; pretty.

Corey/Kori

Sophie: Sweet; quiet.

Mitch/Mitchell: Tall.

Madison/Maddie/Maddi

Out of all the people you know or have met, list three...

redheads: Yeah, you’re not going to find them in most of Asia. West Asia and some parts of East Asia, probably, but definitely not for the rest.

tall people: Jo, Chesca, and Shaun.

people with really curly hair: I know Kleo has naturally curly hair from her Aeta roots, but it’s been straightened for a very long time now. I think Chesca also has curly hair, albeit slightly. There is also Liana.

sets of twins: My sister had two sets of twins in her high school batch, but I can no longer remember their names. I also had an English class with a pair of twins named Ardy and Thirdy.

of the cutest babies you've seen on social media: My workmate’s baby. My friend Jar has a super squishy niece/nephew pair of twins as well.

people you miss: Angela, Kate, my grandpa.

people with beautiful eyes: I can only think of my ex.

people with nice hair: God I have not been around people for so long, I can barely think of anyone for this.

people who are the same height as you: Aya, Hannah, Tina.

own one of the same clothing items as you: Angela since we went to the same high school and have several of the same school shirts; Laurice since we share a college org and we have our own trademark polo shirt; and my brother and I have our own pairs of Nike Cortez shoes.

make you laugh: Andi, Hans, and this girl I had a couple of history classes with, Rose.

List three celebrities who...

are the same height as you: Lady Gaga and AJ Lee are the only ones who are coming to mind. I wouldn’t call AJ a celebrity though.

have the same hair color as you: Mila Kunis, Kelly Rowland, Dita Von Teese.

look like you: Only based on comments I’ve gotten in the past and not because I necessarily claim these for myself, Lucy Hale, Anna Akana, and Kakie.

List three....

adjectives to describe you: Timid, stubborn, sensitive.

academic courses you enjoyed: Philippine social history, international relations, anthropology.

words you always forget how to spell: Rhythm, committee, accommodate.

things you wish you were better at: Singing, dancing, drawing.

things you are really good at: Writing, reading people, and knowing the best things to order at most restaurants hahahah.

jobs you'd like to have: Ideally, a lawyer or doctor. But realistically, I’d love to have a leadership position in the PR sphere.

jobs you've considered having: ^ Again, lawyer and doctor. Also a journalist or news anchor, back when I still thought I was passionate about journalism.

jobs you'd hate: Journalist, an LTO clerk, an assistant to an asshole celebrity.

things you miss: Being a student, many parts of the past, and deceased family members.

names your mom considered when naming you: Ariel, Kathleen, Katrina.

things people call you: Robyn, Byn, Bynbyn.

*Bonus*: what is your name? (first and middle)? I always feel like just sharing Robyn.

#survey #surveys

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nikyri-art · 4 years

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After so long the first “chapter” is finally here! :’D This will hopefuly be a short illustrated novel series. The story takes place before the events of Borderlands 3. I would never be able to make this without the help of my sweet friend @border-spam who provided my with so much support, great ideas, inspiration and with her help to rewrite this. Actually it’s kind of colaboration of me, my man and her. Since my man helped with rewriting too. Huge Thanks to them because without them editing it, I would never post it. <3 . . . Usually, this would have been resolved in just a few minutes. Having a team of his own technicians to take care of streaming issues was surely one of his greatest ideas. He still has to check up on them directly every so often, mostly for his own assurance that everything is running smoothly, but today, what should have been a quick check in was taking longer because some idiot meat sack follower had damaged some streaming equipment. Because of that dumbass, Troy has been left trying to get this tech repaired and the stream online before Tyreen loses her patience with the delay. Luckily, one of his most trusted editors was around to help him with cable replacement.

Troy sits in front of the monitor array, nervous as time ticks on, bouncing his leg while impatiently watching the little symbol on the monitor in front of him, waiting for it to signal the connection is back ON. His ECHO’s screen next to him updates with new pings so quickly it’s constantly lit, that’s how often his Godly sister is messaging him, and each new blip and ping from the echo makes him even more frustrated.. but he tries his absolute best to keep it inside, and not to aim his inner anger at the girl that has offered him help.

She’s the one currently sat under the desk beneath him, expertly fixing the cables running under it. A hugely welcome help, considering he’d never be able to fit under it to try himself.

Tinkers are best for these kind of repairs, smaller hands able to quickly handle finicky tech, able to get into places he can’t because of his height. His editor isn’t exactly a Tink, but you could easily mistake her as one due to her small size.

Just as he feels himself ready to snap, Tyreen’s constant pings and the delay on the stream causing his frustration to reach boiling point, a victorious laugh erupts from her under the desk. “AH-HA! YESSS!”

The symbol on the monitor finally turns green, and his scowl shifts into a genuine smile. “Helllll yeah, we are live baby!” His left arm quickly works the keyboard, testing the stream tech and getting it set up, until a gentle tap on his knee breaks his concentration.

“Umm, it’s not like I don’t enjoy the fabulous view from between your legs… but could you please let me out?” Her soft voice pleads from under the table.

He smirks, and pushes his chair back just enough to make her think she is free, but instead hunches down, looking under at her with his trademark shit-eating grin.

“I don’t know Ari, can I? Honestly, I really like you being down the-” he is interrupted as his face is gently pushed away by a really small hand. As soon as he shifts backwards, she crawls out and dusts off her jeans while giving her God a playful smile.

Any other cultist would pay with their life for daring to touch the God King like this, but she’s somehow special to him. Maybe it could even be called a friendship of some kind. Or at least, that’s how he sees their whole relationship. They’ve worked together almost every day for three years, and as the years passed he’s found himself talking to her, enjoying her company, choosing to be around her.. but Troy is too busy running the cult to have time for real friendships, and the only people he spends any time with besides his sister are the people in his editing team.

It’s a rare thing for him to find someone like her, someone who isn’t just a bloodthirsty idiot screeching psychotically. Someone who actually has enough brain cells to have a real conversation. That what drew him to his little friend over time. She does, of course, respect him as a God, but she does treat him.. differently. Something that feels almost like those fleeting nice moments he shares with Tyreen sometimes, facades forgotten every once in a while. His God King persona really dislikes that this woman dares to treat him like anything less than a deity, but the lonely man inside of him secretly wishes she’d do it more. It’s a kind of closeness he craves desperately.

He returns the grin and stands up, ready to leave. “Nice! Now we can finally start the stream!”. His Echo lights up one more showing Tyreen’s name again, and he curses under his breath and picks it up, bracing himself to answer the onslaught of messages. While he begins to text his sister, he notices his friend silently standing to his side, staring. Staring at his chest, to be exact. Staring so intensively she’s paused in her tracks and not left yet.

Many people stare at Troy, and for many reasons. Cultists stare in adoration and respect, the “civilised” assholes he spends unwanted time around stare in disgust, but she’s staring in a different way, and that’s why it’s sparked so much curiosity in him.

She doesn’t notice he’s completely aware of her awe as he breaks the silence. “Heh, I know it’s really hard not to get a good eyeful sweetie, but don’t forget to blink every once in a while.” he purrs.

Again, just as before, his attempt to fluster her doesn’t work. Maybe that is why he enjoys being near her so much, she isn’t as easily controlled as everyone else, and he’s noticed over time that she actually does have a couple of similar tricks as his up her sleeves as well.

She looks up at him and he’s almost insulted by her perfectly controlled expression, feigning complete boredom, like his last line hadn’t even landed. “I wasn’t staring, I was wondering.”

“Where.. did you even get those tattoos?”

Now she really has his attention. “The guys who tattoo the psychos are really terrible at it, but yours look actually, well, professional.” His ECHO keeps beeping and flickering, frantically alerting him that he should have left and been on stream, but this little rascal just hit a real sweet spot, and there is no way he’s going to leave right now.

The urge to smile was too strong, and he lets out a soft laugh as she continues to look up at him, so confident and relaxed in his presence despite being barely taller than his navel. Even without realising it, she just appreciated his work. He’s the artist behind the iconic Calypso tattoo on his chest. It was a long process he’d taken his time with after coming to loath the shitty arm tattoos he got from some jackhole years ago. He’d stopped trusting others to tattoo him and taken up the craft himself. The skull on his shoulder was the only older one that looked at remotely decent even before the siren tattoos burned right through it, and he was grateful the rest had been burned through badly over time.

He puts his hand around his hip and pushes his coat aside, leaning back to stretch the taught lines of muscle across his inked abdomen and chest to give her a better look.

“Well that’s because they were done by a professional, not some scumfuck idiot. Why so curious about it anyway, sweets?” He croons, enjoying the way she shifts on her feet slightly. “You fancy on gracing that little body with some art yourself? Maybe something to honor and please your God?”

Using this moment to her advantage, she dares to take a step nearer to him to get a better look at the tattoos. From a closer look, it’s clear that it’s been a while since he’d gotten them, the ink slightly faded against his warm coffee toned skin. The most interesting design is of course the skull that’s hidden behind the hanging chains around his neck, and she wants a better look at it.

Pushing her boundaries yet again, she slowly reaches towards them and carefully shifts them out of the way, gently brushing her fingers against his skin in the process. It would be easy to miss how his breath hitches a little when she touched him, or how goosebumps blossom across his chest, but she was way to close to not notice. He glares intensely at the top of her head, glare burning right through her, and even though she doesn’t look at him, she feels it.

When she finally lifts her head to look into his sapphire eyes, she swears she notices a hint of blush on his cheeks above the wolfish grin. Against her will, the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile. God King Calypso is a very interesting mess of a man once you start to see past the act he plays for most people. Though he is extremely confident and intimidating on the outside, she’s started to suspect that inside hides a shy little boy. Even still, regardless of those slightly red cheeks, he never loses that aura of danger, and she’s nervously aware that she is playing with fire right now..

Why is he so proud of this tattoo? She’s only seen him act like this around something he’s responsible for. Maybe it’s the skull and the rest of the design… He is the creator of almost all of the propaganda art the COV uses, so it wouldn’t really be surprising if he had designed his own tattoos, would it? She crosses her arms in front of her chest and perks an eyebrow as she considers how to respond.

