#sexuality of bereavement

[shethesilhouette]

Vibing 🖤

#goth #post punk #music #dark wave #darkwave #gothic #sexuality of bereavement #dark thoughts

[loaksky]

i don’t celebrate thanksgiving, but could you guys imagine college!ellie taking roommate!reader home to jackson because she’d be alone for the holiday? short lil oneshot to get back into the groove of writing. do i hate this? yes.

recommended songs: alabama haint — penny and sparrow + what once was — her’s

warnings: language, a few brief mentions of family issues, suggestive content (kissing among other things) + mild sexual content, a lil misunderstanding and angst bc who am i if i don’t ??, CONFESSIONS because i’m a sloot for them. i think that’s it? not proofread ofc heh

it’s the weekend before thanksgiving, sunday to be exact, and ellie’s packing her backpack for joel’s. the energy in the the room’s a little off despite the fact that you’re normally reserved, and even though the two of you have only met this year, ellie’s learned to read you pretty well.

“you goin’ home for thanksgiving?” ellie asks absently, trying to make small talk as she rolls a sleep shirt and some pajamas haphazardly to stuff at the top of her bag.

there’s a pause that makes her brain itch before she sees the way you shake your head from where you’re hunched over a textbook at your desk.

“my family’s all over the place right now,” you answer honestly.

and ellie doesn’t know if you mean that figuratively or literally, but the lack of emotion in your voice tells her that maybe she shouldn’t pry. she can’t help it, though. because you’re her sweet and quiet roommate who’d been serious (and maybe a little scary) at first, but turned out to be a goofball with a little bit of prodding.

so seeing you like this, checked out and maybe a little stressed, ellie treads cautiously.

“so you’re gonna stay here?” she asks.

you don’t even spare her a glance.

“yeah.” your shoulders shrug. “no point in dropping so much money for a plane ticket if i’m going to be sitting home alone anyways.”

ellie makes a noise in the back of her throat and you throw look over your shoulder.

“sorry,” you offer softly, smile sheepish. “that was a little depressing.”

ellie shakes her head.

“no, i get it,” she assures you. “my family’s not really...”

you blink at her as she trails off.

“conventional? i guess?”

another quiet blankets the two of you and ellie’s speaking before she can even filter through the repercussions of her next words.

“you’re always welcome to...y’know...come with,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “it’s not even a two hour drive.”

you hope ellie can’t tell that your cheeks are burning.

“you don’t have to, of course,” ellie blabbers. “but joel’s cool, so’s my uncle and his wife. it’d be nice, i think. and jackson’s pretty fun around this time of year...”

“i don’t wanna imp—”

ellie breathes a laugh.

“don’t,” she warns you, tips of her ears burning. “you’re more than welcome, seriously.”

it’s how you end up in the passenger seat of ellie’s old 4runner, heater on blast while sublime plays on the radio.

the car ride had consisted of ellie munching on cold fries the two of you had picked up from mcdonald’s before the interstate and you finally opening up about how your parents are divorced and how the holidays are a lot more stressful than they are pleasant.

ellie really feels for you, definitely knows the feeling losing her mom at a pretty young age and being adopted in middle school by a single, bereaved father. she tells you that they’d found each other when they needed the other the most.

and you don’t particularly know why you’re so nervous when ellie finally takes the exit off the interstate and you guys make your way through the suburbs. perhaps it’s the domesticity of meeting her family, or that you’re over a hundred miles away from familiarity, but your fingers are trembling when she turns into the neighbourhood and cozy brick homes line the frost-laden streets.

she’s pulling up and parking on the curb in front of a warm two-story that has a blue pickup truck and a gold SUV in the driveway when she notices.

“hey, hey,” she whispers, noticing the way you’re wringing your hands to stop the shaking. “you okay?”

her hands are warm when they close over yours and her thumbs is brushing over your skin soothingly.

“i’m being dumb,” you admit.

ellie’s eyes are crystal clear under the setting sun.

“don’t say that,” she says softly. “you wanna take a second?”

you swallow and shake your head.

“no, we can go,” you assure her.

she’s searching your face for any tell, but when you offer her a soft smile, she’s leaning back in her seat and nodding. before she completely pulls away, you’re stopping her.

“thanks, ellie,” you say gently. “this was really kind of you.”

she flashes you an easy smile, squeezes your hand a final time before climbing out of the car and rounding the front to help you out.

and truthfully, you realize you were nervous for nothing. because when the door swings open to reveal an older man aged with smile lines and greying hair, ellie seemingly softens infinitely.

“hey, kiddo,” he greets, crushing her in a hug so tight, she’s spluttering out a laugh.

“joel, i can’t breathe,” she wheezes.

you’re standing there awkwardly, backpack slung over your shoulder when joel finally loosens his hold on ellie and glances over her head.

“who’s this?” he asks, but the smile he wears is knowing.

“________, my roommate,” she introduces quickly, cheeks warming an awful shade of red as she begs every force above that joel won’t blow her cover.

because, okay, maybe ellie’s talked about you on the phone way more times than she’d care to admit out loud. talked about how intimidating you were at first, then graduated to talking about how you were actually so cool. and maybe she’d brought up the fact that she thought you were pretty. like...super pretty. and that maybe she was crushing a teensy bit.

“nice to meet you,” joel replies simply, sparing ellie this time around.

you let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding onto, offering a smile that makes ellie wonder if she’ll survive the week with you in such a new proximity.

“nice to meet you, too,” you almost whisper, relaxing as he reaches for the backpack slung over your shoulder.

“here, let me take this for you,” he says.

and it doesn’t take you long to realize where ellie gets it from. her kind spirit and fierce yet gentle heart. joel is soft-spoken, a little rough around the edges, but a warm energy that radiates through the home he’s made for himself and ellie.

it makes infinitely more sense enter tommy and maria, her uncle and aunt who tell you the silliest stories about the starry-eyed girl in her youth over dinner. who bring out her boisterous laughter when they sing old 80’s music over dishes and evening TV.

“your family’s so cool,” you say in awe, wrapped in one of her coats she’d dug out of the closet under the stairs.

you’re nursing a mug of hot chocolate that steams in the icy air of jackson on her back porch.

ellie breathes out a little laugh.

“they’re something,” she jokes, watching you over the rim of her mug.

you make her heart thud hard in her chest as she takes you in, bundled in pieces of her that make her think that she wouldn’t mind making you hers.

“i miss times like these,” you whisper.

ellie shifts closer, catching you by surprise when her thumb swipes over the curve of your top lip.

“sorry,” she hums quietly. “you had...uh...”

you let out a hollow laugh and shake your head, tell her that it’s fine as a silence blankets the two of you.

“i’m glad you like them,” ellie admits softly. “sometimes i get a little self-conscious because, y’know, everyone expects a nuclear family and...”

“i’d take this any day,” you assure her, and the true implication of your words is latent, but something hopeful pricks her tummy.

i’d take this any day...with you.

and locking eyes with you usually scares her, usually makes her queasy with nerves because there’s always something searing in your gaze, but it’s like you see each other for the first time, no barriers.

ellie’s so close she can feel the warmth of your body coiling and drawing her in. her breath’s caught in her throat as she chances a glance at your mouth and her own lips begin to tingle.

she’s on the brink of asking if she can kiss you, but the back door is sliding open and two familiar faces are surfacing.

“williams!”

ellie’s daze melts away as she shifts to put distance between the two of you at the arrival of her friends.

“jess!” she calls. “dina!”

the moment clings heavy, but ellie writes it off. maybe she’s jumping the gun, reading too much into tender moments. it’s colored on your face, though, as she stands to meet her friends halfway, that the two of you are tethered and you feel it too.

ellie’s friends are another reflection of her character. they take you under their wings in the days leading up to the holiday with jesse teaching you to ride his minibike and dina telling you stories of their childhood while excitedly painting your nails pretty shades of autumnal colors because both jesse and ellie vehemently decline.

joel graciously relinquishes his kitchen to the four of you the day before thanksgiving. lets you guys gather around and bake an array of different desserts for tomorrow’s dinner over a few beers and winecoolers.

perhaps ellie’s a lightweight, you come to find, when she’s a lot more giggly and rosy-cheeked than she’d ever let anyone see. she’s feeling a little bubbly and you definitely don’t help the fact when you gaze upon her so fondly as you smear away the streaks of flour across her cheek.

jesse and dina are merely observers, watching with knowing grins as ellie practically melts against your touch.

and as the desserts cool on the kitchen island and the two of see jesse and dina out, ellie can’t keep her hazy eyes off of you. the two of you vote on a movie and she’s taking her usual seat in the right corner of the couch. it starts out with the two of you on opposite ends, but as the film plays, the space between you and ellie diminishes and she swears you can hear the way her heart’s pounding behind her ribcage with your ear pressed to her chest.

it’s uncharted territory considering ellie’s never been big on physical touch and she can’t even be sure that there's anything there, but you have to know. ellie’d mentioned past girlfriends, wasn’t really subtle when it came to wandering eyes on campus, hell, she’d even—

suddenly your arm’s tightening around the narrow of her waist and you’re nestling impossibly closer and christ, ellie can’t help herself when the coarse pads of her fingertips brush your jaw to catch your attention.

your gaze is illuminated by pixels and there’s a hitch in your breathing as you search her features for any hesitation. it’s long gone, you find, when ellie’s mouth is slotting yours, lips warm and tongue still flavored with sparkling wine.

ellie kisses like you’re air and she needs you to breathe. it’s almost embarrassing, way her body reacts to your proximity, how hot she us under the collar and achey as you move to straddle her. her fingertips are skimming down your spine, past the small of your back to take a—

your teeth sinking in the plump of her bottom lip and the way your soft palms find purchase against the rigid expanse of her tattooed abdomen is sobering. has her bony fingers cupping the flesh of your jaw.

“wait, wait,” she whispers, chest heaving and breaths shallow as she looks up at you.

the dust is starting to settle and you take in ellie’s kiss-bitten lips, swollen and slick. her pupils are blown wide, sweater riding up to reveal reddened flesh like you’ve branded her. you lean back.

“fuck,” you whisper. “fuck, i’m so sorry.”

ellie’s mouth is drying.

“why are you sorry?” she whispers.

you seem to chew on your words, eyes teary and expression scared.

“why are you sorry?” ellie repeats, not caring enough to mask the hitch in her voice as she pries.

“you’re always so fucking good to me, ellie,” you whimper. “you’re a great roommate and an even better friend and—”

ellie blows out a deep sigh, falls slack against the cushions as she levels you with an indiscernible look in her eye.

“don’t do that,” she breathes.

“ellie.”

“c’mon, you know me better than that,” she says, tone tinged with annoyance. “you don’t have to let me down easy. you can be honest.”

and color you confused because how couldn’t she fathom that you’ve fallen and head first at that? she’s reading it all wrong, you realize, when defeat shutters over her pretty face.

“i—”

the floorboards outside the den creak and ellie’s pushing you off just as the door squeaks open to reveal joel’s aging face.

he reads the room a moment, decides to blow by the sheen in your eyes and ellie’s rigid posture.