“Yeah… I would love to get some nice tattoos as well, but I don’t trust any of those psychotic bastards to get remotely close to me, let alone touch me…”

“Maaaybe the artist that tattooed you could give me a hand and help me out with mine?“

It’s not a secret that the God King despises bandits. They are below him, and many of the bastards had been killed just for getting too close to his liking. The only reason her and the Tinkers aren’t ever reduced to steaming piles of viscera for daring to interact with him is because they are useful, smart. Of course he wouldn’t let any of those bandit idiots do this tattoo… which means the person tattooing him has to be someone at least modestly sane, someone she could trust. Thats exactly what she’s looking for, since avoiding bandits in general is the best decision regardless.

She notices how much her last question has pleased him… His smug smile grows unnaturally wide, the amount of teeth starting to show is giving her a bad feeling in her guts, and she swallows nervously before be finally replies.

“You want the artist to help out with yours? Oh surrrre I can.” he rumbles triumphantly, and she feels her stomach drop as she realises what’s just happened.

“Finding the right canvas for my art is never easy, but I’m very interested in working on yours.” Her eyes widen further as he leans down to her so that predatory grin fills her vision, just so he can enjoy her surprise from up close.

Now she finally understands why he was so pleased. So eager to discuss this. So happy to play along. Not only did he design his tattoos, he tattooed them as well.

This wasn’t what she wanted at all. It was fine to chat with him about some tech or shared interested when he was in a good mood, but the God King was still a power she did not want to play with. She could get burned, badly, even when she knows he doesn’t hurt anyone from his team as long as they are obedient and respectful.

She desperately tries to get out of this fast. “Ah.. um.. well.. I didn’t really decide on any design yet, I really need to get that right first!” Convincing as that sounds, he navigates around it instantly, too clever to let her slip out of his grasp so easily.

“Oh no problem, I can design something great for you, that wouldn’t be a problem at all.” She swears his eyes are burning through her as her cheeks redden. “Oh, um, I was actually thinking about getting a piercing first, for a start?” his smile grows wider. “After all these years spent here, I don’t even have my ears pierced. The holes grew back together, maybe that would be a good start..”

This is exactly why she doesn’t like being alone with him. He’s so good with words, twisting situations to his own benefit. A sly snake, he does anything he can to get what he wants, and he always gets what he wants…

The ECHO in his hand beeps again, giving her a moment of hope, but he ignores it completely, all attention on the shaking woman he’s got trapped in his coils.

“Well lucky you! I’m really experienced with both tattoos AND piercings!” Now it really is too late, he has her trapped, cornered by her own words. He’d picked up on her twisting and changing her opinions just to try and get out of this, and made sure he was a step ahead of her each time.

“Come to my workshop tomorrow morning the same time you normally start work, we can… hmm… map out some ideas together.”

“See you later Ari.”

A cocky wink later and he finally leaves the room, leaving the poor girl standing there hopeless….

#troy calypso #borderlands 3 #borderlands fanart #Borderlands OC #fanfiction #(kinda)#borderlands fanfiction #Ari #fanfic #oc #original character #bl3 #short story #au #borderlands #Ariana-Serino

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moviemagistrate · 4 years

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ONCE UPON A TIME…IN HOLLYWOOD review

ONCE UPON A TIME…IN HOLLYWOOD is my favorite movie of the 2010’s.

I’ll give you a minute to put your recently-blown mind back together.

So why do I love this movie so much? The overall response to Quentin Tarantino’s supposedly penultimate opus has been very positive if not rapturous, but I’ve seen some surprisingly lukewarm and even negative reviews, with people criticizing it for being slow, meandering, lacking in depth or *shudder* boring. Obviously the quality of any movie is subjective, as I’m quick to remind anyone who hates Michael Bay movies, but I honestly don’t understand people who dislike OUATIH. Maybe it’s a matter of expectations, because I didn’t know how to feel about the film for much of the first time I watched it either.

The year is 1969, a time of great political and cultural change in the country and in the entertainment industry. The star-driven films of yesteryear are giving way to grittier, artsier, more auteur-driven works as we primarily follow Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), former star of a popular cowboy show whose failed attempt to start an A-list movie career has left him relying on guest spots as TV villains-of-the-week to stay afloat. This is wonderfully laid out in the opening scene where he meets casting director Marvin Schwarz (Al Pacino, easily his best role since JACK & JILL), who lays out Rick’s lowering hierarchical status (“Who’s gonna kick the shit out of you next week? How about Batman & Robin? PING. POW”), while offering him an opportunity to be a leading-man again in Italian pictures.

Tagging along is Rick’s best, and maybe only, friend Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), Rick’s go-with-the-flow stunt-double who in the slowdown of Rick’s career has effectively become his driver and gofer, as well as Rick’s sole source of emotional support. Rick is also neighbors with Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), the beautiful young actress and wife of then-superstar director Roman Polanski (whose inclusion in the film is minimal and handled tastefully), as she lives out her idyllic life, beloved by those around her like the ray of sunshine she was in real life. Her gated, hillside home looms over Rick’s, as he ponders aloud about how even meeting her the right way could resurrect his career.

For almost two-and-a-half hours, we follow these three characters as they just live out their lives, Rick nursing hangovers and having emotional breakdowns in front of his 8-year-old co-star on set while contemplating his future, Cliff going where the wind blows him while taking care of his adorable and highly-trained dog, and Sharon as she drives around Old Hollywood, spends time with her friends, and sneaks into a matinee showing of one of her movies, her eyes and infectious smile beaming with pride when the audience laughs at her comedic timing and cheers her martial-arts prowess.

I think it’s safe to say it’s not the film any of us were expecting from Quentin Tarantino. Having only made loud, gory, over-the-top genre pastiches for the last 15 years, you’d expect from the trailers for this to be about an actor and his sexy stunt-double getting mixed up with the Manson family before teaming up with Bruce Lee to save Sharon Tate from her horrific real-life fate, mixed with the filmmaker’s usual self-indulgent homages to films of yesteryear. While some of this is true to some extent, it’s surprisingly a much more relaxed, easygoing dramedy that follows a trio of funny, charismatic people as they just…exist, as people living in the moment instead of relics.

OUATIH is much more concerned with atmosphere, character, and capturing the feeling of a bygone era than the traditional narrative structure. It’s more effective than pretty much every nostalgia trip movie I've ever seen because you can feel Tarantino's affection for this era of his childhood bleed through every character, car, song, radio advertisement, TV show, background poster, etc. It’s through this meticulous level of detail and willingness to just hang out with these characters and take in this world that he reconstructed, Tarantino successfully resurrects the era in all its 35mm glory, but with the knowing twinge of real-world melancholy.

I guess the reason I love it so much is because the love that Tarantino has for everything and everyone in it is so tangible that it’s infectious. Watching OUATIH I honestly felt like I understood him better as both a filmmaker and as a person. He shows a level of restraint and maturity I haven’t seen since JACKIE BROWN. Even most of his trademark foot fetishizing is tasteful and subdued (I say “most” because I recall at least three close-ups of actresses’ feet that definitely made him a bit sweaty behind the camera). He’s a weird, shameless nerd with a big ego, but he’s 100% sincere about expressing his love for film and its rich history. And it’s this love, and the skill and style with which it’s expressed, that just put a big smile on my face each of the 6 (SIX) times that I’ve seen it since it came out.

Tarantino offers a tantalizing contrast between reality and fantasy. Throughout the film, as the characters of Hollywood live in their own idyllic world, relaxing in pools or driving around in bitchin’ cars, we also see the disquieting eeriness and griminess of the Manson family. The soundtrack and accompanying old-timey commercials for tanning butter or Mug Root Beer that plays through a lot of the film is a joy to listen to, but we also hear news bulletins of the war in Vietnam or the aftermath of the Bobby Kennedy assassination. You could argue this is just to set the scene for the era, but it feels too deliberate, because even after that joyously fantastical ending, we remember that it was just a fairy tale and real life didn’t turn out as pleasantly. Tarantino’s ability to make his world and characters so meticulously detailed and lived-in works to great effect in instilling a bittersweet melancholy to this film in a way I was really taken aback by. It feels like a window into his soul, someone who yearns for the fantasy of the world he grew up in but remembering that not all good things last and not everything in your nostalgic past was good to begin with.

One beautiful, spellbinding scene is Rick and Cliff coming back from their excursion into the world of Italian filmmaking. In this montage, we see Rick, Cliff and Rick’s new Italian wife arriving at the airport and driving home before unpacking their baggage, interspersed with Sharon Tate welcoming a guest at her home and having lunch, before cutting to a series of shots of famous LA landmarks like Grauman's Chinese Theatre, Taco Bell, and Der Wienerschnitzel all meticulously resurrected in their retro glory as they light up the night. “Baby, baby, baby you’re out of time”, sings Mick Jagger as we’re watching multiple stories about people who are each embodying those words: Rick’s career, his friendship with Cliff, Sharon Tate, and Hollywood itself.

Tarantino himself feels like one of the last mainstream auteur filmmakers, as well as one of the last and biggest proponents of shooting large-budget movies on film (even Scorsese’s embraced digital now, the fantastically-talented traitor). And with the rise of streaming services, one can’t help but feel like the movie-going experience itself is also becoming obsolete, especially recently, what with theaters going to war with distributors over fucking TROLLS: WORLD TOUR, not to mention that global pandemic we’ve been having lately all but killing general audiences’ enthusiasm for the movie theater experience (Christopher Nolan’s TENET certainly didn’t help). If all these things, both real and fictional, are indeed out of time, then at least with Tarantino’s penultimate film they get one hell of a bittersweet sendoff, a great time that’s more of an Irish wake than a funeral, and it’s a film I have no issue calling a truly introspective, late-career masterpiece.

And that’s without mentioning uniformly incredible cast. Leo DiCaprio, an actor I normally don’t care too much for, gives the best and funniest performance of his career as a dependent prima donna actor clinging to his remaining fame. Brad Pitt earns the hell out of his Oscar as an embodiment of old-school masculinity and charisma with an amazing set of abs (and everything else) whose outward coolness masks his mysterious past and complete badass-ness. Margot Robbie shines in her depiction of Tate, a beacon of warmth and likability who in many ways symbolized the love and carefree attitudes of the swingin’ 60’s. I’ve heard people criticize her character for not having a lot of dialogue, but to me it feels like they’re ignoring the visual storytelling, which just gives way to them assuming the film is sexist just because the female lead isn’t constantly monologuing. Every member of the supporting cast is memorable with their own quirks and great lines, no matter their screentime.