“tommy and maria are leaving, kiddo,” he says. “if you wanna say bye.”

ellie nods, stands and leaves you in the television-illuminated room.

you realize she won’t come back for you when the telltale sound of the front door closes and the stairs seem to groan under her weight.

it’s half past two in the morning when you slip from the den, glass of water condensating on a coaster as you try to collect yourself on the screened-in deck out back.

the icy chill stings your lungs, makes you gulp in breath after breath. the night’s starting to dawn you, the gravity of the situation overwhelming you enough to choke.

“fuck,” you whisper, that familiar feeling of dread squeezing your chest.

meanwhile, ellie can’t sleep. has been staring at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom for the past two and a half hours. you’re all she can think of. pliant curves of your body settling over hers to fit like you two were made for each other, the smell of your subtle perfume, the taste of your mouth.

and she wants to be annoyed, angry at the fact, but she’d brought you all the way here, extricated you from your comfort zone and showed you parts of her she wouldn’t dream of revealing to anyone else.

she recalls the resignation in your tone on the drive up, how you’d divulged the dysfunction of your family and the troubles you carried with you as a result. it’d be your first holiday with someone other than yourself for a while and she’d be damned if it soured because she couldn’t push her feelings aside.

the tv’s off and the blanket’s folded when she musters up enough courage to enter the den again, heart sinking to her ass when she slides back into the kitchen and finds that the sliding door to the back deck is cracked ever so slightly.

she’s seen you in a lot of ways these past eleven-odd months she’s known you, but she’s never seen you like this, hands over your heart and chest heaving like you’re trying to ground yourself.

when your watery gaze swings to her, ellie’s melting, cushion sinking as she settles next to you.

“sorry,” you whisper shakily. “i don’t—”

ellie’s shifting to face you, arms winding around your shoulders as one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“let’s talk about it later,” ellie offers softly. “we can just go to bed for now and—”

“i really, really like you, ellie,” you say in one breath, and it has her body locking up, the audible catch of her inhale sounding near your ear.

“but?”

“no buts,” you admit. “just that i don’t want you to think that i kissed you because you’re being nice to me. well, i guess you’re always nice to me. it’s one of the reasons why i…”

and ellie doesn’t mean to tune you out, but you’re so fucking cute and so sweet and she shouldn’t have doubted you or herself because you’re hiccuping and shivering and—

you taste better the second time around. now ellie’s a little less unsure, still a little nervous because you’re the first girl to make her feel like this and she doesn’t want the bubble she’s built around the two of you in this corner of her little world to burst, but kissing you feels so right.

she’s dragging you back inside, past the den and up the stairs, and maybe the two of you do things you shouldn’t in her twin size bed in her childhood room when her dad’s only a few walls away, but she can’t help herself. not when you’ve always been an arm’s length away and she can finally have you.

it isn’t until the two of you lay under the dim glimmer of the glow-in-the dark stars pasted to her ceiling, her face pressed in your neck, that she says it.

“i really, really like you, too,” she whispers. “i realized i didn’t say it back.”

but it’s not like she needs to. you knew that already.

neng ©️2023

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou2

[scribbleymark]

"Amatonormativity permeates more than TV shows and books. It is woven into our legal rights, creating forms of discrimination that become more and more apparent as people age. Romantic love within marriage confers privileges that other forms of devotion cannot, including over 1,100 laws that benefit married couples at the federal level. Spouses can share each other’s health insurance, as well as military, social security, and disability benefits. They can make medical decisions for each other. Companies grant bereavement leave for spouses, no questions asked, but there will be more hesitation if leave is requested for a mere friend. It is possible to marry a stranger and give them your health insurance but not possible to give health insurance to a parent...

Criteria based on sex made sense when the main purpose of marriage was to merge fortunes and produce children, but today...marriage is more about a match of devotion than a match of trade. In many cases, the point is no longer to create an heir and a spare. Plenty of married couples don’t have children (or sex, for that matter), and bad marriages with little caring are common...

Offering legal and social benefits only to the romantically attached suggests that the mere presence of romantic feeling elevates the care and deserves special protections, even though friendship and other forms of care, which can come with less obligation, can include more love, more freely given. Therefore, the legal and social privileges of marriage should be extended to all mutually consenting adults who wish for them...

'In terms of policy, marriage law really reaches into all areas of law, like tax and immigration and property,' ... 'It doesn’t matter if it’s different-sex only or same-sex marriage, so long as we restrict marriage to romantic and sexual partners we will ensure amatonormativity.' Reforming marriage law by abolishing it altogether or extending marriage-like rights to friends (to small groups or networks) is one way to eradicate discrimination."

Angela Chen, Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex

#angela chen #ace #amatonormativity

[aleprouswitch]

Zeena Schreck, often known as just Zeena, is a musician, writer, spiritual leader, and advocate. She is the daughter of Church of Satan founder Anton Lavey and spent her formative years actively involved with the Church. In the 1980s (during the height of the Satanic Panic age), she and her then-husband, Nickolas Schreck of goth/deathrock outfit Radio Werewolf, were regulars on the talk show circuit where they defended the Church and its principles, often in defiance of Christian religious leaders who were also invited as guests.

Then in 1991, Zeena abruptly departed from the Church of Satan and cut all ties with her father; Nickolas also followed suit. The most widely accepted reason was that Zeena no longer believed in the Church's teachings and realized that her father was nothing more than a fraud. However, there are also rumors of sexual abuse within the Church that Zeena herself may have been subjected to - she gave birth to a son at the age of 13 (Church of Satan leader Stanton Lavey) and the father has never been publicly identified.

As of today, Zeena is an adherent of Tibetan Tantric Buddhism and refuses to be associated with her late estranged father in any sort of way, including refusing to be associated with her maiden name. She and Nikolas separated in 2007 but still maintain an amicable relationship. Currently, Zeena works as a bereavement counsellor with the The Sethian Liberation Movement, an organization that helps deflectors from religious cults heal from trauma and start new lives. She also still makes music, which you can check out HERE.

#zeena #zeena schreck #goth #gothgoth #deathrock #she's just a fascinating person #also it's cool that whenever she pops into instagram she'll like my photos of molly #lol #radio werewolf

[russingon-week]

Russingon Week 2024: Prompts!

Russingon week will run June 10th to June 16th, 2024.

Day 1: Light

Valinor

Princes and exiles

Joy in the past 

Family

First time 

Childhood friends to lovers

Day 2: Darkness  

Doom of the Noldor

Angband and the Helcaraxë worldbuilding

Kinslayings

Grief and bereavement 

Despair and hope

Angry sex/hate sex

Day 3: Song

Rescue from Thangorodrim

Religious faith and worship headcanons 

Unchaining 

Trust and pity

Betrayal and reconciliation 

Hurt/comfort

Reunion sex 

Day 4: Peace 

Long Peace

Himring and Barad Eithel

Politics and diplomacy

Fealty and devotion

Noldorin traditions

Fluff

Tender sex 

Day 5: War 

Archery, sparring and battle

Battlefield traditions

Fire

Union of Maedhros

Horror in the past

Unhappy ending

BDSM/kink

Day 6: AU 

Canon divergence and fix-its

Time travel/time bending

Unusual headcanons

Different setting

Roleswap

Sexual experimentation

Day 7: The Future  

Weddings and oaths

Re-embodiment

Laws and Customs of the Eldar

Transformation

Parenthood, children, lineages 

Ósanwë

#russingon #russingonweek #maedhros #fingon #maedhros/fingon #fingon/maedhros #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm

[angie-words]

Under Milk Wood - starring Michael Sheen (2021)

It occurred to me that some of you may not be aware that Michael Sheen was part of a National Theatre run of Under Milk Wood. They filmed a performance and you can rent it from the National Theatre to watch online.

Michael Sheen played First Voice and the play had a narrative context added to it: a man with alcohol issues goes to visit his estranged father in a care home. His father doesn't recognise him because of dementia or Alzheimer's, so the son tells him a tale to prompt his memory.

It's truly beautiful and an incredible watch. Here's a clip to give you a sense of it:

CWs: alcoholism, bereavement, care homes, shaming of a woman for sexual activities, Alzheimer's/dementia, dysfunctional families. Afraid that's probably not an exhaustive list as it's been a while since I watched it

#michael sheen #under milk wood #national theatre #theatre online #Youtube

[roserunodays]

Kotoko's Connection with the Fairy Tale of Red Riding Hood

So THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE POST, but I kept looking into it, and now here's a full blown analysis instead lol. I realized that Kotoko has many allusions to the story of Red Riding Hood besides the wolves and her signature red jacket. The themes of familial love, protection, and deception all seem to be reflected in Kotoko's actions and what we know of her past and personal life so far. So this post will detail more of the connections between her and this tale, as well as theorize on certain parts on what her story might reveal in the future!

MAJOR THANKS to my English major himejoshi librarian bunny mutual @lillyviarabbit for proof reading this so that my writing doesn't sound clunky af 🙏

A Quick Aside: The Other Side of this Tale (TW for sexual assault and rape mention)

So...there's another side to the original tale of Red Riding Hood, one that deals with much heavier themes on what the story as a whole is supposed to symbolize. I didn't want to analyze these themes of rape, sexual assault, and analogies of being 'turned' into a woman (such as hoods/veils representing both marriage and bereavement). They are there though, and easy analogies can be made, but that's not the content I want to cover. This is mainly because I just don't think we have enough evidence or hints as of now from Kotoko's past that suggests these parts from the Red Riding Hood story are also in her story. I did not want to speculate on these parts either because I wanted to treat them with respect and sensitivity, rather than simply speculate that they have to do with a fictional character's past when we don't even have any evidence to theorize that they do. So this post will only touch upon the more well known parts of the story instead!

Also I won't be talking about Jacques Roulet and his weird ass story because none of it makes sense to me with how it's related to Kotoko, so I will leave that to someone with a bigger brain to analyze that 💀 and I'll be sticking to analyzing similarities with Perrault's version of the story, though the analysis referenced at the end also includes the Grimm version!

Allusions to Red Riding Hood Herself:

One of the major similarities between Kotoko and Red Riding Hood is — well — the red hooded jacket!

This jacket is the most recognizable part of the fairy tale, and it clearly sticks out in Kotoko's wardrobe as the outfit she wears while she's in her forest world, notably with the wolves she's running with in HARROW.

Appearance wise, Kotoko also seems to fit the bill for how Red has been portrayed throughout various iterations of the story over time.

Red's appearance generally describes a girl with short black hair and a bob that reaches down to be exact.

"Another difference lies in the fact that, in addition to [her hair] being black, Little Red Riding Hood’s hair is generally short, reaching to her chin at most, with a charming bob that frames her face."

The signature hood is also noted, with Kotoko's prisoner uniform being the only one to notably have a hood on it.

"It becomes a powerful indicator of sense. History shows that an object that goes on a woman’s or girl’s head has always been ambivalent, not to say ambiguous. It covers, it conceals, it protects, but it also alludes, adorns and attracts."

Not only does Kotoko's hood uniform reflect her similarity with Red Riding Hood, it also highlights Kotoko's tendency to protect/conceal all the aspects of herself she does not want to reveal to anyone else.