And of course, it wouldn’t be a Tarantino joint without some truly hilarious and shocking violence, and without going into spoiler territory, the last 20 minutes delivers on this promise to such a degree that I feel comfortable calling it the best thing he’s ever done. Some may decry the climax as unnecessary or over-the-top, but the way it leads to an alternate world while subtly acknowledging what happened in the real one is cathartic beyond belief. And if you’re paying attention, every scene in the movie has been quietly building towards this finale, which to me takes away any potential of feeling meandering in the story. If you saw the movie and didn’t much care for it, I recommend giving it another watch. Having the context ahead of time makes it feel so much more rewarding, and even on the fifth watch I’m noticing clever, subtle set-ups I missed beforehand.

It’s also just super cozy and really easy to watch. The two hours and 45 minutes fly by. I could watch a 4-hour version of this.

Quentin, if you’re reading this, please don’t let your last movie be Star Trek.

#tarantino #feet #hippies #brad pitt

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deloresisout · 4 years

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I wrote this story for a creative writing contest at my college - then shit hit the fan after the deadline [social distancing] so I don’t even know if I’ll hear back from faculty anytime soon. This was my first time writing in 1st Person (or rather converting a story into 1st person) and I was proud enough to show some people close to me in real life. So, I’m going to post this excerpt here.

I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath: anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However, when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget.

In our early days together, Granddaddy’s rotund lover told me that she was not my mother. In that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven-year-old counterpart required when it came to maternal care.

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a wide-eyed, meek child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place. Seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time.

Being ever obedient, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

This belief was proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me. I can even remember believing that Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white, its collar delicately laced. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There even came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry, that evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot, I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open, and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s own.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” With this answer, I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful pearls of Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.”

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories. Where did the hatred end and the sentiment begin?

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.”

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age as I am now. Ironically

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life.

However, at that particular moment, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” Ms. Bedel lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own.

“No.” My idea was correct, but wrong.

“My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused.

“We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.”

My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable.

“From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. After my mother passed on, I received it. This beauty has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.”

Not only was I soothed by a far preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp. “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…”

“My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant.

“Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.”

#PAST. / SHAPED BY EVERY MOMENT.#THE LITTLEJOHN FAMILY. / A LOST LEGACY.

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cambridge-lovers-knot · 4 years

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I feel that I should give an explanation as to why I am upset over Meghan and Harry stepping back, and why I’ve grown to dislike them over the past two years.

My dislike for the couple does not come from a place of racism. As a white British woman, it is to be expected that people would assume I don’t like Meghan because she is a mixed race woman, but that isn’t the case. I recognize the privilege that I have as a white woman, and for the past few years I have been making a conscious effort to unlearn my racist behaviors and be more aware of the issues that people of colour face. When their engagement was first announced, I was very excited to have a mixed race member of the Royal Family. I thought that the monarchy was taking a step in the right direction, and I appreciated that there would be better representation in the RF for British POCs. I have been disappointed (although not entirely surprised) by the racist media coverage of Meghan, such as the “straight outta Compton” headline and the awful things said about Archie’s heritage, and the Sussexes have every right to be angry with the media over those articles. In addition to her race, I also didn’t care that she is American, an actress, or that she has previously been married. Those things are unimportant and are used as petty reasons to dislike her by people who are reluctant to admit that they don’t like her because of her race.

However, there are genuine grievances I have with the couple that have been building up since before their wedding. My opinion of Meghan was first altered upon watching their engagement interview. She came off as extremely phoney and disingenuous; there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way, and as someone who has a knack for picking up on a person’s true character, I’ve learned to trust my intuition. There were also the reports that in the lead up to the wedding, Meghan and Harry were making requests that were a little out of line, and throwing fits when things didn’t go their way (which tiara Meghan wanted to wear, the air fresheners at Windsor Castle, reducing the Duchess of Cambridge to tears over Princess Charlotte’s dress).

I, like millions of others, watched their wedding. I thought that her veil was a bit dramatic, but whatever, not that important overall. The ceremony was lovely; I especially liked that Prince Charles walked her partially down the aisle. I thought that it showed the affection between them, and displayed the RF’s desire to make Meghan feel welcome.

A few weeks after the wedding, Meghan attended her first Trooping the Colour. She wore that now-infamous off-the-shoulder pink dress, and received backlash for it. My issue with that dress is not that she bared her shoulders, as almost every royal woman has at some event, but that she did it in that context. Trooping the Colour is a very formal, daytime event, and it is inappropriate to wear a dress like that. There must have been advisers who told her that that dress was inappropriate, and yet she wore it anyway. This was the first indication of the lack of respect Meghan holds for the institution, which she has continuously displayed ever since. Other instances off the top of my head would be her not wearing a hat when she was told that the Queen would be wearing one, wearing dark nail polish, not wearing stockings, and several instances when her hemlines have been far too short. Again, my issue is not that she broke protocol; it is that she has broken protocol at almost every single public appearance, despite the fact that she has a team of advisers to guide her. Her repeated offences have shown her lack of respect towards those who have greater experience than her, and shows that she thinks she knows best when it comes to representing the monarchy.

Another issue I have is the frequent reports that she mistreats staff. There is no excuse for that, and I believe all those reports to be true because of the number of staff that the Sussexes have lost in such a short amount of time. There must be a reason that those people wanted to give up such a highly desired position, and it comes down to the fact that Harry and Meghan don’t treat them well.

I also believe that Meghan has narcissistic personality disorder. My gran has NPD, and I recognise many of the traits in Meghan. She has exhibited a grandiose sense of self, as well as her sense of entitlement, need for admiration, her obsession with designer clothes that cost more than the average Brit earns in a year, the fact that she has repeatedly surrounded herself with rich and famous friends who she subsequently drops when they are no longer useful to her, her need for validation from the press and public, and the childish tantrums that she throws behind closed doors while presenting herself as sweet and kind in public. There is also something in her expression that leads me to believe she has NPD; you get the impression from her gaze that she is putting on an act in order to garner sympathy. In the ITV documentary, I didn’t buy her crocodile tears for one second because they were so obviously put on.

Her familial background also points towards narcissistic personality disorder. Now, I don’t begrudge Meghan for cutting off her paternal family. They are obviously toxic people who have proven they can’t have a healthy relationship with her. However, I don’t doubt that their negativity has affected Meghan. Growing up with a family like that, it’s almost impossible to not develop some type of personality disorder. So while she can’t be faulted for having an awful family, they do serve has another reason to believe that she has NPD.

And then, there are all the times that she has desperately tried to gain attention. They chose to announce their pregnancy at Princess Eugenie’s wedding, which, for the majority of sane people, is an incredibly rude thing to do. Their reasoning was that the entire family was present to hear their good news, but that’s a ridiculous reason to try to steal the spotlight from the bride on her special day. Harry and Meghan were living at Kensington Palace at the time; they could have popped on over to their relative’s homes whenever to announce the pregnancy. They absolutely did not have to do it at the wedding. And all throughout her pregnancy, Meghan insisted on clutching her baby bump like she was afraid it was about to pop off. The way she constantly drew attention to her pregnancy by rubbing her stomach and making sure her coats weren’t hiding her bump seemed very contrived. Another attention-seeking moment was on the South Africa tour, when they gave that interview to complain about how difficult their lives are. They were in South Africa to bring attention to the issues and causes there, but instead they had to make it about themselves and attempt to garner pity from the public. I’m sorry, but nothing they could have said would make me feel sympathy for two people who live in a publicly-funded mansion, take publicly-funded trips around the world, have a nanny, housekeepers, and assistants to help run their household, and never have to worry about money. Yes, the British press can be brutal, but in my opinion that is the price you pay in order to enjoy the incredible privilege of being a member of the Royal Family. In a time when many Brits are struggling, it was unbelievably callous and selfish of the Sussexes to complain about how hard their incredibly privileged lives are. They are so out of touch with the real world it’s almost laughable. And, most recently, they had to make their announcement that they are stepping down the day before Catherine’s birthday. That doesn’t bother me because they took the spotlight off of Catherine, which is honestly a ridiculous claim, but because that announcement inevitably caused pain and stress to the Cambridges, and it was selfish to do that to them on her birthday. They could have waited until they got the go ahead from the Palace to make their announcement.

The Sussexes’ decision to step down bothers me for several reasons. Firstly, it’s very transparently related to the perceived unfair treatment of the press. If they are no longer senior royals, and do not take part in the royal rota, then the press would be seen as overstepping their bounds if they continue to report on Meghan and Harry. Again, as two people who enjoy incredible privilege and positions of power, it’s not unreasonable for them to also have to endure media attention, whether positive or negative. It’s evident that Meghan greatly enjoys the positive attention, and can’t stand to tolerate the negative attention (again, this points towards NPD), as evidenced by their willingness to give interviews when it is guaranteed to benefit them, but anger with press attention when the media points out their wrongdoings and hypocrisies. Secondly, they claim to want to be “financially independent”, but are still intending on receiving millions of pounds a year from Prince Charles. That’s not financial independence. They should be embarrassed to be in their late 30′s and still expecting a monthly allowance from Harry’s father if they aren’t going to be putting in the requisite work. They have a net worth of tens of millions of pounds already; how much money do you possibly need? Saying that you still need more each year is tone deaf to the financial struggles of the average Brit and incredibly out of touch with the real world. Thirdly, they have trademarked “Sussex Royal” and are clearly planning on using their “brand” to sell merchandise. That would be an embarrassment to the institution of the monarchy and is completely disrespectful towards the crown. If Meghan and Harry intend on stepping down, spending the majority of their time in North America, and not accepting public funds, but still profit off their titles, then they shouldn’t be expected to keep those titles. They clearly view them as status symbols and a source of income, not as the symbols of responsibility and duty that they are. They have every right to give up their places in the RF and raise their son in a normal environment, but if they choose to exercise that right, then it must be all or nothing. They can’t have one foot in and the other out. They can’t continue to reap the privileges of royalty without carrying the responsibilities and burdens.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I am not a “Cambridge stan” (my url comes from the fact that the Cambridge Lover’s Knot is my favorite tiara), and my negative views on Harry and Meghan don’t stem from my positive views on the Cambridges. I think it’s pathetic to compare the two couples and pit them against each other.