It's clear that Kotoko doesn't trust anyone else in the prison, wanting to conceal as much stuff about her as possible so she can analyze their behavior and how much they change following the time between trial 1 and trial 2. This secretive nature, interpreted by her actions and the hood she wears as a way for Kotoko to protect herself and her fragile self-worth, is also highlighted in Streaming Heart's lyrics.

"Though I seem to say many things, please try and seek out the real me. In the space between truth and lies, hidden away so well."

The Grandmother:

Another major fact that gets overlooked is how Kotoko offhandedly mentions in her family structure that she has a grandmother. As a lot of us already know, the main plot of Little Red Riding Hood is that the girl delivers food to her grandmother, who is sick and lives in a house in the woods. This detail from her interrogation is rather...specific, given that she doesn't even mention having a grandfather, just a grandmother along with her parents and older brother.

One additional piece of evidence that connects to this is the symbolism of her birthday flower, Monstera Deliciosa!

In many Asian cultures, this plant can also symbolize a respect and honoring of the elderly. Interesting, considering that this is the plant Yamanaka picked out for Kotoko.

While we don't exactly know the details between Kotoko and the relationship she has with her grandmother, her birthday flower seems to hint that she has some kind of respect for her, or at least they are most likely on good terms with each other.

"Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood."

And that is why I wonder: did something happen to Kotoko's grandmother that made her realize how flawed and unfair justice can really be? Well, we know that in the story, the wolf disguises himself as Red's grandmother to try and trick her. But why litter Kotoko with all this wolf symbolism (besides the dog/tool dehumanization she's associated with) if she's supposed to allude to the character of Red Riding Hood?

The Wolf:

There is a major difference when it comes to the Tale of Red Riding Hood and Kotoko’s MV symbolism, which is the wolf’s role in each of their stories.

For Red, the wolf is the enemy. The wolf is one who tricks her from the very beginning, and the one who tries to eat her and her grandmother.

"Grandmother, what big arms you have!" "All the better to hug you with, my dear." "Grandmother, what big legs you have!" "All the better to run with, my child." "Grandmother, what big ears you have!" "All the better to hear with, my child." "Grandmother, what big eyes you have!" "All the better to see with, my child." "Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!" "All the better to eat you up with."

But Kotoko…she’s with the wolf. The wolf is instead her companion it seems, the one who runs and sits beside her when she’s doing her vigilante stuff.

And more importantly, the wolf seems like the one to be enabling her, helping her continue with rescuing the little girl and beating up the child kidnapper. It is the one thing by her side that encourages her to bare her fangs and protect the weak.

People have speculated that this wolf represents a person in Kotoko's life, a vigilante partner she used to have? Her older brother perhaps? Who knows really, but I think we can all agree that this wolf is a person who has influenced Kotoko a lot. It is the one thing that pushes her continue with this, to continue with the cycle of cruelty and violence in her act of handing out her own form of justice. And that brings me to Kotoko's jacket again.

The Red/Pink Jacket:

I want to address the difference between Kotoko's jacket in her forest world, as opposed to it in the real world. In the forest world, we see that the jacket is more of a hot pinkish color.

I'm not sure if this is fully because of the lighting, but the color difference for the jacket is very notable if you compare them side by side. In the real world, the jacket is clearly more red than pink:

So why make this jacket be two different colors in two different places? Well, I'd like to theorize that the answer has to do with this girl that appears for a brief few seconds in HARROW, in the flashback sequence while Kotoko is beating up the child kidnapper dude.

Or as I like to call her: PINK SHIRT GIRL ✨

One final thing I wanted to talk about is how this girl relates to Kotoko, the different colors for her same jacket in the MV, and the sole reason why I think she wears a pink shirt. A lot of people have speculated that this girl is a younger version of Kotoko, possibly back when she was a child. Pink for Kotoko seems to emphasize her ideals at their most pure level.

When Kotoko is wearing her jacket when it's pink, she's in her forest world that emphasizes Kotoko's purpose in protecting the weak. She's emotional there, she falters, worn out by the running and desperate to continue going. There is nothing shown in those scenes that shows her childlike ideals being tainted, yet.

But when Kotoko alludes to her self-hatred and the wolf urges her to go on with the attack, HARROW switches back to the real world where the jacket is red. We Kotoko smile after she presumably kills the child kidnapper guy as she declares that she wants to be "drowning in the knowledge that [she] is right", and thus, this seems like we the audience realize this is the moment when Kotoko's ideals begin to become more distorted than how they were presented in the forest world.

We see that she finally gains a satisfaction that everything that she did wasn't for completely nothing, and that she now has the purpose that makes her existence useful. While she does want to protect the weak and give out justice, it is not entirely motivated by altruism, as HARROW points out. When Kotoko's pink jacket becomes red, it seems to signify how her pure, child-like ideals become tainted and much more flawed compared to them initially.

This, along with Kotoko having the wolf as her companion, all seem to point at just how much Kotoko herself has become the very monsters she wanted to destroy. The child-like pink has now become a red stained with blood, or rather a shade of magenta. A mix of red and pink that highlights Kotoko's immature and child-like view of a black and white world, while also noting that Kotoko is not the innocent Little Red Riding Hood she once was anymore—

She is the wolf. She is a Red Riding Hood who has been led on by the wolf's ideals, the prey that has been ensnared and eaten by the wolf at the end of the original Charles Perrault story.

She is the wolf, the monster now.

She is now the sinner she hates so much.

Sources:

https://journals.openedition.org/strenae/6423 This one is the Red Riding Hood clothing analysis!

https://core.ecu.edu/parillek/littleredcinder.pdf "Little Red Riding Hood" Charles Perrault version

https://medium.com/@monsterahelpful/the-symbolism-and-history-behind-the-monstera-leaf-unveiling-its-meaning-11ba828837c2 Monstera Deliciosa symbolism!

https://twitter.com/pug_maniac/status/1735912110423732687 Yamanaka's tweet for Kotoko's birthday flower!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Red_Riding_Hood The Wikipedia page for Little Red Riding Hood! This also contains the heavier themes I was talking about in the beginning, so if you want to find out more, they have a whole section about it here. Trigger Warnings for sexual assault and rape for this Wikipedia page.

https://youtu.be/VrAW8zyoEiY?si=a3p4nb8B1TTza-x_ Translation video for Kotoko's first voice drama, Task.

https://youtu.be/_gTTtS0Fvxk?si=Y1Zwu3XOI_nRHgex HARROW MV

Also I'd love to read more analyses if anyone writes them, especially on topics I avoided, so tag me if you write any!!!

#I swear I love other milgram characters besides Kotoko djfkfdnk #there shouldn't be any deep cover spoilers here so I don't think I'll have to tag for it #you know who else has fairy tale allusions and symbolism? Mahiru Shiina—*shot* #I hope this is something at least 😭 look I just want Kotoko to realize how much she's become a monster by killing her child self in her mv #IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR— #milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #long post #rose.txt

[allari-ammayi]

Butta Bomma

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A. Bahubali x Reader x B. Deva

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬➜

When bookworm Y/n reluctantly succumbs to her friends' movie night and watches "Bahubali," she discovers a newfound empathy for the much-despised Bhallaladeva, igniting an unexpected connection between their souls. Following the loss of her grandmother, Y/n inherits a mysterious red amulet that transports her to an unimaginable world. Her assigned mission: to alter the destinies of her beloved character. In the heart of Mahismati, Y/n's undercover adventures bring her closer to the royal brothers, determined to reshape their fates for the better. As bonds deepen, romance blooms and Y/n faces a dilemma: will their feelings jeopardize her mission? Will it even matter in the end?

𝐓.𝐖➜

This story contains themes of death and bereavement, violence, toxic relationships, emotional turmoil, travelling worlds, ¿isekai?, romantic conflicts, identity crisis, moral dilemmas, possible sexual content in later chapters, themes of betrayal, political intrigue, power struggles, intense emotional situations, and complex moral decisions, exploration of familial and romantic relationships, warfare, injury, and graphic violence. Let me know if I missed any!

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ⌗𝟏

𝐏𝐫𝐞-𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞➜

The Interesting Perspective

The New World

The Angel Lady

The Harsh Interrogation

The Monkey Woman

The Snarky Prince

The Etiquette Lessons

The Language Barrier

The Political Genius

The Culinary Adventurer

The Mahismati Festival

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ⌗𝟐

𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 ⌗𝟏➜

The Scripted Starting

The Dancing Beauty

The Affectionate Prince

The Gruesome Battle

The Vitory Horror

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ⌗𝟑

𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 ⌗𝟐➜

The Dangerous Thoughts

The Kuntala Quest

The Royal Gardens

The Deciding Day

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ⌗𝟒

𝐁𝐚𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐢'𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞➜

The Kuntala Journey

The Charming Princess

The Kuntala Palace

The Dreamer Boy

The Hunting Party

The Krishna Pooja

The Marriage Proposal

The Silent Attack

The Lady’s Choice

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠➜

The Rejoiced Couple

The Wedding Night

The Jealous Banishment

The Back-Stabber

The Final Sob

The Honoured Dead

𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠➜

The Stubborn Prince

The Jealous Husband

The Painful Coronation

The Run-Away Wife

The Reunited Lovers

The Old Beginnings

𝐀𝐫𝐜 ⌗𝟓

𝐁𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐚'𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞➜

The Library Roaming

The Compensating Gifts

The Hidden Portrait

The Risky Plan

The Portrait Showing

The Insistent Girl

The False Confession

The Impulsive Promise

The King’s Confession

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠➜

The Defeated King

The Heart Problems

The Exiled Duo

The Discontent Girl

The Confidential News

The Sweet Embrace

𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠➜

The Impressive Queen

The Romantic King

The Revealed Secret

The Destroyed Amulet

The Two-Faced Liar

The Tragic End

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭➜ @vellipo-mellaga, @cleaningfairylevi, @bhalare-vichitram, @ghal-ghal, @bitchy-bi-trash, @vijayasena, @sakhiiiii, @celestesinsight《If you wish to be part of the taglist, please let me know in the replies!》

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞➜

This story contains elements of fantasy, adventure, and emotional depth, but be aware of potential triggers, including violence, grief, and complex relationships. Reader discretion is advised.

Does anyone want an OC version if they're not interested in y/n?

#telugu #tollywood #writers #writers on tumblr #bahubali #tamil #y/n #reader insert #telugu fanfic #x reader #masterlist #book #romance #bhallaladeva #Bhallaladeva x reader #Bahubali x reader #love triangle #enemies to lovers #slow burn #multiple endings #fluff #friends to lovers

[shethesilhouette]

Sat around thinking, what should I do this weekend…

#goth #post punk #music #darkwave #youtube #gothic #sexuality of bereavement

[yes-divine-ruler]

Colin Zabel x Fem!Reader

I don’t have a title but I just wanted to post this lmao I’m high as shit rn so I have no thoughts and everytime i read this it looks shit but it’s pretty much Colin and Y/N work together and they both stay back and then yeah

cw: smut

wc: 2.7k

Taglist/ @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight @humdrumexistence @simp4petermaximoff @evan4ever @paujmr @jangsuzchap @meganxfox @divineruler @spill-the-t

“Not going home yet?”