#Meghan Markle #Prince Harry #megxit #duke of sussex #duchess of sussex #my thoughts

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wat-the-cur · 5 years

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The Lost Boys (1987): Overanalysing Costume Choices (Part 1)

(Please Note: This post was supposed to examine the costumes of many characters, but I ended up taking too long to write about the first ones. I am, therefore, going to split this into sections.)

Something to note, before I dive in; This is all purely based on observation, I did not look into any behind-the-scenes information, before making this post. I am ready to admit, that there is plenty of room for error in my observations, as I have not watched the film as many times as other fans on this site. I am aware that some of the points I am about to put forward may be far reaching, but I think they worth making, nonetheless. I had a lot of fun thinking about this, I hope it is just as fun to read.

In typical fashion, I am going to begin with my favourites; The two gremlins from the comic shop.

To completely understand the implications of the Frog Brothers’ style, I think we must first take a look at their parents.:

Mr and Mrs Frog are shown a total of three times during the film. On each occasion they are in this same position, with Mr Frog watching television and Mrs Frog dozing on his shoulder. I am unsure of the exact period of time, between each showing of them, but they both have two different outfits, which implies that this is a usual state for them. Early on in the film, Michael states that his and Sam’s parents used to be hippies. One look at Edgar and Alan’s parents lets you know that they clearly never stopped being so. Their lack of action within their own shop and their languid state, suggests that they are either very lazy, or unable to work. They could be infirm, but it is more likely that they are intoxicated, as they are clearly not all that old. We know how little they do, by how much their sons are doing. Alan restocking the shelves might look like casual help, but twice we see Edgar with a folder, so we know that they are taking care of the business side of things, too. I shall now explain why all of this is relevant.

First, let us look at the Frog brothers’ trademark headwear.

Edgar is never once seen without a bandana. Alan wears a beret, when he is ready to hunt vampires, but the picture above also shows him with a beret sporting skull on his shirt (I thought that was quite funny). Intentional, or not, you may recognise these things from another iconic film.

The 1982 film ““First Blood”, is about a Vietnam veteran, named John Rambo, going to war against the police force of a small town in Washington, after they put him in a severe state of post traumatic stress, with careless handling. As the threat grows and more men are brought in to bring Rambo down, Rambo’s friend and former commanding officer, Sam Trautman, arrives to warn the police of the danger they are in. Rambo and Trautman only come together at the very end of the film. During this meeting, Rambo breaks down, angrily recalling the abuse he took upon his return to America. He recalls protestors spitting at him and calling him names, like “baby killer”. He is angry, because they never had to experience what he had, during that war.

This is all relevant to Edgar and Alan’s style for a couple reasons. The type of protesting that Rambo was talking about, would likely have been done by young people, who had not seen action themselves. The hippie movement was largely a youth culture and a good portion of it’s members were involved in the protests against the Vietnam War. It is not unreasonable to assume that Edgar and Alan, either believe, or know their parents to have been the sorts of people who Rambo was talking about.

Edgar Frog’s distinct way of speaking is clearly supposed to be an imitation of Sylvester Stallon as John Rambo. Alan also has a manner of speaking, as though he is following a rather dramatic and cliched script. It is easy to tell that they watch a lot of films and television and they like to emulate the characters they watch. The fact that they do this consistently at quite a late age, could suggest a dependence on media for guidance. If their parents are dead to the world while they are at work, then what are they like at home? It is quite possible that they hardly speak to their sons at all. If such a problem has been going on since the Frog boys were little, then it is likely that film and television has contributed more to their growth, than their own parents. They may well have more love and respect for the media that has moved and influenced them, than their parents who have ignored them.

Their style of dress is inspired by their onscreen role models and quite possibly a disdain for their real parents, and everything they stand for. The Frog brothers, unlike their sleepy guardians, are always alert and on the move. They are patriotic (”“Truth, justice and the American Way.”). They refer to themselves as “fighters”. Their way of thinking is very straight forward, especially when it comes to vampires. In their minds, bloodsuckers are the enemy and must to be killed, in order to protect the living. There are no grey areas to muddy the issue. This reflects another line from Rambo’s breakdown; “I did what I had to do, to win!” Such views are unlikely to have been influenced by two members of the “Peace & Love” movement.

The very first time we see the Frog brothers, we get a strong militaristic flavour from their assembles, which is not present in those of their colourful and flowery parents. Alan is wearing a green coverall and a pair of dog tags. Edgar is wearing a shirt with a gun-positive slogan across the front. Their hair is longer than they would be allowed to have in the army, but it is brushed, they do not look scruffy.

It is also worth noting, that the Frog brothers do not seem especially enthused by their work in the shop. When they first meet Sam, he tells them that the layout of the Superman comics is incorrect, because it messes up the chronology of the story. This could just be due to Sam having a better memory, or a more intense interest in Superman comics, or the Frogs simply do not arrange their merchandise by chronology. The Frogs do, however, remember everything they learned from “Vampires Everywhere”. They demonstrate their knowledge of the market, by stating that Batman #14 is a rare comic. Yet, they seem so subdued and tired, within the environment of Frog Comics. They refers to it as their “cover” for their vampire hunting. They are energetic, almost happy in the pursuit of vampires, in a way that they really are not, when at work. This contrast could be another hint at their dislike of their parents. They have to run a business that they do not like, for them, so they can earn money. Also, in spite of their parents’ constant presence in the shop, they do not interact with them, or even look at them, at all. Nor do they mention them, while they are away from home. Compare this to Sam’s interactions with Lucy and the concern she displays while she is at work and he is home alone.

Interestingly enough, in spite of their clothing being the antithesis to their parents’s clothing, we can still see some rather amusing similarities. If you look at the image of Mr and Mrs Frog, you will see that Mrs Frog is wearing a darkly coloured choker and a red, patterned dress with a deep V neck. We see Edgar wearing a similar outfit, twice. He wears a brown choker and a red, plaid shirt that is open at the front.

Both parents also wear rather chunky necklaces. When the Frog brothers are talking to Sam on the phone, Alan is mirroring his father, by wearing a bizarre piece of neckwear. It is a thick necklace that looks as though it is made of black felt. As Alan appears to be wearing a scrap of fabric as a bracelet in this scene, the necklace could well have been made from an old shirt.

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mermaidsirennikita · 5 years

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Book Roundup April/May 2019

This spring has been exceptionally difficult and busy for me on both a personal and professional level. I really haven’t had the time to read as I’d like--so I’m combining April and May. With that being said, there were some good books within the past couple of months--Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan was DEFINITELY a huge highlight.

Call Me Evie by J.P. Pomare. 2/5. Kate is held in a remote cabin by Ben--who holds her captive while claiming to protect her from the fallout of something terrible that she did. The trouble is that Kate can’t remember the night that terrible thing happened. As she struggles to piece together her memories, what Bill tells her isn’t matching up--and she must reconcile who she is with what she did. I’m sure that lots of people would love this book, but the pacing was thrown off for me by all of the flashbacks. It’s not you, it’s me.

Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan. 5/5. Nadya is a Kalyazi cleric, and as such she can commune with--and draw supernatural power from--a pantheon of gods. She’s spent her life in a monastery; however, a looming threat finally materializes in the form of Tranavian invaders, heretics that send Nadya on the run. Falling in with Malachiasz, a Tranavian defector, she sets out to end the war she only way she knows how: by killing the Tranavian king. Meanwhile, Serefin, the heir to the throne, is summoned home from the front--only to discover that he’s in more danger at home than abroad. This is a wonderfully atmospheric and delightful novel. Emily never holds back--you get monsters, you get royal politics, you get alcoholic princes and questions of theology. And there is a romance that I’m absolutely obsessed with, which is always major for me. I loved this book to death, and there is one bit at the very end that just got at my soul. I can’t wait for the next installment!

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. 3/5. Kya is a young child when her mother walks out on the family; it isn’t long before her brother and father follow suit, leaving Kya as the borderline-feral Marsh Girl. At first, she’s dependent on the kindness of strangers. But gradually--with the help of friends and Tate, a boy who will become her first love--she becomes independent, if never truly accepted by the nearby townspeople. Her way of life is shattered when a young man shows up dead--and she is accused of murder. On the plus side, this book was very engaging, and some the descriptions were at times beautiful. If you’re from the South, some things will indeed ring true. It’s not perfect, but it is engaging, and a fun if predictable read... until the last third or so, when everything kind of collapses and the book’s flaws are emphasized in a big way. I really, really disliked how much Owens went in on the “untouched wild beauty” thing with Kya. It felt very fetishistic. She’s this beautiful poor white girl living feral in the marsh... learning everything she knows from black people, by the way. And all the men love her and want to have sex with her. I’m honestly just torn about this one; I feel like I would have given it a lower rating if not for how much I did enjoy the first chunk.

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang. 4/5. Khai is accomplished and handsome; however, he’s never had a girlfriend. On the autism spectrum, he’s convinced himself that he’s incapable of love. His mother has other ideas--and while visiting her homeland in Vietnam, she meets Esme. She offers the single mother a golden opportunity: visit America for the summer and convince Khai to marry her. If he refuses, she can go home, no strings attached. It’s too much for Esme to possibly turn down--but making Khai fall in love with her is a much more difficult task than she first imagined. This wasn’t quite up to par with Hoang’s debut (the delightful Kiss Quotient) but I did really, really like it. Her trademark humor is there, as is her sensitivity and knack for sweet romance. Khai and Esme’s story is just kind of lovely. (And sexy.) I did feel like the ending was a bit rushed--I wanted more. But I’d recommend it any day, and can’t wait for Hoang’s next book.

Little Darlings by Melanie Golding. 2/5. Following the birth of her twins, Morgan and Riley, young mother Lauren is exhausted. Therefore, few believe her when she says that she saw a woman slip into her hospital room and attempt to replace her babies with strange creatures. A month later, the boys briefly go missing in the park--and when they’re found, Lauren insists that the things that have been returned to her are not her children. This may have been a bad fit for me--I love magical realism and changelings, but the overwhelming depressing darkness of this book was just... not even vaguely enjoyable. And it did help put me off of having children for a looong time, if ever. I couldn’t focus on the writing quality; it was just so dour.