You look up from the mound of paperwork sprawled across the surface of your desk to see your fellow detective, Colin Zabel, leaning against the door frame of your office, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked almost as tired as you were, dark bags under his eyes and the tie around his neck loose.

You let out a bereaved sigh, shutting the Manila folder closed in front of you and rubbing your palms across your face in an effort to wake yourself up.

“No. I still have like, 3 cases to sort and file. It’s going to be a long night.”

“Same here, everyone else went home like, an hour ago,” Colin just had to rub in the fact you could be home right now, having a hot shower and dressing into your pyjamas before tucking yourself into your warm, cosy bed. The thought alone made you want to whine.

“Wanna come and sit in here with me? Might make the time go by faster,” you offered, motioning over to the spare seat on the other side of your desk.

Colin bit his lip, smiling shyly before nodding his head. Since he’d been stationed in Easttown, he hadn’t really had the time or opportunity to get to know you, and vice versa. Maybe this would be a good time to build some sort of professional relationship.

“Alright, I’ll bring in my work,” Colin nodded again before disappearing down the hall to his own office.

When he returned, it looked like he couldn’t possibly hold anymore paperwork in his hands. It had almost toppled before he made his way over to your desk. You stood to help him, reaching out to halve his pile and stack it down onto the desk.

“Thanks,” he mutters, finally taking a seat across from you and shifting to get comfortable.

“That’s alright,” you replied shortly, leaning over your desk to grab a pen that had rolled to the edge.

You’d forgotten that you’d unbuttoned your shirt slightly to feel more relaxed, and leaning over your desk had the black lace of your bra and cleavage on show to your colleague. Colin’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared, not seeming to snap out of his perverted gaze. His palms started to sweat as his stomach flipped, just at the sight of your bare skin. He’d already developed a small crush on you, seeing you strut around the office in the sexiest pair of tights and the most figure hugging skirts. He’d tried to keep it at bay and maybe that’s why he’d never mustered the courage to really talk to you.

“Are you okay, detective?” You asked as you noticed how flushed he suddenly looked.

He awkwardly cleared his throat and blinked a few times before shaking his head.

“Yeah sorry, just tired s’all,” Colin confirmed, sticking his nose into his paperwork so that he couldn’t embarrass himself any further. Was he really that sexually deprived that the mere glimpse of your cleavage had a tent form in the front of his slacks?

You hadn’t taken much notice despite how worried Colin was that you might’ve. You sat in silence across from each-other for what felt like another twenty minutes before you finally spoke.

“I don’t really know much about you Zabel, what’s your situation?” You asked nonchalantly, licking your thumb before turning a page.

Colin caught a glance of the tip of your tongue as it poked out from between your pink lips, and it made his spine tingle just thinking of how it might look pleasing his cock. He wasn’t in the right mindset right now to finish his work, god, he needed you to ask him questions to distract him from his filthy thoughts.

“Uh-” Colin scratched the back of his head, thinking of what to say before answering, “I work all over Pittsburg as a state detective, I currently live with my mom but it’s only temporary,” it sparked your interest that he’d still lived with his mom and not a partner. You always thought Detective Zabel was a good-looking guy, and he seemed nice, respectable and hardworking. You wondered why he was still single. Then again, so were you and you knew there could be many reasons.

“Living in her basement then?” You teased, taking a moment to savour his embarrassment. He let out a strained laugh before shaking his head.

“No, I know it sounds kind of pathetic. But with moving around all the time, it makes sense. And she’s always prepared to help me out,”

“No partner then?” You just had to ask.

“Um no, I was engaged but- that kinda ended a while ago,” he suddenly got quiet, and it made you feel bad you’d brought it up in the first place.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” you said sincerely, reaching out without a thought and placing your hand over his. It shocked him when he felt your warm touch, but he knew it was only to console him.

“No that’s alright,” he laughed nervously, “like I said it was a while ago, just haven’t had much time to date since then, you know?”

“No I know,” you chuckled in resonation, “I’m on the same page, but I have my own place.”

“Yeah it’s so hard to find someone who understands how demanding this job is,” Colin scoffed, frowning on the inside as you retracted your hand that was over his.

“No partner then?” Colin reciprocated your question, and you nodded in amusement.

“Yeah, no partner. Haven’t been able to find someone either. Easttown is a small place, I feel like I’ve already exhausted my options.”

Colin just nodded, before you both fell into an awkward silence.

“Hey I’ll tell you what?” You pull open your desk drawer, and retrieve the small flask you’d hidden in case of “emergencies”, “wanna take a couple swigs with me? I guess to celebrate the… celibate life.”

Colin laughs, crossing his arms over his chest as he considers it. You had an image of being a bit of a loose cannon, but he never imagined you’d suggest drinking on the job. He was always afraid to step out of his comfort zone, and it seemed right now you were the one who wasn’t afraid to push his boundaries.

“Come on Zabel,” you egged on, “it’s not like we’re on call.”

You take a couple of swigs yourself and wince as the strong alcohol burns your throat. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand shyly, and offer it to Colin. He takes a moment to process exactly what was happening right now, before he decides “fuck it” and takes the flask from your hand. Your fingers brush as he takes it from your hold, and Colin finds his heart hammering in his chest again. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just keep it together for once?

Without another thought, Colin takes the biggest swig you’d think possible. You gasp in a giggle as Colin begins to splutter and gag, trying to swallow all the alcohol he’d taken into his mouth. It wouldn’t help his case that all he’d eaten today was whatever he could get his hands on from the vending machine in the foyer, mostly crisps and cans of pop.

“That’s enough for you Zabel,” you tease again, taking the flask from your colleague and setting it back down into your drawer.

—-

“So you’re telling me, you accidentally stepped on Mare’s vape?” You shook your head in laughter as Colin bent over the desk, letting out his own snorts. You were so deep in conversation, disclosing everything and nothing about yourselves you hadn’t realised how late it was, or how badly the alcohol had affected the both of you.

“Yeah she- she was looking for it everywhere, and she got so angry, it was so funny,” Colin howls, slapping a hand on his knee. You took a moment to glance at him, revelling in the way his smile dented his cheeks with the sweetest dimples. Maybe the alcohol was giving you confidence and dissipating your filter, because you couldn’t stop the word vomit that was coming out of your mouth.

“You know Zabel, you’re super attractive, I know you’ll find someone if not here, anywhere else, like, you don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff, you know?” You were a rambling mess but you couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Was there anyone in the office you ever found attractive like, that probably sounds weird but you know no one would be able to understand your job more than another cop, you know? I always think about it,” you bit your lip in an effort to let him respond now that your question was out in the open.

He coughed awkwardly, and you felt your heart sink from how stupid you’d just been.

“I’m sorry- you don’t have to answer that, I think it’s the alcohol, it’s-”

“Why do you ask that?” The alcohol was seemingly getting to Colin too, as his lips curled up into a smirk.

You gulped, suddenly feeling your palms sweat from the probing question.

“I guess I find you attractive,” you say, and internally wince from how forward you were being. Even intoxicated you hated being that dumb horny drunk person.

“I think you’re attractive too,” Colin replied, and suddenly your heart picked up pace rapidly, “I’ve had a crush on you since I got here.”

Under the false facade of confidence, Colin felt like a nervous wreck underneath. It was obviously easier to come out and say he found you attractive after you’d admitted it first, but now he wasn’t sure what you were both going to do with that information.

He watched as you got up from the opposite side of the desk, trailing your fingers across the surface of the desk as you made your way over to him. Colin swallowed thickly, turning his chair around to face you, slouched back and legs wide apart.

“So what are we going to do about it?” It was definitely the alcohol now, as you leant over so your faces were only inches apart. Colin got the answer to his question, and it was definitely the right one.

You could feel Colin’s warm breath as it fanned your face, his gaze switching between your eyes and your lips. You leant in impossibly closer. Colin’s stomach began to flip as he tried to decide in his head what he should do. You were in the station, in your office, with the slight chance of someone walking in on you at any moment. It was now or never, and Colin decided he’d cease the opportunity despite the risk, and closed the gap between your lips.

You were surprised he did it at first, and then slowly you melted into the velvet softness of his lips, and the way they moved in perfect rhythm with yours. You weren’t expecting him to be that good of a kisser. He seemed sweet and inexperienced, but his ministrations said otherwise.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Colin reaches forwards to grip onto your hips, and guides you to sit on his lap, straddling his pant-stricken leg. Your skirt rode up, exposing the lace trim of your stockings. Colin’s fingertips ran across the lace as his tongue explored your mouth, and with the mid of your thigh you could feel the tent in the front of his slacks. My god this was really happening right now, and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t done it earlier. Colin shuddered just feeling the trim he’d fantasied about so many times.

You were growing more aroused by the second just feeling the pressure of Colin’s thigh on your heat, and absentmindedly began to grind your hips.

You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, as your fingers came up to tangle in his short hair, pulling roughly at the roots. Colin loved the sensation, and encouraged more moans from you as he began to bob his leg.

“Fuck Colin,” you called him by his name, and it surprised him how hot it sounded coming from your mouth. He needed more.

His lips trailed down your jaw as he continued to bob his leg, adamant he could feel the wetness of your panties through his pants. His cock was becoming painfully hard, throbbing with every moan and whimper that you made.

You could feel that telltale tightness in your groin as you began to work with Colin, his tongue tasting the skin on your neck, your body hot with passion and tingling with the desire to finish.

“This is so fucking hot, I’ve thought about this a million times,” Colin growled, “I can feel how wet you are through your panties.”

His words pushed you over the edge into a surreal state, stars exploding behind your closed eyelids as you reached your ultimate peak. You thighs shook around Colin’s, his leg not stopping until your forehead lay limp against his shoulder.

“That felt so good,” you whined, as Colin tore down the front of your shirt and unclasped your bra, letting the items fall to the floor in a heap.

“I wanna feel you, all of you,” Colin spoke shyly despite his assertiveness, opening his own shirt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Need you to fuck me,” you breathed out, standing to remove your skirt and panties, leaving you in nothing but your pair of lace tights. You thought Colin might like that.

Colin groaned just at the sight before him, before he too got up, his cock pulsing and red in need.

“Sit,” Colin demanded, his tone ravenous as he places a palm down on the desk.

You oblige happily, sitting down on the edge of the desk. Colin leans down and kisses you again with an open mouth, his tongue massaging yours as your legs wrap around his waist. He lines himself up at your entrance, and without another thought, sinks himself inside you.

Colin groans as he feels you stretch out from the thickness of his cock, feeling your warmth and soaking wetness as it wraps around him. Your fingernails dig into the skin on his shoulders as he fills you completely.

“Fuck,” Colin hisses, his eyes almost rolling from the sensation, “you feel fucking incredible.”

“Yes, please more,” you pine, caging him in with your legs.

Colin begins to piston his hips, sliding himself in and out of you at a pleasurable pace. The desk beneath you begins to creak with every thrust, punctuated by the moans you and Colin couldn’t help but let out.

The swollen tip of his cock begins to rub up against the soft spongey spot within you that has you almost in tears, and it only makes you grip onto him harder.

“Right there Colin! Oh my god,” you encourage him with your pleas, feeling your second peak impending with every ruthless thrust.

“That’s it, you gonna cum again?” Colin’s hands secured at your hips, holding you down onto the desk as he had his way with you.

“Oh my god, yes, yes I’m cumming!” A tingling sensation courses through your body for the second time, the pulse and clench around Colin’s cock paired with the bounce of your breasts enough to tip him over into a state of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, me too,” Colin’s eyes squeeze shut as he lets go, releasing inside you and pulling out moments after.

He watches in awe as the cum drips from your core, your tired body fucked out and panting for air, your legs still spread for everything to be on show.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” Colin’s face lights up into a smile as you come to, straightening yourself out and standing to dress yourself.

“Looks like I’ve been missing out,” you tease, the alcohol in your system not as influential as it had been prior. Colin was sobering up too, but both of you had no regrets.

“Fuck!” Colin curses, staring down at the paperwork that was now crumpled and stained with cum. You let out a small giggle, as Colin picks up the pile of paper and tries to shake off the stain.

“Looks like we’ll be back tomorrow night,” you shrug, as Colin shakes his head in amusement.

“What a fucking night it’s been.”

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters requests #evan peters smut #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #american horror story #2nd person pov #fem!reader #ahs #colin zabel #colin zabel x reader #colin zabel smut #colin mare of easttown #mare of easttown

[gabessquishytum]

hi, I'm the girly girl who sent the ask about Dream forgoing pleasures of the flesh to save himself as a virgin sacrifice, and you gave me the inspiration for the update. The moon goddess is mad at Hob. First for rescuing her next consort from the alter, then having the nerve to take his virginity (That she bereaved was rightfully hers to take) on HER alter. Hob has done the divine version of sleeping with the moon goddess' husband in her bed. So now, Hob and Dream have to fight off a very pissed of moon goddess

Yaaaasss. Here's the first virgin sacrifice thingy teehee.

At first Hob is convinced that Dream is joking - yes, ahaha, ill fight the moon goddess, whatever makes you happy. Dream is not joking, however.

Thank goodness Hob is pretty nifty with a sword! He's not going to put up with any more nonsense from this moon goddess - he has a very low opinion of her way of getting a husband, and he certainly isn't going to let her get hold of Dream again. He tells all this to her face, which does not go down well. But she does assure him that she's not here to kidnap Dream. He's sullied goods, now. She's just here for revenge against the humiliation of having her future husband stolen from under her nose.

Hob holds his own pretty well against the goddess. She breaks the fight to ask why he won't hurry up and die and he's just like, i dunno, I'm built different? In fact the fight would probably be at risk of going on forever, except that she finally works out that Hob is immortal! He got cursed/blessed by some other divine being, so she can't kill him! Ugh.

Meanwhile Dream is like oh?? 👀 he may not have been able to marry the moon goddess, but apparently his new boyfriend??? Is immortal??? So that's kind of a turn up for the books, isn't it. Maybe he'll stick around and see what happens. If nothing else, Dream has been very much enjoying the sexual education that Hob has been giving him. If Hob is immortal as he says, he must have a lot more the teach Dream. So maybe being liberated from the altar of the moon goddess wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to him 😌

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[soft-persephone]

Strange Kind of Feeling: (The Spell You Put me Under)

Grey McConnell x Black!Fem!Reader

I write with black women in mind, but all women are still welcome!

M // MDNI // WC: 5k // WA: mention of SA in conversation, but nothing graphic and no details. Biting during sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Nipple play?// AN: I know nothing about Portland. Please don’t come for me // masterlist // summery:

Your friend tricks you into going to this bar for a mess you have nothing to do with, but a certain bartender has your attention, and you can’t find it in you to stop staring at him.

“Why do we need to be here?” You raised an eyebrow.

The Bad Alibi didn’t look like every other bar in Portland. It was rustic, full of metal, it was clean, but there could still be a thin layer of soot. Who knows?

Maybe it was just the vibe that made it feel that way, or there really was a thin layer of the stuff everywhere.

There were still homemade IPAs and all of those goodies in abundance, but you could tell whisky reigns supreme in this place.

One look at the bartender alone affirmed that belief.

A well taken care of and equally well worn red flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, he was thick and stocky, but it was accompanied by a sensible height, a lovely head of hair you wanted to run your fingers through, and a beard you were dying to touch.

He looked up with a quick smile and a wave before his face fell into a more neutral expression. You just as quickly averted your gaze back to your friend.

Fuck.

You hoped he wouldn’t notice you staring.

“I met this girl, and she was talking about you, so now we need to be here and talk to her.”

You did not like the forced casual straightforward tone or the vagueness in everything Luna was saying to you. Nothing about Luna was straightforward and to the point.. or weirdly and dangerously vague.

“A girl you just met was talking about me?” You looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Your friend averted her gaze before looking back up at you apologetically.

“And you think that’s just some type of coincidence?”

Luna fiddled with her fingers.

“Would you have come here if I told you?”

“From the way you are asking me that, no.”

“It’s about Dillon.” She said flatly, furring her brow in an effort to stand up to your bereavement at her.

“Dillon?!” You laughed dryly at that.

“Dillon Tryson,” a voice interrupted, making a beeline into your eye of vision and slamming a folder on a table in front of you, “you know him?”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, taking a seat, “however I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Two long excruciating hours later, and you both finally reached a conclusion she was happy with.

Dillon was an old client of yours at a PR firm. You were representing him until he committed the ultimate fuck up of character and career assassination of sexually assaulting someone.

Per protocol, you did one final statement and you guys fucking dropped him. A PR firm is only as good as its results, and this guy was a fucking failure.

She was looking for him.

You give her what you could, but for some reason she thinks you're lying, and you are running out of ways to prove how you, obviously, are not lying to her.

“He was a client of yours? How are you not protecting him through this? Your firm is clearly in on what he did with this poor young girl. There is no way you guys can just wash your hands of this!”

You were trying to take this moment seriously. You really were, but your eyes kept meeting the bartenders. You wanted to observe him in his natural habitat, and he was trying to figure out the commotion going on at your table.

You found your eyes at his arms again which soon led you to the new discovery of his hands. God, his hands., massive things they were. Your eyes trailed the path of veins on his arms to his hands. You admired the dexterous arches of his fingers as he maneuvered glasses of drinks and bottles of beers. How he’d towel freshly washed ones before putting them away.

Thoughts of how they would feel soon plagued your mind. Were they soft? Were they rough? Would he caress your skin gently or knead your flesh roughly in an effort to amass your inevitable destruction, pushing you to a point of no return until you beg him to stop. Breaking your skin and pulling at flesh, molding himself to you with such harsh thrust you feel the shadow of his body in you for the rest of the week. Until that deep seated ache becomes a memory.

Would he tease you with those hands or would he worship you?

You needed to stop thinking about him before you were too far gone, but you couldn’t fight the new desire to study his face just as intently. You Just need to watch him a little bit longer. Then you would stop, and move on with your life. You slowly eyed up his torso, savoring the last glance before you pinched yourself back into reality, back into the conversation you were having.

When you reached his face, you were met with a heady gaze.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Dark pools of brown were staring into you. You couldn’t prove it, but you could feel his eyes boring into you, exposing you for what you are, what you were doing. His jaw pulled taught as he silently studied you from afar. He didn’t smirk, he didn't gloat laugh. . . He just stared into you.

A hand snapped its fingers into your face.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Dex seethed at her. “Do you not take this seriously?”

“I do, I do!” You raised your hands in defense before licking your lips and ripping your eyes away from his heated stare to face the woman in front of you.

She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around in her seat to see what could possibly be holding your attention.

She berated you with more questions even opting to go back to the beginning, asking you questions she already knew the answer to.

You cant take her questions, you cant take the gaze of this man you had never met before, the atmosphere of the room itself was starting to close in on you.

“Calm the fuck down!” you hissed. “ You wanted to scream, but the result of having even more eyes on you was a nightmare. You just needed the yelling to stop before it got worse. “Here is the key to my office and the password to my computer as well as my work phone, “you threw it on the table along with the napkin you just wrote on. “Have a blast.”

“Well.” Dex stood up, pursing her lips. Her expression unreadable to you. Her regards of ambivalent contemptment for you was now replaced with judging disdain. “You're staying here until I can prove your involvement –

“ – or lack of involvement.” you interrupted.

‘We’ll see about that.” She scoffed before turning to your friend Luna, “You're coming with me.”

Before walking out the door, your friend slyly turned around without the other women noticing and gave you a smile of complete glee.’

You mouthed an, ‘you owe me’ and she gave you a thumbs up.

You stood awkwardly for a moment. The bar was less than quiet, people were petering out one by one, save for a few lonely souls left at the main bar, quiet and long gone.

Avoiding his eyeline, you made your way over and took a seat at one of the barstools.

“What do you like?” his voice flooded your senses. It was low and gravely, but with a hint of teasing that didn’t match the heaviness of his gaze. As much as the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering in a storm of fury within you. The titlewave of his presence was worth focussing on instead, your nerves be damned. You bit your lip and braved to make eye contact with him once more.

“Aside from the staring?” half of his mouth turned up into a smile before falling back into its neutral more intense state.

“Whisky.” You lkcked your lips before settling into your seat and finding a comfortable position to place your hands.

He grabbed two glasses before reaching high above several shelves to a tiny dark cabinet before pulling out a very complicated wooden box to reveal a small fat but decadent glass bottle, barely dented.

“Whisky.” He deftly poured a generous amount into each glasses.

You licked your lips nervously before nodding to him in thanks. He stared into your eyes and smiled, but you felt no mirth from his gaze, “my treat.” He leaned closer to you, the natural musk of his skin smelt as earthy as the whisky you were nursing in your hand.

You brought the glass to your nose and took in a deep breath of it, your eyes not breaking contact with his over the brim, licking your lips you took a sip.

It was smooth, the smoothest you’ve had in a while. The subtle notes of dark brown sugar didn’t help either. As slightly sweet as it tasted, it was even stronger, going straight to your head.

“Girl knows her whisky.”

You couldn’t help how quickly your eyes met his. How the slightest movement from him in this moment affected your posture, how your face changed and your eyebrows rose at his words, but you could hate yourself for it. No matter the fact that it was a human act out of your control, you could still regret it.

You finished off your glass, letting it thud against the counter as you bared your teeth at the strength of it. You felt headier than you should. You weren’t that drunk off of one drink, but from that serving alone you knew it could get you into trouble.

Were you looking for trouble?

He made a similar face. Letting out a strong low huff of appreciation before filling up both your glasses again. You opened your mouth to protest, but he leveled you with another look.

You licked your lips. “Please, I don’t think I—“

“Drink.” He said it low and gravely. The sound of his voice dancing against your ears filled your belly with a warmth stronger than the whisky ever could.

“I—“

He leaned over the counter, his face closer to yours, and oh what a mistake it was, what a mistake it all was. Your eyes glanced over every bump and curve of your face. The alchohol coursing through you was too strong to let you feel embarrassed about it.