From Scratch by Tembi Locke. 5/5. This memoir tracks the first few years following the death of Tembi’s husband, Saro, following a long battle with cancer. As she visits his Sicilian family each summer with their daughter, she flashes back to the early days of their courtship and marriage--as well as her in-law’s initial struggles over the fact that their Italian chef son married an African-American actress. “From Scratch” is LOVINGLY written and painfully beautiful. It made me want to be more open to falling in love, as cheesy as that sounds--what Tembi and Saro shared was clearly worth all of the pain she’d feel after seeing him slowly deteriorate and ultimately losing him... which is saying something. Locke also has a talent for writing in general, but especially about food. I appreciated her human examination of the prejudice she faced; it’s really obviously on her to decide whether or not to reconcile with people who treated her with clear racism, but... She also clearly loves and is loved by her mother-in-law now. The honest complexity in that relationship is refreshing. I don’t usually love memoirs, but this one was fantastic.

The Unlikely Adventures of the Chergill Sisters by Balli Kaur Jaswal. 4/5. Rajni, Jezmeen, and Shirina aren’t estranged, exactly, but they don’t have much in common either. But after their mother’s death, it’s revealed that she charged them with a journey through their ancestral homeland of India. With each sister carrying secret struggles, they unite in an attempt to fulfill their mother’s wishes--and come to terms with their relationships with not only her, but each other. Balli Kaur Jaswal is so good. And even if I didn’t love this quite as much as Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows, it’s still quite good. She’s a rare author who can blend genuinely funny moments with high drama (that is often socially aware). There is one subplot that I didn’t super love due to its implications, but otherwise I really enjoyed the book and the sisters.

Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors by Sonali Dev. 3/5. Trisha Raje is a successful surgeon--who is nonetheless alienated by her blue-blooded family due to her history. When she meets DJ Caine, a high-profile chef in the running to cook for the prestigious fundraisers supporting her brother’s political campaign, it’s dislike at first sight. He can’t stand her snobbish bossiness; she finds his assumptions about her frustrating and demeaning. But even if DJ didn’t need the job, they can’t avoid each other--because Trisha is the only person who can save DJ’s terminally ill sister. So: Dev says that this is very loosely inspired by Pride and Prejudice, but as the title suggests it’s VERY inspired by Pride and Prejudice. Points for the genders being swapped here--though DJ does stand in part for Darcy, he’s the Lizzie of this story--and Dev does a great job of bringing cultural backgrounds and social issues into the forefront without beating us over the head with it. But for whatever reason, I never really clicked with Trisha and DJ’s romance, and the Wickham side of this was... not great. Still, it’s a fun read and it made me very hungry. Not bad for a day by the pool!

#books #book roundup #book recs

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jeonwinks · 6 years

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[M] Learning Curve

Paring: Jungkook x reader

Count: 8482

Warning(s): Smut, Sub!Kook but also Dom!Kook hashtag best of both worlds, spanking, two dirty mouths, and a touch of orgasm control for good measure.

A/N: This is re-posted from my old blog, boys and girls, keep that in mind.

If you had to guess Jungkook’s least favorite thing to do, you would say that renouncing his power was likely it. In bed, anyway. He always made sure to remind you that he was in charge of your pleasure, no matter what the situation. He administered it as generously or as sparingly as he saw fit. It hadn’t always been so, but Jungkook settled into his role as the dominant one quite naturally.

Evidently, though, your leniency had taken its toll on his once obedient nature. You allowed him to grow confident in his ability to disarm you fully with just one brush of his hands over the right parts of your body, or dirty, whispered words against your neck, or the heat of his body pressing against yours. You had become forbearing, allowing him to push the limits of your control until he had effectively slipped it from your grasp entirely.

Maybe it was the way he shamelessly returned the advances of his senior at the company meeting with that trademarked, bashful innocence he wore so well. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had the audacity to slip his hand under your skirt during dinner with the boys some time later that same evening. You might have also argued that the way he smirked down at you with his hand shoved into your damp panties was the last straw. It was with a casual little turn of his lips, dripping with smug confidence, that he fixed his heated stare on your flushing face. He knew he was making it more and more difficult for you to remain indifferent with every brush of his middle finger against you, but he couldn’t be bothered by the possibility of being caught. Either way, you were left feeling less than compliant, not to mention incredibly frustrated because of course he didn’t let you cum.

Usually, his teasing had an end game. Most nights, he at least rewarded your patience with a quick fuck, even if it was rushed–you came to find that that seldom made much of a difference, he was never lacking. Not that night, though. That night, when the two of you got home, he opted to plant a soft kiss on your forehead and whisper a much too innocent goodnight rather than shove you against the wall and have you as you’d been anticipating he would.

You didn’t dislike any of his teasing, often times you even instigated punishments because he was exceptionally good in their delivery. Even though you were older than he was, you were very quick to bend at his whims because you knew the reward would trump the burning embarrassment of mindless submission. It didn’t make how easily he made you come undone any less infuriating, though. You decided rather abruptly, when he actually walked into your shared bedroom with bleary, sleep-heavy eyes, that it would be him who would be bending, following all of your instructions with diligent care. After all, he hadn’t always been the one in charge and it seemed he was due for a reminder.

The early hours of the morning were a nod to all the twisted pleasure you used to bask in. There was something so wickedly satisfying about the giddy excitement that brewed as you anticipated his reaction upon waking. As far as you could remember, it always took him a moment to gather himself and come to terms with the situation as you presented it before him, but his face always clouded with the same weary excitement and tentative arousal. The realization and the full effect of your mouth around him washed his face in pained dread that made the thrill of the night all the more pointed. Chasing the same rush, you’d hoped to have him writhing.

The night played out a bit differently, though. Lost to your girlish excitement, you’d not realized that securing his limbs to the bedposts was much harder than when he was willing to comply–though you doubted he’d allow you to tie him up if you asked. You were also reminded that because he was such a heavy sleeper, waking him up with just your mouth around his cock was almost entirely ineffective.

You reached a hand up to the soft skin over his hip bone, pinching it between your nails to alert the boy beneath you. He stirred a bit under your touch, hips pressing down against the bed to distance himself from the sharpness of your tiny offence. He was flushed, cheeks and chest blooming in faint red splotches, eyes shut and eyebrows knit in irritation at his disturbed sleep. Even in his state of half consciousness, his cock throbbed against your bottom lip, already thoroughly strained thanks to your earlier ministrations.

“[Y/N],” Jungkook moaned with his eyes still closed, hips jerking up when your lips wrapped around his head again, “what are you doing?” His voice was small, almost dreamlike.

You had to suppress the laugh that threatened to slip at his pathetic attempt to lower his arms. You could picture yourself in his place, you had been there some days ago. Just as he was then, you found yourself completely powerless as he asserted his relished dominance. He still seemed to be stumbling along the edge of consciousness as his hips pressed upward ever so slightly, chasing the disappearing heat of your mouth. It wasn’t hard to tell his state of vulnerability was making him more docile than full-consciousness would ever allow, so you basked in the momentary control he unknowingly allowed you.

“Well, baby,” You began with a satisfied sigh as you noted the still-stiffening firmness against your lips, “Do you remember last week how you tied me up all nice and pretty just for you? Remember that?” You hummed with mocking innocence and watched through your eyelashes as his eyes finally opened, sleep still evident in them.

He didn’t reply right away, but you didn’t expect him to. Instead, he tested the resistance of his bound wrists with forceful tugs that did little but irritate the skin under your expert knots.

“Hmm, sure you remember,” You continued, ignoring his growl of frustration to run the tip of your tongue over the head of his cock once again, “I was so ready to cum that night but oh–” You cut your thought short, pulling your hand away to sit up on your knees between his parted legs, “You wouldn’t let me, would you?” You sighed like you were struggling to recall the events of that night, sorting through the story by yourself as though he wasn’t there at all despite the threatening rhythm of his heavy breaths.

“That’s right, I remember now.” You grinned darkly at his glare, running your nails down his thighs, leaving lines of white that faded into a faint red, noting the jump of his muscles under your feather-light touches with a surge of smug confidence, “You said something about being patient, didn’t you? Yeah, I think so. I was probably complaining too much about how you wouldn’t let me cum, or something like that. I’m such an impatient girl. But you always make sure to remind me to be patient… It’s because you’re an expert at being patient, isn’t that right, Jungkookie?” You scoffed, not bothering to mask the amusement in your tone.

Jungkook’s still-sleepy mind recalled that night quite vividly. You had been a bit too off-handed in your demands. Your requests were made with no regard for the established rules and were clearly intended as taunts, but the willfully bratty commands didn’t stop him from delivering his merciless punishment. As he remembered, he had bound you just as he was, wrists and ankles to the bedposts with old ties of his, then he had his way with you at a painfully deliberate pace until all he could hear over his own heartbeat and panted breaths were your desperate pleas for ‘more’.

The memory alone made his cock twitch again despite his effort to show his distaste at the situation. He could feel himself straining further, growing uncomfortably aware of how hard he had become, the rush of blood feeling like a torrent of desire that left him growing angrier, more desperate to break free.

“Untie me,” He demanded hotly, hands fisted and pulling on the ties with effort that made his muscles jump. It was such a gruff order despite his invalidation that you had to chuckle at it. It was clear to you then that this had been long overdue. Jungkook was younger yet he had proven to be so impertinent in bed that, if you didn’t know better, you might have assumed him to be the older one in the relationship.

“Oh?” You tilted your head to the side, eyes running the length of his torso, drinking in the sight of tensed muscles pushing against amber skin, perspired by the effort to remain calm, “I don’t think so. I think you need a little lesson of your own tonight.” You hummed.

You wondered then if perhaps you had allowed his behaviour to regress into such an overbearingly dominant one so that you could see him in the state he was then; fucked out out from the memories of just how well you used to ravish him, but too proud to admit that he wanted you to do just that. You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the reason for your torturous resolve, you were much too preoccupied with the boy before you.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed further, his scowl deepening at your casual shrug. Though he was doubtful in his ability to follow through with his bargain, he willed his body to relax against the mattress and ignore the effect your hungry stare was having on his twitching cock. He spoke up only when he was certain he could manage a calm thought.