“If your going to keep staring at me, then you drink when I say drink.” He graveled lowly in your face. His voice sounded even warmer than before. His breath tickled your nose and fanned across your face. You could smell the drink on his breath. You could smell it on him, and they both went so well together.

You should stop. You really should, but the temptation of his presence, being this close to him, was much more promising. It was worth risking.

“Drink.” He pulled away from you, and you bit your toughe at the loss of his presence before taking your glass and sipping on its contents once more.

“What do you want?” He said after a sip, darting his tongue across his lips before shifting his stance and tilting his head to the side.

You didn’t answer, weakly holding onto your glass.

“What do you want?” His voice sounded lighter, the words flowing out of him like a chuckle, but his eyes weren’t laughing.

“I,” you stopped yourself this time. You were both adults. There’s was no point of beating around the bush. He wouldn’t have kept you here for no reason.

“I want another shot of whisky.”

He nodded.

Taking the bottle once more he poured you a generous serving. You brought the glass to your lips. Instead of sipping its precious contents, your took the biggest gulp of it you could. Some of it sloshed on the side of the glass, your tongue darted out to catch it.

Upon doing so, this time you caught him staring at you. Somehow his gaze felt even heavier on you, his irises looking even darker than before.

You took your last drink, not breaking eye contact with him. He walked out the little opening on the side before stepping into your space. The little area between bar stools leaving him no other option other to crowd your space and you to let him.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your cheek, letting his thumb wipe at the corner of your mouth before slipping it into his mouth.

With a soft pop, he grabbed your glas from you and placed it on the counter.

“If we’re going to do this, your going to follow my rules.”

You nodded. Your chest was heaving and he barely touched you. You felt so overwhelmed you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“You started this,” he slid his hand on the nape of your neck and roughly pulled you into him, “so you’re going to finish it,” he ended his sentence by bringing his mouth to yours. As if he was trying to take back every drop of whisky he gave you. His mouth was hot and heavy like his eyes. He mouthed at yours, he sucked on you, devoured you whole. His hands keeping you in place as he swiped his tongue roughly against yours.

He didn’t let you go until your lungs were screaming for air, but at that point you didn’t need air. You needed more of him.

Your chest rose and fell. Your mouth agape and panting. You felt almost dizzy as if cast under a spell.

“Yes,” you breathed out, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, “please,” you panted, “please let me.”

He lived above his bar.

You figured it out as he dragged you up the stairs with his mouth on yours. His grip strong and tight as if you’d suddenly disappear on him, so you kissed him back with just as much desperation, licking into his mouth as he had done yours. The whisky tasting so much better on him. You longed to taste more to lick and suck every last drop of it out of his mouth..

You bit his lip as he sat on the edge of his bed, taking you down with him.

You started kissing away from his mouth, nipping at his cheeks in between, but you wanted his jaw. You wanted to start there and trail them down his neck, to get his shirt off and go even further. Mouthing at any and every part of his chest you could get to.

As if sensing what you wanted, he stopped you with a hard grip of his massive hand on your jaw.

“Now just what,” he huffed into your face, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Kisses.” Was all you could manage to pant out.

“Like I said earlier.” He squeezed his grip on your jaw a little tighter, making your cheeks puff up and your glasses slip a little too high onto your forehead. He gently took them off with his other hand before tossing them on his nightstand, “this all goes down how I want it to.”

He rubbed at your cheek gently with his thumb.

“That doe eyed look isn’t going to get you whatever you want, so you can put those puppy dog eyes away.”

A sound you’ve never made before fell out of your lips. It was high pitched like a wine, but even needier.

You squeezed your thighs around him, grinding slowly, chasing the feeling of his body.

He squeezed harder at your cheeks, bringing water to the edges of your eyes.

“What did I say?” He slowly peeled your skirt off your body after he rid you of your skirt, his hands roamed over your thighs, feeling and savoring every inch of your soft supple skin. They were calloused but not too harsh, smooth, and strong. They were large and hot on your body.

You leaned into his touch.

The thought of him slipping his fingers into you had you biting your lip. You wanted it. You wanted him oh so badly. So badly.

“I said it was going to be my way or not at all,” he let go of your face and slowly trailed his hand down your neck to your breast. He slowly thumbed at your nipple before pushing harshly, making you hiss, “and you said yes.”

He brought his other hand to your other breast, matching his movements for each one as he circled roughly at your nipples, each swipe of his thumbs caused you to cry out or wince at every turn and swirl of them on your skin. The flat of his palms were pushing and pulling at the swell of your breasts.

Every second felt like a lifetime, and with each small death and revival you grew wetter and wetter.

“You make such pretty noises.” He leaned in closer, kissing on your neck. “Wonder what you sound like when I do this.”

He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking hard.

Balling your fists into his shirt, you keened.

The combination of hot wet mouth seeing into your skin as he sucked at your breast and the scratchiness of his beard was sending you over the edge.

You couldn’t cum yet, you just couldn’t. Not like this.

Moving, you tried to pull away, but when he switched his mouth to your other one, making sure to bite the nipple first before soothing the sting of with a swipe of his tongue.

You came with a small cry, wining and writhing in his lap.

He whispered words of encouragement in your ear, gently rubbing your back.

“Fuck.”

He looked at you with such reverence. The dark irises of his eyes almost sparkling at you in the dark, catching you off guard.

“You're perfect.”

You snapped your head to the wide, refusing to look at him.

“Pretty,” he grabbed your chin, making you look. “Beautiful even.,”

He slid you off his lap, placing you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off.”

As you clumsily fingered your buttons undone, you watched him slide his shirt over his head. His low simmering gaze shifted into one of half incredulous as he watched your jaw slack once his undershirt was off and he was unbuckling his belt.

You didn’t have time to process seeing all of him as he shoved his pants and underwear in one motion, he was already siding himself over you, pushing you slowly onto your back.

“Thought I told you to take this off.” He smirked before finishing the last buttons and throwing your shirt somewhere far and forgotten.

“Tried t—“ he plunged two fingers into your pussy, cutting you off.

“Toosoon.” Your chest tightened causing your voice to rise unexpectedly shrill.

He added another finger, making you flutter around the three of them curling in and out of you.

“This what you wanted when you kept staring at me down there?” He leveled at you, quickening the pace of his fingers. Your whines and pants, the wet squelching sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you filling the room.

“Yes.” You replied sharply with a moan.

“Aren’t you just a dirty little thing.” he abruptly pulled his fingers out of you and smacked your ass hard.

You yelped and he slapped your ass again before digging his fingers into the meat of it, pushing you down roughly into bed.

You couldn’t keep up. From the handful of moments he was sweet, the small moments where he was cruel and hurting you, and the moments he liked to mock you and praise you. Which one was he? Which one was really him?

But you couldn’t find the time to care about it now. You would take every morsel of praise, each sliver of praise, the sparingly few moments of gentleness, and the sprinkles of pain and cruelty. You would take it all. Any and every little thing he gave you.

His body smothering yours into the bed, you took each and every hard thrust of his hips into yours. His nails digging into the flesh of your skin and every hard slapping sound of his hips meeting yours caused you to gush around his cock every little bit more.

You fisted the sheets and clenched your teeth together to keep them from clattering together at one particularly hard thrust.

“Please,” you moaned. “ more. Harder.”

He bit the side of your neck hard, his tongue chasing the new indentions of his teeth on your skin before doing the impossible and obliging your request. Taking a fist of your hair, he pulled, thrusting down in unison.

The pleasure and pain tickled down your spine. It felt so good. You wanted his mouth on you once more. To bite you one more time. But as his cock slipply slid out of you, he cursed, tightening his grip on your hair even more.

“You're so wet.”

Your low howl of pain morphed into a moan as he pushed into you once more, letting go of your hair, he laid down on top of you, wrapping his hands around your front.

He moaned lowly in your ear, matching the responding harmony of the one spilling from your lips.

He set a new fast and languid pace that made your toes curl. He took this opportunity to twist and tease at one of your nipples.

“You're so pretty like this.” He kissed and sucked along your jaw, your neck, your collar, “making a mess just for me. Letting me use you however I want.” His words, the scratch of his beard as he focused on mouthing at your skin, if you didn’t wake up with a rash from the friction, you’d be surprised.

You managed to snake your hand behind you into his hair, pulling him closer to you.

“Bite me again,” you rasped, “hard.”

And he did, way harder than before.

You squeezed around him tight, and you both moaned as you came. His thirsts became shaky, his grip on your sides even harder, before he pulled out.

“Turn over.” He growled through his teeth.

With shaky legs and your head in a daze you managed to fall over into your back. Your hands splayed beside your head as you looked up at him with parted lips, your chest frantically heaving up and down as you made eye contact with him.

The site of your swollen nipples, the way your plush lips parted at him without a throught on your mind as your lust blown eyes took him in, desperately trying not to miss the way he fucked his own hand as he looked into you, as you looked into his eyes once more as you’ve done all night, he came, thick wet hot spurts of him spilled all over your chest. Littered with marks of his teeth.

—

You squint your eyes even further shut as the late morning rays of sunshine perturbed you from sleep.

You rolled over in bed, reaching to find a certain someone only to feel nothing.

You bolted upright in an instant.

Your body protested the moment as well as your head as it grew even fuzzier at the movement. You groaned.

You were hungover and your body aches everywhere, some places more than others. For good reason too.

“Slow down,” a voice from the other side of the room called, “don’t move so fast. You're going to hurt yourself.”

Large warm hand pushed a mug in yours.

“Good morning by the way.” He kissed you on the forehead before bounding off back into the kitchen.

Without thinking you slowly raise the mugs to your lips.

Everything was fuzzy. Why was everything fuzzy? Were you that hungover? What….

“Glasses!” You gurgled out in a mumble.

“Oh!” He plated whatever he was cooking on the stove before placing two on the table, already set with forks and knives.

He padded over once more. Grabbing your glasses from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He wore a casual pair of pajama pants and a wife beater that complimented his wide shoulders.

You thanked him softly and reached for them, but he pulled them closer to him.

“Uhh uh.” He smiled down at you, making you sigh in defeat.

With a silent laugh he placed them on your face for you before kissing you in the forehead again.

“I can offer you breakfast if you like.”

“I’d like that.” You hummed, smiling softly.

He beamed, taking your mug from your hands to place it by your plate.

He was sweet.

Your skin held no sticky or uncomfortable residue and you were wearing a worn green t shirt .. or was it blue. It was so faded it was hard to tell. Maybe it used to be gray.

You stood on shaky legs and he rushed over to keep you stable. You jabbed him lightly in the chest.

“I got it.” You huffed.

He raised his hands in mock defeat before crossing his arms.

“If you say so..”

You laughed before putting your hand under your shirt, raising it a little as you softly touched one of your nipples. Still swollen and it hurt like hell as you moved. Even the smallest bit of friction from the t shirt was too much.

He swallowed, looking at you with intent before quizzically raising a brow.

“You, alright?” He gruffly asks before gesturing at your chest with a hand.

“I think I’ll live.” You huffed out a laugh as you both made your way to the table, but it was more at his supposed bashfulness. He caused this with his own mouth, but seemed too shy to talk about it.