“Untie me and I promise your punishment won’t be harsh.” He offered, the same smug smile tugging a corner of his lips up, dimpling the skin next to it faintly. You managed only a scoff at his confidence before Jungkook lurched forward with the ferocity of a wild animal, the strength of his pulling straining the bedposts with unnerving creaks. You didn’t flinch, though. The knots were expertly tied, completely secured thanks to your exercised skill. On nights when he felt particularly unmerciful, his swift fingers followed all the unintentional lessons you’d offered him when you felt similarly afflicted and bound him.

He had been such a dutiful disciple then; a rather fast learner too. It was almost a shame to see such a tame boy become so uncooperative, still, you allowed your punishing side to indulge in it. After all, keeping him on the edge of submission was one of your favourite things.

‘How terribly unbecoming,’ You mused to yourself, watching him struggle some more against the ties that refused to budge when his offer did nothing to sway your intentions.

“That right there is the problem,” You tutted down at him, “You demand so insolently that you will be done that it’s almost as though you’ve forgotten who’s really in charge here. But don’t worry– Noona is more than willing to remind you.”

Jungkook barely had time to mull over a snarky response before your hand curled around him again, fingers tightening just so around his base until all of his words were swept away by the feeling that overcame him. Like lightening, the surge of pleasure that shot through him at the simple touch left him panting under you, muscles in his leg tensing under your touch.

“I trust you remember your word.” You nodded down at the trembling boy, fighting the urge to laugh at how easily affected he still was by your touch. Though he tried his best to fight it, submission looked better on him than you.

Jungkook could barely form words, the heat of your soft palm was spreading through his body, soothing his smart mouth– however momentarily that may have been. He was shaking his head in an effort to remain stoic, looking from his left side to the right, searching the room for a distraction. When he found none, he settled for biting onto the taut skin of his upper arm, hiding his face to suppress the sounds that were, without his consent, breaking through his facade.

“It seems clear to me that you’ve forgotten how this works, but when I ask a question,” You began, grip tightening to emphasize your words, “I expect an answer.”

Jungkook nodded idly, a gruff ‘yes’ left mingling with with his pants and your dark chuckle. His response was hardly satisfactory but you expected nothing less of the stubborn boy.

“Nicely, Jungkook,” You pressed, the pointed reprimand a bow to all the power you had forced from his hands, and thought it made him want to cry out with every ounce of frustration in his body, Jungkook opted to comply, reasoning that you might reward marginal obedience.

“Yes,” He offered quietly, “I remember.”

“Would you look at that,” You said with a sarcastic scoff to further irritate him, “It seems you are capable of being a good boy. Tell me then why you’ve been so bad lately, Jungkookie.”

There were few things quite as easy as getting Jungkook riled up. You relished the ease with which you could have him coming undone, a mess of poorly suppressed tears and begged whines that bubbled past kiss-swollen lips. He was such a pretty sight, so ready to bend at your whims, desperation edging his actions and coaxing his decisions while he chased the release only you could grant him. That was, as far as you could call to mind, anyway.

Looking at him then, though– stubbornness drawing his lips into a frown and false pride swelling in his chest as he bit his tongue to keep the words at the tip from revealing his true affliction– it was clear that that was a thing of the past.

Your hand loosened its grip fractionally but it was only a moment before a twisted drag up his length had him gasping for a different reason.

There was little you could do about how insolent he continued to be, once again choosing to ignore your question, opting to keep quiet and deny you the satisfaction of a moaned answer. The only possible resolve was to leave him high and dry as he often did to you but that seemed far too extreme, especially since you were, admittedly, much too frustrated to walk away entirely. Instead, you dropped your hand to your side, shuffling back on your knees to create some space between your scorching bodies, just enough to grab his full attention–a threat of sorts.

To say that you weren’t ready to pounce on him would have been a sore lie, but your desire to see him snap was fuelling your merciless actions when you leaned down to blow a cool puff of breath over his precum-slicked head.

“Answer me, Jeon Jungkook,” You started, pausing to blow over him again, enjoying the shivered sigh that the cool air elicited from his bitten lips.

“Y/N, I’m not–”

“Noona,” You corrected the younger boy with a stern look that he matched with distaste.

“Noona.” He corrected himself as a deadpanned look of little amusement grazed his face, and made his words all the more frustrating, “I have nothing to say unless you untie me.”

“Well we have a bit of an issue, don’t we?” You cocked your head to one side as his eyebrow raised in challenge, “I’m not going to fuck you until you ask me nicely.” You said, voice calm and resolute as your watched for a reaction.

The younger boy tried his best to shrug causally despite the tautness of his ties, and though it was a poor attempt, the defiant gesture still dripped with over-confidence and smugness. A combination you’d come to adore.

“I don’t care.”

You chuckled sarcastically at his assertion, one hand placed on your chest for emphasis, the other reaching down to grasp his cock at the base, wickedly noting his less-than-subtle reaction, a throaty groan that he couldn’t have hid even if he had tried.

“Oh ok, I see,” You hummed, voice a sultry breath, “I guess I should stop then,”

For a moment, his brow creased at the thought of being left tied and with no relief, but of course you wouldn’t do that, Jungkook knew as much. He knew that despite the nonchalance of your actions, you were growing irritated at his will to resist and your own building arousal.

You dipped down to lick the underside of his stiff shaft, making sure to swirl the tip with your tongue before finally taking him into your mouth. On a different night, you might have minded the finesse with which you worked on him, but your building irritation hardly made caution worth your effort.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook managed to rasp, voice strained by self-control as you began to suck. You didn’t really acknowledge his approving whines openly, but the smaller part of you, the one that had grown accustomed to his almost imposed submission, was encouraged by the way his hips lifted up off the bed despite his tied down form. His hips pressed up with force, pushing the very tip of his cock against your throat, a welcomed strain that you didn’t bother fighting.

Jungkook was never quiet in bed, always demanding, always guiding, and always rewarding. Never before though had you heard his voice pitch as it did when you finally pulled away, the beginnings of his orgasm disappearing as quickly as they began to threaten his resolve. His whine resonated loudly in the sparsely furnished room, echoing off the walls faintly to expose the true desire that he had, with diligent care, tried to conceal by wedging his bottom lips between his teeth.

“Well would you look at that,” You smirked down at him, the familiarity of the scene unfolding pooling liquid heat at the pit of your stomach, “It seems, Jungkook, that you haven’t been entirely truthful with noona. It seems like you do want me fuck you, huh?”

You didn’t wait for his response, fully anticipating his silence and instead let your mouth sink down on him again, sealing your lips around him and sucking harshly.

“Fuck, noona…” Jungkook choked out through gritted teeth, too focussed on his stubborn agenda to let his guard down. With your lips around him, you could almost physically feel his determination whither away, the beginnings of his second orgasm tensing his muscles and pitching his voice just a bit more.

“N-noona,” His strained voice gasped out, effort evident in it when he reached the back of your throat, tightening muscles from your suppressed laughter contracting over his swollen head almost painfully.

When his hips proved too forceful, your palms pushed them down against the bed with little effort, a sign that, whether or not he was ready to admit it, his pride was crumbling under the feral pressure building inside of him, all of his desire and animalistic need ready to boil over at any second, to give into your tempting words and just give up.

You had to admit, it would have been easy to let him finish right then, he was certainly ready to, but the simple nature of the act of generosity wasn’t nearly as compelling as the reaction that pulling away might draw from him, so you did just that. Pressing down to keep his hips in place, you pushed off of them with a gasp at the sudden flow of air, a single line of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his saliva-slicked cock, stretching until it snapped and disappeared from your sight. The most deliciously twisted symbolism for the high his pride once again denied him.

Jungkook grunted from beneath you, his head shooting back to press against his pillow with force, back arching ever so slightly off the mattress, “Noona–fuck– I was about to cum, god damn it,” He said matter-of-factly, a sharp edged to his whine that made the statement seem more like an angry announcement, rather than the plea you might expect from an obedient boy.

“But bad boys don’t get to cum, only good boys do,” You rasped over him, leaning down to place one last kiss on the head of his cock before you moved away from him entirely, the heat of your touch disappearing from his skin almost painfully.

“Besides,” You began, shuffling your way to the end of the bed so you could lean against the footboard, positioned between his open legs, “I don’t think I’ve had my fun yet.”

You were careless in the way you disposed of the bra you still had on, quickly unclasping it and tossing it to a corner of your shared bedroom without minding its direction. Slipping a curious hand between your legs, careful to evade Jungkook’s sharp-eyes, you sighed contentedly at what you found, a tiny smile playing on your lips.

“Mmm, I bet you’d like to know just how wet noona got sucking your cock, huh baby?” You taunted, reaching your free hand to cup one of your breasts, thumb and index finger clamping over a swollen bud softly. Jungkook nodded in response, a barely audible whine from the back of his throat preceding the small confession.

“Go on then, guess.”

Shutting his eyes for only a moment, Jungkook couldn’t help the grunt that crawled up his throat and escaped through his parted lips. The thought was entirely too hot at the front of his mind when his sharp inhale returned some sense to him. He imagined you were soaked, just how you usually were when he let you choke on his cock. God, you always did love having him just a little more, a little further until your nose was pressed softly against the skin of his abdomen, and he, well he really fucking liked it too. He imagined aloud just how wet you were right then, with a shaky voice and eyes pressed shut tightly to help him visualize.

“Wet,” He thought aloud, “God, I bet you’re really fucking wet. Fuck– your pussy always gets so wet when you suck my cock,” His eyes snapped open to watch your face, flushed from his words, and trailed down to your hand.

“Yeah? And why’s that?” You sighed, pressing small circles of featherlight pressure around your covered clit, spreading the wetness coating the tips of your fingers further. There was something so erotic about the ease with which he predicted your state. Such certainty in his voice as he spoke that you had to press your lips into a tight line to suppress the sounds that bubbled up in your chest. Maybe it was the way he was watching your finger, so intently focused on it that his lidded eyes glazed over with lust, hunger in them prominent as his words rung clearly in the quiet room,

“Because–fuck, you just like it. You love choking on my cock,” Jungkook ground out with a single breath, “You like when I push it further down your throat until you’re basically crying. It used to worry me at first but now, fuck, now I can’t wait to see you work yourself on it with that fucking mouth. Jesus, that mouth–”

“What about it?” You interrupted him selfishly, voice hushed, almost bashful at just how well he knew your body. You did like choking on his cock, and you knew he liked it too. Maybe it was the power he held when his hand was gripping your hair, pushing your head down against him as the air left your lungs, leaving you to sputter, to fight the haze of the strain. It was likely the same reason you were situated between his legs, out of his reach, a hand creeping into your panties. It was the power that fuelled your sinful intent. The power of knowing that he wouldn’t touch you, no matter how badly he wanted to do just that.

“Open your eyes, Jungkook.” You demanded with a sigh as the slickness of your arousal allowed you to ease a teasing finger into your heat.

When he did open his eyes, Jungkook could feel the last thread of his self composure snap, the last bit of willpower leave his body through a whine he couldn’t help. His eyes roamed wildly, unsure of where they should focus, what part of you he should ravish first. He noted the way your legs were spread, opened enough to give him a clear view of the wetness coating the front of your lacy panties, the fabric and the hand in them obscuring too much of you for his liking. He thought for a moment about how badly he wished he could reach out and tear the flimsy fabric, about he easily he could dispose of it if he had the mind to–and he certainly did, but chose to keep quiet. He noted the way your back was arching slightly, the angle of your chest thrust in his direction and the way you pressed your breasts together with your arms to emphasize the curve of them deliciously, another teasing reminder of everything that he couldn’t touch.

You, likewise taken by the sight before you, watched him with interest. He wasn’t struggling against his ties anymore, instead. his body had gone almost entirely limp, eyes running over your form, as though you would deprive him of the visual before he got to really enjoy it. His cock had fallen heavily against his stomach, much too hard to stay upright, precum oozing onto his golden skin, catching the light every time his hips shifted slightly. The sight was entrancing, so much so that you had lost track of your building high as you focused on him.

“Are you ready to be a good boy, Jungkook?” You gasped, pushing a second finger into yourself with a moan, the building high edged with urgency set a rapid pace for them immediately.

His eyes snapped from your busy hand to your face, searching your half-lidded ones before he nodded faintly, hints of uncertainty in his voice. Jungkook decided then, at your question, to allow himself to ignore the nagging cry of his arrogance and play along to your demands.

“Big boy words,” You demanded weakly.

“Yes.” He said decisively, hands curling around the ties that held his wrists. You had to smile at him, then.

“Yes, what?” You nodded up, fingers slowing fractionally to keep yourself from leaping off the edge that was now within your reach, further straining your self-control.

“I-I’m ready to be good, noona.” Jungkook mumbled, clearly embarrassed by his own words, avoiding your eyes as he spoke them. He seemed ready to comply, he’d finally become a malleable boy for you to ravish, and enjoy, and take however you wanted. It was, admittedly, exactly what you wordlessly asked of him when you secured his limbs, but somehow it wasn’t enough. It was selfish, perhaps even a bit mean to continue to tease him but you knew that his obedience allowed you to push just a bit more.

On nights when Jungkook chose to bend at your whims, he would allow you to push him further, to bend him until he snapped with unabashedly vocalized supplications. That's what you were after. It had been so long since you had been holding back, so long since you had last held control in your hands that it only seemed fair that you be demanding. You were fully aware of the temporary nature of his willingness to comply, but your words were light, free of hesitation as you spoke them;

“I don’t think noona is ready to be good to you yet, Jungkookie.”

Halting the motions of your fingers, your eyes fell on his. Half-lidded and with a nervous gleam, the corners already shone with what seemed like the promising threat of unspilled tears. Jungkook was watching silently, his bottom lip wedged tightly between his teeth to ensure he remained so as you moved to straddle his chest. He didn’t understand exactly what you meant but he knew that his best bet was likely to let you do as you pleased, for now, at least. Any uncertainty that might have remained in him vanished when the familiar musk of your arousal washed over him, a nod to his heightened senses that drew a sharp inhale of sinful desire from him, a quiet hiss at the sight of his favourite place so close to his face.

“Open,” You whispered, and Jungkook complied without a second thought, jaw dropping just enough for you to press a digit against his tongue. You didn’t have to tell him to suck, he was already lapping up every little bit of arousal from your fingers, tongue circling them desperately with a quiet moan that you felt rather than heard.

Jungkook knew better than to whine, but when you slid down the length of his body, fingers pulling away from his mouth with a wet pop to trail behind your hips as you went, he could hardly contain himself.

There was something so twisted, so depraved about the way your saliva coated fingers trailed down his chest and torso, the wet trail cooling on his burning skin painfully.

“Noona,” He swallowed thickly, gathering his thoughts, editing his words before speaking them aloud, “Please.”

He didn’t need to say anything else, the small word was indicative of a lot more than he perhaps intended. A quiet mutter of loud implications that left you heaving, wanting nothing more than to give in, to grant him all of the pleasure you knew you could provide him. It was a transient thought, though–one that was quickly abandoned, the memory of all the times he had left you worked up even when that same word fell from your lips like a mantra to sway his resolve reminding you of why you’d chosen to tie him up in the first place.

Maybe you were really more of a sadist than you seemed, Jungkook certainly thought so based on the way you were hovering over him, the heat of your core radiating onto his cock faintly, only enough to draw his mind away from anything else. He was no longer focused on your hands running the length of his torso, or the way your lips shone, slick with saliva and swollen from biting at them. He could hardly see anything but the slickness of your pussy, somehow catching the light in a way that almost derided him. The bit of vision he could claim was clouded by his pooling arousal and the primal need to take you. He wanted–no, he urgently needed to have what was his. He opened his mouth to voice his vexation, a look that you only recognized as anger slashing through the submissive front with which he had tried to appease you,

“Noona,” He said, voice harsh and thick with that animalistic drive that you’d, unknowingly, grown to love so much.

You did your best to keep an apathetic look on your face, the look of an unwavering dominance you wanted so badly to establish, but it was futile. Jungkook’s knowledge of your body came with the uncanny ability to detect your weaknesses, and the look in his eyes told you far more than any words could. He wasn’t ready to fold. Not nearly as ready as you were. He was watching, a hard look drawing his eyes from his cock, to your core, and back up to yours. It was almost threatening the way his eyes bore into you, daring you to act upon the predictable whim. As much as you would have liked to deny it, that fierceness in his eyes only served to spread the heat between your legs further, to draw a breathless whine from your lips as you finally pressed your core to him.

For a breathless moment, the room seemed to fall silent entirely, both of your breaths halted in an effort to feel every heated pulse of pleasure, the stubbornness that characterized the two of you literally palpable. By way of your pulsing clit pressing against him and his twitching cock pushing against you, the bounds of power slipped from your grasp entirely until all you could feel was him.

“Untie me. Right now,” Jungkook managed to choke out, hands pulling desperately, fisted around the ties as his knuckles whitened from the force of his grasp. With a forward drag of your hips, you shook your head weakly , letting it fall back with a moan at the pleasure that friction elicited. The subtle motions of your rolling hips managed to leave you breathless, they drew your thoughts to the darkest part of your brain, where you kept all of your naughtiest fantasies filed away for moment like these, moment when every thought was replaced by him, and him only.

“[Y/N],” He growled at the incessant teasing, too worked up to pretend that he wasn't so, “Untie me.” Jungkook was certain that his voice was quivering as much as his breath but you didn’t seem to mind, clearly having given up on the rigor of your disciplinary actions.

When you finally willed your hips to stop their rushed motions, a sigh was all that you heard from Jungkook in momentary relief as you moved to undo the ties around his ankles. You didn’t untie anything else, an amused smile creeping onto your face when you positioned yourself over him to straddle his hips again.

“Noona,” Jungkook’s voice called out, displeasure evident in it though he allowed the passive term to ease his impatience a bit, “Untie me.”

“But I did untie you, baby,” You teased, a shaky hand curling around his cock to position him at your entrance, running the head over your slit. Jungkook grimaced from underneath you, clearly pained by the stoicism of your taunts and his own drawn-out arousal.

“Fine,” He offered, straining against his ties with added force, not fully convinced that he could manage but too determined to continue with the stubborn argument, “Now,” He sighed, face falling sternly, “Sit on my cock like a good girl.”

You offered a hard look in response, one eyebrow raised in question at his brusque demand. He simply offered a sarcastic smile with a ‘please’ to match. Rolling your eyes, you let your weight sink down on him, not giving him any time to brace himself for the pleasure that enveloped him instantly.

“So fucking rude, Jeon Jungkook.” You gasped out, the stretch of his engorged cock filling you to the brim completely anticipated and yet so unexpected. Jungkook could hardly manage a thought, eyes pressed shut in a last ditch effort to keep his wits about him and not lose it right then. There was something so addictive about the way he fit into you, so snugly, so fucking perfectly, that he didn’t have the nerve to say anything else, just in case.

He let you work at your own pace, though he was thankful that it was much like his own–ruthless. Your hips were lifting and dropping back down with effortless precision, using his chest as support, you angled every downfall of your hips cautiously, sure to aim for the same spot he always assaulted with little effort.

“You—fuck,” You barely managed to moan out, “You need to learn some respect, you know that?”

Jungkook’s head pressed further against the pillow, lip wedged between his teeth harshly, white overtaking them from the force of his bite. The sight he was met with when he finally managed to pry his eyes open was almost too much for the younger boy.

With your palms pressed against his chest, your breasts were pressed together just so, emphasizing the teasing motions of them as you rocked up and down on him. You could feel his eyes on you, the same dominating look swimming in his pupil-lost irises, the deep mastery over your body weighing heavy on your threatened control.

He was still in charge. It didn’t matter that you had him tied up, he was commanding, dictating the way your body moved. When you resolved that you’d have him begging, you didn’t imagine yourself in the situation you were, obeying unspoken orders to go faster, to lean your chest down to him, to let his whims control the movements of your body against his, and to allow your deprived fantasy to be directed by him. Yet, here you were, sorely tempted to give up on the dominance you once held.

Your pace was immediately exhausting, you were struggling to keep up with your will to please him, inner thighs burning from exertion. Jungkook noticed the way your hips stuttered in their pace, slowing fractionally only to pick up their lost speed again, and he chose then to speak up,

“What’s wrong, noona?” His breathless voice teased, “Can’t keep up? Maybe you need my help,” He grunted harshly, hips pressing up roughly, pushing your body forward as if you were weightless. You wanted to say something, to prove that you were capable of fucking yourself well without his ‘help’, but the ease with which his cock brushed over your most sensitive bundle of nerves had you doubled over on top of him, hands gripping his shoulders as your cheek came to rest on his chest, mewls spilling freely from your lips.