“Let’s eat!”

Whenever a man brags about his cooking you take it with a grain of salt. However, his eggs were no joke.

“These are so good!”

“Right?” His chest puffed a little as you devoured your food.

Placing your fork down, you winced again.

“Are you sure we don’t need to—“

“No!”

A few beats of silence passed and he scratched the back of his neck.

“No,” you said softer again, “just give me a few painkillers and it’ll pass.”

He stood there. His face scrunched and unsure.

“I’ll be fine,” you stood up and placed your hands on his shoulders, “I promise.”

“Okay.” He tentatively looks at you once more time before heading to his bathroom.

You were about to sigh when you heard the door rattle before opening.

What the..

“What are you doing here?”

Dex.. the lady from last night who wouldn’t stop berating you. Was now berating you in—

“Grey what the fuck!”

“Dex?” He frowned, “uhh, what’s going on ? Why are you up so early?”

Oh that’s right. That’s what was missing. You were so desperate you both overlooked the obvious.

“Your name's Grey?” You asked.

You felt pretty dumb after the fact, but it was automatic earnestness that overridden your brain and made you ask.

“Grey McConnell.” He smiled at you, making his way over to your side as you both faced off against Dex.

The action had you forming one of your own. You fought the giggle bubbling inside you and told him your name.

He said it aloud, feeling how it sounded in his mouth, wishing he could have known it last night, and you slightly froze at the sound.

“I like that.”

Your face grew unbearably hot and you looked away, refusing to look at him saying your name, like that.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Dex hissed once more.

“Meet me downstairs!” She glared at you, “we didn’t finish our conversation about Dillon Tryson!”

She looked Grey up and down .“You two.” She pointedly looked at him before storming he way down the stairs out of his apartment.

You stilled stunned for a moment, blinking.

“She’s not that bad.”

“You’re friends?” You asked incredulously. Thinking about it, it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say given the situation, but he didn’t seem to take it personal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly moved you towards his bed, “let’s find you a pair of pants that fit.”

“I think I can fit into some of your pajama pants or sweats if you have any.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As you both slowly made your way down the stairs he placed his hand on the small of your back, you hummed in surprise as your back arched into the touch. He breathed sharply through his nose which made you realize what you were doing.

“Fuck if you do that one more time I might have to drag you back upstairs and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Your aching pussy throbbed at his words as you had to swallow your moan as Dex came into view at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry.” You managed to squeak out. Not entirely sure why you were saying sorry.

“I didn’t find anything comiramising, but I can’t shake the feeling that you're a liar! You're involved in this in some way!” Dex accused.

“You know you're not keeping that shirt or that pants right?” Grey questioned you as if Dex hadn’t said anything.

You purse your lips and force yourself not to look at the death glare she was sending your way.

“I’m sorry?”

“You're not walking out of here with this on.” He added before pinching at the fabric of your shirt with a smile, flapping it back and forth which made it rub against your painfully swollen nipples.

You couldn’t hide the wince of pain.

Mortified, your head snapped toward Dex, but she was looking up at the ceiling, rolling her eyes.

You grabbed Grey’s arms, but he didn’t let go, moving the shirt again, so you resulted in standing closer to him, but he only pulled you closer into him, your chest rubbing into his.

You were about to cry out but he shoved your face into him, muffling the sound of it as Dex snapped her head toward you both.

“Will you two knock it off! There is a woman's life at stake who deserves justice! This isn’t some fucking game!”

You looked up at Grey with a frown, and he only looked down at you with a casual smile. Like he was doing nothing wrong.

He might be sweet, he may be good at taking care of you, but he was a fucking menace.

He was going to be the death of you.

AN: thank you for reading!!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one!!

#Jake Johnson #Stumptown abc #Stumptown #Stumptown fanfiction #Grey McConnell x reader #Grey McConnell x black reader #Jake Johnson x black reader #x black reader #black writer #black fanfiction writer #black fanfiction #Jake Johnson x reader

[soon-palestine]

The world learned the name Rachel Corrie when an Israeli army bulldozer crushed her to death in Gaza on March 16, 2003.

However, few know the story of how both Caterpillar and the British state then spied on her grieving family and friends to protect Israel from accountability.

The justice for Rachel Corrie campaign was led by her parents Cindy and Craig.

Caterpillar, the company that manufactured the bulldozer that killed Corrie, hired the intelligence firm C2i International (now known as Lynceus) to infiltrate the campaign and spy on them

While Rachel's parents travelled to the Caterpillar offices and asked to meet the chairman, they even purchased shares in the company so they could have a chance of talking to the board, but the company refused and was paying C2i to spy on the middle-aged, bereaved couple.

C2i International was founded by former helicopter pilot in the British Special Forces, Justin King.

His company illegally garnered information about the Corries legal strategy by posing as sympathisers and infiltrating their meetings.

At the same time as Caterpillar was infiltrating Rachel Corrie's campaign, the British state had been infiltrating her political organisation, the International Solidarity Movement, through a spy cop under the alias Rob Harrison.

Harrison was dispatched by the Special Demonstration Squad to infiltrate Corrie's organisation, the ISM.

He was known for always offering lifts in his car and rarely expressing a political opinion. The undercover officer tricked a woman involved in the political campaign into a sexual relationship.

An inquiry found that Special Demonstration Squad agents were "permitted or encouraged" to engage in romantic relationships with the campaigners they were spying on in order to gather information.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #rachel corrie

[riaaanna]

INTERVIEW WITH BRIAN MAY - GOLD COMPACT DISC (VOL. 1 NO. 7) 1992

When Queen’s charismatic frontman Freddie Mercury died last year, it was the end of an era in rock music in general, as well as a personal tragedy for the three surviving members of a band that had become one of the most successful in the history of British rock. It also heralded the dawn of new solo careers for Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon, who performed Queen with Mercury back in 1970.

Brian May has just released his first post-Queen solo album, Back to the Light, while the first single from it, Too Much Love Will Kill You, has already been a top 10 hit. Now May is adjusting to life outside the musical perimeters of one of the UK’s best-loved rock bands – “a challenge which is quite nerve-racking – I feel as though I’m starting out all over again.”

The amiable May is chatting in the comfortable Queen management offices, in London’s Notting Hill. A handful of ever-loyal Queen devotees are sitting patiently outside the unimposing front door, happy just to be in close proximity to one of their heroes. There are many reminders of Queen, and in particular Freddie, to be seen within the building: huge gig posters, from all over the world, plus photographs and awards. There is also a slight flamboyance about the place which brings back the memories of Freddie.

Brian May is reflecting on the death of his long-time musical colleague… the effects on the group, the recording legacy they’ve left behind, but most importantly of all, the positive aspect that came out of Freddie Mercury’s tragic demise – bringing home the message about the dangers of Aids, the killer disease that claimed his life.

“Aids is literally walking the streets, and yet there is this amazing public complacency about it. there are people writing opinion columns in national newspapers, saying ‘Don’t worry about it, it’s a gay disease’. As long as there are still people coming out with statements like that, we must continue to shout out about the dangers. I think that Freddie’s death has made a huge difference to people’s attitudes and conceptions about Aids, which can only be for the good.

“It’s amazing how many people felt so close to Freddie, even those who didn’t actually know him… all kinds of people, all ages, different cultures and sexual persuasions, everything… so many people have told me that when they heard he’d died, they cried, and yet they hadn’t realized until then just how much feeling they had for him. Freddie had this amazing ability to get his personality across to people, he was really quite unique.”

May continues, “I’m glad that we did the Concert for Aids Awareness in his memory, it was done on a big enough scale to give him the great send-off that Freddie deserved. A lot of people have suggested that we should do something like it again, but that would take away from the specialness of the occasion, and anyway, it was a massive strain on our (Queen’s) shoulders because we weren’t just performing, we were also organizing everybody else.

“It was difficult enough just choosing the acts who would appear, we argued a lot among ourselves about the bill, but the basic criteria for the acts finally selected was their relevance to Freddie – either they were artists that he had been enthusiastic about, or those who had been keen on Freddie and his music, and had something to say about him.”

The death of Freddie Mercury was a personal bereavement for May, and his two other Queen colleagues, John Deacon and Roger Taylor. “It was truly awful for us, just like losing a member of the family. I’d known Freddie for 25 years, we��d spent our adult life until now together. It has been hard accepting reddie’s death but perhaps the personal thing that has come out of it for Roger, John and myself, apart from the deep sense of loss, is that there is now no option but to move on with our individual careers.

“As a band, we had an incredibly lucky and successful span of 20 years, and being able to perform at that level of success was very rewarding. However, we fought to build up our own protective shell, and once that was there it was like a little egg that saved us from having to be individuals in the true sense, so it’s good for us to be put in a situation where we have to be individuals from now on. We have no option but to move on to the next phase… I know that I wouldn’t have attacked this solo album with the same passion, if it hadn’t been for the way things turned out with Freddie’s death.”

Back to the Light, Brian’s new album for Parlophone, is actually his second solo album offering. Back in 1983, he teamed up with several rock musician mates, including Eddie Van Halen, for a ‘jam session’ which resulted in a mini-album, Star Fleet Project. He also had a top 10 single last year with Driven by You, which featured in a television commercial campaign for Ford cars.

“I’m very excited about the new album, it’s like starting out again in a way. I want to know what people think about it, and I certainly wouldn’t have put the album out, if I didn’t think that it had something special. Back to the Light is a little different, and I hope that it gives people a jolt when they hear it.

“I don’t know what the reviews will be like, but if they’re not so good, well I’ll be philosophical about it – the things I’ve been most proud of, during my career, have usually been the one’s that got slated the most! But even if Back to the Light doesn’t sell masses of records, well I’ll just be happy if it gets to the right people, to whom it will mean something.

“The Starfleet album was just a quick one-off thing, it didn’t sell that well, but then it wasn’t commercially conceived. The great thing, however, is that all those people who did buy it seem to have treasured the album over the years. Aspiring musicians, in particular guitar players, have told me that it was quite influential to them, and that means much more than just appealing to the mass market. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like a huge hit – that would bring a great feeling of reward – but if the album is appreciated by people who are into what I’m into, then that will be reward enough, and everything else will be a bonus.”

The rather modest May adds: “I have to make it clear though that I’m not setting myself up as a great vocalist… I know for a fact that I’m not, and that comes from having worked with Freddie. If you look at Bob Dylan or Eric Clapton, they’re proficient, but they’re not great singers… people have sung Dylan’s songs a lot better than he has, but if you listen to his interpretation of his own songs, there’s a massive amount of meaning and feeling that only he can put across. The point is, you can write a song, and someone else can record it, but even if that someone is the best singer in the world, something is usually lost in the translation. The things that you, as the writer, personally feel about the song don’t necessarily get into the final performance. With my new album, I wanted to say what I wanted to say in my own way, using the vocal and the guitar as two voices.”

He continues: “I’m not a songwriter as such, I can only function if a song means something to me regarding human relationships. I like to write about things that are personal, rather than about politics and other wider issues. Also a song should always be about the vocals, and it was certainly that way with Freddie. No matter how good the accompaniment is, and the production, if the vocal doesn’t work, then you haven’t got a song. Back to the Light isn’t a guitar virtuoso album, it is built around the voice, and it is an album of songs, some of which are designed to feature a lot of guitar. I worked on the vocals more than anything else on the album – I needed to, because I’m not that great at doing that kind of stuff!”

Despite his comments about other artists’ and musicians’ interpretations of songs they haven’t written themselves, May admits, “It’s great when other artists bring different approaches to Queen songs, I wish more people covered out stuff, they certainly shouldn’t be afraid to do so… I don’t care how they cover a song, to me it’s a great compliment that they want to do it in the first place. I’m not over-protective about our copyrights, it’s good if other artists and musicians want to bring their own selves into our songs. After all, music is a continuous process, you don’t create it in a vacuum, anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong. When we were starting out, we used to do other people’s songs, every group did in those days, and that’s how we learnt our trade, covering the Motown stuff, as well doing Hendrix and Cream songs.”

Similarly, he has a philosophical view about the Queen back-catalogue. There’s not a great deal of unreleased material because we tended to use up everything as we went along, but there are a few tracks left over from the Innuendo sessions. We never thought we’d finish that album, Freddie had been told by his doctors that he probably wouldn’t get to finish it, but he was determined to get through. There are a few songs sitting there that need finishing, I’m not sure how many, but certainly not enough for an album. I guess there has been a certain amount of reluctance between Roger, John and myself to go back into the studios and finish them… we needed to get away from the recording studios for our own sanity’s sake, rather than locking ourselves in, with the last Queen tapes, and trying to finish them.”

May adds: “Queen as a band doesn’t exist anymore, it can’t without Freddie, but the amount of time we spend on Queen matters is still enormous… there’s the catalogue to consider, and the whole recycling process of it, then there is the Queen business side which has many offshoots. There’s also the material that we didn’t quite finish, which we’ll have to do something about at some stage – we’ve guarded the quality of our record release very carefully over the years, and we don’t want standards to start slipping now.”

Back to his own solo career: “Most of all, I would like to play live again… it’s six years ago since Queen were last out on the road, and you need to strike a balance. Live work gets the juices going, and certainly makes me creative, a lot of my better stuff has been conceived on the road. I was very nervous at the Freddie Wembley tribute though… I get like that if it’s an unfamiliar situation, and I was worried about forgetting to introduce people. When you’re on tour in a band situation, you know what you’re doing, you know your partners, you know that you basically have something to offer, and it’s just a question of playing some good notes.

“I’ve got both Cozy Powell and Neil Murray playing on the new album, and we’re talking about doing some live dates, maybe at the end of the year of early next. I’d like to start in some smaller venues, just to get the feel of performing live again, but preferably in Outer Mongolia where not too many people can see or hear us! However, I don’t want to go out on tour and pretend that I’ve got a show worked out, when it’s just experimentation, it wouldn’t be fair to either the audience or me.”

Would he perform any Queen songs? “I don’t feel shy about doing them, but I wouldn’t be comfortable performing something like We Are the Champions because that’s so personal to Freddie. Even for the Wembley tribute, we racked our brains about who should do the song… there was some talk of us performing it ourselves, which we could have attempted, but it wouldn’t have meant anything. I fought tooth and nail to get Liza (Minnelli) because I knew that she was the only person who could perform the song with the same kind of feeling that Freddie use to put into it.”

He reflects: “It would be a shame though if the Queen catalogue could no longer be performed, so we mustn’t be paranoid about any of us doing the songs live. When Paul McCartney started his solo career, he wouldn’t do any of The Beatles stuff at first, but he does now, which makes sense because people want to hear those songs. I guess though that there’s always a fear that people are going to say, ‘You’re living in the past’, so we’ve got to strike a balance.

“I hope my album will get me some new fans as well as being enjoyed by existing Queen fans. A lot of people did find Queen’s gloss rather off-putting and strangely, since Freddie died, many have been able to look at the band a lot more clearly. Some of those who couldn’t quite swallow Freddie, or the band itself, can now… they can see the reality of what Freddie was doing. With Queen there was a very high level of production, and this huge sieving process went on, so that every recording became very rounded, which I think on the whole is a good thing.

“But I think that my solo stuff is much more directly me because it hasn’t gone through that process. I’ve been very painstaking with the album, and I haven’t had people interfering. I’ve said exactly what I wanted to say. I guess if people hate the results, then I can only blame myself…”

May recorded most of his album in the studio he has at his home in the country. “I’ve always resisted the idea of having a studio there because I’ve always felt that you should be able to get away from your work… but it never worked out like that anyway. The reason I did my own album at home was because of the feeling of pressure that you can get working in one of the major recording studios.

“It’s often a case of, ‘Well here I am, standing in this studio, just playing about, and it’s costing more than £1,000 a day’. It just seems so wasteful, so I thought, ‘Well why not do the album at home?’ And anyway, I wanted to get back to basics. It meant that I could do things the way that I wanted to do them, and not the way the studio wanted it doing… even just little things like miking up the drums in a particular way. Unless you’re careful, it’s so easy to get locked into other people’s way of working. It worked so well that I’m now wedded to the idea of recording more at home.”

May actually started working on his solo album a long time ago. “Bits of it go back to ancient history, particularly the songs. I started the recording work about five years ago, but most of it was done in little blocks, because Queen were so busy. I had a rough idea of what the album was going to be like, round about that time, but I didn’t get down to the serious work until about a year ago, when Driven By You happened.”

He admits that he had previously been reluctant to become involved with writing music for commercials. “The advertising agency approached me, and asked if I’d ever done anything for that medium, and I said, ‘No – I’ve never wanted to’. I had this idea at the back of my mind that it was all a dirty word, pure commercialism… selling out, really. I was persuaded to give it a try though, and discovered that it was all really very much above board!

“I worked on the song and advert in parallel, and the interesting thing is that the song meant one thing to me, and another thing to the agency people. I was really stimulated by the way that advertising people work… I mean, they’re so quick. I delivered them a version of Driven by You, and it was on the television commercial the next day!”

May’s new album has been given a major boost by the success of the single, Too Much Love Will Kill You, and he’s been gearing himself up for the inevitable round of press and radio interviews. He says he shies away from personal publicity, but is happy to talk about music, although may himself has been the victim of unwanted attention from the tabloid press, primarily when it was revealed that he and former EastEnders actress Anita Dobson were going out together, at a time when he was married with a family.

“This personal publicity the tabloids give various people… at its best, it’s intolerable, I hate the way that journalists are allowed to do that, making somebody’s life a total misery. There’s no justification, for example, for the way the newspapers seem to have set out to destroy Michael Jackson, he’s a person who has given pleasure to millions of people, so why should certain people in newspapers destroy his image and credibility in the most vile way?

“Free speech has been wrongly interpreted to mean that newspapers can destroy anyone they like, and yet it’s so difficult for the victims to have any comeback. Michael Jackson is suing The Daily Mirror, but he’s still providing all the papers with a feast… they will sell more newspapers because of the fact that he’s suing. What most of us have to do is just to ignore what is being written, because if you deny the allegations you just provide them with more ammunition.”

#queen band #brian may #interview #article

[cutthelights-if]

RATED 17+

INT. BACKSTAGE - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

The door to the dressing room swings shut, the quiet snick of a lock sliding into place. Five minutes until the shoot starts, yet you’re still rooted in place, watching as the script sitting on the counter flutters open. A reminder that for you, the breeze is never just the breeze. Just like how you feel an overlapping exhale, another presence that matches you breath for breath, you're never alone.

A rhythmic tapping to the left, the carpet muffling the sound of footsteps you know would be echoing otherwise. You’re awake, yet you feel anything but. A living nightmare, your horror electrifying your pulse.

“Stop,” you whisper, but the dead never listen, do they?

The cold settles over you like being submerged underwater. Stop. It punches through the cavern of your chest, holding you witness to the moment. Stop. Cigarette smoke lies thick on your tongue, cherry chapstick and the acidic tang of alcohol bitter on your lips. The last moments, the sheer desperation of someone trying to hold on a moment longer, fighting against a slowing heartbeat. You echo the sentiment: I am alive I am alive I am alive—

“They’re ready for you on set!”

SUMMARY.

Once a promising young actor, you fell from grace in a fiery blaze that left your name lying in the mud, and your reputation in tatters.

You'd love nothing more than to fade into the background, but the death of your reclusive mentor, a former Hollywood starlet and famed author, thrusts you back into the limelight. A tangled web of secrets and corruption is hiding behind a veil of glitz and glamour, and you're caught in the center of it.

Someone's ghost is begging you to bring them to justice. The public wants to tear you apart. Everyone is lying to you. The walls you built up to protect yourself are starting to fall, and at the end of the day you're not even sure if you can trust yourself.

CUT THE LIGHTS is rated 17+ for themes such as violence, strong language, substance use, and sexual content.

ROMANTIC OPTIONS.

ANDREAS PASHALIDIS | HE/HIM, 32: Fulfilling both the position of manager and (supposedly) bereaved stepson of your late mentor Julia Love, Andreas is the definition of hard-to-read.

Charming, charismatic, and witty, the fact that his coffee is always perfectly brewed is the least suspicious thing about him. Andreas knows far more than he's letting on, and you're starting to realize he's willing to go to any lengths to keep his secrets hidden.

HÉLÈNE VINCENT | SHE/HER, 25: Best known for her portrayal of the main character Arabella on the titular series Contact, Hélène was your media-appointed rival when the two of you were emerging as the next generation of child stars.

Acerbic and irascible, she'd love nothing more than to see your head delivered on a silver platter. You're not sure where it all went wrong. The both of you used to be Julia's protégés.

SENALI/SHIHAN PRIYASAD | SELECTABLE, 29: Former model and current lead singer of the band The Euphorics, they're practically your polar opposite. Loved nearly universally, S is award-winning, creative, and extremely good at anything they set their mind to.

Confident and ambitious, they're drawn to you for unknown reasons. The glint in their eyes tells you that their offer of friendship might not entirely be out of altruism though.

??? | SELECTABLE, ??: You'd really like them to stop trying to possess you, thanks.

FEATURES.

A customizable main character. Choose a personality, gender, and appearance.

Build a variety of relationships with the cast of characters.

Solve a mystery spanning decades.

Choice-based story.

A partially epistolary-style format.

LINKS.

PLAY THE DEMO.

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #if game #if wip #twine wip #twine game #cut the lights if

[massgrav]

"Good dog", [Hickey] would call him, and Tozer would feel warmth blooming in his chest, even as his being nothing more than a mutt was further confirmed to him. But he was rewarded for it, as Hickey now had him sleep in his and Billy’s tent.

The latter’s presence, however, was soon gone.

—

What was supposed to be PWP has turned into a 20-page long thing. The smut is here, with a side of fluff, and a side of sad, and a side of

Thanks to @jirving for supporting my writing. I hope you enjoy this new piece of misery

(Title from this song)

#hickeytozer #ao3 link #fanfiction #fanwriting #cornelius hickey #solomon tozer #i am stage 5 of puppytozer brain gangrene #and same for needy-dombottom-hickey