“Yeah, I think you need me to fuck you properly. I think,” Jungkook began, heels digging into the mattress for stability, “You need to untie me.”

You might have found some needed strength in declining, but with new-found purpose, his hips began to push up, to fuck into you with renewed vigor. You had no mind to focus on the bitter taste of defeat, not when his cock was so mercilessly drawing desirous obscenities from your mouth, cries for more that you knew he’d gladly comply with just as soon as you untied him.

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook rasped, “Untie me” He demanded, but you could hardly react, too lost to the feeling of your impending high, selfishly pushing against his powerful thrusts, racing toward your end.

“Right now, [Y/N]. Untie me, right now.” Jungkook’s voice changed drastically to a powerfully steady bellow, with a soberingly hard thrust and over your cry of pleasure, his voice thickly demanded once again.

He slowed his pace when you finally moved to reach for his ties, the last act of generosity he was prepared to offer.

You half-expected him to sigh, to rub his wrists with relief but the first thing his hand did when it was freed, was deliver a ruthless spank against your ass, one that echoed in the room as it mingled with your surprised yelp.

Lost to the haze of your arousal, you hardly felt his cock slide out of you, or the way he tossed you off before you managed to untie his other wrist and pinned your shoulder to the bed, hips angled up, ass on full display as his tied hand rested on the wall behind the bed for support.

“Would you look at that,” He tutted down, another punishing slap against your ass to highlight the mockery of his words, “Such a bad girl, noona. I gave you a chance to let me go earlier but you chose to be a brat instead.” He made his pointed words all the more so with another slap, the cry from your lips encouraging him to deliver another, and one more over the already sore skin.

“Go on and make it up to me,” He growled down, “Beg for my cock like I know you want to.”

Having your cheek pressed against the pillow did little to dull the embarrassment that inevitably followed his words, but somehow, the pain had your head spinning, thoughts scrambled and lost to the feeling of his kneading hand. It was a sort of wicked encouragement that radiated hotly through your body, a small whisper against your ear that encouraged you to be good, to do what he said. And so, with a mumble, you voiced your want.

“Please,” You whined quietly, “Please fuck me.”

Jungkook hissed, the head of his cock teasing your entrance, his hand wedged between your bodies to slap against your clit lightly, a humourless chuckle fanning over your lower back at your body’s reaction to the jolts of pleasure, “Why should I? You were so determined to hold off. I think I might just let you. Maybe I’ll leave you here like this, dripping for my cock like the dirty girl that you are.”

“No!” You cried out, hips pushing back, crying out for his cock in a way that was almost impossible to resist. You needed him, Jungkook knew as much from the stickiness that was dripping onto the head of his cock, but he wanted your words to echo the arousal that had overtaken you.

“Please, Jungkook, I won’t do this again, please, I just–please, I’ll be so good from now on,” Your whine was so loud, voice so strained by his continuous teasing that Jungkook’s grip on himself faltered, the words raising his anger to the surface of his skin, venomous rage coiling tightly around his neck until he was fuming. Something about the fact that you knew that threatening his dominance would lead to this desperate display of mastery incensed him more.

He didn’t really think his actions through with much care when he slapped your ass again, the echo of the impact enraging him more than he expected; it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Do you think challenging me is fun? Did you enjoy seeing me tied up, noona?” He snarled, another spank promptly demanding a reply.

“Yes,” your quiet voice confessed. You knew better than to pretend otherwise, his harsh treatment was sufficiently indicative of the fact that he already knew the answer. Jungkook could physically feel the effect of the word as you spoke it. The single syllable dug itself deep into his skin, settling right beneath his reach, a challenge to the dominance that he had worked so hard to establish.

“But look at you. You try so hard to pretend like you don’t want me to own you, yet you can’t follow through with your little game even while I’m tied up. Face it noona, it’s over. I’m in control here.” He snarled down.

The words should have probably angered you more than they did, honestly. You were sure you’d have time later to curse your inability to resist him, but at that moment, all you could muster was a nod against the soft pillow before his hand dug painfully into the back of your head, fingers curling and drawing your back up and against his chest.

“Am I clear? This pussy, is my pussy. Every single drop from it belongs to me, every last bit of pleasure is mine. I give it, and I take it. I’m in charge.” Jungkook snarled against your ear, every word sinking into the pit of your stomach heavily.

“Yes, yes, I understand, please,” you all but sobbed, voice weak as you saw the end of his teasing draw near, the promise of a reward for your submission, for being a good girl, like he so often demanded.

“Tell me what you want, noona. Go on,” He prompted, his hand moving to angle his dick at your entrance.

“I want your cock, please,” You whimpered pathetically. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not with the way his cock was once again brushing over your slickness, so close but so painfully far.

From behind you, Jungkook’s voice ground out lowly, “Take it then.”

And with that, he was pushing every hard inch of himself inside of you, a palm pressed against the wall, the other moving to angle your head so he could see you. Though his angle was awkward, he could see your face twist in pleasure, expression relaxing as his cock pushed into you with force, relishing the comfortable stretch. The satisfaction of your tear-stained cheeks was enough to swell his chest with pride once again, confidence making his motions more urgent, more desperate to draw out every bit of pleasure he could from you.

His pace was brutal, completely unrestrained as he sprinted toward the end. The overdue pleasure made his trusts teeter along the edge of pain, but through lust-obscured eyes, you couldn’t tell the difference. The mewls that fell freely from your lips mingled with this breathless grunts in melodious disarray, flooding the room with sin as his hips continued to rock against yours.

“Jungkook, fuck–” You managed to moan out, the force of his thrusts reducing your voice nothing more than a shaky breath. Jungkook on the other hand, didn’t bother saying anything, with his bottom lip wedged between his teeth, his concentration was almost entirely placed on keeping himself calm enough to make his point clear.

His movements were steady and calculated, his cock brushing over a particular bundle of nerves with every one of his powerful thrusts, leaving you to struggle to keep yourself upright. With a hand reaching forward to find purchase on the headboard, you steadied yourself as his thrusts continues to rock your body forward. Instinctively, you reached back to tangle a hand in his hair, seeking more closeness. With your fingers gripping the hairs at the back of his head, you moaned out for him,

“J-Jungkook, fuck–that’s so good, so good,”

“That’s right, baby,” He hissed gruffly, voice breaking into a groan. He wasn’t entirely sure at that moment what you were saying or what he was replying. In all honesty, he was hardly aware of anything but the wetness that seemed to only grow wetter around him, too lost to the feeling to articulate anything beyond how fucking tight you were–a comment he made with a particularly hard thrust.

The wet slapping of his hips on your ass fell silent next to the precarious moans that every hard thrust elicited from your lips. You could feel the tension at the pit of your stomach intensify, the thread of your control tensing dangerously. Jungkook too was fighting off his high, desperate for more, selfishly wanting to keep himself in this state of limbo, of relentless thrusts into your tight heat, of your moans filling his ears, stroking his ego just the right way.

“I-I think– I think I’m going to cum,” You cried out, a tentative statement thick with urgency. Jungkook’s head fell back, hips stuttering for a moment when you tightened around him, the action emphasizing the full impact of those words on him.

“Fuck–Yeah?” He rasped, breathlessness lilting his voice, drawing heavy sighs from his nose as he spoke. You couldn’t form a proper response, words replaced by mewls and desperate whimpers as you tried to speak them so you nodded against his grip in your hair instead.

“Do it,” Jungkook growled harshly, his hand moving from your hair to wrap around your front, fingers circling your clit with urgent purpose, “Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

There was something so decisive in Jungkook’s voice, so unyielding, that you were leaping off the edge with a desperate cry before his strangled voice finished the thought. You could feel your whole body grow tense under the onslaught of pleasure as his hips continued to work against you, head falling back to rest on his shoulder, hand curling tighter in his hair as a drawn-out cry erupted in your chest.

Jungkook wasn’t far behind, all of his pent-up desperation snapping suddenly, without warning, and devastatingly as you grew impossibly tight around him, drawing out his own release in long white ribbons. His head dropped onto your shoulder to bite down on the soft skin, a weak attempt to keep from moaning out too loudly. His thrusts slowed as he helped to ride out your high and his, eventually stopping altogether before he pulled out.

When you two finally caught your breaths, Jungkook moved to untie his wrist, his free hand struggling with the knot. You, collapsed on the bed, watched him with a smug smile. He was observing the tie as it twist and folded and looped expertly around itself and his wrist with a displeased look.

“Noona,” He pouted down, “Get this off,”

You untied the knot quickly, nimble fingers working it for only a moment before his wrist was free, red band of irritated skin soothed by your smaller hand as soon as it came into view. Jungkook sighed, settling back into bed, arms open to invite you into them.

“You’re a jerk.” You spoke up, voice playful as you settled against his chest. Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head down at your sulking tone.

“Oh please,” He began, “I can’t be a jerk for taking what’s mine. Besides, you liked it.” He said complacently.

You found that you were moving away from his embrace as quickly as you’d settled into it. With a scoff, you shook your head at the younger boy,

“Get over yourself, oh my god,” You sighed exasperatedly, throwing your feet off the edge of the bed to stand up with a breathy laugh. You decided then that you were ok with him being in charge. As long as his control over you left you feeling like you were then, completely fucked out and still craving more, then you’d accept his power–though not without a fight. That was always the best part.

Moving toward the bathroom, you glanced back to see a very pouty Jungkook still sprawled on the bed, watching your hips sway as you walked,

“Where are you going?” He called out, “Come to bed,”

You had to wonder for a moment how it was possible for him to turn it on and off so quickly, but you didn’t dwell on the thought very long’ instead, you turned with a smile, not bothering to slow your pace,

“I’m going to shower. Are you coming, Jungkookie?” You spoke suggestively, a sultry slur to your words that enticed and taunted the younger boy.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, “Yeah,” He nodded, “I’m coming.”

You didn’t miss the edge in his voice as you closed the bathroom door behind you, a knowing smile playing on your lips. So, maybe he was the one in charge. Maybe he was better at control than you, but that didn’t mean you’d stop teasing him, and taunting every last bit of his willpower until he was left cornered, with no choice but to take you and exert that relished dominance over you.

Maybe, just maybe, that had been the reason you chose to instigate that night.

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